Chapter 8

AN: Thank you all so much for your enthusiasm and interest in my story!

Winter 1998, London

"I. Hate. Flying."

Draco laughed as Hermione tipped off the back of the broom they had flown on together. The entire trip from Hogwarts to London, Hermione had clutched her arms around Draco's middle, terrified of falling off—or worse, making a fool out of herself.

"You have to admit, I'm a better flyer than Potter," Draco said while he dismounted.

The constant contest, Hermione thought, and rolled her eyes. "I'm not the best judge of that," she said.

"Well, then, you can just take my word for it."

Hermione was grateful that Draco had not once made a crack about the brave Gryffindor being afraid of flying. Humiliating her in the corridors among her peers was something the old Draco would have done. This Draco never defamed her. This Draco lifted her up and emboldened her to try new things, to face her fears and hesitations. Lately, Hermione had been a little too preoccupied with their physical activities to really see how different this Draco was from previous years. But now that they were outside of the castle walls, things were shifting into perspective.

She had always thought his gray eyes were cold, but now they seemed to always smile warmly at her. Sometimes that smile was kind, sometimes it was hungry, but it was always inviting and just for her.

Draco had deftly landed them in a back alley off Diagon Alley, but it took Hermione a moment to recognize which one—the one behind Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Her heart seized. She wasn't ready to be seen with Draco, not by anyone she knew, and certainly not by the Weasleys. Hermione tried to tell herself that it was because she wasn't ready to share the Draco she had come to admire with the world yet, but a larger part was shame. She was ashamed of her relationship with Draco. Her reaction earlier that morning to the reminder that he had been a Death Eater had been a clear indication that she was ashamed of him. Ashamed of herself for being involved with him. Revolving thoughts about Draco being branded—and what that meant for them—had filled her mind while they had flown to London. It had been a great way to distract herself from the discomfort of being airborne.

Hermione knew that if it had taken her this long to find the humanity in Draco, it would take the rest of the world an eon to see what she saw, if they even cared to. She also knew that the optics of their relationship were wonky—the "Gryffindor princess" with a Malfoy? Really? People were sure to think that he'd put her under the Imperius.

She glanced around the alley nervously. There was no one there, no one to see them. But that would change when they stepped out into Diagon Alley proper. It was bound to be bustling with Christmas shoppers. Draco shrank the broom and turned around to hand it over to Hermione, catching a glimpse of her face.

"Hermione?"

She dragged her gaze from the end of the alley to Draco. Her anxiety was instantly quelled by his gray pools. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Without so much as another word, Hermione kissed Draco gently. They broke apart, and she rested her forehead on his.

"I'm worried," Hermione said, surprising herself with such an intimate reveal.

"I know," Draco replied. "It'll be all right. We're here on an errand for Hogwarts; we're not holding hands and skipping down the Alley on a date, right?"

Hermione nodded, unsure of how they had come to be so tender with each other.

"It's all right that we don't want to share this with the world," Draco said, and all the guilt rushed out of Hermione in a large sigh of relief. This new Draco didn't even shame her for being ashamed.

—xxx—

Draco had known from the moment they had touched down in that back alley that Hermione was going to be caught up the implications of being seen in public with him. Draco tried not to take it personally. He knew he represented more than just himself—Voldemort, Death Eaters, pain, suffering, vanity, money, his father. It seemed that he had never just been Draco. Except when he was alone with Hermione. She had a way of mitigating the angst that was his constant state and allowing him to just be himself—flaws and strengths and haughty comebacks and all. It was refreshing. His life outside of their relationship was full of stares and whispers and accusations. Sometimes, when he and Hermione were lounging post-coital, he felt like she was the only one who had ever really seen him, understood who he was separate from the name he shared with his father. Even Pansy had difficulties sometimes separating Draco from his family, since she was so embroiled in her own. Slytherin dynasties had a way of entrancing you, forcing you to be part of the tribe and never an individual.

Draco knew that their outing to Diagon Alley had the potential to cause strife and embarrassment for Hermione. So he was going to keep his distance and focus on getting this errand for Hogwarts done. Hopefully, it wouldn't be prolonged to America, and instead he could whisk Hermione back to the castle to spend the rest of the holiday in his rooms.

They walked down the back alley, hearing the cacophony of Christmas shoppers echoing off the stone, preparing themselves to enter the fray. Slug & Jiggers was just around the corner from the library, only a couple of storefronts over. Draco felt Hermione tense as they approached Diagon Alley; she then inhaled sharply before they stepped out of the back alley. Draco didn't dare look at her, knowing that if he looked into her brown eyes, he would be compelled to kiss the fear out of her.

What was happening to him? Hermione suddenly was taking up so much more space in him than he had anticipated. And what he'd whispered before they'd flown away from the castle—the habitual masculinity that surged within Draco had been mortified he'd said that. He'd worried the entire trip to London if she'd heard him.

It's gotta be the shagging making me go haywire. He'd seen mates go crazy over witches, appearing to be wrapped around their fingers, doing everything they wanted. The boys would always tease them that it was because they were getting some. Draco was remiss to think he was so easily pliable that a little nookie would turn him to mush. Yet the alternative was also not something he was ready to entertain.

Hermione took charge, leading them through the crowds of shoppers huddled up in their coats, packages gently levitating and charmed to follow their owners. Draco dodged a large red box as it came barreling past them, rushing to keep up with its bobbing buyer. The noise was almost impossible for Draco to comprehend. His life was so quiet at Hogwarts, save for Hermione's moaning.

Diagon Alley at Christmastime had always been full of happy memories for Draco. His father and mother never let him go without. It wasn't that he was spoiled, but he was provided for. All right, maybe he had been spoiled just a bit. Most of his childhood, Draco was aware that not everyone lived like the Malfoys. This meant the Malfoys was better than everyone else. His father drilled the belief that to go without was something to be ashamed of. But what Draco hadn't realized was that he had gone without plenty during his childhood, those things were just not material.

Christmastime in Diagon Alley was not just about getting what he desired, but also spending time with his mother. His father usually tried to avoid crowds of people when he could, preferring not to compete for attention. His father did not blend in. His father preferred to stand out. Lucius was a peacock. So, when it came time to brave the hordes of Christmastime shoppers in Diagon Alley, his father usually opted to stay at home, leaving Draco and his mother to enjoy the outing just the two of them.

Narcissa would walk gracefully through the crowds, her hands gloved in only the finest leather and each shopkeeper personally greeting her kindly hoping that Mrs. Malfoy would drop a nice knut in their store. As Draco got older, he imagined the shopkeepers being grateful that Narcissa had come alone, as she was much kinder than her husband. Just as formidable, but kind nonetheless. Unlike his father, Draco's mother would ask for Draco's opinion when making decisions or allow Draco the agency to make purchases himself. Draco often felt the best parts of his personality shined when being nurtured by his mother. They would often spend most of the day leisurely shopping, stopping to have tea, then more shopping, then lunch, more shopping, and sometimes Narcissa would be unable to say no to an afternoon treat from Sugarplum's Sweet Shop.

Draco was sorry that he was missing this precious time with his mother, and that he had stolen away for the past year, licking his wounds alone in the Diagon Alley library or in the Manor's library. He had barely spoken to his mother in the last year—something he had just realized probably hurt her as much, if not more, than it was currently hurting him.

Overcome with sudden guilt that crashed over him like a tsunami, Draco stopped, causing shoppers to part around him in their hustle. He felt paralyzed by the noise and the people and the guilt.

Hermione walked a couple of steps past him before realizing he wasn't near her anymore and turning around to spot him. When her eyes found his, she sighed and came rushing back to him.

"Malfoy?"

All Draco could do was stare at her. When he didn't respond, Hermione stepped closer and mumbled a muffling spell around them. The noise from the crowd softened.

"Draco, are you all right?"

Draco nodded, feeling better with Hermione's closeness. She peered at him, trying to figure out what he was lying about.

"Clearly, you're not," Hermione said. Draco shook his head once, indicating he couldn't talk about it. "Do you want to go back to the alley and wait for me, or meet me in the library? Some place a little quieter?"

Draco shook his head again. Draco was very aware of people beginning to stare at him—at them. His anxiety mounted as he realized the awkwardness and shame this would cause Hermione. But she seemed unphased while she nodded her head. She kept the muffling charm up as they continued to make their way slowly to Slug & Jiggers.

—xxx—

Hermione exited Slug & Jiggers feeling miffed. She and Draco had been unable to convince the shopkeeper to commit to buying the lot of Mandrake essence, and Hermione had a strong distaste for failure. She had such little practice, that sometimes when it occurred it would sneak up on her, catching her off-guard, which made it worse since then she couldn't even prepare for failure.

She huffed a little in the cold and heard Draco exit the shop behind her, with a little farewell to the shopkeeper as he closed the door behind him.

"What a sodding prick," Draco said quietly as he came up beside Hermione. They were pressed up against the storefront as the hordes of shoppers streamed by them. The hour they had spent in the shop had not diminished the crowd.

"Off to the American Embassy now?" Hermione asked, catching someone staring at her as they walked past, four small children in tow.

"I guess," Draco replied. "Can we make a stop first, Granger?"

"Sure," Hermione said, hoping he meant for some hot chocolate and biscuits. She could use some soft silence sipping on sweetness. And perhaps it would be even sweeter if she could sit next to Draco.

Wait, what?

Draco nodded and led the way. Hermione's mind mulled over her feelings as they walked only two storefronts down, coming up on the white marble stairs of the Diagon Alley Global Magical Library branch. The building was magnificent between two piddling stores, dwarfing them with its tall façade. The white marble came off as sterile, but the invitation to the library was in the details.

It had been hard for Hermione's scientific and rational mind to grasp the meaning of getting her owl at age eleven. Even when her parents had taken her to Diagon Alley, and they had gone to Gringotts to exchange their Muggle currency so they could purchase what Hermione would need for her first year, it had still seemed silly. Like she had been invited to join a cult of people who just dressed up and pretended magic existed. But even her parents were buying it!

Sure, there had been weird instances throughout her childhood she had never been able to explain. When she was younger, she remembered her parents finding fanciful ways to explain what she had done or why something odd had happened around her. But the older she got and the more she became aware of her surroundings, the less sense her parents' explanations made. Sometimes animals would come talk to her, even though Hermione knew she was not a Disney princess. Sometimes things she wanted from across the room would come zooming over to her, landing at her feet or once hitting her square in the face. One time, some kids at her primary school had been making fun of her (for what, she couldn't remember now), but the next thing she'd known, everyone on the playground was screaming and a slide was on fire.

Hermione knew what people whispered about her—that she was odd and strange and peculiar. Her parents did what they could to insulate her from the prying and judging eyes of the outside world, but it was really up to Hermione, who was determined to find a way to make all the nonsense stop. Once done with her homework, Hermione would spend hours in the library reading whatever she could to determine if anything that was happening to her had happened to someone else. The only similarities she ever found were in fantasy books.

Since her life was real and not fantasy, Hermione began a strict regimen to attempt to control herself. By age nine, Hermione had found a way to not let her emotions get the best of her, which she had determined was the crux of her weirdness through careful charting on graph paper her father had bought for her. By the time she turned ten, Hermione had not had an incident for over a year. Hermione was never sure what her parents thought about it all, but she was beyond relieved. She imagined they were too.

But then Dumbledore's owl came and turned her world completely upside down. Rationally and logically, Hermione and her parents knew that magic was not real. It could not be. Magic was performed on a stage with tricky mechanics behind it. Magic was part of stories about other realms that humans would never find in real life. Magic was made up.

But magic was also the perfect explanation for all the odd things Hermione had done as a child. The book that had zoomed into her hand at the age of four when an older kid had stolen it from her in the library reading room. Magic. The chocolate cake that had replaced the carrot cake when Hermione had been at a classmate's birthday party but no one had thought to ask if anyone was allergic to carrots. Magic.

It wasn't until Hermione and her parents had passed the Diagon Alley branch of the Global Magical Library on their way to Rosa Lee Teabag before their final stop at Ollivander's that the magic seemed anything other than otherworldly. Hermione had asked her parents if she could go into the library while they had tea. Always encouraging and supportive, her parents had been more than happy to let Hermione venture into the library to explore her new world.

It wasn't until she was surrounded by the boundless shelves of spines that Hermione believed in magic. She knew magic existed because she was witness to it within herself. Walking amidst the titles like Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Hogwarts a History, Quintessence: A Quest, The Toadstool Tales, House-Elves & Self-Hatred, Abracadabra: An A-Z of Spooky Spells,that Hermione knew magic was real. Even at eleven, Hermione knew that books would always convince her, comfort her, and lead her home.

Hermione followed Draco up the white stone stairs, so intrigued with what he wanted in the library that she could feel the disgrace of their failure at the apothecary's slipping off her. The stairs were shallow and wide, flanked by Doric columns with bases made out of stacks of books. Over the years, Hermione had realized that the titles carved into the spines of the books were charmed to change. The columns gave way to the entrance, where the white marble yawned over a set of dark purple wooden doors topped with charmed white marble unicorns that neighed softly in welcome.

Between the unicorns, a message was carved into the marble: "All who enter here be quiet yet curious."

Draco opened one of the heavy doors for Hermione, but she decided to open the other door herself. She glanced back at him in flirtation to find him wearing raised eyebrows and a smirk.

Hermione ambled through the entryway and an interesting spine immediately caught her eye, causing her to turn down an aisle and begin meandering. The shelves of the Diagon Alley Global Magical Library were arranged in a labyrinth, each turning at odd angles that one never paid attention to until they had found all the knowledge they had wanted and realized they were lost within the stacks. Older readers were able to Apparate to the circulation desk when they got lost. Younger readers could send up little sparks and a librarian would come rescue them from the twists of the labyrinth. Curious readers would try to find their way out of the labyrinth, which changed occasionally to keep everyone on their toes.

—xxx—

Draco watched Hermione wander off in silent wonder. If he knew one thing about Hermione Granger, it was that libraries and books were healing for her. Draco had come to the same realization after spending so much time in the Diagon Alley Global Magical Library branch, and in the Manor's library in the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. He had avoided the library during his previous years at Hogwarts, usually because the private library in the Slytherin Dungeon was chockful of anything he could need to reference, and Severus had kept him well-stocked with all sorts of reading material. Almost every time he met his godfather outside of class, Severus would hand young Draco a book and tell him they would discuss it over tea on Sunday—their time to spend together while Draco was at school. Draco would walk the halls to Severus' private rooms adjacent to the Potions dungeon and his office, usually eager to have heated dialogue about the topic of the book. Severus rarely deigned to talk about the happenings of Hogwarts with him during this time, even when Draco had nearly begged him to reveal any secrets. That was something Draco admired deeply about his godfather—something his father never seemed to encapsulate. His father was always willing to gossip and spread lies to advance his status in society, to obtain power over someone or in a situation. When he was younger, Draco didn't understand why Severus wasn't more like his father; why he didn't attempt to gain more power at Hogwarts by using information against others. When he was a little older, Draco found the steady, domineering power Severus had at Hogwarts was all the power Draco could want. There was no need for pompousness in order to earn respect.

Now, having seen everything that he had, Draco didn't want power at all. He didn't want people to rely on him; he didn't even think they ever could. He could feel a reliance growing between Hermione and himself. Not anything needy, but a mutual want to be together, to spend time together, to rely on each other's strengths and support each other's weaknesses. Draco wasn't sure how to feel about that. He didn't want anyone to need him; he felt unstable and unreliable. How could he be what Hermione wanted or needed?

Draco walked right up to the main circulation desk while Hermione ambled behind, lingering to look at certain spines here and there. He knew she would get lost in the labyrinth soon enough.

—xxx—

After what seemed like only seconds of exploring, but Hermione knew to be at least a half an hour, Draco found her peering at a book from the bottom shelf somewhere deep in the labyrinth.

"I want you to meet someone," Draco said quietly.

"Who do you know at the library?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"You'd be surprised at how many people I know."

"Mr. Super Popular Wizard of the Year."

"I believe that title is held by Potter," Draco said, smirking.

Hermione couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Draco's eyes always lit up when he made her laugh. This time though, it was too much for him not to laugh at his own joke. Seeing Draco laugh was a curious thing, since the Draco of her youth had laughed very rarely. And when he had, it was always with a snide smile that had only deepened her distrust for him.

Draco looked around their aisle to find they were alone, and he took that moment to come closer to Hermione.

"Malfoy…" Hermione said with a twinge of warning in her tone.

"Hermione, this person doesn't know 'us.' Plus, we're here on official Hogwarts business. Double plus, I think she's someone you'll enjoy meeting."

Hermione knew she was being paranoid. But it was hard to know how to handle herself in public with Draco. She felt disconcerted by the change in scenery, as she had just figured out how to handle him while they were alone, confined to the safety of the stone walls of the castle.

Draco looked at Hermione with a gently urging expression. When Hermione felt herself nod in agreement, she saw the look in his eye change to something she wasn't quite familiar with. Maybe appreciation, maybe surprise, or maybe an understanding that this was hard for her. It seemed as if Draco was seeing her not just with sexual desire anymore, but perhaps as a complex being. Which made Hermione question her own perspective on Draco. Had he shifted from just a sexual being to something more complex, perhaps more human, since their conversation the night before?

Draco had personified the evil side for Harry and Ron for the past seven years. It was hard for Hermione to wrap her head around the fact that maybe her adopted perspective was changing. Maybe their perspective had been wrong all along. Maybe Draco was just another human.

McGonagall was right, Hermione thought.

Draco had inched closer to her in the aisle until his hips were squared in front of hers, and she was pressed up against a shelf. She could feel the spines of books against her back. His hand sneaked through her robes and rested on her hip. She could feel her resolve melt at his touch.

"Draco," Hermione said softly. Then again, "Draco" with a harder edge, attempting to muster some self-control.

He leaned his head in towards her ear, his breath tickling her neck. "Yes, Hermione?"

"We can't," Hermione said half-heartedly through a sigh.

"We can. We have. We will." Draco's hot mouth found her neck and hovered there for a moment. Hermione's shoulders slumped in submission; she could feel the hunger inside her rising. It was an active struggle for her not to reach out and pull him as close as she could and begin groping him.

How have we not thought to incorporate a bookshelf before? Hermione thought before Draco nipped her ear and pulled away.

Draco looked at her, knowing she was crestfallen, and whispered, "Soon."

"Just make sure it's up against a bookshelf," Hermione said, her relief mixing with a hint of disappointment.

Draco smirked widely as he took Hermione's hand and led her to the end of the aisle, twisting to the left and walking her down more winding aisles, until he released her hand, trusting that she would follow him towards the mouth of the labyrinth. Draco led Hermione towards a gentle-looking middle-aged witch in a simple and rather becoming cardigan, who was standing by a small cart of books and holding even more books.

Hermione had never seen a librarian so well put-together. Most librarians, both Muggle and magical, were distracted beings; helpful and knowledgeable, but not interested in anything other than caring for their books.

"Mistress Llyfr," Draco said, putting on a friendly face Hermione had never seen before. And the weird thing was, Hermione knew Draco was being genuine. "This is Hermione Granger."

Mistress Llyfr looked up from the stack of books she had in her hands to smile warmly at Hermione.

"My goodness, the Hermione Granger!"

"Hello Mistress Llyfr," Hermione said.

"Mistress Llyfr runs the library," Draco explained. "She's been at this branch for just over two years."

"It's a lovely library," Hermione said.

"Thank you, dear," Mistress Llyfr said. "I certainly couldn't have done it without Draco here." Llyfr reached out and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. He beamed at her. Hermione thought she caught Llyfr looking somewhat longingly at Draco then, either in admiration or perhaps with something a little bit more wanton. Hermione was unsure of what their dynamic was.

Perhaps feeling Hermione's question, he quickly said, "I worked here all last year, and Mistress Llyfr certainly put me to work."

"Oh, Draco," Llyfr said playfully, swatting his forearm. "He makes me sound so hard."

Hermione chuckled, but underneath her smile, she was questioning everything. As Draco and Llyfr launched into a couple of moments of catching up, Hermione found that there was a certain nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched them smile at each other. Before she could fully identify the feeling, Draco said, "As always, a pleasure to see you, Mistress Llyfr."

"I told you to call me Meg," Mistress Llyfr said. Hermione bristled at the woman's tone. Who was she to make eyes at Draco like that, a wizard at least a decade younger than her!

"Nice to meet you, Miss Granger," Llyfr seemed to add as an afterthought, barely glancing at Hermione.

—xxx—

Draco and Hermione decided to leave Diagon Alley by way of the Leaky Cauldron to enter Muggle London and make their way to the American Embassy. They were to pick up their wand permits there before using the Muggle pen Portkey from Professor Dobrev to travel to a secure location in New York City.

Before they left the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione decided to jot a quick note to Professor Dobrev, informing her of their failure in Diagon Alley and their travel plans, sending it to Hogwarts by way of a Leaky Cauldron barn owl. They also decided to change their clothes to be more suitable for traveling around Muggles. There was a small chamber available at the Leaky Cauldron for those who needed a quick reprieve. Draco approached Tom Abbott, the innkeeper and bartender, who told him the chamber was unoccupied. Tom had always been appreciative of the money the Malfoys spent in the Leaky Cauldron but, like most people, had never really liked the family. Draco paid for half an hour and then tipped him the same amount. Perhaps forgiveness could be gained one galleon at a time.

The room was small, with a separate ensuite. Tall windows were flanked by heavy curtains. One wall had a large mirror and the other had a large painting of a landscape with a tall castle on a misty cliff in the distance. Occasionally, a bird swooped through the sky or a small woodland creature hopped through the grass in the foreground.

"I'll change out here," Draco said, motioning to the room. Hermione nodded and made her way to the loo.

It felt weird to be in an enclosed space with Hermione and feel the need to be careful about their interactions. But the Leaky Cauldron was not a safe place for their shenanigans. The paintings often gossiped loudly about the guests, and it had been rumored that Hannah Abbott had moved in to help her father after leaving Hogwarts.

Draco changed quickly into khaki trousers and a crisp button up. His mother had always told him that, when in public, Draco was never just Draco, but also a Malfoy, among other things. Now, Draco knew that he represented Hogwarts and wanted to make sure he looked presentable. He slipped into his favorite leather oxfords, whispering a simple charm to do up the laces while he continued to button his shirt. He folded his robes and put them into the charmed bag Hermione had left on the wooden bench.

Once he was done, he sat and waited for Hermione to finish getting ready. He tried to sit with his legs crossed, but the bench was so uncomfortable that he fidgeted until he found a position that wasn't so harsh. Draco splayed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. He only had to wait a minute or two before she emerged.

What her robes did to hide her figure from the world at large was an atrocity, but it made it all the sweeter when she showed her figure to him. She was wearing calf-high boots with black lacy tights. Her heavy coat hung open to reveal a simple turtleneck dress that flared at her hips but hugged her waist.

He was about to say something sarky about her taking longer than he had to change, but then she walked right over to where he was sitting and brought her foot up to the bench between his open legs. Draco leaned back. Without breaking eye contact with him, she leaned over her raised leg to zip up her boot. Draco felt his chest tighten; it was painful for him to not grab her by the shoulders and flop her into his lap and smother her in kisses and rip off her coat and claw at her tights.

Hermione put her booted foot down on the floor and changed legs, taking her time pulling the zipper up her boot slowly. The tip of her boot just barely touched the crotch of his trousers. Draco broke their eye contact when her hand reached the top of her boot. He watched as her hand continued to run over her knee and then on to her tights-covered thigh, pushing the hem of her dress up. He shifted on the bench a little, wondering if he could manage a quick grope, but Hermione shook her head ever-so-slightly in warning.

Even though they hadn't seen any people in the landscape painting, it didn't mean there wasn't a lonely castle-dweller who would gossip to the first person they could about what happened between Draco and Hermione in this room. They knew they could not trust that they were alone here.

Watching Hermione's hand slowly touch her thigh in front of him. She knew what she was doing. It was sweetly tantalizing. Draco felt like every fiber of his being was on end waiting for the moment he could reach out and claim her.

Just wait until later, Draco thought, glancing back to her eyes.

Hermione smiled down at him and, with a toss of her hair, she put her boot down on the floor and turned around.

"Ready?" she chimed in an easy manner. Draco grunted with slight frustration as he got up. Hermione sashayed out of the room with a hungry glimpse over her shoulder at him. They returned the key to Tom and made their way to the exit.

When Draco stepped out onto the streets of Muggle London, he felt a weight lift from him he hadn't realized was even there. Here, no one knew who he was, knew who his father was, knew what he had done. He was free from his past; free with Hermione. About ten blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron, Draco stopped on the edge of the pavement and Hermione paused beside him.

"Dra—?"

Without wasting another second, Draco swept Hermione into his embrace and passionately kissed her on the side of the street in Muggle London. She recovered from her initial shock quickly to respond to his passion with zest.

He pulled away when he felt her palms flat on the planes of his chest.

"Draco," Hermione said softly. Draco could read in her eyes that she was conflicted but excited and it was challenging for her to know how to proceed.

"Hermione," Draco said simply, not wanting to try to convince or cajole her. He wanted her to make the decision. He wanted her to choose him.

They stared at each other, tight in each other's embrace, for a couple of moments on the side of the street while Muggles walked briskly by them. Not one of them gave them a second glance. Hermione leaned forward to kiss him gently, running one of her hands through his hair. And in that moment, Draco got what he wanted. In that moment, Hermione chose him.

—xxx—

After their street-side snogging session, they walked through Muggle London hand in hand towards the American Embassy. Draco had taken her hand tentatively, but Hermione had not pulled away. Hand holding was not something she'd imagine she'd ever be doing with Draco Malfoy—but there were plenty of things that she had done in the last couple of months that she'd never thought she'd do with Draco Malfoy.

No one gave them any second looks, since no one knew who they were. Hermione didn't have to worry about what other people were thinking at seeing them together. It was such a juxtaposition from Diagon Alley, where Hermione felt as if she was walking on stilts—completely visible, constantly on display, being gawked at. After a couple of minutes of not being occupied by dodging strategies and hasty explanations, Hermione's brain had room to skip around. She found her gaze drifting over to Draco uninhibited, her fingers flexing around his hand.

The urge to pull him into every alleyway to kiss him was overwhelming. But just holding his hand was somehow just as intoxicating as kissing him. Hermione tried to work through it as they walked in silence through Muggle London, yet she could only find herself relishing the softness of his hand in hers and the way his fingers sometimes squeezed her as if to share a secret for only her. Logically, Hermione realized that this show of intimacy was beyond the scope of which she had first approached Draco regarding.

What's a little innocent hand-holding? Hermione asked herself. It's not like I'm asking him to father my child.

The crisp December air chilled them, and Hermione found it a perfect excuse to draw herself closer to Draco.

The walk from the Leaky Cauldron to the American Embassy wasn't too long, but long enough that about halfway there, Hermione suggested they sit on a bench in a tiny greenspace they came upon. It was no bigger than a large dining room table; a bench walled in by steely blue-green juniper bushes.

Draco sat first. Hermione noted that this allowed her to set the tone. She could either sit on the far end of the bench as if they were enemies, leave a casual amount of space as if they were acquaintances or friends, or she could slide right up next to him—their bodies touching from shoulder to knee—as if they were lovers.

Was she overthinking things? Probably. She often did. It was the curse of having an over-active brain. Draco hadn't seemed to mind when she'd dropped it on him before their errand. If anything, Hermione knew now that Draco processed things as at quick a pace as she did. When they were alone in Draco's rooms the world seemed to melt away and she could lose herself in his body and the way he made her body feel. Perhaps the castle operated as a sort of Faraday cage for them—protecting them from any outside interference.

While she was second guessing everything, she plunked down on the bench at a casual distance. He sighed, jolting Hermione from her thoughts, and she couldn't decide if it was at her seating choice or their distance from the wizarding world and Hogwarts, or something else. They sat there in silence as several Muggles walked by them without even a glance—questioning, suspicious, observant, or otherwise. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco run a hand through his platinum hair. Casually, he stretched his other arm out on the top of the bench behind her—an open invitation.

Hermione shifted in her seat on the bench, bringing her legs up to sit sideways and face Draco. He looked at her; his gray eyes were lighter, somehow less burdened. Hermione wondered what it was like to be a Malfoy in Britain's wizarding world. Perhaps it was something like celebrity—being idolized, loved, envied, hated. She hadn't considered how constricting Draco's mere existence could be in their world. Perhaps this outing would be restorative for him in more than just their interactions.

Her hand came to his cheek, and she watched him raise his eyebrows. She leaned towards him and placed her lips softly on his cheek. It was cold and pink from their walk in the brisk winter wind. His arm wrapped around her but didn't pull her into him. She decided on her own to scoot closer, enjoying feeling suddenly flushed by the warmth of his body. They could have easily cast a small warming charm, but there was something delightful about being in the Muggle world and living by their rules. It also made for a good excuse for them to be close. Suddenly, she was desperate to be close to him.

Hermione rested her head against Draco's shoulder as he hugged her to his side. She felt like she could sit there for a very long time, just existing with him. Her mind drifted over various moments they'd shared, finally resting on the moment she'd enraptured his attention by zipping her boots. She hadn't planned to do it, but when she had emerged from the loo to find him so casually sitting on that bench not expecting anything, she was just too tempted.

There was something to the freedom of the Muggle world for them to just be together without much thought of getting caught by people they knew or people who knew of them; but there was also something wildly exciting about occupying a space where they had to pulse on the edge of their desire for each other.

Hermione's mind jumped from their desire for each other, to the way Mistress Llyfr had looked at Draco and the way he had dotingly looked back at her, and then Hermione felt a question bubble in her—a question of Draco's desire for her, his enjoyment of their time together. Suddenly, Hermione wasn't so sure about things between them, and insecurity began to creep around her.

"Did you enjoy that earlier?" she asked hastily.

"Your little show with your boots?"

Hermione nodded her head against Draco's shoulder, smiling into the heavy fabric of his coat.

"Do you really not know the answer to that question?"

"Humor me, Draco," Hermione said, lifting her head a little to gauge his annoyance, only to be surprised he didn't seem annoyed at all.

"It was one of the hotter moments between us. You trapped me in a space where I couldn't do anything and just had to watch."

"Do you like to watch?"

"Depends on what you want to show me."

Hermione swatted his arm in mock-offense. She glanced around them, nervous that the sexual nature of their conversation was drawing attention, even though she was the one who had taken it there. They were still utterly alone; no one around or close enough to care.

Draco looked at her, obviously eager to hear her response but trying to be cool about it. She smirked, gaining some confidence back. Still resting her cheek on his shoulder, she shifted so her breath would tickle his neck while she told him what she wanted to show him. She spoke barely above a whisper, savoring the way his breath hitched at certain details she spun for him, and the way his fingers tightened around her leg as his desire elevated.

When she had just about petered out of sultry details to pour into his ear, he shifted quickly in their embrace to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. Hermione could feel his desperation and want for more, but what she didn't realize was that Draco's desperation far beyond the physical now.

—xxx—

Draco bristled when they came upon the 1950s American diner nestled between two large banks around the corner from Paternoster Square.

"This is it?" he asked.

"Just wait," Hermione said. Last time, she had been quite delighted by the whole experience in the American Embassy. And very much relieved she hadn't been expected to actually eat the Special of the Day.

Hermione opened the door for Draco, and he ambled through it. She giggled, and he turned around.

"What?" Draco asked, feeling a little of his old haughtiness seep into his tone.

"You're just very judge-y." Draco's shoulders fell. He started to apologize, but Hermione beat him to it. "I didn't mean it like that, Draco." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's a little disarming, this place, no?"

Draco nodded his head. He didn't like being checked, and he didn't like feeling like his father. Before he could give it much more thought, they were greeted by a large swell of noise from the crowd inside.

The place was swarmed with people eating burgers and drinking milkshakes. Some were scarfing down hotdogs smothered in ketchup and mustard. Draco couldn't tell if everyone was witches and wizards or Muggles, but here it didn't seem to matter. Everyone was just so animated. Hermione pulled at Draco's arm, motioning to the bar where there were two seats opening up from a couple leaving.

"Well, howdy folks!" a dopey man with a receding hairline and a meager pot belly said with a large smile as they approached the counter to sit. His nametag read Bob. Bob was wearing a crisp white apron and didn't seem the least bit frazzled by all the customers. "Been here before?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir."

Bob smiled wider. "Well, all right then, darling—you just let me know when you're ready to order." Bob winked and went to help another customer down the counter.

Hermione put a menu in Draco's hands. It was simple, with four items on it and no descriptions. The only explanation was a line at the bottom, which read, "No substitutions."

"This is it?" Draco asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded.

"We're not actually eating here, are we?" Draco asked.

"We could if you wanted," Hermione said with an amused chuckle.

"I think I'd rather not. Is all food in America like this?"

Bob, who had been lingering nearby, heard the last part and interjected, "Not all food, just the best food."

Draco raised his eyebrows but kept his commentary to himself. Then he turned the menu over to see if there was anything on the back. He was about to flip it back over in a snit at the limited options, when his eyes widened. In smooth gold calligraphy, text on the back of the menu began to glint in the florescent lighting above him.

Special of the Day

The Manifest Breastiny

3 1/5 ct. Southern-style fried chicken fingers nestled between mayonnaise and pickles on a seedless bun with a side of golden fried okra.

An illustration appeared under the description, showing an anthropomorphized chicken sandwich waddling through a wild forest with the sun setting in the distance. Little woodland creatures twinkled from the side of the illustration, peeping at the sandwich from between the trees. It was the most idiotic and delightful thing Draco had ever seen. He gave a hearty laugh.

Hermione leaned over the counter and told Bob, "We'll have two of the Daily Specials."

Bob nodded his head with a gentle smile. "Take her for a spin, then."

Draco turned to Hermione with a question in his eyes. She didn't respond, but merely spun on her stool with gusto, a huge smile splayed across her face. One moment, Hermione was spinning and smiling at him, and the next moment the stool was empty. Had he blinked?

Draco looked around the restaurant curiously, but he knew Hermione was gone, on her way to the Embassy—wherever it was. Bob was still smiling at Draco, who warily began to spin on the stool. A muffling of his ears made him feel like it was working.

Suddenly, the interior of the diner disappeared, and an opulently gilded foyer appeared. Green marble overwhelmed the space, which was expansive—larger than the Ministry of Magic's entryway. Draco had always felt a little cramped coming out of the Floo fireplaces (or worse, the toilets) in the Ministry—having to hunch down to exit the fireplace so you didn't knock your head on the mantle.

The spinning in the diner had made him dizzy, making him stumble a little when he rose from the stool. Hermione's gentle hand came to his forearm to steady him.

"Fun, right?" Hermione asked him with delight dancing in her eyes.

"Well, it certainly isn't without whimsy." They laughed. "Ready to enter the land of plenty?" Draco asked, extending a hand to Hermione.

Much to his surprise, Hermione readily took Draco's hand with a smile. Perhaps it was because they felt like they were already on foreign soil, or maybe it was the sheer glee of the place, but everything was already lighter between them.