Hiiii. I said I'd be back soon and then I wasn't. I'm a dirty liar :( Life, am I right? How many times have I used that excuse now...

Anyway, I think maybe, hopefully, possibly you'll forgive me? Especially with this fun chapter?

I hope to hear your thoughts :)

Love,

Cherry

The pair entered a small, but reasonably busy pub, and took two seats at the bar, Hermione ordering a gin and tonic while Draco opted for an aged whisky.

"Something eating at you?" Hermione posed the question and Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"Hardly." He responded, taking a long drink as the bartender set the glasses down. "What could possibly be eating me?" The unsolved murders of his parents, strangers that knew who he was, the way Hermione's lipstick stuck to her glass when she removed her puckered lips.

"I told Mimmy this was a bad idea." Hermione sighed, rubbing away the red from her tall drink. "Has it spread?" She asked, looking at Draco for confirmation. He sat there, dumbstruck, as Hermione gestured to her face. Did he dare lie and say it had smudged all over just to stare at her lips?

"Only a bit." He thought the lie was harmless, but when he saw his hand make contact with the edge of her lower lip, he'd wondered if he'd lost his mind. "There." He whispered, hardly able to believe he was touching her. They had come quite close to this before, just the once in Hermione's flat, but to actually be touching her. To feel the warmth of her skin below his fingers. Draco decided it had been worth lying about her lipstick.

"Thanks." Hermione breathed, acutely aware of the way Draco's thumb had felt against her and the way it made her stomach turn. She quickly requested a straw to break the tension.

"So you're friends with Delacour." Draco said in an attempt to change the subject. He took another drink and ordered a double when the bartender came back with two small, black straws for Hermione.

"Through Bill." Hermione explained, grateful to focus her attention on something other than how kissable Draco had looked when he'd been staring at her lips.

"That's the Curse-Breaker Weasley, yes?" Draco asked and Hermione nodded.

"They met when he worked at Gringotts." Hermione explained. "Inseparable ever since, which drove Molly and Ginny mad, initially." Hermione giggled at the memories. Fleur had been terribly blunt (and still was) with her opinions, which hardly ever aligned with Molly's. They'd sorted it all out when Bill had gotten injured by Fenrir Greyback, but issues still arose every so often.

"Initially?" Draco asked out of curiosity, hardly able to imagine how the flamboyant Frenchwoman could fit into the Weasley clan.

"Fleur blamed her English." Hermione explained. "As it got better, the squabbles lessened, but even now, after ten years, Fleur still occasionally pretends to not understand Molly's commentary and will return some jaded response."

Draco smirked and told Hermione a similar story of the woman a cousin of his married and the mess she would make of family Christmas parties. He enjoyed the way she laughed at his story and continued, telling her more and more of the dysfunctions of his extended family. It wasn't very difficult, as Draco was able to track his lineage wide, and as a result, spent holidays with more cousins and aunts and uncles than he'd like to know.

The two drank and talked for hours, and when the bartender asked them if they were locals, Hermione ran with the cover story they had composed.

"We're engaged and needed to do a little shopping for our new home." She gushed, a little more tipsy than she was used to. She splayed her hand over Draco's and gripped, which Draco returned silently. He hadn't expected her enthusiasm, but who was he to stop her from sharing their story? Well, some other couple's story, but Draco was content to adopt it if it meant she'd touch him affectionately.

"Congratulations." The bartender responded. "Are you planning to live in Edinburgh?" He cleaned a glass as he half-listened to Hermione's response, happy to entertain the couple if it meant more money.

"No." Hermione shook her head. "We've purchased a house in Dorset, right on the water's front." She explained with much more detail than Draco was expecting. "For after the wedding, of course." She looked at Draco saucily as though he'd suggested they christen their bedroom before their marriage, perish the thought. "It's quite cosy, which will be a lovely change of pace from our family manors." She snuggled up to Draco then, much more than she would have if she were completely sober. Again, Draco didn't object, though he didn't quite know what to do with his free hand. He kept it wrapped around his glass.

The bartender nearly saw galleons when he heard "manors," plural, so he pulled a bottle of champagne from the shelf, pouring two flutes for the couple.

"Then a toast is in order." He slid the flutes and bottle toward Draco and Hermione, and though Draco knew what the man was doing, he accepted the glass and clinked his with Hermione's before taking a small drink. He'd never fancied champagne, especially when it was being added to his tab.

Draco slid his arm over the back of Hermione's chair and leaned over, nearly pressing his mouth to her ear.

"A house in Dorset?" He asked, and Hermione relished in the way his breath tickled her ear. She smiled happily and tucked her own face into his.

"Don't like the water?" Hermione murmured. "Or is it the dinosaurs?" Hermione had grown fond of Dorset, and rather enjoyed the history the town had. She wondered if Draco would know about its location on the Jurassic Coast, since wizards were more concerned with dragons than dinosaurs, but Draco was a well educated man, it turned out.

"This may come as a surprise, Granger, but I'm quite interested in dinosaurs." He responded, and Hermione leaned back to get a good look at him. "Oh yes, big ones, small ones, ones with pointy teeth, I love all dinosaurs equally." Draco wondered if he'd had a little too much whisky to drink, but he forgot all about the concern when Hermione laughed until tears poured from her eyes. He hadn't thought his comment had been particularly funny (after all, he really did love dinosaurs), but if it made Hermione laugh, Draco would say anything.

"I especially love the little ones with the funny necks." Draco imitated a Dilophosaurus by splaying his fingers out around the base of his chin while making hissing noises, and at that, Hermione grabbed his wrists, nearly unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Draco, please." She said between gasps. "You can't make that face anymore, it's indecent."

Draco chuckled, his wrists still entrapped by Hermione's hands as he reached forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and before either really knew it, they were kissing.

Draco nearly melted into his seat at the sensation of Hermione's lips against his, and wondered if he was dreaming. He must have been. This couldn't possibly be real life. But the way Hermione rooted her fingers into Draco's hair felt real, and when she tugged, there was no denying that they were kissing.

Still aware that they were sitting in a pub (albeit a fairly empty pub), Draco pulled back just enough to see Hermione, whose lips were still pouted as her eyes opened slowly, and when he went to speak, to say something to apologise for his forward behavior (or if she had liked it, perhaps suggest that they go somewhere a little more private), Hermione surprised him.

"I should get going." She breathed, and without another word, she stood and swooped up her cloak and gloves as she headed toward the door.

Draco, still coming off the high of the kiss, had a delayed reaction to her response, but as quickly as he could, Draco pulled a handful of sickles and placed them on the bartop, not bothering to count as he stood smoothly from his own seat, following Hermione out the front door.

"Granger!" Draco called at Hermione's retreating form. When her shoulders hunched tighter, he sped up, snagging her by the arm. "Granger, stop." He pleaded with her. "I'm sorry, please, don't just leave." She wouldn't meet his pleading eyes with her own, though she did slow to a stop. "I didn't - I'm sorry that I -" Draco nearly groaned, unable to come up with a proper apology. How could he? When he wanted Hermione as much as he did, he would have begged her for even one more kiss before he regretted the first.

But he had to. Hermione was upset, and to her, Draco was only a friend, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing her if he made his preferences known.

"I think that was unexpected for us both." He spoke slowly and deliberately. "But not something wanted, I know. I fully intend to blame the alcohol and Mimmy's suggestion for all of this when I am sober, but know that my intention is never to hurt you. To make you flee my presence as though I've just suggested we take up the Dark Lord's cause despite his absence."

Hermione turned her head at this and looked at Draco sharply. "I know you well enough to know you would never mean to cause me harm." She admonished, and Draco let out just a bit of the breath he was holding. "And my reaction was not to you. Whatever that was, back there," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the pub, "was...more pleasant than I could have imagined, and not something I blame you for." Hermione scrunched her nose, still not entirely of her right mind, but was she ever really?

"There's, there's this doubt I have. In myself, in my interactions with you, with your world, that makes me...fear that I'm doing something wrong. That I shouldn't be feeling anything like this when I've only known you, really known you for at best five months." At some point, Hermione's gaze had shifted to the cobblestone beneath their feet, and when she looked back up at Draco, through dark lashes, Draco thought he was finally beginning to understand what she meant.

She liked him.

Against her better judgment, and every warning her mind was putting up, Hermione had all but admitted she liked Draco.

And Draco swore he would blame the whisky in the morning for what happened next, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. But Merlin, he didn't care anymore.

So he kissed her.

Hermione gasped into Draco's mouth as their lips parted, both in surprise and desire, and she dropped the cloak and gloves, wrapping both hands around Draco's neck. She toyed with the short hair there as she let her body take over, let Draco take over, and when his tongue met her's for the briefest of moments, it was done with such a deftness that a tiny part of her hazy mind wondered how many times he'd done this before. She certainly hoped he would do it again.

Draco groaned as Hermione pressed forward into him, needing some kind of solid force to keep her from floating away, so he guided her two steps backwards to press her between the brick wall of a shop and the length of his body. The two separated for the briefest of moments as Hermione had the wind knocked out of her, but at eye level, she could see the way Draco's pulse throbbed against his pale, lean neck and she wanted to taste it. That kiss made Draco lose track of what to do with his hands, so he settled on moving them to Hermione's hips, though one might have been sliding its way to her backside.

Both were far too drunk (either on each other or the alcohol, they didn't know) to notice that they were being watched from a narrow alley across the way. They were far too drunk to bother occluding their minds, so neither noticed the threads of legilimency that wormed their way through the hazy fog of lust. They were lucky, however, that they were both highly trained in occlumency, so no matter how much the wizard in the shadows tried to pry their minds open, he was met with generic imagery of the two writing at their respective desks.

With a frustrated huff, the wizard cast a false memory spell over the pair, though it would have to be subtle if it were to go unnoticed for two such powerful wizards. So he settled on drunkenness as his cover, seeing as they had spent most of the night in a pub. The two had entered Utopian Woodworking and spoken to the owner, but the rest was all sort of foggy, as they had stopped by a pub and drank more than their bodies were used to, so when they woke, it would be to a hangover and a vague memory of the nothingness they had found that evening.

The wizard watched the pair separate, pick up their belongings, and walk side by side back to Crow Comestibles before disappearing into the dark alley from which he'd appeared.

When Draco woke, he realised someone (likely Thrump) had brought him to his bed chambers and rid him of his formal robes for something more suitable for sleep before tucking him in. After sitting up, Draco fought off the initial nausea that always haunted him after a night of heavy drinking, and found a glass of water and two purple pills sitting on his nightstand. Now he was certain that Thrump had helped him to bed, as the charmed pain medicine was something Thrump had created after years of testing recipes on Draco when he was frequently crucioed by some Death Eater or another, usually Bellatrix or his father.

Draco swallowed the medicine, knowing it took some time to take effect, so he stepped into a cold shower, using the time to recall the previous night's events. He distinctly remembered entering Utopian Woodworking, and chatting with the owner, who seemed to understand Hermione's use of the term "visionary." The rest of the evening was still unclear, but Draco knew he needed to remember a name. The name of the man in the shop, which was...Augustin? That didn't sound right, given the owner's heavy Scottish brogue. But the name was familiar to Draco, who didn't know any Frenchman named Augustin, so that must have been right.

Draco grimaced as he felt the effects of the pills begin. Thrump was brilliant for inventing such a product, but his elf magic made the aftertaste quite bitter and unpleasant. If Draco hadn't drank as much as he did, he would've avoided the medicine altogether. Granted he didn't remember drinking all that much. Years of heavy drinking had left Draco with quite a high tolerance for alcohol, and he definitely remembered drinking enough to become somewhat inebriated, but to the point of blacking out? That was something he hadn't experienced since his teenage years.

Draco wondered what Hermione remembered. In his poor memory, he remembered her having kept up as they drank, so she must have been in as sour as a boat as him, but maybe she remembered the shopowner's surname, and together they could find out who this man was and what his connection was to Draco's parents.

Draco was still nauseous when he stepped out of the shower so he rang for Thrump, who prepared him an easy to digest meal as he watched over Draco. Draco wrote a quick note on parchment while Thrump prepared a bowl ginger soup, and when Thrump set the bowl in front of Draco, Draco handed him the rolled up note.

"See to it that Hermione receives this." Draco lightly commanded, and as he was still hungover, he didn't notice Thrump's sideways look of worry when he bowed and left the room.

Hermione woke to similar, albeit different circumstances. It was her upstairs neighbors rearranging furniture that woke her. She opened her eyes only momentarily before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose. Now that was a headache, Hermione thought, wondering if it rivaled any Harry had felt in Voldemort's presence. She thought it surely must have, the way she wanted to detach her head from her body at that moment.

With another groan, Hermione heaved her body from the sofa on which she was sprawled, clumsily forcing her way out of her clothes on the way to the bathroom. She noted the stockings and suspender belt as she turned on the shower and hazily remembered the previous night's events, though they were clearly tainted by the drinks she'd indulged in at the end of the evening. Hermione strained to remember if she and Draco had discovered anything of interest, and could recall arriving at the shop and meeting the owner, a man who was both Scottish and a Dwarf, so they were clearly in the right place. His name had been...something. Something Turnbull? She'd have to think harder on that bit, knowing the name of anyone she met was imperative to Draco's search. Obviously the night hadn't been that successful, as there had been no arrests and the duo ended the night in a drinking match spurred on by a bartender who saw pounds dripping off the "couple."

Everything was a bit fuzzy, still, so she removed her knickers and stepped into the shower, knowing the rest would come to her eventually.

Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea when she heard the tapping on the window. She turned and squinted, spying Spes perched and waiting for entry. Hermione made a show of putting out a bowl of owl treats before opening the window, smirking through her headache at Spes' wild eyes. When she opened the window, Spes did a sweep around the small room and nearly crashed into the bowl before diving in, face first.

Hermione untied the note from the crazed bird's leg and set it next to her mug, letting her hair loose from its confines in the towel she'd wrapped it in to let it dry. Tossing the towel onto the back of another chair, Hermione sat down and read the note, finding herself nearly giddy at the familiar scrawl. Hermione felt something niggle at the back of her mind but she assumed it was that voice telling her to squash her excitement, so she didn't pay it too much mind as she read the note.

Granger,

I'm going to put it plainly: I'm hungover. Wildly, if I'm being honest, so I'm assuming you're in the same situation. All I can really remember is our discussion with the shopowner, and part of his name, are you faring better? Time should help (as it's helped me recall other drunken evenings, though none were quite as important as this one), but when you have time, I'd like to pick your brain.

When you're feeling better, can we meet?

~Draco Malfoy~

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples, disappointed Draco couldn't remember more either. She wasn't a particularly skilled drinker, and had never blacked out before, so she could only hope time would fill in the gaps in her memory.

A chirp by the sink reminded Hermione that Spes was waiting on her reply, but when she turned her head to look at the owl, a wave of nausea hit Hermione.

"Still too soon, then." Hermione muttered to herself, knowing she wouldn't be up to seeing Draco today, not when her headache threatened to turn into a stomach bug and her hair was left alone to let itself dry. Hermione wasn't vain, but she did have standards.

She wrote a quick note in reply saying she was indisposed at the moment but would jot down everything she could remember, and meet with Draco as soon as possible, and perhaps stalling would help her remember more. Hermione tied the note to Spes' leg and watched the chattering bird steal another treat before flying out the window and back to Draco.

Hermione spent the rest of the day nursing a warm drink and jotting down everything she could remember from the previous night, and when she ran out of things to remember, she shifted her attention to her own project, closer than ever to finding the right combination of ingredients to make a plaster that would last all day. The only missing piece would soon be the Witch's Ganglion. Through the resources Draco had provided her, Hermione had learned that Witch's Ganglion could be dried and stored for much longer than it could when freshly cut, but its invisibility properties were only effective when the plant was hydrated. If the plant was rehydrated, it brought back its decay rate of only a few hours, which wouldn't work with the long-lasting cover Hermione was trying to create.

But at the rate she was working, Hermione would be ready to begin testing with Witch's Ganglion in only weeks, so she made a mental note to request time off from St. Mungo's when she went in tomorrow, perhaps for the month of July. She hoped it didn't interfere with Draco's research too much, but the pair had several weeks to research their lead at Utopian Woodworking before Hermione planned to leave, and hopefully that would give Draco something to do while she was away.

Briefly, Hermione wondered if she should invite Draco to Japan. He had been her contact point for Jun Saito, the herbologist in Hiroshima, but could he step away from his company for that long? Could he step away from his own research for that long? It would be impolite to assume he even wanted to join her, so Hermione tucked the thought away and wrote a letter to Saito, asking for a date he'd be available in early July to introduce Hermione to his contacts on the islands that worked with Witch's Ganglion. With the letter in hand and a finally hungry belly, Hermione left her flat and sent the letter from the International Owlery before picking up some takeaway for dinner.

Draco received Hermione's letter promptly, and while he was disappointed at her denial, he understood her request to meet another day, and wasn't all that surprised to hear she had blacked out, too. He couldn't imagine her tolerance was better than his, so her memory being lacking was to be expected, but the fact that she indicated knowing not much more than him was a bit surprising. He'd never heard of a case of joint memory loss for the same thing, but hopefully time would help both remember what they had forgotten.

With not much more to do, Draco spent the afternoon reviewing the proposal he planned to send to Bianchi on Monday, hoping it would be the end of negotiations and the Italian wizard would accept the position of Head of Research and Development. What had initially started as a pet project to entertain his desire to draw Hermione into his company, had turned into a full fledged project to create a new division of Malfoy Investments, as approved by his investors and board. He was excited, which was a new emotion. The nervousness and frustration wasn't, but he was proud to be doing something new and his own, not bred for him by his father.

Draco's weekend ended much like Hermione's; with a sense of accomplishment for the work they had done and contentedness for the week to come, especially when the week's plans involved seeing each other once more.

"Anything for Mister Malfoy. Mister Watanabe, the man who works with Mister Malfoy and connected us, has explained that he has been a key player in helping us introduce Nabe Skincare to the United Kingdom."

"I'm sure he has." Hermione smiled fondly, proud for Draco to have built this connection without his father's assistance.