CHAPTER ELEVEN

One of Hermione's favorite Friday night rituals—when she wasn't out with friends or working—was to curl up on her comfy sofa after dinner with a book and a glass of wine. She often ended up falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning, her finger holding her place in the middle of a chapter.

This Friday night would be no exception. Hermione had a quiet dinner alone, poured herself a glass of her favorite wine, and got situated for a long evening of quiet reading. Not three pages into the book, however, she found herself getting distracted. She tried again, taking a sip of wine.

Four more attempts were made, but her mind kept wandering to her conversation with Pansy earlier that day. It was like she enjoyed the additional pain, wondering if Draco and Astoria had indeed laughed at her expense, as though she herself hefted a giant salt shaker and poured the usually harmless compound on the gaping wound that was her heart.

It simply wouldn't do to spend her whole night thinking about how Draco had wronged her—yet again.

When she forced her thoughts in a different direction, they went immediately to a pot in her third cabinet from the sink that just wouldn't fit right. She had fought with the pot for as long as she'd lived there, had considered rearranging her entire kitchen in an effort to make everything fit.

After finding herself thinking about the spice drawer, Hermione gave up trying to read. She took her wine glass into the kitchen and started pulling everything out of its place.

About two hours later, when all of her pots, pans, dishes, glasses, mugs, and other various kitchenware were scattered not just on her kitchen counters but the dining table and living room as well, someone knocked on her door. At first, she just stared incredulously, wondering who could possibly have such rotten timing.

All of her friends except Ginny were accounted for as far she knew, and she doubted that Ginny was sitting around alone on a Friday night, bored enough to come to her house.

The visitor knocked again. Hermione had no choice but to stop in the middle of what she was doing, fret for an instant about her appearance, and answer the door.

Hermione had numerous wards placed on her flat, and none of them had been tripped by the arrival of this person, so she didn't bother to see who it was before opening.

She recognized him instantly, and held the door open only a few inches, just enough to see. Warily, she gave him her best go-away look.

Draco's anxious eyes met hers, then took in her slightly unkempt form. His expression remained impassive.

After a few moments of staring, he asked, "Are you going to invite me in?"

"I wasn't planning on it," she quipped without a thought. "Why?"

"It's generally held to be common courtesy," he replied flatly. "When someone arrives on your doorstep, they typically don't wish to carry on a conversation in a hallway."

Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she barely registered his sarcasm. She certainly didn't respond to it. The last thing she wanted was to have this conversation. She already knew what he was going to say. "What do you want?"

"To talk," he said, sighing heavily. "I've been trying to speak with you all week at work, but you're suddenly impossible to find."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Speaking of which, how do you know where I live?" As she asked the question, she realized the answer.

"Pansy," he replied.

"Of course," Hermione whispered. Then, in a regular voice, she said, "Whatever you have to say to me you can say from right there. I don't see why walls around us are required."

Draco glowered. "Stop being so stubborn, Hermione. Let me in or I'll simply Vanish the door."

The set of his jaw and the determination in his eyes told Hermione he would stop at nothing to achieve his aim. Since she rather preferred having a door, she stepped back, letting it swing wide.

Without sparing him another glance, she returned to the kitchen and resumed her task.

Draco stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching her wearily. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked.

He glanced around the rooms behind him and the kitchen. "Making a spectacular mess."

Hermione scoffed. "I am rearranging my kitchen." She made no efforts to be quiet as she stacked pots and plates. At that moment, actually, she was too nervous and discombobulated to do anything useful. The banging was merely to let him know just how unwelcome he was and possibly annoy him.

It worked.

"Do you mind?" he finally asked. "I want to, you know, talk to you. Not shout over all this racket, only to have you ask me to repeat myself. Repeatedly."

"Well, you should have thought of that before you just knocked on my door at ten in the evening," she snipped. "What did you think I would be doing?"

"Honestly? Reading," he answered, scraping something off her wall with his fingernail.

Hermione reached over and slapped his hand away. He gave her a surprised look, which she simply ignored.

"Would you just … come out here so we can talk?" he asked, exasperated.

"I don't have anything to say," she said haughtily. "I don't need to hear what you're going to say. I get it already."

Draco scowled. "I highly doubt that."

When she still didn't respond or move to comply, Draco entered the kitchen, grabbed her wrist, and pulled slightly so she would look at him. "I am not leaving here until we've talked. If you insist on being so bloody stubborn and finishing this … this project, let me know. I'll go sit on the sofa until you're done. Even if I have to wait all weekend."

She glared at him and shook his hand off, ignoring the delightful tingles the contact sent down her spine. "Fine." After setting down what was in her hand—loudly, of course—she stalked past him out of the kitchen.

Once in the living room, she sat primly in the armchair, crossed her ankles, and waited.

He started pacing quickly in front of her windows, brow furrowed. Then he suddenly stopped and looked at her. "Why did you say what you said?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the question. She had imagined this conversation in her head so many times she could practically say it all for him. His question wasn't in the approved script. "What do you mean?"

"You-you say this-this thing, this big, huge … thing, and then you run away." He huffed impatiently, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Did you want me to come after you? What were you hoping to accomplish?"

All right. Not the direction she'd expected at all. Uneasy at his line of questioning, Hermione dropped the attitude. "I … nothing. I don't know, I just thought I should tell you." She hadn't really given any thought to what she'd expected after telling him. There had been no need to speculate.

"You thought you should tell me," he repeated, agitated.

"I thought it would be good for me," she said. "That it would help me get over you."

He scowled. "Did you ever stop to consider what your declaration might do to me? How it might affect me?"

"What? No!" she blurted, then felt her cheeks redden. "I mean, I—"

"You mean you didn't." He shook his head. "You just did what you thought was best for you without sparing a single brain cell on what might be best for me!"

"I'm under no obligation to consider what's best for you," she argued, getting upset because he was upset. "You're getting married soon, so what do you care what I say?"

"I care, Hermione," he said through gritted teeth. "And I apologize; I interrupted. You were about to tell me that you never once thought about how your announcement would affect me."

She clenched her fists. "It's not that, Draco. I already knew that it wouldn't affect you. I didn't think you would care. I never meant to tell you that way, but I thought I had to tell you at some point before it was too late, even though it didn't matter when I told you. For my own sanity."

He stared at her. "You honestly thought that telling me you loved me wouldn't affect me in any way. I would just like to be clear on this."

"Yes," she said stubbornly. "Why would it? You had no problems leaving me before."

Draco glared. "What do you mean, before?"

"That night," she bit out. Merlin help her, she'd mentioned their one-night stand.

He instantly paled. "I didn't leave."

"Yes, you did," she argued.

"No, I specifically remember not leaving," he snapped.

"When I woke up, you were gone!" she exclaimed. "Gone, just … vanished. I'm almost certain that constitutes leaving."

Draco's anger seemed to deflate a little. "I went to get breakfast."

"In your tux robes?" she bellowed. "Your cufflinks were gone, Draco. Did you need to be dressed to the nines to fetch a couple pieces of toast? You were gone, what did you expect me to think?"

"I left you a note," he said, his tone clipped.

Hermione scowled further. "A note? I didn't see any note."

"It was right by the door!" he cried. "How could you have missed it?"

"I didn't see a note!" she repeated vehemently.

"That doesn't mean it wasn't there!" Draco reached into his pockets and pulled out a very worn piece of parchment, folded eight times into a very tight square. "See for yourself."

Hermione took a shuddering breath and accepted the missive. With shaking hands, she opened it, sinking onto the sofa to read.

Hermione,

Though I will never regret what we shared last night and will cherish it forever, it's not the way I prefer to start a relationship. I hope I haven't misinterpreted your actions these few weeks, but upon my return I will be asking you to join me tonight for dinner. A proper first date, if you'll have me.

Yours,

Draco

She had tears in her eyes when she finished reading. "You carry this with you?" she whispered, gingerly folding it again. When she held it out to him, he told her to keep it.

"It's to you, after all."

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, yet Hermione was aware of the slow movement of the moonlight across the coffee table.

"When I returned," he continued quietly, "you were gone. I assumed you didn't want me."

"I did," she breathed, tears obstructing her vision as she gazed at him with fresh admiration and love, as well as shame and regret. "I had hoped you would ask me out, but when you were gone, I … I thought I was just a game to you. That you were bored and thought it would be amusing to seduce me."

Draco scowled deeply at her. "You thought so little of me?"

She buried her face in her hands and cried for the hundredth time since her confession. When the seat depressed beside her, she glanced up and scooted away.

"Please, don't cry," he murmured, awkwardly trying to comfort her but not knowing what to do or if she'd welcome it. "I can't stand seeing you like this."

"I can't believe … you wanted me, too." It was a sick twist of fate to learn they'd both wanted the same thing and that mutual misunderstanding—more so on her part—had kept them apart and possibly prevented them from being happy together. Fresh tears fell when she realized she might have been married to him for years.

Hermione didn't want to welcome his gesture of comfort, but she didn't want him to leave, either.

He moved away toward the other end of the couch and faced forward, clasping his hands with his elbows on his knees. "The next time I saw you was at the Christmas party that year. You looked so happy, dancing on some bloke's arm …. All I could think about was ripping his arms off."

"That's … unpleasant," she said. Then she remembered what Pansy had said about Draco at that particular party. He'd taken a bet with Blaise that he could sleep with three women before the end of the night. Was it possible he'd done it because he was hurting?

"I don't know why—I have tried so hard to understand it—but you stuck," Draco told her. "I couldn't get you out of my head. I tried … a lot of things. Nothing worked, but eventually, you receded to a dull ache I could ignore most of the time."

She nodded numbly. "I know what you mean."

"I was livid when we ended up in the same group." He chuckled ruefully. "I wanted to quit. I'd discovered that the best way to cope was to hate you whenever I was reminded of you, or when someone mentioned you or said your name. The fire would flare, and I'd hate you in my head until I was left with that dull ache."

"Me too."

He sent her a sideways look. "But that first day, when you were nice and even asked about Astoria …. I knew right then I was in deep trouble. I don't know what it is about you, but you drive me crazy."

Draco paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "But I couldn't stop. I wanted to talk to you, to see you smile. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stay away. When you were hurt …." He shook his head. "I was in a bad way. When I thought you might be dead, everything else faded. Nothing mattered but pulling one rock off another until I saw you."

He turned in the seat now to face her and reached for her hand. Startled, she let him take it, but remained in her spot. So Draco moved closer.

"I realized that day how much I cared about you. That you meant more to me than any other person in my life. I wanted to leave Astoria and kidnap you and never let you go, no matter what you said, no matter how much you didn't want me."

Still numb, she met his gaze. His eyes were intense, full of every emotion she'd wished to see directed at her.

Draco hesitantly brought his hand up to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the contact, now certain she was dreaming. This couldn't be happening, not really. He wasn't sitting beside her, holding her hand, telling her things he shouldn't be saying. When he started gently running his thumb over her skin, she shuddered at the sensation.

"I hated you."

Her eyes flew open, and she pulled away, stunned. "You what?" She tried to retrieve her hand, but he held it tightly.

"I hated you after you got hurt," he continued. "I couldn't stand the way you made me feel. I was on a track that had been long laid before me. Granted, I was a bit late in the whole marriage department, but it wasn't a huge delay. Then you came along, beautiful and funny and everything I could only imagine, throwing a huge boulder on the track."

She raised an eyebrow at his analogy, and he laughed softly. She frowned. "That's why you ignored me."

"It is," he admitted. "Those were some of the hardest days of my life, but I was determined not to let my feelings for you ruin what I had planned."

"Astoria." Hermione made a face like she'd just tasted something bitter.

Draco sighed and dragged his free hand through his hair. "Astoria. Can we talk about her another time?"

"Why not now?" she asked.

"I'm just not ready for that," he replied. "All you need to know right now is that I did love her, in a way. I was resigned to an unspectacular life with a woman I had little in common with. She was very good to me, and we'd have been just fine together. With you …."

Draco brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"I didn't understand your relationship with her," Hermione told him, surprised she could speak. "How you could work all the time, and she was okay with it. And Pansy told me a few things that troubled me. But it was none of my business."

"When my mother pestered me about settling down, I was to the point where I didn't care. I'd given up on finding happiness and just wanted her off my back." He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. "It's not the best way to go about life, but that's what happened."

Hermione turned to face him, pulling one leg onto the sofa and taking both his hands in hers. "Now what?"

He chuckled. "Now … Astoria and I have a lot of gifts to return."

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time they were tears of joy. "You mean it? You broke it off?"

"Almost two weeks ago," he informed her. "The day after the pub. I went away with my parents to our lake house and told them everything. They were surprisingly supportive of my decision and my reasons. When I told them about you … well, Mother was just happy at the thought of me being happy."

Hermione frowned. "Two weeks ago? But … I just spoke with Pansy about her today!" The memory also reminded her of what Draco had done. She released his hands and folded her arms.

"What about her?" Draco asked, slightly tense.

"Did you tell Astoria what I said?" Hermione began, giving him the chance to confess up front.

He frowned. "At the pub? No, why would I?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Then how did she know?"

His eyes widened. "She knows? I don't know how, I certainly didn't tell her."

"Then how does she know?" she repeated more emphatically.

"I have no idea! Why would I tell her?" he demanded. "Do you really think I did?"

"I didn't see any other explanation." The entire evening was surreal. It was hard to believe that only moments before, she had been moved by his tender words.

Draco gaped at her. "Did you consider the fact that there were other people there?"

She rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt my friends ran off and told your fiancée what happened."

"Blaise was there," Draco pressed, "and I doubt he'd have given it a second thought. Not to mention all of the people sitting around us. We weren't exactly whispering in our little game."

"Why would he tell?" Hermione asked.

"He's sleeping with Daphne," Draco supplied without pause. "Has been for ten years. He'd do anything to please her. Giving her sister that information would probably fall into that category."

"But Daphne's married!" she exclaimed with a gasp. "Does Theo know? And Blaise is with Ginny!"

Draco shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if Theo knew … approved … participated, even. As for Ginny, I don't know what to tell you. I know Blaise has fancied her for a very long time, so maybe Daphne was just filler."

Hermione shook her head. "Poor Ginny."

"I don't know if he's done it while with her," Draco advised. "It's possible he's been faithful."

"Then he wouldn't have told Astoria," Hermione reasoned. "He was with Ginny before then."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Who cares how she found out?"

"I care," she said through gritted teeth.

Draco took several deep breaths, then took her hands in his, refusing her attempts to prevent it. "Please listen to me. I did not tell Astoria what you said. Even if I didn't feel the same way, I wouldn't have done that to you. You were my friend at the very least, and I respect you too much."

"Feel the same way?" she repeated, her breath hitching in her throat. "About what?"

"You," he said determinedly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all night. All week. At least, I'd hoped you would let me tell you."

She eyed him hopefully. "Really?"

"Really, you stubborn woman." He chuckled. "Hermione, I'm going to kiss you now. I've been wanting to kiss you for two bloody months. Every time we were in an enclosed space, I wanted to kiss you. Lift rides were the worst; they're so small. And the time we took the Visitor's Entrance I thought I would explode. You have no idea—"

She cut him off then, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him toward her. Then she placed her hands on his face, arching her body so that she was touching him in as many places as possible.

Draco responded fervently, threading one hand through her hair and wrapping the other around her waist. The kiss was fierce and frenzied, years of pent-up frustration and desire bursting forth like a volcano, focused on the points where their lips tested and teased and danced.

When his tongue met hers, she moaned with delight, and he carefully, gently, lowered her to the sofa.

"I've imagined this moment for years," he confessed, trailing scorching kisses down her neck. "You have haunted my dreams."

"Shirt … Off," she gasped, tugging at the thin fabric that stood between her hands and his bare skin.

He sat up to comply, and Hermione pulled her shirt off too. His eyes roved hungrily over her body, and she thought he would kiss her again, but he just continued staring.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever beheld," he murmured. "I-I want to do this right this time."

"Oh, it was right last time, too," she assured him, grabbing his neck and pulling him down. "Very, very right."

Draco smirked. "Good to know. But … I need you to know something."

"What?" Less talking, more snogging, she wanted to shout.

"I don't want to be your friend." He chastely kissed her forehead. "I don't want to be a one-night off." He kissed her nose. "I don't want to be the one you call when something better didn't work out."

She started to protest, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips, then kissed her bare shoulder.

His voice was low and smooth as he spoke, his lips hovering just above her skin. His warm breath sent shivers through her body with each word. "I want to be the one who makes you smile, laugh, scream—and I do mean in a good way—the one who challenges you, supports you, helps you reach your goals. I love you, Hermione Granger."

She was officially dreaming, so there was no harm in her response. "I love you, too," she whispered.

ooo

The next morning, Hermione awoke with a piece of parchment floating an inch in front of her face. The place beside her was empty, but she heard clanging and banging in the kitchen. Smiling, she took the letter out of the air and read.

Hermione,

I'm in the kitchen making breakfast. I'd like to take you to dinner tonight, if you'll have me. You'll notice my shirt is draped over the foot of the bed, my shoes are by the bedroom door, and the rest of my clothes are scattered all over the flat, wherever they landed last night.

Yours,

Draco

P.S. We're having waffles.

A/N: The dress Hermione wore to Draco's birthday dinner is from . a href=" blog_ "Dress/a.