Hii this was written for a mini-fest called Lovers of Fiction on AO3, and it's based off Chuck & Blair in Gossip Girl - adapted to Draco & Hermione. I've pulled plot and dialogue straight from the show but have written it so that you don't have to be familiar with GG or its characters to read/understand this. It's a long one so grab some tea and a snack and enjoy!

DRACO'S 19th BIRTHDAY PARTY

Draco's hair is slick with sweat, he's swallowed three shots of tequila so far and is adequately buzzed to sway to the heady jazz pulsing through the dim speakeasy. He catches a flash of Pansy Parkinson's purple slip dress hitching up her milky white leg as an intoxicated wizard gropes her slender thigh. Her fingers are unwinding the tie from his hair, inky strands tumbling to his shoulders. Leave it to Pans to have the best time even at his birthday.

Draco was wearing a suit but has lost the jacket somewhere and his shirt is partially unbuttoned so most of his sternum is exposed, relieving some of the stifling heat. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and in the darkness, you could almost mistake the Dark Mark for a shite tattoo. His friends are scattered among the crowd, eager to get smashed or laid or both. Draco had to delay the birthday celebrations this year. N.E.W.T.s and graduation were on the forefront of everyone's minds but all that is over now and liberation is less nostalgic than he anticipated.

As he turns to fetch another drink from the bar, he notices the back of a woman's head and recognizes the thick, overrun curls immediately. A grin slips onto his face. "Hermione!" he calls to get her attention, already dodging the maze of people to get to her.

Her head turns, miraculously hearing him over ear-splitting saxophone and snare. Relief flashes across her face. She is wearing a figure-hugging mint green dress that reaches the tops of her knees with lace cap sleeves. Black, strappy high heels make it so her head reaches his chin instead of his chest. She has taken the time to apply dark makeup to her eyes and her heart-shaped lips are painted bright red. "Hey, Draco." She hugs him and he smells her flowery perfume before it's melted off her in the heat of the room. "Happy birthday."

He looks behind her and when he doesn't spot Blaise, he checks the entrance. The only way to identify it is by the beefy bouncer keeping guard. The mechanism to get in is similar to that of Diagon Alley. A secret pattern must be tapped against the outer bricks to reveal the opening of the lawless, burlesque underground. "Where's Blaise?"

"I think we just broke up."

He considers her even temperament and decides he must've misheard her. "What?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I just want to escape, that's what this place is for right?" She grabs his wrist and tugs him towards the bar. "Come, I'll buy you a birthday drink."

Draco wouldn't have thought Hermione would be the one to show up to his birthday instead of Blaise but he's not angry about it. Over the past year, he has come to learn that Hermione likes to tackle her problems head-on while Blaise is more autonomous and withdrawn.

Her grip on his arm is firm and she manages to keep them together despite pushing and shoving from the clumsy crowd. A whistle breaks through the noise as one of the burlesque dancers strips out of her dress. Draco pauses, entranced by the way the woman's curves jiggle as she cavorts across the stage. A transient goddess with long, elegant limbs and come-hither eyes.

"Come on!" Hermione yanks him forward.

Draco has spent the extra coin for a private booth right in front of the dancers. He and Hermione share the velvet loveseat. Their drinks rest on the low table before them, rings of condensation already staining the surface of the wood. He lounges lazily, gaze fixated on a blonde dancer and a single, black stripe on the back of each of her white stockings. Hermione is on her fourth tumbler of gin, attempting to get piss drunk to erase the memories of her Eighth Year boyfriend.

"So, what happened?" Draco asks, although he thinks he knows.

Hermione shoots him a telling look and Draco's suspicions are confirmed even before she says, "He has feelings for Harry. All this time he's had it bad for him. I feel so stupid. I should've known."

Draco shoots her a sympathetic look. "He was pretty crazy about you."

Her voice is brittle, "Not when Harry's around."

Hermione and Potter have an odd relationship. They love each other like family but Draco knows Hermione harbours jealousy towards him even if she won't admit it. Who wouldn't? She was there for all of Potter's successes, failures, and everything in between but it's Potter whose face is plastered everywhere, whose name is whispered with reverence—for the most part—in society. Anyone who's anyone knows Harry Potter but not half as many have heard of Hermione Granger.

And now, she's lost her boyfriend to him too. Draco has noticed the way Blaise gazes at the Boy Who Lived like he's the answer to all of his unspoken questions. Even when he has Hermione who'd do anything for him. Typical Blaise.

They sit in silence for a while, watching the dancers move and strip, skin reminiscent of silk over sinewed muscle. It's not a strip club with poles or gaudy lingerie. The women wear dresses covered in sequins with sexy stockings in shades of white, nude, or black, and sensible ballroom heels. Their hair is done up in wild curls, like Hermione's natural hair, and brilliant red feather boas are draped around their necks, fluttering gracefully as they move.

Hermione bends forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watches them with thoughtful eyes. Draco knows something is brewing in that gaze. She's a wicked, little schemer. Draco knows this first-hand since Potter and Weasley weren't around this year to plot with her, but he was.

On one occasion, Hermione discovered that Rita Skeeter was staying at Hogsmeade and convinced them all to sneak out with her to teach the lying bint a lesson. Skeeter had been slandering Hermione's name in the paper at the time, claiming that the Gryffindor Princess was in a polyamorous relationship with Weasley and Potter during the war. Draco hadn't been trying to get into trouble but then Skeeter released an articleabout a cat breeder who exclusively sold albino kittens—or as she tastelessly labelled them, Malfoy kittens, the inbred darlings of their kind—so it was game on. Their plans got botched on their way out of the castle as they intercepted a group of rebel Death Eaters lurking in the Forbidden Forest and were forced to detain them. McGonagall had been so impressed she'd rewarded their houses with fifty points each.

As he reflects on the incident, he decides that was the moment she officially changed his mind. Hermione Granger is so much more than a saintly, Gryffindor swot. There's a stroke of evil in her but she's conniving enough to avoid getting caught and clever enough to turn the tables in her favour if she does. She ought to have been a Slytherin.

"You know, I've got moves," she says at last, pulling him back to the present. Her eyes are glued on the dancers blowing kisses at them a few feet away.

His mouth slides into a lazy grin. "Really? Then why don't you go up there."

"I'm just saying I've got moves," her voice is firmer, like she's hammering a point with her words.

Her foot taps against the floor and one is positioned in front of the other like she's about to stand. He tilts his head to the side, goading her, "Go on then. You're ten times hotter than any of them."

Her eyes narrow. "I know what you're doing, Malfoy." She pauses and something shifts in her gaze. "You really don't think I'd go up there."

"I know you wouldn't," he replies easily because Hermione likes to conduct her schemes in the dark while her old mate, Harry, basks in all the glory.

She seems to realize this as well because she takes a big glug of her Tanqueray and slams it back on the table, half empty. "Guard my drink."

Draco's mouth unhinges as Hermione strides to the stage and takes a dancer's hand to haul herself up. The women applaud her courage and one of them says something into her ear. Hermione begins to swing her hips to the tinny melody. She's brimming with confidence and it shows as a rush of cheering comes from the portion of the crowd that's actually paying attention.

Draco sits up.

Hermione's hand glides down her curves like her fingers are searching for something. When the lace sleeves of her dress begin to slip past her shoulders, he realizes she's stripping.

Bloody hell.

The whistler in the back makes his presence known again as Hermione's dress descends to reveal a silk slip underneath. It's even tinier than the purple one Pansy was wearing earlier. He gulps and leans in, eyes glued on the brunette's swaying figure and the way the lights reflect off the shiny fabric of her dress, hinting supple, feminine curves beneath.

One of the dancers drapes a feather boa around her neck and she begins to move with them, raising her arms and shutting her eyes as she dips low to the ground, astonishingly stable in heels even though he's witnessed her drinking all night. As she shimmies up to stand, her palms skate across her body like she's discovering her own shape.

Cheeks red from liquor, lips spread into a cheeky smirk, and fuck that body—she's absolutely glorious. He didn't know that uptight, Head Girl Granger could move like that. His chest heaves as their eyes connect. In his mind, she's putting on a show just for him. The noisy crowd doesn't exist, the jazz band doesn't exist, that blonde dancer with the striped stockings doesn't exist.

"Who is that?" someone asks him but he doesn't spare them a look.

"I have no idea," he says.

When the song draws to a close, Draco closes the gap between them. She takes his hand to jump from the stage but Draco's free arm curls around her waist, lowering her in one effortless swoop. "Fuck. Hermione."

She shoots him a self-satisfied smile, a silent I-told-you-so. He's never been more eager to have been wrong. He doesn't release her. Their eyes bore into each other and the temperature of the room spikes.

She's panting from exertion. Perky little tits graze his chest with each puff of breath. Her nipples are hard, the telltale bumps detectable beneath the slim fabric of her slip. Her neck is glistening with sweat and a few curls are matted against the damp skin.

Keeping the arm around her waist, he uses the other hand to brush her hair behind her shoulder. Her pulse hammers beneath the pad of his thumb like it's dancing for him. Her eyes are intent in the way she looks at him and when her gaze lowers to his parted lips he's lost.

Their mouths slam into each other, plush and warm and hasty. She tastes like salt and liquor and smells so sweet that he dips deeper. His hand trails up her neck and behind her head, sinking into the mass of tangled curls. Hers slides down his spine and pauses at his low back, pressing flush against him so every inch of their lower halves is touching. When she's satisfied with the position, her hand slips lower and squeezes his arse cheekily.

"Hermione," he moans between their lips. "You're so fucking hot."

She's breathing into his mouth and he can feel her restlessness as she presses harder into his chest. "I want you," she says and it sounds like both a demand and a question. Draco bites her lower lip hard enough to make her yelp.

He doesn't give her a warning before he apparates them out of the speakeasy, discarded clothes and drinks lost forever in the shadows of the club. His mind's not working right and they land in a tangled heap on the rooftop of his penthouse instead of in the bedroom. He's about to amend the issue but she grabs him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him into her. "Here. Now."

It's a clear night with no wind but the stars and moon look dull above the light pollution. He landed on top of her and must be crushing her so he spreads his legs and shifts his weight to his knees. Her lipstick has smudged around her mouth and chin and he's certain his pale skin is stained red. He doesn't care. He pins her arms to the ground above her head and she looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

He slides his free hand down her side, and her back arches like they're not close enough. She's shivering beneath his palm, breath heavy. His hand glides up her slip. Her thigh is hot to the touch but so soft it reminds him to tread carefully. "Draco," she gasps. "Don't stop."

Pleasure floods his body at the sight of her.

When they kiss again, it's a frenzy of touching and clumsy fingers tearing off remnant articles of clothing. The rooftop is silent apart from the whoosh of traffic below and sirens bellowing somewhere in the distance. Hermione's breathy, little moans in his ear are his undoing.

When they're both undressed and he's between her legs, sinking into her heat, he realizes something. "It's your first time?"

She blinks up at him, dazed. "Is that a problem?"

He shakes his head but a niggling voice in the back of his mind wonders if maybe it should be. She's his best mate's girl… even if they're technically broken up right now.

But fuck just look at her!

"No, it's not." He kisses her again but it's gentler, and when he slides deep and she hisses in pain, he holds her and waits until she relaxes beneath him. He cups her face between his hands and even though her makeup has smeared and she's sweaty and nervous, she still takes his fucking breath away. Draco kisses her all over, over and over. He wonders why he never thought of her like this before and then he wonders if he'll ever think of her as anything else.

HERMIONE'S 20th BIRTHDAY

Hermione leans against the cold metal handrail of her balcony and stares below. Cars are crammed bumper to bumper along the curbside, leaving one another mere inches of space to manoeuvre out. A few feet from the string of vehicles, an eager raccoon stifles noisily through a rubbish bin, beady eyes glowing eerily beneath the orange glow of a streetlamp. It's a Saturday evening and the party is booming behind her. Her friends, and friends of friends are drinking, dancing, playing card games and flirting with one another in the open concept sitting room and kitchen. She should be happy that so many people have turned out to celebrate her birthday. She should be happy that she and Harry are speaking again. She should be happy that Harry didn't betray her trust.

But she can't stop thinking about him.

The door slides open and the sound of the party floods outside, followed by a shuffle of footsteps. She turns to find Draco shutting the door to the balcony again so that they're alone. The noise becomes muffled once more. He shoots her a pointed look and she shifts further from him, weary that he's catching her in a vulnerable moment.

Her relationship with Draco is… complicated.

They're friends and Hermione doesn't want to jeopardize it. He understands her in a way most people don't. Their final year at Hogwarts cemented that bond and made them realize they're more similar than either of them imagined. Hermione always knew Draco was smart, but she didn't realize how clever and pragmatic he was until they'd started studying together. Nobody had expected them to form the unlikely duo they had but now he's a definite part of her inner-circle and it would be strange if he wasn't around.

But Draco is a notorious womanizer, an eligible bachelor with a very eligible trust fund, and a studious, young business man with one solid goal: to impress his atrociously rich father. Draco is not the type of man she wants to be in a relationship with, even if she lost her virginity to him a few months ago. She knows he feels guilty for shagging her because he's Blaise's best mate. And truthfully, she becomes nauseous thinking about it too much because she's in love with Blaise and if he found out what she did…

"Why can't you just face the fact that you and Blaise are over?" He joins her at the railing. He hasn't looked at her with that expression in years.

She tries to conceal the hurt from her face. They're not over. He's not with Harry. Harry confirmed it himself. Blaise loves her and he'll be here. He told her he would come and he always keeps his promises. "We're not over."

Draco rolls his eyes. "He's not coming, Granger."

"Yes, he is," she replies stubbornly. "He promised."

"What's with your big attachment to Blaise? As if the world's going to end if you're not together or something. Let him go." His eyes almost look black in the dark, like they're sucking all the shadows of the night.

"You sound like a jealous boyfriend," she says because she knows it will rankle him.

"Yeah, right," he scoffs, "you wish."

The tone of his voice makes her do a double take. His cheeks are beginning to burn and he's averting his gaze like he's been caught doing something he ought not to do. "No." She gasps. "You wish."

"Please, you forget who you're talking to."

"So do you." She crosses her arms indignantly. She's in a little black dress with an open, square neckline and the motion lifts her cleavage. Draco's eyes follow diligently.

"Do you like me?" She's floored but she recognizes a smitten wizard when she sees one. Just because Blaise has been making her feel wretched recently, doesn't mean she hasn't been admired by other men in the past. Draco's flitty looks, his tart remarks about her feelings for Blaise, the way he's following her around instead of chasing an eligible witch who isn't pining over his friend is extremely telling.

"Define like." He stretches over the banister as if fascinated by the condominium across the street.

Her mouth unhinges. No effing way. "You've got to be kidding me."

"How do you think I feel?" He glares at her. "I haven't slept. I feel sick like there's something in my stomach, fluttering." He presses a hand against his belly, as if he's experiencing the sensation at this very moment.

"Butterflies?" she deadpans. "No. No, no, no this cannot be happening." Blaise will never forgive her for this. She has to nip this messy, terrible situation right in the bud.

"No one is more surprised or ashamed than I am." He gestures to himself, lifting his chin tersely.

"Draco, you know that I adore all of Earth's creatures and the metaphors that they inspire," she says as her hand forms a crushing fist, "but the butterflies have got to be murdered."

She doesn't give him a chance to respond as she drags the door open and escapes into the chaos of her birthday party.

Harry carries a vanilla frosting cake with Happy birthday Mione written in red icing and a cluster of burning red, wax candles quickly dripping to stumps. The crowd gathers around her, singing an inebriated and off-tune version of Happy Birthday. She feigns delight and blows out her candles so quickly she forgets to make a wish. Tears prickle behind her eyes.

He didn't come.

When Harry and Ron begin to slice the cake and pass it around, Hermione takes the opportunity to slip into her bedroom and slam the door shut. What's wrong with her? Why isn't she enough? Even if he doesn't want her to be his girlfriend anymore, he could've come as her friend. They were friends first.

He used to bring her sweets when she skipped Hogsmeade visits to study. When Skeeter's ridiculous articles turned her into a laughing stock, he wiped her tears and promised it would fade away in no time. He made her feel special when ignorant adults brushed her off as a stuffy bookworm that happened to become friends with Harry Potter at the right moment in time, as if she were a lucky candidate that had filled the empty placeholder by Harry's side.

The door creaks open and Harry pokes his head into the room. "Hermione?" Once he sees her red eyes and wet cheeks, he rushes to her. "What's wrong?" He pulls her into his arms. The familiar scent of pine and clean laundry and Chardonnay is so homey it makes her more emotional.

"He doesn't love me anymore."

Harry doesn't need to ask who she's talking about. "You don't know that. Maybe something came up or…" his words drift to silence because what could've come up? He could've owled to let her know he wasn't coming. He hasn't bothered to say anything at all. Like her feelings mean nothing to him.

Harry gives up on trying to say something wise or comforting. He never was good at handing out sage advice. Instead, he squishes her into his warmth like all the other times he's held her when she was down and shares the silence. She sniffles against his plaid shirt, focusing on the dark blue lines in the fabric and the smooth press of the tiny buttons digging into her palm. At least Blaise hasn't come between this, she can't stand the thought of losing Harry to anyone.

A crash comes from the other room. She mewls in distress knowing her flat is going to be wrecked by the end of the night. Harry shushes her. "I'll go check." He squeezes her shoulder and leaves her on the bed, wallowing in her misery.

After Draco's birthday, Blaise told her he made a mistake and wanted to get back together. Things were good for a while, and then they weren't again. It's stupid to want someone who's in love with her best friend. But her heart doesn't understand silly things like that and she knows deep down that Blaise is the real deal. They're meant to be together.

She sits up when the door opens again. "That was fast—" her sentence plunges to a halt when she realizes it's only Draco. Great. "What do you want?"

He pauses, taking in her soggy cheeks. A crease forms between his feathery, blond brows. "I wanted to give you your present." He has a package in his hands.

"What is it?" She glares at the innocuous box. "The memory of us shagging?"

He ignores her and enters the room without permission, shutting the door behind him. He seems to know she's not planning on opening it so he does it for her and waits for her reaction.

It's a necklace. An ornate pattern of diamond flowers and leaves dangle from a delicate chain, radiant and dazzling against the black, velvet box. Her breath catches in her throat, fascinated by how the light of the room makes the diamonds glisten like they're wet. Her fingers itch to touch it but she holds back. "I can't accept this, Draco."

He ignores her as he removes the necklace with care then shoots her an expectant look. He waits in silence, a stubborn look in his eyes. She turns her back to him because she knows he's not going to give up until she does.

A full-length mirror rests against the far wall, two purses dangle by their straps from the top corner. Through the reflection, she watches Draco clasp it around her neck. His breath flutters against her pulse as he says, "Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty."

She shivers when his warm fingers graze her skin, straightening each diamond-crested leaf and flower so that it's sitting perfectly against her open decolletage. Unable to help herself, she brushes a hand across the jewels. They're sharp and real beneath her fingertips, cool to the touch. Even though she's a mess after crying over Blaise, she can't deny that it's the most marvelous thing she's ever worn.

Their eyes meet in the mirror. That fluttering he described earlier seems to be contagious because it's all she feels as she notes the utter gentleness in the silver rings of his irises. He presses small kisses down the sensitive column of her neck to the plane of her shoulder. His lips are remarkably soft and the contact is almost invisible. Goose pimples rise across her skin, awakening beneath his touch.

When did Draco become so docile? She remembers their first time with clarity, even though they were both drinking. He was soft with her. He's not known for being kind or thoughtful but he's different around her and it's dangerously addictive.

His arms come around her waist, and he rests his chin on top of her shoulder. Hermione melts into him with a deep, longing sigh.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Draco stares at the door vigilantly. He's been asked to dance on three separate occasions and he's declined each time, feigning a headache. He only has one witch on his mind and she's taking her sweet time getting here.

The Ministry is hosting a Halloween ball and the room is dim, decked with glowing jack-o-lanterns and black waxen candles melting like tar from sconces on the wall. The ceiling is enchanted to look like a night sky with streaks of lightning cutting through thick, moody thunderclouds. The dress code is black tie in varying shades of blood red, poisonous plum, or scarab green. Draco is wearing deep burgundy robes that are almost black and his hair is styled back and out of his face. The contrast of his pale features against the dark clothes makes him look vampirical and he wonders if that's why he feels evil.

Earlier in the week, Blaise had a breakdown and confessed to him that he was still in love with Hermione. Draco was torn between being a good friend and hexing him through the wall because he couldn't keep fucking with her like that… and maybe because he was starting to feel a little possessive.

Not that he has any right to feel this way considering Hermione isn't his girlfriend. It isn't for a lack of trying but she's adamantly broken-hearted over Blaise and insists it would be unfair to use Draco as a rebound. He isn't keen on being a rebound either so he's given her space like she's asked. But Blaise's hot and cold feelings threatened to trample his plans and Draco hates losing.

He straightens as Hermione enters the room in a mouth-watering, one-shouldered dress in the deepest shade of purple. Her hair is gathered to the top of her head in an intricate up-do adorned with miniature onyx bat pins charmed to flap their wings. She is wearing the necklace he gave her.

He swallows the rest of his champagne in one quick motion.

She spots him and her mouth spreads into a generous grin. His heart thumps in his ears. A phantom energy sizzles between them, drawing them nearer and nearer until she's in his arms. "Hi," she says.

"Fashionably late?"

"I had to deal with something." She grimaces and he shoves the guilt deep down before it can consume him.

"Everything alright?" he asks, taking her hand and leading her to the centre of the room before she answers. "Dance with me."

She follows but seems distracted as her head turns from one direction to the next. Their hands join. The M signet ring on his finger catches the light but his focus is on Hermione's fingers in the gaps of his own, brushing the knuckles of his hand. Her nails are neatly trimmed and unpolished. He tightens his hold around her waist, pulling her closer than is necessary. He leads her through the steps.

"Have you seen Blaise?"

His teeth grind. "No. Why?"

"There's been a misunderstanding." Her deep eyes are filled with stress. "Somehow Skeeter got photos of me helping Theo pick out tuxedos for the ball and it looks like we were caught in a compromising position. The insufferable bitch wrote another article claiming I was in a Slytherin triad now with him and Blaise, dipping my toe into the dark side."

"You're not even dating Blaise anymore. Why do you care what he thinks?"

"Theo's one of his best friends, I don't want him to hate me. I still care about him."

"The same way he would hate you if he discovered what we did?" his voice drops an octave.

"You don't want him to find out what we did, either!" Her head tilts back, searching for something in his face. "Did you have something to do with this?"

He pastes on a pleasant smile. "Why would I?"

He's clearly done a shite job at concealing his emotions because her eyes widen and she wrenches away from him. "You did do it! Why? You know how much it messed with me the last time she spread those ridiculous rumours. Why would you do something like that to me?"

He swallows, panic rising in his chest. Could he still deny it? Or has his face completely sold him out? Judging by her expression, she's beyond the hypothesis and believes it to be a straight up fact. Fuck. He should've rehearsed his composure in the mirror. She knows him too well for an on-the-fly performance. "I was worried you'd go back to him."

"So you spread rumours about me for all of Wizarding Britain to read! About my sex life?" Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "You accused Theo of something you're guilty of? You're disgusting, Draco! I can't believe this." She's shaking her head, her cheeks are turning red, the flush spreads down her neck until he can see the gaps of skin between the diamonds of her necklace burning with humiliation. She points a finger at him and then herself. "Whatever this thing was between us, it's over. Don't ever speak to me again." She gathers the skirt of her gown and bolts out of the room.

Bloody hell. He shouldn't have underestimated her. Of course she was going to take one look at his face and see the guilt in his eyes. Just his dumb luck—the very thing he does to secure Hermione Granger only manages to shove her further away.

Draco storms to the bar, intending to get hammered to wipe this mortifying memory out of his mind. So much for his Slytherin prowess.

He grows tired of brooding in the corner of the room while maintaining a natural meanness in his expression to ensure he's left alone. It would be easier to drink in the comforts of his own home. He does a final sweep of the ballroom in case he missed Hermione re-entering but she's nowhere to be found.

He dodges a floating tray of bubbling champagne, and weaves around Shacklebolt and Longbottom who are having a discussion in the centre of the walkway with a total lack of regard for those trying to pass. Longbottom is wearing emerald robes that aren't quite Slytherin green but still don't suit him. Even if the bloke isn't hideous anymore, his sense of style is still abysmal.

As Draco heads to the nearest fireplace, he spots Blaise disappearing down the corridor, a purple gown vanishing around the corner before him. Draco doesn't think before he follows, careful not to get caught. They pause in an alcove and Hermione is deeper than Blaise so she's obstructed from his view but he recognizes the look in Blaise's eyes.

The liquor in his gut stings like hot acid.

He moves closer, taking care to keep his steps light but they're distracted anyway. He still can't hear what they're saying but whatever Hermione is telling him seems to be making him happy because Blaise's hand reaches up to touch her face. Hermione's fists sink into the front of his black shirt. Blaise melts into her, snogging her with practiced familiarity.

The lights in the corridor burn too bright.

As if sensing his presence, Blaise's head turns in his direction and their eyes meet. Blaise winks at him like they're sharing a mutual accomplishment before losing himself in Hermione again, dismissing Draco.

Whatever this thing was between us, it's over. Don't ever speak to me again.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

As Draco is leaving Gringotts, a force blasts into him so swiftly the air is smacked straight out of his lungs. He doesn't have a moment to yank out his wand because a hand wraps around his neck, slamming him so hard into the mortar that he sees stars. A witch gasps nearby but Draco hardly hears it because he's staring into Blaise's furious eyes. "Did you sleep with her? You sodding bastard. I could kill you!"

Fuck. "Could we talk about this without your hands around my neck?" He tries to uphold a modicum of composure but it's hard when oxygen is so scarce.

"Did you get what you want like all those other girls?" Blaise's hot breath brushes his cheek, he's so close that Draco can count his soot-black eyelashes.

"Yes, Blaise. I took what Hermione kept throwing at you and you kept throwing back."

"So you somehow shagging Hermione for sport is my fault?" Blaise is so livid that veins are bulging from his neck. Draco's heart thumps erratically against his ribs.

"It wasn't for sport! She needed someone and I was there."

"Oh, so you cared about her?"

"You guys were broken up," he says meekly, knowing it's no excuse. He didn't just sleep with Blaise's girl—he was her first time. He knows how that must sting. He deserves this.

"For how long? A week? An hour?"

"Look, I'm sorry. I know how long you and I have been best mates, okay?"

"No, it's not okay, Draco. From now on you stay away from me." Blaise shoves him again but this time Draco is prepared for it and manages to keep his head from colliding into the unforgiving stone. Blaise cuts through the eager crowd that has amassed down the cobblestone path and disappears, fuming.

Fuck.

A FEW DAYS LATER

When Hermione arrives to Draco's home, she is stunned by the sheer size of the place. She's been to the penthouse before but only when he's thrown parties. It seemed much smaller stuffed with people but when it's empty, it's rather… hollow.

It's furnished of course, in a sleek and meticulous way with abstract art adorning the walls, a mix of both magical and Muggle paintings because Draco likes expensive things and nothing is quite as expensive as Muggle artwork. A wall-length shelf is styled so pristinely that a decorator must've done it, with books lain horizontally and fancy trinkets like a globe that looks solid gold and a figurine of a snake with emerald eyes placed thoughtfully in separate compartments. A charcoal grey cloud couch in the shape of an L takes up a large portion of the sitting room, so welcoming that she imagines how nice it must be to nap there for hours.

The soles of her boots echo disruptively against the dark hardwood as she strolls inside. The room smells pleasantly like fresh linen and autumn air. At first, she thinks nobody is home but then she spots Draco on a high stool in front of a full bar. An empty crystal tumbler with remnants of amber liquid and melting ice in front of him. He's hunched over the counter, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and joggers, his feet bare. He doesn't look at her.

Hermione perches onto the stool beside him. "Drinking alone?"

He shoots her a dark look and she notes the bags under his eyes and how his hair is a mess which is unusual for him. She feels a pinch of guilt but knows it's unmerited given the lies he fed Skeeter about her. Besides, it's not like she's not suffering. Blaise broke up with her again and now he won't even speak to her.

She shouldn't have told him the truth but she couldn't keep lying to him. It was unfair and made her feel gross. Not the part where she slept with Draco, but the part where she lied to Blaise about it.

And truthfully? She hasn't been able to stop thinking about Draco.

There's something between them. It's like magic, brewing and alive whenever they're in the same room. She never thought anybody could fill her thoughts the way Blaise could and yet…

"You won't even offer me a drink?"

"What do you want, Hermione?" his voice is dry, accusatory.

"You got what you wanted, Draco. Blaise won't talk to me anymore. Things are over between us, for good."

He looks at her blankly.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" she snaps, hating that he's making her feel this way without having to say anything. Like she's nothing. He hasn't made her feel this way in years. "You were only interested in me when I was Blaise's girlfriend?"

He slams his fists against the bar with such force that the glass wobbles, making a clattering noise. "You were broken up on my birthday!"

"So this is how it's going to be? You send rumours to the Daily Prophet to drive a wedge between Blaise and me but when we break up you suddenly don't want anything to do with me anymore?"

He pins her with a cold look. "I'll try to be succinct. You held a certain fascination. You were beautiful, delicate, untouched. But now you're like my old Firebolt that got caught in a storm—rode hard and put away wet. I don't want you anymore and I can't see why anyone else would."

Hermione was certain there wasn't anything more hurtful that Draco Malfoy could say to her than the dreaded M-word. She was sorely mistaken.

Before her face can betray the torrent of hurt that slams into her, she hops off the stool and dashes to the fireplace. Her voice cracks at the last syllable of her address, blending into a sob but she's sucked into the Floo network before he has the satisfaction of witnessing it.

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Blaise rolls his eyes, glancing exasperatedly at the boy by his shoulder. "He insisted on coming."

Hermione crosses her arms to put on a brave façade but really, she wants to be as far from Draco as physically possible. "And you two were hanging out?"

"He's a prick," Blaise concedes with a shrug. "But he's a prick that doesn't give up."

Draco pats him on the back. "I know how you love to be coddled."

Blaise shoots him a stony look.

Draco's mouth forms an impatient sneer. "What's wrong with you people? You know you need me for this so get off your high brooms and let's figure out a plan, yeah?"

"We'll just pretend he isn't here," Blaise tells her sympathetically. "Where is he?"

"In the tub." Hermione leads the way. She knocks twice with the back of her knuckles before swinging the door open. Harry is as she left him: clothed, sprawled in the dry bathtub, a bottle of his favourite Chardonnay gripped tightly in his hand—the second one he's finished today. His round, green eyes are red and shiny. "Harry? Blaise… and Draco are here," she says gently.

He smells like sweat and alcohol and licorice because it was all she could convince him to eat. He appeared at her flat this morning, utterly smashed, and refused to tell her what was wrong. She had to coax it out of him as she rubbed soothing circles against his back and promised that she'd never judge anything he ever did. He was her brother and she loved him no matter what.

And then he said, "I killed someone."

Hermione would've called Ron for help but this wasn't a Gryffindor type of situation. No, this required her Slytherin sources and she knew none of them would be willing to help Harry Potter except Blaise. And apparently Draco.

"What's the point? I'm going to end up in Azkaban. And I deserve it. I killed him. Oh Merlin, Mione. I killed him." His hand forms a fist that he pounds into the worn-out denim of his trousers.

Draco clears his throat. "Killed who exactly, Potter?"

Harry looks up, puzzled. "What are you even doing here, Malfoy?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he asks indignantly. "Seriously, you lot are barmy. If we're covering up a murder, I have the resources and the galleons."

She shoots him a shriveling look. "Cover up murders often?"

His eyes light with mirth, delighted that she's finally speaking to him. "Never know when my favourite Gryffindor might get herself into trouble."

Blaise pins them both with a hard look that focuses their attention back on Harry. "Start at the beginning," he asks The Boy Who Murdered A Man.

Harry brushes a hand through his sweaty hair, his fingernails are bitten to the quick and his cuticles are bloody like he's been ripping them. "Cho got it into her head that we should film a sex tape."

"A sex what?" Draco sounds both baffled and extremely amused.

"Go on." The tips of Hermione's ears burn.

"She wanted to have a threesome so we hired a Muggle escort, it's more subtle that way, you know? We purchased Muggle drugs to loosen up and I offered some to him. I was trying to be courteous and he was the only one of us who'd done it before so he was going to show us how but it must've been a bad batch because he started to convulse as soon as he took it and he-he—" Harry covers his face with his hands and a hysteric howl escapes his lips. "Cho and I contacted the Muggle police and left before they arrived. She insisted it wasn't our fault, that he willingly took the drugs, but I've felt guilty about it for months."

"Months?" Blaise repeats. "What's with the delayed reaction?"

Hermione pales, realizing the answer upon the second telling of the story. The first time, she was in full panic mode, scrounging for ways to save his drunk arse. "She's blackmailing you?"

Harry nods weakly. "She caught it all on video and says she'll show it to Skeeter, or she'll take it to Robards and have me fired. Says she hasn't decided which is worse. But I deserve this. I killed a man. Oh Merlin. I killed a man."

Draco interrupts, "What the hell does video mean? And why would Chang do something like that? Aren't you shagging?"

Hermione answers for him because Harry is busy chugging down the rest of the Chardonnay. The bottle clangs against the tub when he drains it, not a single drop to be spared. "A video is a Muggle version of watching a memory through a Pensieve. And they broke up recently." Her focus returns to Harry. "But I reckon she's held a grudge against you since Fifth Year. I told you not to get mixed up with her again. Now your cock is on the chopping block."

Draco's eyes glitter. "You don't get nearly enough credit for your wit."

Hermione scowls. She hasn't forgotten the parting words he said to her when they last saw one another. He made it clear that she means nothing to him and she hates him for it because he will forever play a role in her history. Her first time. How idiotic of her to give him something so significant. No way will she make the mistake of trusting Draco twice.

"It isn't your fault, Harry." Blaise sits on the edge of the tub, dark eyes full of concern. "Chang was right about one thing—he took the drugs on his own. Aren't these risks common in Muggle narcotics? Besides, none of us are saints." His gaze glides from Draco to Hermione pointedly.

After Blaise found out about Draco, their break up was final. It took her a long time to get over him and sometimes a part of her misses him so badly that she wishes she could turn back time and take it all back. But she's grateful for his presence because it's making Harry feel better and she's willing to swallow her own feelings to save him.

"Why don't the two of you head off to do your thing whilst I'll take care of this?" Blaise gestures to Harry with a nod.

"Our thing?" Hermione raises a brow.

"Don't look at me like that." Blaise knows her too well. "Go scheme. You're useless standing there twiddling your thumbs."

Draco and Hermione end up in her bedroom, where her study desk is located, to devise a plan. Hermione fetches two cups of tea, black for herself and two sugars for Draco because she knows how he likes to take it. Last minute, she swaps them because he doesn't deserve her kindness, but also subjects herself to saccharine tea and it only makes her grumpier. Who even takes two sugars? Seven-year-olds?

Draco is typical Draco and he only laughs at her scalding remarks and volleys insults back to her like it's a friendly game of Wizard's Chess. "Your room is rather dusty." He wipes a finger across her bookshelf.

"Not all of us hire poor house elves to keep the furniture spotless."

"No, you'd prefer they be stripped of their jobs and homes in the name of liberation," he says it like a casual fact.

She glowers at him. He sits on the edge of her bed since there's only one chair in the room and she's occupying it. The lilac duvet crinkles under his weight and his long fingers trace the patterns of flowers across the surface. "Are you going to do any work or just sit there insulting me?"

Mischief sparks in his grey eyes, bright and eager. "I rather like the way your cheeks flame when you're cross with me. Do you hate me very much, Hermione?"

"You're the most insufferable git I know."

His smile only spreads wider but he begins to work because he's not the type to sit around and do nothing. Grudgingly, she has to admit that he is resourceful as he reaches out to private investigators and conducts a full background check on Cho Chang.

Only by bribing Katie Bell do one of Draco's investigators give them something to work with. "She's addicted to Liquid Luck."

"Apparently didn't take any when they tried to film the sex tape."

Draco's mouth spreads into a full-blown smile. Hermione is forced to look away because sometimes she forgets how attractive he is. All angles and platinum hair and when he's flushed like that because he's tired it reminds her of his cheeks during…other activities… and ughh—he makes her chest hurt.

"Isn't she a pro quidditch player?" Draco lounges on her bed, leaning against the headboard. Her stuffed lion is between his hands and he keeps tossing it in the air, spinning the poor thing in circles. He's yawned six times in the past fifteen minutes and it's making her sleepy. It's past midnight and they're only now finding a solution to Harry's unfortunate circumstances. Hermione is sprawled at the foot of the bed, her body perpendicular to his. "She'll be suspended if they find out. Or if Skeeter gets a hold of it then it will be—

"A scandal." Hermione grins, glad for the sniveling toad of a journalist for once. "I still hate you but not bad, Draco."

He raises his arms above his head into a full-body stretch, yawning again. "Can we sleep now?"

"You're welcome to go home. Or if you must stay, you can take the floor."

He glowers but fluffs a pillow and settles on the ground, clearly too exhausted to bother going home. Hermione grins at the sight of the rich brat sleeping on her ratty, old rug. Perhaps the day hasn't been so rotten after all.

She remembers the night they sat on her bed and he gave her the diamond necklace. The trace of his soft mouth along her neck, doting and wicked. Holding her like she belonged right there in his arms. He'd deceived her so thoroughly she was swept away and abandoned at sea. It's a moment of weakness she reflects upon often. Sometimes to chide her own naivety but mostly because it ignites a vibrant flame in her chest that taunts her with desire. Unquenchable, filthy desire filling her mind with a steady stream of 'what if's.

It's how she falls asleep tonight: counting 'what if's instead of sheep, one foolish desire at a time.

When Hermione opens her eyes again, she's incredibly warm. The sun is shining, her body's heavy with exhaustion and—she sits up, appalled.

"Ow!" Draco growls when she smacks him on the back of the head. He's sleeping next to her, one lean arm draped across her as if he has the right to touch her like that.

"What? When? Where? Why?" She shoots out of bed.

"We were up late plotting against Chang. Must've dozed off." He's utterly relaxed, taking his sweet time sitting up. His hair is sticking up in different directions and it makes her wonder self-consciously what her own hair looks like this morning. She knows better than to touch it lest he think she's trying to look good for him.

"And you were on the floor."

"Well, I didn't want to hurt my back."

She slaps two hands against his chest when he's up and begins to shove him out the door. He's warm and solid and it makes her angrier so she pushes harder. "Now that Chang is done, so are you and I. She was the last thing we had in common."

"You know they say when you love something you should set it free." The stupid bloke is amused. He shuffles backwards towards the doorway, not putting up much of a fight. If anything, he looks delighted.

She's incensed. "They say when you hate something you should slam the door in its face."

"I love it when you talk dirty, Hermione." The door slams shut before he finishes the sentence and her name sounds muffled on the other side. Stupid Malfoy and his stupid entitlement and his stupid face and that stupid arm. Did he hold her all night? The audacity!

A FEW MONTHS LATER

Near the end of every summer, it's tradition for Theo Nott to host a white party at his family mansion. Guests are encouraged to bring their bathing suits, white only of course, and the first acre of land behind his home is transformed into an outdoor venue.

A rectangular dancefloor is built on the manicured lawn, on the stage a five-piece band called Wicked Spins is playing soft alternative music, all of them dressed in white but eccentrically summery as each musician's hair is dyed a different colour of the rainbow. The fully stocked bar is conveniently placed next to the liver-shaped pool, and each guest is dressed in white attire only. Theo's very serious about the dress code and those who haven't adhered to it are turned away by no nonsense house elves.

Draco arrives in linen trousers and a button-down t-shirt made of organic cotton to quell the aggressive heat of the afternoon. A pair of aviator sunglasses is perched on his nose and his hair falls loosely above his brow.

He spots Blaise right away, laughing at something Potter has said. Blaise wears a white t-shirt, black sunglasses, and white swim trunks that stand out starkly against his dark skin. Potter is clad in a pair of white trunks and nothing else, a smatter of dark hair sprinkled across his bare chest. He's in much higher spirits since he and Hermione managed to dispel the Cho Chang situation.

Draco wasn't there to witness it but apparently Granger got in touch with Chang's family, pretending to be a concerned friend, and told them about her unlucky addiction. Apparently, they were horrified and hauled her to a discreet rehab facility somewhere in Dorset. Safe to say she won't be bothering Potter again. It makes him wonder if Hermione's unconditional love for Potter inspired Blaise to be more forgiving. After all, Blaise and Hermione dated first and she never cut Potter off for stealing him.

Speaking of Hermione… he does a scan of the room but doesn't spot her petite figure or massive hair anywhere. She has either not arrived or isn't coming. Draco isn't sure which is worse.

The things he said to her… fuck. He was her first time and she was perfect and beautiful and sexy and she made him so fucking crazy about her and then he compared her to his soggy, broken broom. He's such a moron.

The silly witch should've known better than to visit him when his fallout with Blaise was so fresh and she was the very obstacle lodged between them. And didn't she realize she'd shattered his shriveled heart when she walked away from him at the Ministry party and ran straight into Blaise's arms? Maybe he'd gone overboard with the whole Daily Prophet thing but—he was a Malfoy and Malfoys didn't half-arse anything.

And apparently neither did Grangers. After claiming that there was nothing left between them once their Cho Chang scheme was accomplished, she'd truly meant it. He hasn't seen her in ages. You'd think he'd be less attached but somehow his feelings have only become more intolerable.

Desperate for a drink, Draco arrives at the bar at the same time as Astoria Greengrass. She is wearing a short, sheath dress and strappy sandals. Her finger and toe nails are painted hot pink, her long, dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and massive sunglasses cover half of her face. But he recognizes her anyway. Partly because of the Cheshire cat smile she bears when she's near him. Hermione lent him Alice In Wonderland when they were still at Hogwarts and it gave him funny dreams for two weeks. Why must everything remind him of her?

"Hi, Draco," she says after ordering herself a dry martini. She tilts her head back to look at his face because he's still taller than her even when she's in high heels. "I like your hair like that."

"Thanks." He barely pays attention to her. He opens his mouth to place his order but the bartender's eyes widen at something over his shoulder and Draco has to do a double take because the Viktor Krum is standing behind him as if his presence at Theo's party is totally normal.

"Go ahead," Krum urges him to order since it's his turn.

Draco swallows and asks for a whiskey neat, double shot. For some reason, Astoria decides to linger and her arm brushes his when he steps away with his drink. Krum orders two Long Island iced teas and the bartender begins to ask him about the team and compliments him on his last winning catch. Draco is waiting for an in on the conversation because it's Viktor Krum and the bloke has only managed to become more famous since he participated in the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. But before Draco can manage a word, Hermione appears.

The summer has been sweet to her. Her skin is browned and a shimmering powder on her skin makes her sparkle radiantly with each shift of her body. He remembers how she tasted on the tip of his tongue, the shape of her shoulder against his mouth. She wears a flowy maxi dress and her hair is loose except for a gold headband that draws the curls out of her face so they're tumbling down her back and shoulders. She looks like a woman that belongs eternally on the beach.

"Here, skŭpa." Krum passes one of the tall glasses to Hermione, calling her something Bulgarian that he's sure he doesn't want to understand.

When she takes the glass from his hand, he kisses her temple, eyes glowing with sickening adoration. Draco's jaw clenches and he wonders why he even wanted to talk to the dumb bloke in the first place.

Hermione's attention finally lands on him and then pans to Astoria who is standing silently by his side. He's suddenly grateful for her presence because it's obviously making Hermione assume things about them and it saves him from looking like a miserable loner. "Hi, Draco."

"Hermione." He nods coolly. "You look nice."

"Thanks," her voice is strained. He resists the urge to fidget under her scrutinizing gaze. He feels inadequately small next to Krum who surpasses him in both height and build. It was one thing to lose her to Blaise but to stand against Viktor Krum? Who can compete with that? Of course, Viktor Krum's bank accounts aren't quite as dense but Hermione has never cared for that sort of thing. "Have you met Viktor before?"

"Not really," he says. "Draco Malfoy."

"Hello, Draco," Viktor says pleasantly, shaking his hand. "And you are?"

Astoria steps forward confidently, posture straight like a proper, little pureblood witch. "Astoria Greengrass."

Hermione clears her throat, a strange look in her eyes that Draco isn't sure should please him or make him weary. "Any plans for the rest of the summer?"

"More work with my father," he replies vaguely. He wants to tell her about the potions business that he's planning to pitch to his father. If they were still friends, he would've sought out her opinion weeks ago. But he doesn't like to discuss business matters when strangers are listening and Hermione has no reason to want to help him with anything. The loss of her friendship stings, only cemented by this awkward interaction.

"I'm going to Capri for the last two weeks of August," Astoria says as if someone asked her.

"Capri is very nice in summer," Viktor hums in agreement. A big, hairy arms drapes around Hermione, drawing her into his side. "I'm bringing this one home with me."

Draco feels the urge to toss his glass at the big oaf's head. "You're moving to Bulgaria?" He hasn't seen Hermione in months but she's always been home. The thought of her moving away with Viktor Krum is… unfathomable.

Her chin juts high. "No, but he's trying to convince me I should."

Krum buries his face into her hair and sniffs. He knows exactly what he must be smelling: powdery florals with a sweet, fruity punch reminiscent of autumn apples or fresh pears. He'd recognize Hermione's scent anywhere. "I'll change your mind, baby."

Draco almost gags but he has enough social decorum to hold it together. Still, his mind is flooded with images of Hermione living in Viktor Krum's home, sleeping in his bed every night, her hair imposing enough to need both pillows, the scent of her all over his sheets, that brilliant mind at his disposal when he doesn't even need it as a professional Seeker. Draco can't stand it anymore and slips away, leaving the three of them to dwell in the awkward tension without him.

He spends the rest of the party moping. His day is ruined and his gaze keeps falling on Viktor Krum's big, fat shoulders and the way he keeps Hermione by his side the whole afternoon. Cheeky witches attempt to flirt with him but he's cold and distant and they get the hint. Astoria doesn't bother him again, likely offended that he left her at the bar to be the third wheel. Theo offers to lend him swim trunks so they can race in the pool but Draco's not in the mood.

Hermione can't move to Bulgaria. Viktor Krum isn't allowed to appear from thin air and whisk her away so that he'll never see her again. She doesn't belong with him.

As the sun sets, the crowd only grows louder and more intoxicated. More people are on the dance floor, groping and grinding against one another. Lavender Brown is snogging Ron Weasley with tongue, her full chest squashed against his sweaty, white t-shirt. A few drunks have decided to take a dip in their white underwear, leaving very little room to the imagination. Pansy is one of them. Draco hasn't had the appetite for more booze, afraid to lose control of his inhibitions. He has wanted to leave for the last two hours but is unable to tear his eyes from Hermione.

Panic rises as he wonders if he'll ever see her again. Of course he will, even if she moves to Bulgaria she's bound to come back for visits. But she'll belong to another man and he'll no longer think of her as his Hermione. Because she is his Hermione. She gave herself to him on his birthday and he's been unable to look at another woman the same way since. Why did he say such terrible things to her? Why couldn't he have more self-control with his stupid, scathing tongue?

Viktor says something in Hermione's ear and heads towards the house. She doesn't follow him and seems uncertain where to go since she hasn't been alone all evening. Draco seizes the opportunity because he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't try to change her mind.

"Don't leave with him."

She startles, not having seen him approach. But the words register because despair flashes across her face with such force that it almost makes him reach for her. "Why?"

"You don't belong with him. You don't belong with Blaise, either." His eyes trace the curves of her mouth. Her upper lip's particularly defined, with a deep bow in the centre like a storybook princess. He imagines tracing the shape with his tongue.

"You don't belong with anybody," her voice is firm, punishing. Her hands grasp opposite elbows like she's cold.

He knows he deserves it. But it hurts and it makes him more desperate. "Hermione, please. Don't leave with him."

"Why?" she asks again. Her eyes are big and searching, waiting for something.

He scrambles to collect the right words. "Because you don't want to."

A subtle shake of her head, disappointment creases the corners of her eyes. "Not good enough." She won't make this easy for him.

He swallows, forcing himself to hold it together. His heart races harder the longer she stands there, waiting for him to fix this. "Because I don't want you to."

"Not enough," her voice cracks.

His heart sinks deeply, drowning in burning desire. He imagines a boiling cauldron about to spill over. "What else is there?" He swallows but the lump in his throat goes nowhere.

She stretches to her full height and lifts her chin, bracing herself. "The true reason I should stay right where I am. Three words, eight letters." He knows instantly what she wants to hear and it absolutely terrifies him. Her next words are uttered so quietly that he has to focus on the cadence of her voice, watch the movement of her lips. "Say it and I'm yours."

She's so close. He could have her. She's giving him a way. Sweat blooms in his palms. He balls them into fists, grappling for control. "I-I-…" and yet…

Disappointment fills her eyes and Draco knows he's lost even before she walks away from him. "Thank you. It's all I needed to hear." He doesn't miss the single tear that trickles from her eye as she leaves. Is this to be the nature of every one of their conversations? He makes her cry, she walks away, and he's left absolutely empty.

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"C'mon mate, you need to eat something." Blaise's tired eyes are filled with trepidation, staring at the legless fool sprawled on the grass.

Draco only gurgles in response and withdraws a silver flask from the inner pocket of his robes. It takes him three tries to twist the cap open and when he finally manages to, it's empty. He throws it across the yard with an angry cry.

Hermione falls to her knees beside him, grabbing hold of his shoulders to settle him. He lies on his back and stares at the blue sky. "Clouds… fluffy… centaur." His silver eyes are extra bright in the daylight but they're glazed with intoxication and there's dark smudges beneath them which hinders their unique appeal. His hair is greasy and not on purpose. Blaise barely managed to get him into his black robes and he's missing a shoe.

She stands, wiping the grass from her black stockings. "I'll fetch him something to eat." She rushes inside the Manor where the mourning crowd socializes in hushed tones at the reception of Lucius Malfoy's funeral. A freak accident on a business trip involving an irate Swedish Short-Snout and a broken wand. Conspiracies are flying of course, talk of freedom fighters with an agenda against the pureblood extremist but there's no proof.

Hermione keeps to herself, knowing full well she isn't welcome in this crowd. Even though the war is over and people have become more open-minded, the Malfoy circle has never much expanded their beliefs and certainly not those attending Lucius Malfoy's funeral. A woman who looks like Pansy Parkinson watches her peculiarly, mouth pursed with distaste. Hermione shoots her a piqued look and walks away. She fills a plate with an assortment of fruits: grapes, pineapples, and extra slices of green apple because she knows it's Draco's favourite, and grabs a couple of finger sandwiches hoping it'll soak up some of the alcohol.

Draco has been drinking for days. Even with Blaise and Hermione keeping constant vigil, it's impossible to keep him out of his cups. And who could blame him? She scurries back outside, but has to slow her pace to keep the objects in the plate from flying everywhere. Blaise intercepts her in the corridor and panic pinches her gut. "You left him alone?"

"He passed out and I need to use the loo."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't scold him. There's only so much trouble Draco can get into if he's unconscious. Hermione heads back anyway because the only thing worse than witnessing the prat so miserable is the knowledge of him grieving in solitude. Draco and Hermione have hurt one another tremendously in the past but nothing stings as much as seeing him fly off the rails like this.

"Draco?" She panics when she doesn't find him in his spot on the grass. Where did he go? He was too blustering drunk to disappear like this. Did he disapparate? Oh no, no, no. "Draco?"

Something swishes past her head and she has to duck to prevent getting whacked by a shoe. He's on his broom, leaning back with his arms spread like a bird. The wind is blowing his hair out of his eyes and his black robes are billowing behind him like a cape. "Come down, Draco! It's dangerous."

But he either doesn't hear or purposely ignores her all together. He clutches the end of his broom and tips it back to soar higher. If he falls from up there… Dread fills her veins with ice.

Blaise shows up and says, "Oh fuck."

"We need to get him down!"

"They have extra brooms inside. Keep an eye on him I'll be right back." He sprints back towards the house. His panic only escalates her fear. If something happens to him…

She watches him fly in figure eights, his movements are lazy which appeases her nerves slightly, but he's highly unpredictable when he's inebriated and grieving and there's a high chance that he might do something very, very stupid.

"Draco!" she screams when he begins to fly higher, disappearing behind the pillars of the mansion.

"Here." Blaise has returned and is thrusting a shiny, black broom at her. A fast-looking one.

She gulps but takes it because there's no way she's staying down here when Draco is up in the sky somewhere, flying drunk. Blaise soars up first, it comes naturally to him. But Hermione ascends with more care. Despite her attempt at caution, the broom jets up high, surpassing Blaise with such speed her stomach plummets to her arse. She begins to scream.

"Calm down, calm down." Blaise is next to her in a beat, grabbing the handle to steady her. "If you fly with fear the broom won't cooperate with you. Focus, Hermione. Do it for Draco."

She wonders how much it stings to say something like that to her, but Blaise is just as concerned for his best mate as she is and they're both willing to overlook their sticky past when Draco needs them. Besides, Blaise and Draco have been on good terms for a while now. She doesn't know why or how but she's seen them together often since the Cho Chang incident and they're not trying to hex one another to death anymore so that's a good sign.

Hermione nods, taking a cleansing breath to steady herself on the broom. "I got it. Go! He went that way last time I saw him."

Blaise zips past her again, and Hermione follows at a much steadier pace, reminding herself over and over not to look down. The world looks like a chess set from the sky, everything is miniature like you can pick it up and move it around. She wonders how they're supposed to find Draco when he could've flown in any possible direction but Blaise calls for her and she sighs in relief when she sees him pointing towards the rooftop. Draco and rooftops, she should've known.

Her relief is short-lived because they find him standing on the ledge of the foot-wide banister, his steps are light but graceless. His broom is on the ground next to Blaise, and his arms are open in a T-shape for balance but they're waving too much, only managing to make him wobble worse. Hermione lands safely on the pebbled surface of the roof while Blaise takes to the sky again, prepared to catch Draco should he fall.

"Draco, come down. Please," her voice sounds as unsteady as Draco's drunken figure.

He's barely listening. "Draco, Draco, Draco…" he says it like he's tasting the letters on his tongue, one word slurring into the next. He does a spin and nearly topples over but catches himself. "I'm Draco Malfoy!" he cries into the air, disrupting the sullen silence. It's as if the estate is aware its master has died and has become horribly eerie. Or maybe it's because Hermione's biased. When only the hiss of the wind echoes back to him, Draco says in a much smaller voice, "Who cares?"

Hermione's eyes are two full moons and her vision grows blurry as she stares at him. Her heart is racing and even though Blaise is there to catch him, she's terrified that he won't be quick enough and Draco will escape her grasp for good. She steps forward and says with conviction, "I do."

He looks at her, glazed eyes filled with surprise.

She's directly below him and even though he's likely seeing double, she makes sure to look straight into his eyes as she says, "Don't you understand? If anything happened to you... I couldn't bear it. So whatever you want to do to yourself, please don't do that to me."

He's frozen, staring at her like he can't believe she's real. She stretches her arm, offering him her hand. "Please," she says. He stares at it and then meets her eyes and for a moment she thinks he might be completely coherent. "Please."

Draco bends down and curls his fingers around hers. She steadies him when he leaps to the ground. "I'm sorry," he says in a low voice. She hauls him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry," he says again, burying his face into her neck. And then he begins to cry.

Draco and Hermione sink to the ground and he cries so much that her collar becomes damp with his cold tears. She murmurs soft things into his ear, promising that she's there and that he's not alone. Her fingers sink into his shoulder blades. He's warm but trembling and he reeks of liquor but she barely notices. Blaise is there but he keeps his distance, as if he knows that Draco needs Hermione more.

At last, Draco collapses against her, asleep.

Blaise sits next to her and says in a hushed voice, "You're really sweet with him."

"Sweet? No," but as she says it, her fingers are in his hair, stroking him.

"Yeah, you are. I see the way you fuss over him, how you worry about him. Whatever happened between the two of you wasn't just a drunk mistake, was it?"

"No, it wasn't." She's both thankful that Blaise understands this truth and sorry because she never meant to steal his best friend. Perhaps this means they're even.

Blaise leaves but Hermione knows he'll be back later. He's a good friend. She lies back with Draco wrapped around her. She casts a warming spell on the two of them and the heat and the solitude and the quiet lull her into a deep, exhausted sleep.

When she wakes up, Draco is gone.

His broom is still there so at least he hasn't flown off sloshed again. The sun is setting which means it's been hours since she landed on the roof and Draco must be semi-sober at this point. Unless he started drinking again. Reluctantly, she can admit to herself that she's hurt that he left her here. But he isn't himself right now.

She stands and shakes dust and sharp, tiny stones off her skirt. That's when she sees him. He hasn't left but he's about to. He's leaning against the concrete wall behind her, pale hair whipping into his dispassionate eyes, wand in hand, and stance wide like he's preparing to disapparate. She wonders if he was waiting for her to wake up before he left.

"Don't go, or if you have to leave let me come with you," her voice sounds hoarse and drowsy. The wind hasn't been kind to her vocal cords, especially not high up on the roof.

"I appreciate your concern." His face remains stoic.

"No, you don't. You don't appreciate anything today but I don't care. Whatever you're going through, I want to be there for you."

"You're not my girlfriend," he sounds bitter.

She walks to him. "But I am me, and you are you. We're Draco and Hermione. Hermione and Draco. The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I will stand by you through anything."

A deep crease forms between his brows. "And why would you do that?"

When she says it out loud, it's the first time she admits it to either of them, "Because I love you."

A beat of silence passes between them. She's frozen, too anxious to shift a muscle. Even her breath is trapped in her throat. Emotion flickers in his eyes and then he says, "That's too bad."

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"Oops was that a new dress?" Hermione stares at the big, yellow stain that is now forming on Astoria's lap after she knocked her Butterbeer over it.

Astoria's cheeks flame and she rises, yanking her wand out. "You have a problem with me?"

Hermione shoves the girl back onto her seat. "Put that thing away before you hurt yourself."

"Hermione." Harry stands, eyes weary because this isn't new to any of them. "Let's get some air."

Hermione's eyes flash from Harry to Blaise who's sitting next to him and then they land on Draco and she looks so wounded that he has to look away. Pansy watches the scene unfold with bright eyes, the only one of them to love this version of Hermione. Theo performs a silent drying spell on Astoria but wisely stays out of it.

"Don't bother." Hermione turns on her heels and makes a beeline to the exit. The door makes a cheery ringing noise as she disappears into the natural light.

They invited her out hoping to lift her spirits and reintegrate her into the circle. Astoria showed up and Theo invited her to sit down like a blasting idiot and when Hermione arrived and saw Draco sitting next to her, it wasn't hard to guess what she'd falsely concluded.

Draco would've been thrilled by her blatant jealousy a few months ago but now it revs his anxiety. Harry starts to follow her but Draco stands. "I'll go."

They exchange a meaningful look and Harry nods subtly because he knows there's history between Draco and Hermione, and he must know why her temper snapped before she even sat at the table.

Draco rushes after her, hoping to catch her before she disapparates. The last time they left her alone when she was unstable, they'd spent the entire evening repairing the broken glass on all the shop vitrines at Knockturn Alley. And those are people you really don't want to tick off. Not that Hermione cares about that.

"Hey, Hermione! Wait a second."

"What?" She swivels around. She's in black knee-high boots and a plaid skirt that reaches mid-thigh. A leather jacket with several tiny pockets is zipped all the way to the top of her neck and her hair is tossed into a messy bun like she couldn't be bothered to deal with it. The brown of her eyes looks particularly bright in the evening sun, especially because it's contoured by dark circles.

"What you saw in there with Astoria, it's not what you think."

Her mouth lifts into a taunting smile and he hates it. "I don't care, Draco."

"Yes, you do." He steps forward. "I know you do."

"I don't care about anything anymore."

He flinches. Two months ago, Hermione was kidnapped by a group of radical Death Eaters intent on torturing Harry Potter's Mudblood friend. When the Aurors finally found her, she'd been Crucio'd so many times that she needed three weeks of recovery at St. Mungo's. Her night terrors were rampant, she could barely walk without trembling, and her magic shut down for two entire weeks like it had been drained.

It changed something in her.

She was unkind to people. She set Rita Skeeter's house on fire—that one cost a pretty knut to cover up. But most importantly, she stopped caring about him.

He wishes he wasn't cruel to her when his father died. He wishes he wasn't cruel to her before that. She loved him despite everything. Told him so when he didn't have the courage to admit his own feelings. And now?

"What are you doing? Trying to destroy the old you? Burn every bridge? It won't help, believe me I've tried."

"Maybe I should head up to the roof, make it more dramatic."

"This isn't you," he states with confidence.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you better than I know myself."

She steps closer, so close that the toes of their boots are touching. She speaks in a low, sultry voice, "Right. You can see right through me, can't you, Draco? Into my core. Remember when you saw the real me? When I danced for you that night at your birthday. Hermione with none of the hang-ups, none of the frustrations. That Hermione's right here." Her hand is on his arm, gliding a path to his shoulder. Even though he's in long sleeves it makes him shiver. Her breath is warm on his neck as she says, "Take me now."

He swallows. Fuck. Those eyes. That mouth. His heart races at the proximity of her. She's right there, offering herself to him. Memories flood into his mind: stolen kisses and hot skin, the shape of her thighs curled around his hips, those pretty, pretty lips parted in pure pleasure, the sound of her coming apart vibrating on his tongue. He wants it. He wants it so badly, every muscle in his body clenches with unparalleled desire.

"No, this isn't you." He forces himself to step back, collecting every ounce of control he can muster. "It's not the Hermione I want."

Rage fills her eyes and she jerks away, throwing old words back at him, "That's too bad."

Draco reaches for her but she's too quick and disapparates before he can stop her. "Bloody hell!"

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"We are pleased to announce that the winner of the Scugglypuck Foundation Fundraiser, and the candidate who will be sent to Darwin to apprentice at the Scugglypuck Nature Reserve to aid with the archaeological discovery and study of extinct, magical creatures is—Hermione Granger!"

Hermione's slumped countenance straightens with a surprised gasp. A big smile spreads on her face and Draco's heart melts at the sight. She scurries to the stage through the polite applause, a delightful blush soaking her cheeks. She's wearing a red jumpsuit, it flows elegantly around her legs but is tight on her upper body, a scalloped neckline creates the prettiest shape against her warm skin. Draco has had a hard time tearing his eyes from her all evening. She really is a vision in red.

Blaise looks gobsmacked but he begins to clap with the rest of the crowd. "I thought Thomas said the obvious winner was going to be Daphne. Didn't her family buy eight hundred t-shirts? Hermione was only at three-hundred and forty."

Harry is wearing a black suit without a tie and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. He sends Draco a knowing look. "You did something when you went to the donation booth just now, didn't you?"

He shrugs, hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. "Anyone need a thousand Scugglypuck t-shirts?"

"Why?" Harry adjusts his glasses, a baffled look on his face.

"She deserves to be happy," he says easily. "Look at that smile."

Blaise pats him on the back, a low whistle parting his lips. The scent of his peppery aftershave is strong enough to reach Draco's nostrils, though he could've sworn it was Potter's cologne when they first greeted him. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

Draco only grins, eyes never leaving the golden girl at the podium.

She recovered since her attack. Of course, she did. And still, they haven't gotten together. Draco doesn't want to push her and Hermione doesn't seem interested in him anymore. The truth stings but he won't stand in her way because she's bound for brilliance and he'd rather be lonely than extinguish her flame.

He's tired of hurting her, tired of putting himself first because it obviously hasn't been working. Even if he can't have her, he wants Hermione to be happy and Draco will buy thousands of t-shirts to see her smile like that. For a time, he was certain he'd never see her unabashed joy again. The fact that she still has the capacity warms his miserable heart.

A FEW MONTHS LATER

When Hermione arrives at the Ministry with her trunks where the international portkey drops her off, she's both surprised and pleased to see Draco waiting for her. His ice blond hair is styled back, he's in a flattering double-breasted jacket in deep navy blue with golden buttons, and there's a bouquet of full-bloom, pink peonies in the nook of his arm.

"What are you doing here?" she asks cautiously because he's hurt her before and she needs to stop letting her heart deceive her.

His eyes are gentle, trailing over her figure like he can't believe she's real. When he talks there's a smile on his lips and in his voice, "I've been a coward, Hermione. But everywhere I go, no matter what I'm doing or who I'm with, you're with me. I can't get you out of my head, or out of my heart."

Her belly dips. After an entire summer in Darwin and long, tedious days spent in the heat and sand and dirt, avoiding murderous spiders and snakes, and slathering enough SPF on her skin to avoid skin cancer for decades, she was eager to return home. But this reception is too good to be true. "I want to believe you. But I can't. You've hurt me too many times."

"You can believe me this time," there isn't a shadow of a doubt in his words.

"Oh," she tilts her head to the side, weary of his usual games, "that's it?"

He looks into her eyes with a knowing grin. There's a newfound confidence in him that hasn't existed before, like he grew up while she was gone. Or maybe the change spurred even before then and she didn't notice. Their history is muggy and painful and she doesn't want to sift through it all now.

His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are brilliant silver, unstifled by the dull shadows of the Ministry. "I love you too," he says.

For a moment nothing happens.

She steps forward.

Kissing him is too easy, no matter how long it's been since they last held one another like this, it feels like no time has passed at all. The scent of cool rain, fresh mint, and citrus spice splashes across her senses, making her toes curl with memories of passionate rooftop kisses and sweat-slick skin. His free arm wraps around her waist, and his mouth forms a smile against hers. Or maybe he never stopped smiling. It's contagious and she giggles, pulling away. "But can you say it twice?"

He laughs, eyes bright and brimming with open adoration. They're only parted for a second before he snatches her again, kissing her over and over. There isn't anything intense or rough or angry or desperate about it. No—this moment is sunny and airy and filled with laughter and delight and stupendous feelings she never thought she could share with him. She barely recognizes the sheer happiness in her own voice when she says, "No, I'm serious. Say it twice."

"I love you," he presses against her mouth. And then he says it again and seals it with a kiss, over and over, one sliding into the next—I love you… I love you… I love you…

And that's it! Hope you enjoyed. Reviews make my day, would love to hear your thoughts. I'm on a writing journey and appreciate any feedback I can get. I really loved writing this one, I know it's a rollercoaster ride but that's Drama TV for ya.

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