When you smile, I melt inside.
I'm not worthy for a minute of your time.
I really wish it was only me and you,
I'm jealous of everybody in the room.
Please don't look at me with those eyes,
Please don't hint that you're capable of lies.
I dread the thought of our very first kiss,
A target that i'm probably gonna miss

Let's go,don't wait, this night's almost over.
Honest, let's make this night last forever.

- First Date, Blink-182


He likes me!

He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!

The most mind-boggling part is that he actually had the guts to tell me.

I can't believe he wants to try to get on the good side of Harry. I just can't believe any of this.

This isn't some sick game he's playing, it all makes sense now. Well, not all of it. How he thinks I'm attractive, I have no idea.

But he hasn't been horrible to me, he's been charming really, accommodating. I should've realized that as soon as he jinxed Ron….something was going on. He called me hot, and he's been staring at me in an unnerving way for a few weeks now, but I guess I was in denial.

Clearly he's different, but this is all just so odd.

Though, I'm admittedly so so excited about finally talking to him like a human being, not like an enemy or a guarded acquaintance. It was quite adorable, really, that he was willing to go to such lengths to just to get me out of the house right this instance. I must say I'm really impressed.

We're standing outside a restaurant, in an undisclosed location for the moment. It's French, facing the waterfront. Trees surround the terrace, and the general atmosphere is beautiful. It's called Cerisier.

While I was told I look 'more than fine', this place looks rather fancy, and I feel inadequately underdressed for such a location.

To get my mind off of it, I want to ask my date a question. But at the moment we're at the entrance.

"Thank you," I say as Malfoy opens the door for me.

"You're welcome," he smiles, and leads me into the main chambre.

"Soooo, where's my iPod?" I nudge him, as we enter the threshold of a beautiful room.

Mosaic floors, chandeliers, posh minimalist furniture with antique cutlery. Everyone in here looks polished, glamorous. Oh, goodness.

"Shh, I'll tell you once we sit down," he puts a finger to his lip and approaches the maître d', a proper, thin man, who looks a little skeptical at us, me in my day-dress with no makeup, and he in his t-shirt and trousers.

I try to look as confident as Malfoy does as I follow him up to the podium.

"Bonjour, bienvenue à Cerisier, avez-vous une réservation?"

Lord, this is a legitimately French restaurant, where are we?

"Non, mais ma famille a l'habitude de venir ici assez souvent, ne te souviens-tu me, Maurice? Sûrement, vous pouvez obtenir une table pour deux pour une Malfoy?"

My heart is aflutter as he speaks flawless French to our host; I used to be quite proficient in speaking the language, but Hogwarts doesn't really expand on more cultural education, does it? I've forgotten a fair bit of it from primary school.

A look of recognition dawns on 'Maurice', and he waves his hand in surprise. "Ah mon dieu, monsieur Draco! Vous regardez si différente de la dernière fois que je t'ai vu. Je verrai ce que je peux faire pour vous. Un moment, s'il vous plait."

He stalks away over to what looks like the kitchen, while Malfoy merely smirks at me, pleased.

"What, you think because the host knows you, and you got an immediate reservation for us in a fancy restaurant, I should be falling at your feet?"

He rolls his eyes but smiles, an actual smile. "Could you understand what we were saying Granger? I'm impressed."

"Oui, un petit peu. Tu parlez francais tres bien," I reply blushing, feeling self-conscious of my accent and if the words I used are right. He merely raises an eyebrow, smiling wider, and looks me up and down.

"What?" I ask, feeling redder as his gaze keeps on, turning away shyly from him. "Did I say that incorrectly?"

"You're very charming when you're embarrassed," he replies.

"I hate feeling inadequate," I admit, shaking my hands in the air. He comes over to me, tenderly grabbing my hand. "Did I say it properly, though?"

"No, actually," he says, grinning the widest it's been so far, rubbing a thumb over my palm.

WHAT?
"Really?" I ask, feeling stupid, so stupid.

He chuckles, "It's not a big deal, mademoiselle, you're just supposed to put the tres bien before francais; Tu parlez tres bien francais. It's not 'You speak french very well," but 'You speak good french', really."

"Oh," I reply deflated. How could I not remember this? "Where are we anyw-"

"Si vous voulez bien me suivre, un siège de la fenêtre? Est-ce adapté, Draco?"

Maurice has come back unnoticed by me, to direct us to a seat by the window. Well, at least I remember what a fenetre is.

"Oui, tres joli, Maurice."

Maurice guides us all the way to the back of the restaurant, sitting us by the big bay window facing a river. The rest of the patrons stealing glances at us, the intruding teenagers.

"L'aperitifs au jourd'hui, monsieur et mademoiselle?" He looks down at us expectantly, and I must confess I can't remember if 'aperitif' is actually an appetizer or something different.

Malfoy looks at me from across the candlelit tabletop and tries to read my confused expression. Then he shakes his head.

"Je pense que non," he laughs. "Mais, nous aurons la meilleur vin que vous avez avoir maintenant, sil vous plait."

Maurice nods, and stalks off again, not before whispering something in Malfoy's ear.

"What did he say to you?" I ask.

"He was just saying that he was going to inform the chef of my presence. I expect we'll be getting une amuse-bouche momentarily," he elaborates, smiling.

"Une amuse-bouche?"

"It's sort of like an appetizer, but very small, bite-size. It's supposed to give you a taste of what the chef is like. The chef will send one out if they're in the mood. French people take their food very seriously," he nods.

"Wow, that's interesting, I didn't know that. I've been to France once before when I was 12 during summer holidays, but I was too excited to go to the museums to sit for a five hour dinner," I confess. "My parents also thought it was a bit of a waste of money. " I smile guiltily and he laughs.

"Why do they like you so much here, anyways?" I feel a bit weird sitting across from Malfoy, in such an intimate place.

"Well, if you must know, before it was all the rage to have a house-elf cook your food, my great-grandmother insisted on having a top of the line chef wine and dine the family, and guests. Areal French one. It so happens that the chefs son is now the head at this particular establishment. The Malfoy's used to come here all the time, it's my favourite restaurant, before all the nonsense starting happening. Haven't been here in a year, which is why he didn't recognize us, but I usually can get a table right away," he shrugs.

He took me to his favourite restaurant? Aw.

Suddenly his eyes light up, flickering to mine intensely. His voice changes. "You said you've been to France once before?"

I shake my head slowly yes.

"Well I think you should know that –"

"Ah! Ici vous êtes, le plus fin de nos vins de Bordeaux." Maurice has returned with another younger man in waitstaff uniform. Malfoy shakes his head at the interruption but smiles.

The other boy gracefully places two crystal glasses on the table, and from his tray pours a crimson wine expertly into them. "Ceci est votre garçon pour ce soir, Francois, il vous servira aujourd'hui. Plaît, prenez votre temps avec commander."

Maurice claps his hands, Francois bows lightly, and they walk away, leaving the small paper menus in front of us.

This is all so formal, and I can only catch half of what they're saying, damn.

Malfoy slugs back a bit of his drink and gives a bit of an approving noise. I grab the glass tentatively, and realize he's watching me, hands still grasping the bottom of his wine. Hm.

"What was it that you were saying before?" I ask. Then, because he's doing his annoying little smirk bit, I take a sip because I figure it's polite. It's far too bitter, but I try my hardest not to make a face.

"Enjoying the wine, Granger?" He asks chuckling, moving his hand to cover mine.

"I'm not that partial to alcohol as you know," I reply, flushing for what seems the millionth time. Good lord, he makes me feel like a foolish schoolgirl.

"Well perhaps you should appreciate the quality, especially since we're in the city that it's made in."

"W-what do you mean by that?" It can't be what I think. He can't possibly mean…

"Right now, we are sitting on the Garonne lake in Bourdeaux, France. What I was going to say before…is that now you've been to France twice."


I relish the look on Granger's face when I drop the bomb. Her mouth just drops and she has frozen to her spot.

I'm glad for once that spontaneity paid off in a good way, I was just so fucking happy to hear that she was willing to even let me take her out today. I hope she finds all this pleasant, and not too overwhelming. I've no idea how to handle this.

When Pansy and I were an item, Pansy was the director and I merely followed.

"W-why would you take me here?" The shrill sound in her tone takes me off guard. Maybe I thought too soon.

Instead of smiling, I find her looking troubled.

"I thought it would be a nice thing to do…I'm sorry if it upset you." I retract my hand, and sit uncomfortably as she chews on her lip, staring down at the tablecloth. You try to do something nice…

An intake of breath. "I'm sorry, this is really rude of me. I just…this is all so crazy. I mean, how did you manage to Apparate here? Have you done it before? And it's just such an intimate place, your favourite restaurant. This was supposed to be a sort of, getting to know each other date. And here we sit in a different country of all things. And it's wonderful, it's new, and excited. But…It's a bit overwhelming?" she tries.

Oh god, I'm such a fool.

"Er…yeah. Well, I haven't actually Apparated here alone, usually I use Floo Powder. But…I was so elated, somehow I knew it would work." How fucking irresponsible was that? "Wow, I feel like such an idiot," I mumble. Fumbling with my menu, I place it in front of my face to look at the choices, just as a distraction.

Then suddenly, I feel her warm fingers grabbing the hand clutched to the paper and pull my attention physically back to her. I look at her and she's gazing at me intensely.

"Malfoy…" she begins gently. "Draco."

For some reason when she says my name, I feel dramatically settled. She says it with such conviction, such sincerity, I find myself sitting straighter.

"Don't – don't feel like an idiot. It's just…" she swallows. "It's the most generous thing that anybody outside my family has done for me. That any boy has done for me…"

"Really?" I'm stunned.

"Yes. And because, because it's you, because this is whole development is so sudden, it's so…it's so…."

"Unsettling?"

She lets out a breath while she laughs. "I guess you could say that.

"But trust me when I say that I will never forget it. And now we can pretend this never happened, and um, figure out what we want to eat, oui?" She drops my hand and takes another swig of the wine quickly, slamming it back on the table.

"Well – I'm glad. I just. Fuck I don't know what I'm doing. I just want, and I hope you enjoy this….Hermione." The name falls from my lips, and it's as if I'm speaking a foreign language.

A gasp.
And she's gaping at me again.

"What?" What's wrong with her?

"You finally said it." She's practically whispering.

"Hey! It's not as if I've never said it before." I lightly hit her hand.

"I can't believe you SAID IT. I've never heard you say it! I can't believe it." I can see her pretty teeth again, her widened eyes, and feel at ease once again. It's disconcerting that just a glance can do that to me. But I ain't worried.

"Well you get to hear it a lot more now." The smile widens at me and I feel like flying.

Suddenly a plate of various cheeses and olives on some kind of crackers are placed in the middle of our table. By some sudden miracle, my stomach rumbles from hunger.

This fucking order of events is a godsend. Maybe I should pray more.

"Prêt à l'ordre?" Francois asks us.

Shit. Haven't even looked at the menu to be honest, though I know what I want already.

Granger - Fuck, I mean Hermione, (god, that's so weird) probably doesn't even have a clue what kind of food an upscale-ish place would have.

"Oui, je veux. Mais milday, je crois, n'est pas." I turn to Hermione. "I know what I want, but I can wait, order at the same time as you. If you'd like." She surveys me for a second.

"You know what? Since we're in the spirit of spontaneity, apparently, I'll have the same thing as you."

"A-are you sure? I mean," I lean in closer, "it's kind of fancy, snotty food. I'm not sure if you'll like it?"

"I'm up for the challenge," she retorts with an equally challenging look. I raise my eyebrows and nod. Well, alright then.

"La salad nicoise pour l'entrée, et carré d'agneau a la Provençale pour la main. Pour nous deux," I say, pointing at Hermione and myself. Granger looks as if she's trying to figure out what I ordered, but I see that she resigns and shrugs after a solid minute.

"Tres bon," he replies, and gathers the menus, ready to walk away.

"Merci," she calls after him with a pinpoint inflection, and he turns back and grins at her. And it isn't that polite.

Hmph. I cross my arms jealously.

"It's nice to be well, nice, you know," she says sheepishly as she sees my mangled expression.

"I know but…he was giving you the eye." I grab a cheese croquette from the miniscule plate and slug back my wine with it, leaning back in my chair.

She tentatively grabs some cheese and nibbles it, smiling impishly. "I do believe you're jealous, Draco Malfoy."

"Well, I don't want some swanky, stupid, fancy French waiter trying to make subtle moves on my date."

"Now, now. No need to get malicious. Behave." Behave? Since she's speaking to me like a pet, I sit up a bit straighter and exaggerate my frown, giving her puppy dog eyes.

Then I start to whimper, and hit the table with my hands, like a begging dog.

"Stop that," she says giggling. She puts a hand to her mouth to stop herself from shaking.

"But you're being so mean," I retort like a child.

I start to take this further and scratch at my ears, sticking my tongue out panting.

"Draco!" she screeches outraged, but she can't stop herself from laughing. I notice some pompous middle aged couples around us looking horrified at our table's behaviour, but I don't give a fuck.

I start licking my 'paws' and then, in a daring idiocy the world has never known, I grab Hermione's hand and start pecking up her arm (instead of slobbering all over her). I almost reach her elbow and give her one final smooch.

She looks embarrassed, is blushing, and is glancing at the people in the restaurant and clears her throat, trying to ignore the glares. "You are utterly ridiculous."

"But you like it," I tease.

"May-be," she replies. "Now, remembering the intent of this date, did you want to say, talk about yourself? So I get to know you better. "

I roll my eyes. "Oh, sweetheart, always so by-the-book. Of course I'd like to talk about myself, I live to talk about myself, but no. I'd rather hear about you." God, is that wine hitting me already? I look at my glass, and it's empty. Well, shit.

"I don't really know where to start…and I want to hear the intimate details of your life too. The Real Draco Malfoy Story," she says dramatically, and chuckles.

"Perhaps that's not the best place to start. I mean, we think we know each other. We probably don't. And you only think I'm physically attractive anyways, so maybe the little things I like will charm you?"

"God, that sounds awful," she says, grabbing my palm for what feels like the 10th time. "I'm so sorry I said that to you."

"No, no, it was honest. I haven't really done anything redeeming to earn your liking. Besides picking Muse of course."

"Well that's the best place to start – hold on" Suddenly she jumps a bit and her eyes are bright.

"What? What is it?"

"Oh my god, I just had a semi-brilliant idea."

"Lay this quasi epiphany on me." She gives me a look. I show her my tongue again.

"Well, you lunatic, at camp we used to play a game called Q & A."

"At camp?" She rolls her eyes like a pro.

"Honestly, we really need to get you educated about Muggles."

"Hey!" I reply defensively, self-consciously.

"Camp is a place children go to spend time with other kids, usually during summer time – Summer Camp. You can go for anything, really. Music, drawing, writing, sports, or just a general one, which is what I went to. It was in Devon, on a nice lake, with lots of trees and woodsy cabins and everything, and I went until I was 15."

I snicker, because 15, because cabins; but I try to hide it.

"Oh, shut up. It was really fun, okay. I just grew out of it. Anyways, there were activity days at the start where we would get to know each other. Once you reached a certain age, you'd get different, more mature activities. And one of those exercises was Q & A. It's a game with a few people, usually 3, and the aim was to ask each other questions."

"Sounds riveting," I reply. Death look again.

"The catch," she says ignoring me, "was that any question you ask you also had to respond to. It was a good way to get to know people on a general level, because who's going to ask questions like 'how far have you gone?', unless you're a cheeky 14 year old…anyways. We should play that."

"You want to play that with me?"

"Yes. I'm eating your lamb shank lunch, when I've never had sheep before. You can take that challenge, can't you?"

Oh, she did understand what I ordered, what a clever petit mouchon. "Oh, I never said it was a problem, Granger. You probably don't realize what you've got yourself into, however."

"Try me," she says.

Oh, it's on.


This is so odd. I really enjoy having stupid banter with Malfoy, because he keeps it light.

Maybe he's trying on purpose, but he's being so sweet.

When I do this with anyone else, they think I'm actually serious. They argue, they don't seem to get it.

And here he is, being the most entertainingly irritating person alive, and he's brought me somewhere absolutely beautiful, and he's just – god, he's so gorgeous. His authentic laughing and his sarcasm remind me of old days with Ron and Harry.

Days I haven't had in a long while. Harry is Ron's best friend, and as much as he can stick up for me, they're still inseparable, and it's elevated because of Ginny. And I feel like I'm slowly drifting apart from them….and it might be my fault.

I keep hurting Ron, over and over, because of what he did a few months ago, and I don't know why I can't let it go.

But, right now, I need to focus, because Draco is being so nice to me. And if he keeps on like this, well I don't even want to think of the consequences, but I quite like him. I wonder if he was always like this.

"Granger? Are you even listening to me?" I snap to attention to realize he was asking me a question.

"Sorry, I was…thinking." I shake my head, as if to clear it, and face him.

"Quite alright," he says looking at me oddly. I grab some cheese and crackers to distract myself.

Before I pop it in my mouth, Draco goes, "Ah, ah, ah!"

I raise a brow.

"Try it with the wine, it's seriously delectable. No doubt it's why the chef chose cheese."

Sigh. I take a small bite of the snack and sip the smallest bit of wine to wash it down.

Damn him.

That was absolutely delicious.
Now I know why Mum always raves about the combination, and always wants to go to stupid wine tastings with Dad, who thinks it's a waste of precious time and money.

"Good?" he smirks.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? You know you can't hide your emotions very well, don't you? Poker face."

I feel red again. "Oh shut up. It was very good, thanks. I just don't want to drink too much, alright?"

"Well that's fine. French girls, I know you aren't French, but for an example, don't drink to get drunk, they drink to enjoy. You're following proper social protocol; I'm just not as classy as all that." He winks at me, and a flush bathes my skin for a moment. "So this game. How do you win?"

"You don't really, win per se. If you refuse to answer a question, you're supposed to tell them an embarrassing story to put more pressure into answering, so."

"Ooh, interesting. We're playing that way! Now, let's go! Let's go! You start, you start. Cheers?" He's so ridiculous.

"Bon santé?" I questioningly correct, and he nods. We clink glasses and I take another small sip before thinking of my first query. And then I have it.

"So, Draco, first question: What's your favourite colour?"

He was eating the last of the amuse bouche and he spits a bit of it up as I ask him this.

"Are you joking?" I shake my head, 'nope'.

"Well I thought you would've known, Granger. A nice forest green of course," he says smiling. Slyhtherin King, indeed.

"And why is that? You can offer a little explanation, you know."

"Because it makes me feel at peace, I don't know. My room is onyx and green, it's like a dark cavern."

"See? Now I know a little something more about you without even trying. That you take comfort in abnormal locations. My favourite colour is blue."

"Hey, just because you don't like the dark doesn't mean I'm abnormal. And why blue? Because you looked dashing in your Yule Ball dress?" Why can he make me turn scarlet at the drop of the pin?

"What, you think I didn't notice? Everyone did." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"No they didn't." I say, more embarrassed. I feel like slapping him.

"You'd be blind not to, you looked so fucking radiant at the reality of being escorted by 'Bulgarian Bon Bon, Viktor Krum'," he exaggerates in an Eastern European accent.

"Okay, enough. Your turn now." He's started to make stupid smooching noises, and I smack his wrist lightly.

"So touchy. Come on, he was your first love."

"No…he liked me, and I was flattered because he was such a gentleman about it, I'll have you know. And it was an honour to experience something like that, dancing with a famous person."

His expression suddenly looks semi-impressed. "Hmm, you know, I never realized how much of a man-eater you were."

"Excuse me!" How dare he?

"No, no hear me out. Okay. You're the ripe age of 14 – best Quidditch player of the time is attracted to your book-reading, man-averting self. Meanwhile, Weasel-face is basically unable to function around you because you're so intimidating. And when he pisses you off by being an idiot, from what I hear, anyways, you seek revenge by nabbing a 'hottie' from Gryffindor, Cormac McSlaggin'. And now this year, you've got a line-up of guys in a queue."

"No – but – well – ok, when you put it that way…" God, I never realized how weird that is.

"Yes, lovely, you should be aware of just how attractive you are." Oh lord, more blushing. "We're really crap at this game, my god. Okay, kay, on a scale of one to ten, how good-looking do you think you are – and why?"

"Why are you asking me that? Are all your questions going to be like this?" Why?

"Perhaps. I told you I don't back down easy. You going to answer it?"

I sigh. "Okay, um, 5. Because I don't think I'm ugly. But I don't think I'm anything special. Now, you."

"Nothing special? Oh come on, Granger. Have a bit of confidence." He grabs both my hands, and squeezes them.

"I do. Just not on looks. Now, you."

"Good lord, women. I'd say 8."

"'Women?' Just because I'm not as cocky as you, Mr. Perfection, doesn't mean I have no self-esteem, I'm just honest with myself."

"Yeah, and I am too. And I don't have self esteem. My parents are both exceedingly good looking – everyone from the Malfoy & Black family is above average, at least aesthetically. And I'm just lucky to have genetics like that; silky smooth hair, unique eye colour, and a charming smile," he lays that smile on me, and it's hard to disagree. "But I'm way too thin, and my nose is too big, thanks Dad, so a solid 8."

I start giggling, "You are so ridiculous. How can you say you have no self esteem?"

"Because I said 'good-looking', not overall personality. If it was based on merit, I'd probably rate myself negative 1." He sips his freshly poured wine, and I shake my head.

"All right then, next question; how far have you gone? That's right, it takes two to tango," I say.

"How far have I gone?" He's smirking. "All the way Granger. And honestly, my next question is 'please, could you not indulge me in how far you've gone?'."

"Really? I was so ready, too, you probably would've laughed. You know, I'm just thinking now, you remind me of a character in my favourite book."

"Do I?" he asks. "And who pray tell is he?"

"Dorian Gray in The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde, very famous Irish poet. It's a fabulous novel, oh my god. Anyways, Dorian is an exceedingly attractive boy, who doesn't realize it until he is influenced by his painter's acquaintance, to value the vain things in life, pleasure and beauty. Dorian accidentally sells his soul to be forever beautiful, that this portrait of him will wear all his sins, like his body and soul should. He turns into a horrible person, but he always looks innocent and deceives everyone; essentially he goes insane from how horrible he's been and stabs the painting, which kills him."

Draco's looking at me, like I'm insane. "And I remind you of him?"

"Okay, I realize it's a stretch. But he's blonde, rich and charming. And is slowly eroded into being a bad person, then realizes his mistakes."

Blank unapproving look.

"I meant more or less that you remind me of how he is at the beginning of the book; delightfully vain."

When he says nothing, "Look it wasn't supposed to be a bad thing! Clearly, I suck at explanation.``

Still nothing. "Okay…so next question, what's your favourite book? You know mine."

"And you think I'm ridiculous? Lord, Granger." He shakes his heads and makes a spluttering noise. "Clearly it's The Boy Who Lived: The Real Harry Potter Story."

"You did not read that!" Oh my god, I remember I had a copy of Harry's biography sitting in my bookshelf for the longest time, too embarrassed to read it. Not for me, but for him. So many people insisted he write one, but he just wasn't that interested. Your wholelife story, your struggles and weaknesses displayed for anyone to read.

The pressure came on so horribly though, with dozens of letters and interviews requested and sent every day that, finally, with careful selection, Harry picked a writer to tell his story. Though many journalists stepped forward for the task, the Prophet hadn't been kind to him. And Rita Skeeter was so angled in her bio of Dumbledore, he wasn't convinced she wouldn't subtly do that to him too. So he picked Xenophilius Lovegood, someone who had been kind to him for years, and eager to redeem himself as he felt horrible for slandering him when he was under watch of Death Eaters.

I was very skeptical, obviously. But it was quite honestly a really good book. It's very odd getting into the mind of someone you think you've known half your life.

"Oh, I did. And I won't lie when I say I was a little intrigued by it. I wanted to see A) if I was in it at all, B) if old Lovegood butchered it, and C) if I could get a good laugh. I got no satisfaction, let me tell you. My mother almost killed me when she found that lying about in the house."

"What do you mean, you got no satisfaction?"

"Granger, all these years I've hated Potter for being popular, and in Gryffindor, and for rejecting me. Then you add Weasley to the mix, and well, you, before I liked you. And I thought maybe this book would justify any of these feelings I had towards him and his whole deal; they didn't. Not one single bit. After hearing for years rumours about him, mostly bad, I realized none were true, and I just liked pushing his buttons to make him get mad, to feel like I had any effect. But he didn't have a choice really, did he? And I did. And that's why I still fucking loathe him for it. Because I'm an idiot, and he never was. I never really got to him. And it kills me that I have to remember it so in vain, and in idiocy, for the rest of my life."

This sudden change in the tone of our conversation leaves me feeling speechless. He's being so open to me, and it's scary, because I feel obligated to do the same, and I'm not sure if I can.

The pregnant pause is filled thankfully, when two waiters appear to deliver our meals.

"Bon appetit!" they chime, and both Draco and I relay our 'Merci's'.

The presentation of the food is beyond anything I've ever had, and I can't wait to try everything. There's a little salad, salad nicoise. A small portion of meat, with some kind of tomato sauce drizzled along artistically on the plate. Fresh vegetables lightly cooked are around the shank. I've never had lamb, but it smells delicious.

"This looks really good," I say earnestly. He merely nods, grabbing a fork and tapping it against the plate unenthusiastically.

Oh, I hope he's not in a mood now.

Like a flash, I remember something; "You know, you can cross some of your disappointment out of that list; you are in the book."

His face takes a full on transformation from misery into surprise. "What? What part?"

"When it talks about Harry first coming to Hogwarts, and how much he really begged and pleaded not to get sorted into Slytherin, it's mostly because of you."

"Are you fucking serious? Pardon my French." I realize I've been glancing at my almost empty wine glass, and when I look up I expect him to be appalled, shocked. But he's smiling.

"Uh, yes. Why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm the one who made Potter hate Slytherin! Can you imagine if he was sorted there?"

"Conceited, much? He didn't want to go because Ron said that all bad wizards had been sorted there. You just elevated it by being a jackass."

He scoffs, vocally scoffs at me. "Ouch, I'm hurt. Me? A jackass? Wounded."

"You're so dramatic," I say while he puts a hand to his forehead.

"Thinking about all my sinning puts me in a foul demeanour. All well, I'm just glad Potter withheld all that crap about me and Dumbledore in his story. I appreciate that, hey, maybe I'll write that in Potter's letter," he cringes.

"You really don't have to write that, you know, but if you could be civilized, I'd appreciate it."

"Darling, if we meet in this situation, where we're holding hands, you know, being 'cute' or whatever Potter will not listen to reason. Be prepared for that. Weasley & family will be hostile, and he's going to be on their side. I mean, I know this. I'm trying to ready myself for it. And I fucking hope, that everything doesn't get too messed up for you. Because I only have something to gain from this, and you have lots to lose." He looks me straight in the eyes, and they're warm, little pools of mercury.

"I'm glad you're willing to be that understanding, Draco," I reply in a small voice. I'm genuinely touched he's worried that much about my welfare.

"When I want something, I go after it," he says, and the mercury is now changed to heated steel.

"Do you now?"

"I do try, at least. Cheers?" He pours more wine into my glass expertly, and holds his own up to me.

"Cheers," I reply. After I take a sip, I say, "I wish more people were as adamant as you are."

He takes a bite of food and smiles. "So good, just like always. And I don't. Then you'd be here with the Weasel instead of me."

I give him a look as I eat a piece of eggplant, but swoon at the taste. "Look, I know you hate him, but he's very sweet, and loyal. He did try. And this is really delicious, thank you."

"You know, I just can't see it. I'm not trying to be an asshole, well maybe a bit, but how could he possibly have fucked up so much that his best friend turned girlfriend wouldn't speak to him? In fact, that's my question, why or how did your last relationship fail. Oh, and for the record my actual favourite book is Tales of Beedle the Bard."

He likes Beedle? Who would've thought.

"I would've never expected that answer. You seriously want to get into our romantic lives?"

"Well, I am curious about it, so yes. I have no qualms about telling you about Pansy and I."

I suddenly feel like I've lost my appetite. This was supposed to be a fun game, not a torture session.

"What cheek you have! Don't you want to keep it in the past?"

"Well it seems like it's bothering you just from mentioning it. But we don't have to if you don't want to. You need to tell me an embarrassing story now, though." He points his tongue out at me, and I shake my head.

"Okay, fine. Story time then."

"Oh, goody," he says, clapping his hands together. The nerve.

"Let's see. Oh yes, this is a good one. When I was 14, I went out to dinner like a 'grown up' to a restaurant with my old friends from Muggle school. They were in that phase where they wanted to be older than they were, dressing like they were slutty 20 year olds, and such. I felt the need to go along with it because everyone was so giddy. Anyways, I went to my friend Priscilla's house and I borrowed a dress from her, per her request since most of my clothes are 'boring'. We were all really excited because she had become rather popular and invited all the 'cute' boys to this fancy Korean place. So we show up, and there's maybe 20 people in total? It was a big deal! The Grande Event of the Summer. I was nervous, cause I am awful at making conversation with strangers." Draco clears his throat.

"We're having a decent time, aren't we?"

"Okay, well you aren't really a stranger, and you aren't stupid once you tone down cockiness." Before he can respond, I put a hand up. "No, listen. The whole night I tried to act sociable, and I tried not to be the bookworm like I always was, or a know-it-all. And I thought I succeeded. The guys all were really friendly, and sometimes even more than that, they were touching my arm, and speaking to me on my own. But what I didn't realize is that it was for a reason. I found out too late, and everybody was too stupid to tell me that the dress I wore had been tucked into my underwear for almost the entire night after visiting the loo. Since we'd kept getting up to visit other tables they'd seen my bright coral pink knickers, oh god. All of them!"

Draco is laughing his little butt off at me.

"That is awful. Oh Merlin, that's hilarious." He's practically choking on his lamb, he's trying not to laugh so hard.

"Okay then, if you want to play it like that and then laugh at me? My question for you is: what were you doing on Friday night?" As quick as it came, the tittering ceases.

"Granger. Hermione. You seriously do not want to know." He's looking at me so seriously, I almost don't want to know. But he deserves a taste of his own medicine.

"Well I'm curious, like you were, so yes. I do."

"You little witch. You're brilliant." He takes a deep breath. "Well if you won't tell me about Weasel, I'm certainly not divulging that horrifying night."

"Embarrassing story for you, then. Go on."

"Alright then, I got one from my childhood, this one is good. Nobody knows this, either, so feel lucky."

"Oh, I do. I can't wait for some blackmail." His turn to shake his head.

"Gee, thanks. Okay, so if you think I was a cocky 11 year old, picture me at 5. Precocious, yet polite, well-dressed little trouble-maker. All of the ladies that came to my mother's elaborate brunches and dinners loved me. Father often would make remarks about all the different ladies in our lounge with his friends. He was in charge of looking after me, while my mother was playing host. After a while I hated the cigar stench, the brandy scent, and I was bored by their stupid gossip. This one woman, Josephina Lavelle, was this overly pretentious, very overweight woman of about 45."

Oh god, I'm already cringing.

"Anyways, one day at a party, I coerced dear old dad into letting me stay up past my bedtime as long as I behaved. I had overheard him and his friend Moriarty, who was an awfully asshole-ish person, talking about how her weight was equal to her pomp, or something of the sort. So of course, I don't understand that this is a bad thing, because what five year old knows what 'pompous' is? She comes in fashionably late in these grape robes that made her looks like the fruit itself, and me, wanting to see this lady, runs up to her after she's gotten inside, and my parents have come to greet her. So get this, she comes up to me, first, cooing over how 'precious and dapper' I was and, 'Oh, is this last season's style for the youngsters? Tsk tsk.'. My mother never acts anything but calm, so she says nothing, but I go up to her and say matter of fact; 'Father says you're really fat! But it's okay, because you're just as pompous too, isn't that great?'. My god, my Mother almost slapped my father, and he probably would have killed me if I wasn't a minor."

Wow, that one is way worse than mine.

"I actually feel embarrassed for you right now. That's so horrible."

"No, it's hilarious!" he says, enthusiastically eating now, smiling at me.

"Quite the charmer as a child, huh? Well…I suppose it's one of those things you laugh at in secret," I admit.

"Oh, I am good at corrupting people, it's already begun!"

"You can try, but you won't succeed," I reply, spooning some lamb in my mouth.

"I told you I like a challenge." He just won't quit. "Are you almost done now? Did you want dessert?"

I look at the plate, and I didn't realize it was practically empty. My stomach, however, is not.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm feeling pretty full."

"Well, remind me to never take you out for French dinner. They have 5 to 6 courses then, and it's rude not to eat any of it." More wine for him.

"I suppose a bit of dessert wouldn't hurt." I give in, because, hey, cakes and pie are always nice.

"Excellent. I hardly ever have an appetite you see, and I crave food still; but it'd be a little stupid if I only ordered something for me."

"It's not exactly like you're bursting with a gut," I tease and he frowns.

"I hate my skeletal-ness. Mean. Wah." He slaps my hand playfully and chuckles. "In all seriousness though, Hermione, I – oh, bonjour, Francois."

I jump slightly when I notice him practically hovering over me, and he blushes and straightens up a little.

"Avez-vous apprecie le repas?" he asks, embarrassed.

"Oui, oui, fantastique," Draco replies, trying not to laugh.

"Dessert, peut-etre?"

"Oui, le gateau chocolat?" He questions me, and I nod. Chocolate anything is great.

"Excellent. Cela ne prendra qu'un instant," Francois says, taking our empty dishes.

"Prenez votre temps," Draco calls after, and then to me, "I've never seen such an obviously smitten person before." I turn to look at Francois, who's still eyeing me. Aww, how cute.

"Is that why you told him to take his time? Such jealousy!" I laugh. "What was it that you were saying? 'In all seriousness?'"

"Oh, yes," he says, his attention no longer on the handsome waiter, pointing a finger at me. I pay as close attention as I can, so he knows I'm listening. "I want to explain something to you, about relationships I guess, and I want to tell you about Friday, because I don't want to hide anything. Or have you feel like I am."

What? "Draco, you don't need to feel obligated to-'"

"I know I don't have to, but I do. And I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, so it's important I tell you, so can you listen?"

"Of course, of course I will." I just need to mentally prepare for what he's going to say.

"Okay, well since we have time before dessert, may as well get it over with. I hope it doesn't offend you or anything, and if it does, well hell, at least we'll have cake." I smile, and settle myself into a more comfortable position.

"The floor's all yours."

He takes a deep breath and cracks his back, rolling his shoulders. "First off, I want to tell you how I felt when I first started dating Pansy. Because you have to know how different it is now. Um, is that alright?"

I nod, trying to hide how awkward I feel, having to hear this.

"When you are a pureblood, and get sorted into Slytherin, well beforehand really, you're conditioned by your parents to keep to yourself. Because everyone is going to hate you, and everyone will judge you before they know you because of who you are and where you are at school. I mean that's what happened with Potter and Weasley. The first interaction I have with them is them laughing at my name and essentially rejecting me; my name. Like, it's the most important accessory one has in life, according to Lucius; it displays to the world who you and your family are.
So here I am, age 11, and of course everyone already knows each other in Slytherin, play dates and all; but we're around each other 24/7 now. And everyone wanted to be my friend because I was the richest, and that's what everyone values. Because money means security and power; this is what I've been taught. And this is all I know. This is why I have Crabbe and Goyle as my flunkies, and I grow to be acquaintances with Blaise and Pansy. But still, there's this unspoken barrier between us of being formal, not getting into deep."

This is so odd; an inside perspective of Malfoy.

"Then all of a sudden, Pansy comes on to me in third year. She's affectionate, worried even, about me, And I never have felt that from someone who isn't a family member. I mean, I thought it was fake, but one day she wanted to go for a walk with me, and told me how stressed out she was feeling about school. It was unreal. I spent all these years learning how to build walls, and here she is, showing vulnerability, real emotion, and it's crazy to me. I know it's probably so stupid to you, hearing this, but it's how it was. I didn't know what a real friend was, let alone a girlfriend."

"That's so sad," I say, without thinking.

"Yep, story of my life," he says, and I'm about to apologize, but he winks at me. "Honestly, Granger, I want to say this stuff to you, don't feel sorry for me; it is what it is. So back into the story. I couldn't figure out for the life of me, whether Pansy was sincere in loving me, even though she told me so, too often. Her mother and father always tried to get me aside, tell me that I should propose, that our families would be great. Mind you, we were like, what? 14. Pansy just came on too strong, but she was someone I could confide in, and she let me ya know, have intimacy, and all that jazz."

Oh god, the thought of them is disgusting to me, I hate Pansy with a burning passion.

"And…are you friends now?"

"Psh, no. Not after what happened. What I learned from Pansy, being with her, is that if you treat girls kindly, they'll do what you want, which, before you say anything, I know isn't true for everyone. She has all these pre conceived notions of what she should be ; proud Slytherin pureblood socialite house wife. That's what she thought was desirable, so she went after it. But when I was 16, you know what happened. I was distant, cold, but a part of me wanted to confide in her. I knew I couldn't though, and her constant prodding and cuddling annoyed me at that point. Once she knew what happened to me, what I'd become, she stayed away and I don't blame her. So I hadn't heard from her in a year when I went to her house Friday."

"Why did you go, then?" I'm so confused. A year?

"A part of me wanted to see what was left of that whole thing. I told you Granger, I'm," he leans in and whispers to me, "I'm kind of horny. I'm sorry, okay. How was I to know I'd actually tell you I think you're attractive after our history? After I kissed you. And I didn't want to go to Diagon Alley or something, because of what people say to my face or near me behind my back. I was sick of that, but my family is all gone now, and I was stuck. Anyways, so I get to the house and at first she's all 'You aren't welcome here, sorry.' I tell her what happened with my mom and her fiancée, her bitch of a mother comes out and once she knows the juicy gossip, I get to go in. Turns out, she tells Pansy I should stay the night and she should try and seduce me again, because that French bastard is the richest wizard in France, sound like someone else I know, right? My mother has expensive taste.
"God, so she goes out, hands me a key to alcohol galore, is genuinely nice and we chat. And she was going out to dinner with Blaise,who I hadn't seen since I last saw her. She was trying to get hitched up with him, but he didn't like her that way really, and neither did she, apparently. She comes home, wasted like I am now, and somehow I am in boxers on her bed. When I came to she'd taken off her dress, lays next to me. And it was oddly familiar, like old times, but I felt different. I wanted her to know about how I was acting around you, and normally I would've not given a shit, but I'm different, like I said. I wanted to know how she felt about me, and us. She, uh, well she started kissing me, and trying to do more," Inside, my stomach tightens. "It felt nice, I guess, but it wrong; she said she wanted to marry me. And it was then I knew she was still the same. She still thought that a relationship was based on how much money we could have to live off of, and what our social standing would be. She just didn't get it. She was sincere and that made it so sad, all the more heartbreaking, and I just, I want to know what real companionship is. Is that so bad?"

He finishes it off, baring his romantic experience to me. And I see him in a different light. He's not cold, he's not stupid…he's a sad little boy who's never felt real affection outside of people who are 'supposed' to care. And he's yearning for acceptance. And I want to give that to him.

I don't know what else to say besides, "No, it's not. It's normal."

Luckily, to break the tension, the most delicious looking cake appears in the middle of the table, with two forks.

I grab one and hand one to Draco.

"You are not weird, Draco, you just have a gap in your life that hasn't been filled; you crave social interaction. It's heartbreaking to me that you feel like you've never had someone in your life you really just wants to be your friend. And it's very mature of you to share all that with me, and so, since you have an oddly uncanny grasp on how people work, I want to ask you something now."

"Y-you do? You didn't think that was too much?"

"This whole date has been too much, to be completely honest. If we are able to clear the air, though, then we can be as open as we should be with each other. And I like that. This looks good," I finish, and take a small bite.

"Too much, in a good or bad way?"

"Neither really, it's been interesting, and definitely not horrible. Try the cake," I urge, and he gives me an embarrassed smirk, taking a nibble at it. "Good?" I ask.

"As good as I remember. What did you want to ask me?"

I sigh. "Well it's funny, I didn't want to tell you why Ron and I fell out, like you didn't want to tell me what happened on Friday. Now I'm going to tell you what you wanted. And I want to know about what you think of what happened to my relationship. I've never been able to get a real outside opinion, and I know it might be biased, but try, please? You ready?"

"Oh god." He rolls his eyes, and gives a shocked smile.

"No? Well, too bad. Sit tight, okay?" He nods, and crosses his arms, now he as uncomfortable as I just was. "So, I don't really need to explain my feelings about Ron over the years, since you seem to, and everyone else, have noticed the tension between us. Skip to last year. I knew that going into a relationship with my best friend would be risky. Not as risky as it is right now, with you, mind you,"

"Amen to that," Draco says, and I'm glad I can get a silly remark out of him.

"I knew I had Harry to think about, what would happen if I broke up with Ron, and if I managed to burn that bridge, it would be hard to get it back. And I was right; that's how I'm feeling now. Ginny is Harry's true love, Ron is Harry's best friend; he's always going to be tied to those two it seems, so where does that leave me? I wasn't aware of how real any of this could be when I kissed Ron for the first time, and yes I was the one to do it. But, it felt like it was meant to be. We had so much tension built up over the years; from after the Yule Ball, where he got mad that Viktor took me, to he and Lavender being disgusting together, to being at war with our ill-fated friend. I think deep down we knew our love was on a different level than friendship, we were both too scared."

"Or stubborn," Draco counters. Of course he's right.

"Yeah. It felt like some stupid game. I didn't think he liked me because I thought I was too bossy, too much of a girl next door. He felt inadequate next to Harry, as he told me later, and so we never gave in to each other. But whenever we touched, it was electric, like some forbidden experience. I craved our next physical interaction, and mentally slapped myself whenever I didn't just go for the opportunities. During the summer months before we had to leave, we talked every single day, we planned, we were inseparable. We enjoyed our last few days of freedom essentially, and it was just - It just wasn't the right time to get into anything. Which sucked because everything else was in place. Anyways, in the midst of war, when we were working together I kissed him finally. He was concerned for the House Elves in the kitchen; we couldn't force them to fight for us. To me, it meant so much because of how I feel about creature rights. And after that it was like a fairytale. You know? The war was over, and I had to wait to get my parents back, but we spent hours cuddling, and kissing, and not worrying about anything. Still though, a tiny part of my brain was nagging at me. It felt a little odd, you know? This was my best friend for 7 years, and now all of a sudden it's different."

"So the unfamiliarity was what bothered you?"

"Uh – I guess so." Funny, Harry said the opposite was what was wrong.

"You guess? It sounds like you had a good relationship," he says strained. "Why did you and Weasley fizzle out then?"

"I- I just wasn't ready for the physicality of it all, you know. I mean, we'd only been 'official' for about a month, and we hadn't even said those three little words. I know I should have just said it, but I think I was just jealous because Lavender and he had done, and I wanted him to tell me he loved me first. Then, one night when Molly and Arthur were out, and our 'babysitter', George, was in a drunken sleep, we were lying in Ron's bed." Draco winces.

"Sorry, is this going to be very detailed? I tried not to be vulgar for your sake." He gives me a pained look, and I sigh.

"I'll try. I'm sorry…okay, so we were kissing, and we had our shirts off, and I wasn't sure if I really wanted it, but heat in the moment and all that, it didn't feel bad. And then he starts getting really intense about it, and I tell him to stop. It sounds stupid, I know, I just didn't want to have sex, or anything close until we said 'I love you'."

"That's not stupid." I look up and he's staring at me intently, patiently.

"Well, I feel like it was. Because I know he did…and he got upset because he had waited for this, and I kept saying no. And I think…I think I wanted to do it deep down, but I was petrified. And Ron has a temper, he's been mothered and mollycoddled his whole life, and he hasn't had much money or anything, but I know Mrs. Weasley made a damn good effort of loving her children and trying her best to give them what they want. So he gets angry, says I'm always waiting for the prefect moment, the right time, that how could I be unsettled about this when I've known him forever, know him inside out? And I told him I was timid because I didn't know what I was doing, wasn't he? Well, he never told me until then, that he and Lavender had done it, at school. And it devastated me, which only infuriated him more. And I said maybe before we do this we should get checked out," I hear Draco hiss, looking at me with wide eyes. "I know it was dumb, but I was angry at him for expecting sex, when he hadn't said he loved me, when he showed that same courtesy to Lavender. I finally told him first, because I couldn't wait any longer. And he couldn't say it back. I told him I loved him because I was going to try and make clear what was bothering me. Then we both just got really mad, lashing out at each other, and I told him we should break it off for now. I don't know, it was awful, it doesn't sound like it, but the tension, the change in the air after all this, it was unbearable.
And I think I realized after not being with Ron for a few weeks, and contemplating it all, I didn't want to be with someone who couldn't wait for me to feel comfortable, to get visibly angry every time he didn't get his way. So here we are; Ron hates me because I went out with Dean and won't go out with him again. And he's going to hate me if all goes well here."

I finish and take a deep breath, shaking out my hands in front of my face.

"So what do you think?"

"Patience," he says, laughing. "That's a lot to take in."

"I know…I'm sorry. Any first impressions?" I'm dying here.

I take a few more bites of cake to let him deliberate it.

"You want me to be brutally honest?"

"Of course," I say, urging him on.

"I feel pretty bad for the Weasel, quite frankly."

"What!" He's looking at me apologetically, and shrugs. "Ok. Well, why? What did I do wrong?"

"What you're doing right now."

What? What am I doing?!

"What do you mean?"

"Listen, Hermione, and please don't take offense. But when you're out of your element, per se, you get frenzied. You get anxious, because you aren't in control, you don't know what you're doing. Which I think, is why it took you so long to finally tell Weasley how you felt, and why you were and maybe are so apprehensive about something like sex. Which is perfectly normal, but you take it to a different level. Sex and relationships aren't things you learn in a book or in a class, like you can for charms. If you practice a charm and mess it up, it won't have disastrous mental side effects like a broken relationship does. Well one would hope not anyways. And you know this, and it frightens you, and it's why you get hot headed if Weasley mentions that he's annoyed about it, because you feel inadequate. And your thinking has to be; 'I need to know about this completely, before I even try'. Which is not the way to go about it. You should gauge how people feel and react to it accordingly. It's what I do, and it's why I am so fucking good at sucking up to people. I read them well, and I don't offer my opinion when I can have them wrapped around my finger first. And you are not slimy like me; you're honest. You shouldn't feel ashamed that you don't know how to do something that other people do. You just have hang ups about being seen as ignorant, and it's your weakness that you hate having pointed out to you. Which the Weasel did, and why it set you off so uncomfortably."

Holy moly.

"And you have to look at it from Weasley's point of view," he continues, finishing the cake gracefully when he realizes I'm not attacking him verbally. "There's this amazing girl in his life, and he took so fucking long to realize how valuable and great she is because he was in denial. And then after fucking it up like a moron with stupid puppy-love, bringing another girl in the picture, he has to try and be a man. An adult. And admit that he loves you. And he can't right away since you made the first move, because he doesn't want it to be like when he was with Lavender. She loved him, or so she said, and he kept saying it too because she, well, fucked him. And it sucks that guys minds' work that way, but they do. And maybe he thought you'd see just how much he cares by romancing you, whereas you want to know everything about him instead, and hope he realizes that you're really trying to make an effort by lying in bed with him.

"It's his fault for having such a temper, but when you tell someone you can't be with them because they can't say 'I love you' fast enough, or because they want you so bad that they can barely contain it? That has to sting. Especially after all you'd been through together, and I get it, you were friends, what if you messed it up? But it is messed up because of what transpired. And here Weasley probably feels like a dick, but to make matters worse, you're going out with Dean for god knows why, his good friend. You rejected him because he's not mature enough to wait for you to get comfy? Well, I hate to be that person, but sometimes you have to be out of comfort in situations like that. Of course having sex for the first time, awkward is going to happen no matter what. He should wait for you to be ready, but you can't expect everyone who cares to wait for you all the time. You're intelligent, and usually it's you leading the way; you like it like this. That's who you are, Hermione, but you have to acknowledge this as a potential flaw, and maybe realize that you can't always be on top, you have to compromise more when you deal with people. If it's grades, you attack them. If it's people, you need to learn to settle."

Oh my god.

I have nothing I could possibly say.

He's right. He's so right, he's knocked me down a peg or two, but he's right. Completely.

And all over again I feel bad for Ron, I need to apologize properly, though it won't mean much. I still stand by what I said, that I don't want to be with Ron right now. I crave his companionship.

Because right now, I have really strong attraction to Draco. It's uncanny, and really overwhelming that he could read me like that in 10 minutes. That he gets me in a way that Harry or Ron either didn't, or ever had the guts or courtesy to tell me. Because I never realized that I acted like that, quite so viciously. I'm a control freak.

He's looking at me like he wants me to say something, to validate that he didn't hurt my feelings. He plays with his fork, twisting it in between the grooves of his fingers.

"I think…" I begin, unsure of what to say. "I went out with Dean because I wanted to know if it would feel different to be with someone else. And it was, it was nice. It wasn't on the same level as Ron, obviously, but Dean was gracious and kind. And maybe partially to get back at Ron, I won't lie."

"And I fucked that up for you, huh?" he laughs coldly.

"Well, I'm glad you did," I swallow hard, nervous at being bold.

His gaze shoots up to mine and he tilts his head, curious.

"Draco, I've never been able to have conversations like this with anybody before. Most people are too uncomfortable, or want to keep things light. I really like Dean, but again, he's too close to everyone I know. And he fought on our first date, when he should've just stayed out of it. It's frustrating. Though, I will tell you how astonished I am that you're so calm and, and, reasonable. You've done a 360 since last time I even thought about how much I dislike you. You're perceptive, and witty, even considerate considering all the sacrifices you made to get to my house and picking my music. It's just crazy you like me, because, it's you, and even though you can clearly see how flawed I am," I laugh. He doesn't.

"I haven't been able to converse heavily, either. And what do you mean, that I like you. You're one desirable chick, remember? You're good and I'm evil, I have so many regrets while you have one. You're so strung out on one relationship, and I'm strung out on my whole fucking life. But I'm working on it. If I can change my entire opinion of your personality in 2 days, then you are not flawed. You're kind, forgiving as fuck, and I know if I screw up you aren't afraid to put me in my place. Which you probably should have, when I asked you out, but here we are? If you want something different, then here I am, but I can't promise you'll like it."

"Don't promise, just work on it. It's working already." I see him smile embarrassed, and I know this is the moment.

The perfect moment, because I want to do it.

I grasp his wrists, and pull him towards me.

"Hermione, what –"

I grab the sides of his head once he's close enough to me, and lean in, to kiss him on the lips. I kiss him neither gently, nor firmly. I kiss him meaningfully, with just enough pressure that he and I can both really feel it, because it's not supposed to be a courtesy, or greeting kiss. It's more than that.

And just as I let go of his face, sliding my hands down his jaw, he roughly snatches my hands in his, and deepens our embrace, kissing me back gently, moving his lips nicely in time with mine. My stomach swoops, and my hands feel hot.

After a few seconds, we break apart, still hunched over the table, still locked together.

"You know, I quite liked that," I say, unable to wipe the grin off my face at his happy expression.

"Me too," he says looking down at the table, smirking. When he glances back up to me, his face changes from elated to horrified in an instant.

"What's wrong?" I realize he's not looking at me at all, and I turn around to what he's staring at. He drops his hands off the table quickly, and turns paler than a ghost.

"Oh my god."

Narcissa Malfoy, and what I presume to be her fiancée, are storming over to the table from a fire place, which they obviously just travelled in by Floo. An elderly couple follow them, tentatively, and I realize that that must be the man's parents. Draco's future in-laws.

Mrs. Malfoy reaches us, and Draco gulps.

"Draco," Narcissa says mock politely, only to him, shrill, "what are you doing here with, her?"

Her fiancée comes up to her, and takes her arm, whispering to her what can only be calming words into her ear.

I notice Draco grow stiff from this interaction, and I feel horrible for him, and embarrassed for me that she doesn't want me to be with him.

"You aren't even going to address her, Hermione, mother? I`ll have you know, that she's my school partner." Narcissa changes from anxious to angry. "Yes, I lied. Sorry, guess it runs in the family."

Oh, ouch.

She looks hurt. "Surely, I just imagined you two kissing didn't I, in this, this restaurant?"

"Oh yes, because I really fucking care about what these people think anymore. Mother, Hermione is my date, and you're interrupting it."

Narcissa's scarlet cheeks turn to white sheet.

"Y-yyou're date? But – but – she - why are you being so hostile?" I want to die right now, sink into the floor. I know what she was going to say, that I wasn't a pureblood. It's instilled in her. Or maybe, less pessimistic, that I was in her house last year, that i'm best friends with Harry, and what the hell was he thinking?

"I'm hostile because I sent you an owl on Friday because I was locked out of the house. I still am. Luckily for me, Hermione's parents allowed me to go to their house that day, and I was there today again. I had to deal with going to the Parkinson's and then Diagon Alley to sleep."

"The Leaky Cauldron? Oh darling, I'm so sorry!" she says, suddenly changing her tune. Draco looks surprised, and then "Wait. You went to her home? But doesn't that mean…" she looks horrified at whatever prospect she's thinking of.

"Yes, I went to Muggle London."

She gasps, her eyes loll to the back of the head, and scarily, she faints. Draco quickly stands up, screeching his chair against the marble.

Several people at different tables make a ruckus about her safety, and luckily her future husband has caught her from tumbling to the floor. The staff come rushing over to the scene, and Draco's step-grandparents rush over to help.

Draco looks at me, still sitting and very uneasy, and walks over to grab my hand to gently squeeze it before going over to his Mom.

"Fuck."