Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to I was BOTWP, siewchee12345, Maramalolz, fuzzy6, the Guest reviewer, booklover19a, annalyciareads, and cmtaylor531 for your reviews. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that people are enjoying this fic. This chapter is somewhat banal and fluffy at the end, but rest assured... angst and real-live plot coming shortly. I can't help myself.

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The Floo activated unexpectedly and Hermione's head shot up. Draco was storming from the fireplace, fists clenched at his sides. He stopped in front of her and accused, "You're not sick."

Hermione glared at him. A second whoosh of the Floo signaled the arrival of Harry, now burdened with a large bag full of jars containing potion ingredients. She turned her ire toward her friend, who was apologetic, "Sorry, 'Mione. I told him you weren't feeling well, but he didn't believe me."

"Because you aren't sick," Draco repeated, jabbing a finger in her direction accusingly.

They both knew it was a lie, but Hermione didn't feel she needed to affirm that.

"I don't believe I invited you into my flat, Malfoy," Hermione said tersely.

Draco's eyes narrowed, taking note that she'd reverted back to calling him by his surname. "Don't avoid me. Talk."

It was difficult to look properly angry and intimidating while wearing sweatpants and an oversized Chudley Cannons t-shirt, but Hermione managed. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously, "I don't have any desire to talk to you. I don't even really want to see you."

Harry's eyes were watchful, taking in the brewing storm that seemed to be swirling through the room. Hanging back, he began arranging the potion ingredients collected from the Manor's extensive stores on the kitchen counter, trying not to make himself too prominent. Hermione was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, this he knew.

Draco seemed to be holding his own against the imminent danger, for now. His fist unclenched, then clenched again. "So that's how it's going to be, is it?"

Hermione could sense a kindling sensation in the fundamental part of her being that tended to react to Draco – but instead of greeting his like it usually did, the essence seemed to be crackling with electicity, ready to lash out in open war. She could feel a flame of acrimony from Draco in response. The room spun and suddenly nothing else in the vicinity existed any longer but the battle in front of them.

So he wants to fight fire with fire, does he?

They both seemed to have completely forgotten about Harry.

The Chudley Cannons shirt – one of Ron's, with an unraveled hem – slid to the side, revealing the entirety of one shoulder. With conviction, Hermione stated calmly, "You're never going to be anything other than an utter arsehole, Malfoy."

"I tried to tell you that, more than once," Draco snarled. "It's not any fault of mine that you've chosen not to listen."

"So you get to just leave whenever it suits you?"

"I promised you nothing!"

"Good – because I wouldn't consider a promise you made to be worth a heap of sewage." Hermione snatched her wand from her nightstand and fidgeted with it as though she were contemplating the best hex to use on him. Then, so softly it was almost unintelligible, "I can't do this if last night is how you're going to act every time we get close."

Harry's jaw fell open. Hermione was in a relationship of some kind with Malfoy. Malfoy! Of all people! Harry had asked her about it so many times and she'd repeatedly denied it for so long that he'd really started to believe her.

Eyeing the couple before him, Harry thought, What's more shocking? The fact that they're openly admitting there's something between them? Or the fact that Malfoy isn't running as fast as he can in the other direction when Hermione is glaring at him like a basilisk?

Then Draco exploded, "I'm sorry!"

No… that's definitely the most shocking part, Harry thought in awe, eyes wide.

"You're sorry," Hermione repeated slowly, crossing her arms, "sorry for what, exactly?"

"I'm sorry I'm a stubborn arsehole. I'm sorry I don't have anything to promise you. I'm sorry I ever got you involved in any of my shite. I'm sorry I left." The silence was borderline cacophony and Draco could feel it ringing in his ears as he took a deep breath and sighed out the last bit, "You should know, Malfoys don't apologize... and I've just done it five times, so please just… give me another chance."

Harry's eyes were round as saucers. He glanced at the clock. You weren't supposed to be able to tell the time when you were dreaming, but the clock clearly read 10:08, so he had to conclude this was actual reality.

Hermione regarded Draco with blatant distrust. "I'm a Mudblood, remember?"

"You're not," he insisted, "you're really not, Hermione."

Harry apparently wasn't done having his world rocked yet today.

"Prove it to me that you really think that way," she challenged, still fiddling with her wand in her fingers as though she hadn't given up on hexing him after all.

"How?"

Hermione thought long and hard. What would be a way for Draco to prove he didn't think he was better than the rest of the world because he was a pureblood? He certainly looked apologetic and his words seemed sincere, but it was hard to trust him when he'd left her the way he had the previous night. It brought back memories of Ron's abandonment, months ago now. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, banishing that thought to a dusty, unused portion of her heart.

"Come to the theatre with me and my parents tomorrow. It's a Muggle play in Muggle London. If you can put your ridiculously medieval prejudices behind you for a few hours, you might even enjoy yourself."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her, looking incredibly Lucius-like as he did so. Heaven forbid, Hermione thought inwardly. He stared at her for a long while, then sighed, "I don't know how to act like a Muggle."

"You will be just fine," she snapped irritably, "it isn't even that different, and it's only the theatre, so it's mostly sitting and watching."

Draco reviewed the scenario in his mind. He really was sorry he'd left like he had, though he wasn't sure he was ready to take their almost-relationship to that level quite yet. He also instinctively knew that this was the only chance she was going to give him to redeem himself in her eyes. It had been a long battle for them just to be civil to one another. No, there was only one way to appease her, and that was to acquiesce.

He nodded, "Okay. I'll go."

Chewing on the corner of her lip for a moment, she added, "You also have to teach me Italian."

"Tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow, you daft idiot," she replied testily.

Draco frowned, "I don't see how that will prove anything."

"It will prove you can keep a promise, even a basic one."

Nodding, he followed her reasoning, "I can do that."

The fire and electricity sparking between them abated and the previously warring entities simmered into a relative calm. Draco's pushed out toward Hermione's, making an effort to wrap around her reassuringly like it liked to do, but hers resisted, pulling away.

Draco knew he hadn't won that battle yet, but it was a better than open war.

Harry cleared his throat loudly, making the two of them jump. Draco's face tinged a light pink while Hermione's remained clear and she glared at her friend. They had both forgotten he was there.

"Not a word from you, Harry," Hermione ordered imperiously.

It was a true mark of how little Harry wanted to get on her bad side that he didn't even argue. He avoided looking at Draco as much as possible.

Hermione tilted her chin upward and set her jaw in determination, marching over to the leather-bound book and the pewter cauldron on her kitchen counter. She thrust potion ingredients in front of the boys, tersely informing them of the instructions. Harry dutifully began to chop the daisy root into quarter-inch cubes, while Hermione spitefully gave Draco the task of stripping the leaves off of some stinging nettle. She busied herself in another section of the kitchen, measuring out some powdered asphodel and slicing some knotgrass.

"Is she always like this?" Draco muttered to Harry, cringing as the nettle left red welts on his fingers.

Harry appraised Draco for a moment, and they locked eyes. An unspoken agreement not to mention the argument passed between them. Harry returned his gaze to the daisy root. Hermione was a warrior, tested on the battlefield, and Harry knew just how perilous crossing her could be. With a small ripple of pride toward his friend, Harry informed his former nemesis, "That was nothing."

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After the initial ingredients had been added, much of the preparation of the potion was simply waiting. Harry opted to return home to Ginny, promising to stop by later, and while Draco tried to hang around, Hermione made it clear she didn't want him there. He left for the evening, promising to return the following day for the theatre.

Hermione spent much of her day immersing herself in work. Trimble had apologetically given her a particularly nasty assignment involving a fair bit of research and she threw herself into it. Anything was better than dwelling on Draco.

After dinner, Harry and Ron Floo'd over to check on the potion. Ron chatted amiably with his two best friends, a clear indication that Harry had not shared with him the fact that Hermione was involved with Draco. The three of them added the next set of ingredients once the potion became the correct shade of blue. It seemed to be brewing just as it ought.

"Hermione," Harry began, the moment Ron stepped out to use the loo, "about Malfoy…"

"I'm not interested in discussing it."

Harry frowned, "Just promise me you'll use protective enchantments on you and your family when you go out tomorrow. He might not be a threat to them, but let's not forget there's still a murderer on the loose."

"I will, I promise," she told him. Then in a lower tone, "Please don't tell Ron."

"I won't," he promised in return. His eyebrows contracted slightly when he queried, "Ginny?"

Hermione shook her head, "I'd like to tell her myself when I feel there's something to tell."

Harry paused. He had an odd look on his face when he commented, "Malfoy apologized to you."

"I remember."

He merely nodded, "That's good."

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When Draco stepped from the Floo into Hermione's flat the following afternoon – right on time – he tried to hide how nervous he was. The previous night had been a Hell of turmoil within himself that he struggled to keep buried under the conviction that he was going, and that was that. He'd spent the majority of the morning running through training exercises with the dogs, just so he'd have something to keep his mind occupied. It had only partially worked.

Draco had never met a Muggle before. He didn't know what to expect, and he felt sure he would muck something up. How was he to dress? How should he behave? Would he stick out?

Hermione had chosen a simple, black dress that had a high neckline, but a somewhat shorter hem, just above her knees. Half of her hair was braided back, and the other half hung free.

"You look great," he told her sincerely.

She merely glowered at him, silently taking in his clothing choice. He had decided on black slacks and an open jacket. His dark shirt underneath the jacket had a high collar, making him seem vaguely Victorian. He hadn't slicked his hair back like he often did and it looked soft, like down, framing his pale eyes.

Silently, Hermione thought he looked very handsome, but what she told him was, "I'm still angry with you."

He nodded. "I know."

"My parents are going to drive us to Shaftesbury Avenue. We're going to meet them at their house."

Draco lightly bit his bottom lip and asked the burning question, "What does… 'driving' entail?"

"We're taking a car," Hermione explained.

"Are those the things Muggles race around in on streets?"

"Yes," she replied. She noticed his brow was knit in worry and couldn't help but soften slightly. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she kissed him lightly on the cheek, "You'll be fine."

"What do I call your parents?" he wanted to know.

"Dr. and Dr. Granger? Mr. and Mrs. Granger? David and Katherine? I'm not really sure. Any of those is fine."

"Your parents are doctors?"

"Actually, they're dentists." Draco's face remained blank. Hermione sighed and explained, "They attend to peoples' teeth."

"Oh." Draco still seemed confused, but there were plenty of questions to ask. "Do they know about me?"

That one seemed to be causing him the most amount of consternation. Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction that he was nervous. "I've told them about you, and yes, they know you bullied me relentlessly throughout Hogwarts. But they don't know about your involvement with Voldemort. We don't really talk about the War. Come on, or we'll be late. You can Side-Along Apparate with me."

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Fifteen minutes later, David Granger was driving the four of them into London in his new sedan. Katherine was chatting animatedly about a patient she'd had to deal with that week and Draco was relatively silent, wide eyes taking in the landscape flying by outside the car's window.

Hermione had introduced Draco to her parents as her friend, and he'd been doing great so far. It helped that he'd been raised to have impeccable manners, although he had been unusually quiet.

"So, Draco," David began from the driver's seat, "what do you do?"

"Do?" Draco queried, his head snapping up from the window.

"For work."

Hermione laughed inwardly, wondering how he would answer that question. She knew for a fact he mostly sat on bank accounts while they accrued interest.

"I'm an investor, mostly. I also sit on the director's board at the Ministry for the Department of Magical Secrecy," he responded.

"That sounds like an important job for someone so young," Katherine commented. "What exactly do you do there?"

Draco launched into an explanation of how he attended meetings to listen to proposals for laws, met with ambassadors from other countries, and attended social gatherings to seal inter-departmental relationships. "My Father also had an extensive network of investments. I've been combing through them for years, making decisions on what exactly I want to keep putting money into."

"And your Father helps you with this?" David wanted to know, intrigued.

Draco paused a moment, "My parents are dead."

This wasn't strictly-speaking true, but Hermione cast him a quick look of approval in his choice of words. She wasn't sure she wanted to explain the Dementor's Kiss to her parents.

"But you're so young," Katherine tutted, warming to him at this admission.

Hermione was surprised – but pleased – when Draco started to ease out of his shell. He asked the Grangers what being a dentist entailed, and had a lot of questions about cars that David was happy to answer.

The drive was a little over an hour, but it seemed to fly by. Draco was fascinated by all the dials on the dashboard of the car, especially the radio. He'd never been exposed to Muggle music before.

"Just in time," David said, pulling into a parking space. "We've got twenty minutes to walk to the theatre and find our seats."

"This is a tradition we do every year," Katherine informed Draco. "The Queen's Theatre at Shaftesbury Avenue. Have you ever been to the theatre?"

"Not a Muggle one," he admitted, "but I'm quite familiar with the concept."

"It's nice to have some traditions," Katherine said as they made their way down the street and toward the theatre, where others were gathering.

If you only knew the ones his family had, Hermione thought darkly to herself.

"We tried to take Hermione skiing once… thought it would make a lovely annual trip…"

David laughed, "But Hermione has all the coordination of a platypus."

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, embarrassed.

Draco smirked, looking curious. "What's skiing?"

This led into a long description about strapping strips of fiberglass to your feet and sliding quickly down a snow-covered mountain. Draco looked incredulous that anyone would do such a thing, but responded good-naturedly, "Having seen Hermione on a broom, I can attest that her coordination is somewhat less than satisfactory."

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"It was very nice to meet you, Draco," Katherine smiled once they'd returned to the Grangers' house.

"Thank you for taking me," he answered, manners flawless. Once he'd overcome his initial nervousness, he'd quickly realized that manners in the wizarding world were almost exactly the same as they were in the Muggle world. The Grangers' lifestyle – while frustrating in many ways, especially in how long transportation took – was not savage as he'd always been led to believe.

Katherine added, "I hope you won't be a stranger."

"Mum," Hermione warned.

"What?" Mrs. Granger demanded, rounding on her daughter. "It was nice to discover you have some friends with manners."

Draco snickered.

"Very handsome, too, Mr. Malfoy."

"Mum!"

"Katherine, why don't we say goodnight?" David suggested, noting the deep flush that had appeared on his daughter's face and the smug expression on Draco's. "It was nice meeting you, Draco. We will see you soon, Hermione."

Hermione snaked her arm through Draco's and Side-Along Apparated him back to her flat. The potion was giving off a subtle earthy smell that permeated their noses.

"Sorry about that," Hermione apologized, her color still high from her mother's commentary.

"Do your parents consider that a date?" Draco questioned thoughtfully, thinking back to all the chaperoned outings he'd gone on with Astoria.

"That would be so embarrassing…"

"Why? Your Mother seems rather taken with me," he smirked.

"I think you're just more… what they expected me to bring around, rather than, well, Ron," she admitted.

His smirk deepened, "So what you're saying is I'm your type?"

Hermione laughed before lying, "Definitely not."

He raised a pale eyebrow at her, already leaning in toward her as he whispered, "You are a terrible liar."

Pressing a light kiss onto her lips, he broke away after a quick moment. He didn't want to push his luck by trying for more.

Mollified, Hermione smiled at him. This was a good start. "We should check the potion. If it's the right shade of green, it's supposed to be ready in two hours."