CHAPTER 5

"Are we ever going to meet this neighbour who's got you all hot and bothered?"

I paused on the landing between floors, the feminine voice in the hallway above startling me.

Neighbour? Hot and bothered? Did she mean—?

"I'm not hot and bothered." Hermione's voice was sharp, annoyed in a way that told me this wasn't the first time they'd asked her this. "We've become friends, that's all."

"Thursday night friends instead of Tuesday?" the same voice asked.

Thursday night? Me. They were definitely talking about me.

I'd met Draco and Katie for breakfast; Scorpius had spent the night with Katie's parents while the pair had seen a show in the West End the previous evening, and they were making the most of their morning together.

And I'd done the same, taking my time to wander slowly back to my flat. I'd stopped in at my favourite cafe and picked up some organic coffee beans, then headed for the secondhand bookshop I'd discovered in the first weeks I'd lived here, browsing the shelves and finding an old copy of Charlotte Bronte's Villette. Hermione had mentioned her love of the author, and I couldn't resist buying my mad neighbour a surprise gift. I had then strolled home at a leisurely pace, enjoying the brightly painted terraced houses, the leafy, tree-lined streets. It was a pleasant change from central London where Narcissa preferred to live. I'd lost track of the time in my meandering, and only now realised what was happening.

It was Sunday.

It was lunchtime.

Her friends were over.

They were discussing me.

"If you gave up Tuesday nights, I would be pleased by the way," another voice added. "It would be way less weird for me."

"No, it's not like that," Hermione replied. "He's good company. We actually talk, and not the girly shit you two talk about… Where the fuck are my keys!?"

"You're getting a smaller bag for Christmas," voice one said. "Or, maybe your new friend could get you one. Surely you'll be fucking by then."

"If you're not already," voice two added, then there was a burst of laughter.

"Get inside before he hears you!" Hermione demanded and their laughter faded as I assumed they went inside.

Waiting until I heard the door close, I continued up the stairs, an idiotic grin on my face. Not only had she told them about me, they were assuming there was much more than dinner happening between us. And who knew if she had denied anything? Although, knowing how blunt she was, I was certain she had told them the truth. We were just friends. We most definitely were not fucking.

But I also knew she and Charlie hadn't engaged in their usual Tuesday night routine for several weeks.

My jealous side had kept me awake on Tuesday nights, waiting for the antics to start. But after the first night of silence, I'd been optimistically overjoyed. He may have been ill or working or something else had come up, but I was filled with immense hope nonetheless.

Of course, when there was silence again the following week, my maturity level dropped to that of a twelve-year-old, and I double fist pumped in the darkness of my room.

However, I tamped down my excitement; what had her friend just said? If you gave up Tuesday nights, I would be pleased…

Maybe she hadn't given up with Charlie. Maybe he had been occupied elsewhere and my reprieve was only temporary.

But maybe she just hadn't told them. She was being unusually reticent; her verbal diarrhoea was what I had become accustomed to. And I assumed her friends were well aware of her bluntness.

The hope that had begun to diminish flicked back to life. If she wasn't telling her closest friends what wasn't happening with Charlie, maybe — just maybe — something might happen with me.

An hour later, I had retreated to the garden with my book. I'd spent far too long hovering by my door, listening for any voices that might allow me to learn more, before realising I was bordering on stalking.

And her earlier insistence of ushering her friends inside her flat to ensure I couldn't hear anything was enough for me to realise my efforts were completely in vain. I had no control over what she was — or wasn't — telling them, and it was ridiculous to think that the conversation I'd overheard had continued inside her flat.

The mid-November weather had cooled considerably, and I tugged my jacket tighter around me. The sun was out, and while the walled garden shut out some of the weather, I could feel the ice brewing in the air.

I had deliberately positioned myself so my back was towards the building, forcing myself to read instead of stare up at her window. I reached for the coffee I had brought down with me and took a sip, the strong brew warming me instantly. Flicking my book open, I settled into read, but the door opening and then closing pulled my attention away.

"Please tell me that's him?" a voice said and I held in my laugh.

"Long, blond hair… has to be," another voice said and I turned around to face the curious voices.

"Sorry," Hermione said, and walked the path towards me. "These are my friends. They're insisting they meet my neighbour. They think you're some kind of weirdo who might be a danger to me."

She rolled her eyes and I did laugh.

"Well, I'm sure they only have your best interests at heart." I stood and acknowledged each friend in turn. "Lucius Malfoy. Not a weirdo, but sometimes a grumpy recluse."

"Pansy Parkinson," the dark haired woman said and held out her hand. "Best friend and hitwoman."

"It's a pleasure, Ms Parkinson."

"Ginny Weasley," the redhead spoke when I turned my gaze to her. "Other best friend and ball cruncher."

"Delighted, Ms Weasley." I looked at Hermione. "They're serious?"

"Hardly," she snorted. "They're not my best friends."

"Funny." Pansy side-eyed her. "We just wanted to ensure our best friend was safe and that you were aware we'll kill you and hide your body if you're some kind of serial killer."

"Alas," I sighed, "I hate the sight of blood, and my hands are far too precious to put to such macabre dealings."

They both shot me quizzical looks and I held up my hands.

"I'm a writer," I shrugged. "At least, I'm trying to be one."

"Have you written anything we'd know?" Ginny asked.

"I used to write for Time Magazine, then became freelance. But, unfortunately I've written nothing of late that stands out."

I glanced at Hermione and a twinge of guilt twisted inside me. I'd not yet been completely honest with her in regards to my job. I was content in my work; creating characters and situations that existed outside of my own world was something I loved. But I wasn't a fan of the notoriety that came with it. I wasn't Patterson or King or Rowling famous, and I was sure very few people recognised me, but those who did were often too much for me to deal with.

Book signing tours were one of my biggest nightmares. People were always kind and generous with their praise, but the need to always be friendly and upbeat for hours on end often drove me to migraines. And I dreaded the thought of actually finishing another book and having to ride the conveyor belt of publishers and promotions and signings. It was just another reason the writer's block had lodged itself so deep in my mind.

"So, you're an unemployed bum?" Pansy asked.

"Pansy!" Hermione scolded and looked at me, embarrassed.

"I guess I am," I shrugged, not at all fazed at her friend's comment. "But I'm rich beyond your wildest imaginings, so I don't really have to work."

"So humble," Pansy responded with a smirk. "Should we all bow at your feet?"

I laughed. My mad neighbour had equally mad friends.

"Oh, that's completely unnecessary," I answered with my nose in the air. "I only expect bowing during public appearances."

"And do these public appearances occur often?" Ginny enquired, chuckling good-naturedly.

"Rarely. I prefer the quiet and solitude." I winked at Hermione. "At least I did."

Her face glowed and she looked down at her feet, suddenly very interested in the grass.

"Okay, you seem fairly normal." Pansy smirked at me, then at Hermione. "I think she's safe with you."

"I'm not with him," Hermione mumbled. "He's my neighbour."

"Oh, come now. We've shared some pretty intimate experiences."

"What the...?" Ginny poked Hermione's arm. "Just how intimate?"

"Extremely," I answered for her. "She gets very loud when she's excited."

"He heard me through the wall," Hermione elaborated. "Not my proudest moment."

"Moments," I corrected and she finally looked up at me. "It was several times."

Our eyes met and held for a long moment. I thought she might be angry at my teasing but an odd, nervous energy seemed to be surrounding her.

"No wonder you avoided her!" Ginny began to laugh. "And just so you're aware, the other voice belonged to my brother. So, believe me when I say I'm glad you're not hearing them anymore."

I kept my eyes on Hermione for another few seconds, watching as her cheeks turned pink and she dropped her eyes to the grass again. With my suspicions confirmed, I nodded at Ginny.

"I actually hadn't noticed. I sleep on the couch on Tuesday nights."

"Just how loud were they?" Pansy enquired, barely holding in her laughter.

"Loud enough, Ms Parkinson," I glanced quickly at Hermione. Her head was still lowered, but I could make out the frown crinkling her eyes. "And that's all I will be divulging. We've embarrassed Hermione enough."

Ginny threw her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Interesting that you didn't give us this information when you were telling us about your new neighbour."

"I'm sure it wasn't necessary," I answered for her, suddenly hating that I had begun teasing her; I hadn't intended to embarrass her in such a manner. "I see no reason to intrude on Hermione's private life."

She glanced up at me, allowing me a small smile. "And Lucius and I have come to an agreement to not discuss what he heard."

"Yeah, well, we're asking you about it next time we see you," Pansy said. "And we expect some answers."

"You can ask those questions on your own," Ginny said with a grimace. "Charlie's my brother. I don't need that information."

"Neither of you are getting that information," Hermione told them. "And I'm pretty sure you were both leaving."

"Yeah, yeah," Pansy drawled. "We'll leave you be, this time."

"It was lovely to meet you both," I said, politely. "No doubt I'll see you both again soon."

"Lunch, every Sunday." Ginny thumbed in Hermione's direction. "It's her only day off when she's not on stage."

"Maybe you could join us next time, neighbour." Pansy was watching Hermione, gauging her reaction, but she remained neutral.

"Thank you for the invitation, but I believe I would have nothing to contribute to your conversation."

"I seriously doubt that," Pansy replied and grinned at Hermione.

"So, you were leaving," Hermione urged. "I'll see you both next week."

"Fine." Ginny held her hands up in surrender. "We'll leave you two alone."

"Enjoy your afternoon." Pansy winked at me. "Maybe she could make those noises a little closer to you."

"Leave, Pansy," Hermione demanded and pointed towards the garden gate.

I apologised as soon as the two women had left. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"It's fine. They've said worse to me over the years than you ever could." She shook her head. "I hope you didn't think I'd implied anything was happening between us."

"Of course not," I answered a little too quickly if her frown was an indication, so I added, "I mean, we could always let them believe it… if we wanted to."

She smiled and huffed a laugh. "They think it anyway. I'm sorry about them. They can be a bit too forward at times."

"If they're good friends, they should be," I told her. "I'm sure they're just looking out for you. An older man moving in next door and you having no idea who he is…"

"I guess." She stared at the gate and nodded. "But I've interrupted your solitude. I'll see you later."

"Of course." I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I had hoped she might join me in the garden, something different than our usual Thursday evening.

A tiny frown creased her brow for a second then she nodded and headed back inside, leaving me to ponder my usually filterless neighbour's thoughts.

Later in the evening a loud knock sounded at my door and then several quick, urgent thumps followed. I pulled the door open and was greeted with a book being shoved in my face.

"This is you?" Her tone was a mix of curious questioning and serious accusation. "You're Marcus Folly?"

I looked at the small picture. I hated jacket photos, especially the ones which took up the entire back cover of a book. In my mind they were egotistical and ridiculous, but of course my publisher wanted a picture, so I agreed to a small, postage stamp-sized one inside the back cover.

"Yes," I sighed. "That's me."

She looked at the picture and then back at me, a deep furrow between her eyebrows.

"You said you wrote for Time Magazine."

"I used to." I shrugged. "Sometimes I still do."

"But now you write fiction? Best-selling fiction?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"And you use a pseudonym?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It keeps my two lives separate."

"Two lives?"

"Author life and real life. I like to keep them both separate. It also makes it easier to write when I'm in a different persona."

She considered my answer then held up her finger. "Do not move," she told me in a tone so serious I was slightly afraid and stayed put as she spun on her heel and took off down the hallway, muttering to herself about being an idiot.

Disappearing into her flat, I heard her curse and then laugh. I shook my head and smiled; she was a special kind of insane.

She reappeared a few seconds later, fumbling several books in her arms, slamming her door shut and almost running back to me.

"You wrote these?" She shoved passed me. "You? The man who lives right next door to me wrote my favourite series?"

I shut the door and followed her into my kitchen where she placed the books on the counter and began rummaging through the drawers.

"How did you figure out it was me?"

"You have always looked familiar, but I just thought I was having young Brad Pitt fantasies," she answered. "And Ginny asking if you'd written anything we'd heard of triggered something. So I finally Googled you and bam! There you were."

"You hadn't thought to do this before now?"

"Actually, it never occurred to me." She slammed one drawer closed and yanked the next one open. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

I grimaced. "I had to be cautious; you might have been some crazy, stalker fan. But I guess not if you had to Google me."

She paused in her rummaging to shoot me a withering look. "It's still a possibility."

"What are you looking for?" I asked, leaning against the counter and watching her with no small amount of amusement.

"You're signing these books for me," she said, scowling at the contents of my cutlery drawer.

"I don't usually keep writing implements with the eating implements," I told her, and nodded towards my desk by the window. "Try my desk."

"Smart arse." She slapped my arm as she walked past me. "And why haven't you written the last book?" She paused, staring at my laptop and then up at me.

"Open it if you want, but there's nothing to see," I said, reading her thoughts and I touched my temple with my finger. "Writer's block."

She ran her finger along the edge of the desk, looking mildly disappointed. "It's a series. Shouldn't you have it all planned out?"

"I should, and I did, but it doesn't always work that way." I shrugged, "I just don't seem to be able to find the right words. It's all just a jumbled mess."

"Why didn't you just write down the jumbled mess and then try to make sense of it?" She handed me my fountain pen. "I mean, there has to be one or two good words in that brain of yours."

"Smart arse," I muttered, making her laugh. I peered back at my desk and sighed. "I haven't even turned that thing on since I moved in here. Every time I sit there, my mind goes completely blank. So, instead of sitting there dumbly, I've been writing random stuff in a journal."

She opened the first book in front of me to the title page and tapped her finger expectantly. "Would you let me read this randomness? Maybe I could help."

"I think you'd be far too disappointed." I uncapped the pen and nodded at the book in front of me. "To my wall-thumping, hellcat neighbour?"

"Funny." She twisted her lips, feigning disgust and trying to hide the grin that was in her eyes. "Hermione will be fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?" I held the pen up, looking at her thoughtfully. "I mean, if someone were to look at the wall-thumping hellcat remark, they'd wonder just how well you know your favourite author."

"I never said favourite author," she said airily. "Hermione, please."

"Fine," I huffed. "Be boring."

She watched me closely as I wrote her name and then signed my own. Her face held the same look I had become accustomed to whenever I signed a book; a half smile, wide eyes, indecision as to whether I should be actually marking the pages of their books.

Grabbing it away as soon as I was done, she slid the next one into place, and I repeated the to and from, looking up at her as she swapped the third book in.

"No," she said firmly.

"Oh, come on," I whined teasingly. "You're the crazy one here. Hellcat is a perfectly suitable nickname."

"I'm not crazy, you only think I am." She tapped the book. "Just my name. Hermione. It's easy, you've already done it twice."

My immature brain kicked in and I had to look away quickly, trying — but failing — to tamp down my smile. If only she knew how many times I'd done it with just her name as motivation, she'd probably never look me in the eye again.

"You're grinning like an idiot. What did I say?"

I shook my head. "Nothing, I'm just being childish."

She rolled her eyes and then smiled. "Well, childish or not, thank you for this."

"You're welcome." I smiled back at her; she was staring at my signature like it was the skull of Yorrick. "But, really, it's just a signature."

"You're too modest. You're brilliant at what you do. And this means a great deal to me." She touched my arm, and a surge of adrenaline shot through me when she stood up on her toes and kissed my cheek. "Thank you."

I stared at her, unable to speak, every word in my vocabulary disappearing except for a single thought that looped in my head.

She kissed me. She kissed me. She kissed me.

And she was staring right back at me, her eyes wide and wondering — did she want me to kiss her back?

Her eyes dropped to my lips and I took a breath — then a risk — leaning towards her, hoping that she wouldn't slap me and ask me what the hell I thought I was doing. But much to my relief, she met me halfway. It was simple, just a lingering press of lips that was sweet, almost innocent.

But innocent or not, my heart still pounded in my chest. She pulled back, just a breath away, her eyes flicking to mine, before leaning back in, kissing me quickly once more then stepping away.

"Okay, so um, thanks." She picked up her books and headed for the door. I followed, holding it open and wanting to say so much more than thanks.

I watched as she made her way down the hallway, pausing halfway and turning back to me.

"Goodnight, Lucius." She gave me a heart-shattering smile, and I simply nodded, knowing if I attempted to speak, I'd say something stupid like, you're gorgeous and you should sleep in my bed and you should thump my wall. And I love you.

I closed the door, pressing my hand against it and lowering my head. Fuck I was pathetic. I should have asked if kissing her was okay, if she wanted to stay longer, if she wanted to have dinner with me some time. I was forty-nine years old, not fifteen. And yes, I had been out of the dating game for years, but that didn't mean I had to become a mute when a pretty girl kissed me.

I sighed and was about to internally rant at myself for the next hour, but a loud knock on my door startled me. I pulled it open quickly and there she was, her cheeks flushed and a twisted smile on her face.

"Ah, hello?" I said stupidly.

"Hi." She lowered her eyes. "So, ah, in my haste to get these—" she looked at me again and held up the books "—I may have locked myself out of my flat."

I peered down the hallway and then back at her. "You don't have a spare key hidden somewhere?"

"Pansy has one, but..." Hermione's cheeks flushed even redder. "It's hers and Harry's anniversary… I'm not calling her."

"Oh, ah, right," I stammered and then blurted, "Maybe you should give me a key."

She laughed nervously and threw my earlier sentiments back at me. "Well, I wasn't sure if you were some kind of weird stalker."

"Fair point." I stepped aside and held out my hand. "Did you want to come in?"

She didn't move, staying where she was and still looking at me warily. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," I reassured her. "You can call the building manager and wait here."

She stepped inside, holding up her phone. "I called him already and left a message. He's off the clock for the night, so he won't be here until the morning."

I looked at the clock — 9pm — and nodded. Since we all owned our flats, Mr. Filch, the building manager, really only did general maintenance work — changed lightbulbs in the hallways, looked after the gardens, had keys to our flats for emergencies — and as such, wasn't available 24 hours a day.

I put my hands on my hips and took my second risk of the evening. "I have a guest room. You're welcome to use it."

Her cheeks flushed red again and she looked down at her feet, exhaling slowly. Her sudden shyness was startling, a dramatic difference to the confident — if not slightly mad — woman I was used to.

"I don't want to intrude." she said quietly.

Our kiss, even though it was mere seconds and, in all honesty, barely a kiss, had obviously thrown her. She hadn't expected to have to come back so soon after. And knowing her, she would have gone home, obsessed over it for hours, possibly called Ginny, and most likely avoided me for a few days. This wasn't at all what she had expected.

Reaching out, I squeezed her shoulder. "You're not intruding. And you can even borrow a t-shirt to sleep in."

I didn't think it possible for her to be more embarrassed, but her face flamed to a shade of deep crimson and I had to hold back my laugh.

"Hermione, it's fine. Really, it is," I assured her. "You can hide in my guest room and pretend that you're not embarrassed that you locked yourself out of your flat because you got yourself into a right state at the fact that your favourite author lives next door."

"I'm surprised there's room in here for me with that ego of yours."

"It gets a bit crowded at times," I replied and she rolled her eyes. "Let me get you something to sleep in."

I retreated down the hallway, knowing I had a t-shirt Draco had given me that I'd worn once to please him and then hidden away. It wasn't the type I'd usually wear, but since it was a gift from my son, I refused to throw it away. I fished it out from the bottom of the drawer and steeled myself to return to her.

I knew it was too much to ask more than the kiss we had already shared; she was acting awkwardly enough without me propositioning her for more. And while it certainly wasn't something I would ever consider, she didn't need me pressuring her — even if it was only for a goodnight kiss.

Pushing my own urges aside, I returned to the living room, holding in my chuckle as she stood awkwardly waiting; she'd never once been nervous in my home.

"Here you go," I said and held out the t-shirt.

She took it and finally smiled. "The Rolling Stones?"

"A Father's Day gift from Draco a few years ago." I shook my head at the large tongue on the front. "I've worn it once."

"Not a fan?"

"Of their music, yes. Just not that style of t-shirt."

"Lucius, I—" She looked at me with an expression of confusion, then shook it away. "Thanks."

I nodded and gently squeezed her arm. "Any time."

She turned and walked across the room, glancing back and smiling, before disappearing down the short hall to the guest room.

I stared at the empty hallway, knowing that I would be spending the night sleepless again.

This time for a whole different reason.

I woke to the sounds of thumping. Not the thumping I hadn't heard in weeks, but the thumping bass of quiet music in my living room. I smiled — a ridiculously stupid grin — knowing that she was here. In my flat. Playing music. Making herself at home.

Bouncing out of bed, intending to go straight to her, I paused at my door. I was only wearing boxers and said boxers were stretched to their limits.

I looked down.

"Seriously?" I muttered. "We're not getting any action from her, so calm the fuck down."

My cock twitched in response.

"Fucker," I muttered again and changed direction, heading into my bathroom. It seemed a cold shower was how this day was going to start.

Twenty minutes — and a wildly inappropriate wanking session — later, I pulled on some jeans and a shirt and made my way out into the living room, confident I could get through the morning without any further rises, but stopped instantly when I saw her.

Laying on her back on the floor, she had one leg stretched out with her toes pointed away from her. Her other leg was stretched in what I would have thought to be an impossible position; up the length of her torso, her hands gripping her calf and her knee pressed against her nose.

Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, measured breaths. She looked both relaxed and poised — stunning actually — and my cock agreed, jumping back to life at the sight before me.

"Are you watching me stretch?" she asked without opening her eyes.

"No," I said, startled that she was aware that I was even in the room, and she grinned.

"Is my leg over my shoulder making you horny?"

I almost choked; it appeared her embarrassment had passed and my sassy neighbour had returned. Moving to stand behind the kitchen counter to hide the fact she was right, I muttered, "No."

She laughed, opening her eyes to look at me. She shook her head and sat up, "That no would be a lot more convincing if you weren't staring at me like you are."

My face flamed. "Ah, did you want some tea?"

She was still grinning. "Tea would be nice."

I nodded and turned my back, grateful to have a task to focus on instead of the very flexible woman on my living room floor. Filling the kettle and setting it to boil, I turned back and had to grip the edge of the counter to keep myself steady.

Her pose had changed and it was possibly worse. Her legs were stretched wide in a full split, her back to me, and then I had to stifle a groan as she leaned slowly forward and rested on her elbows.

"I don't usually have an audience for this," she said, glancing back over her shoulder. "Well, not a one person audience."

"You don't stretch in front of your gentleman callers?"

"No. And it's one gentleman caller." She shifted to a sitting position, the soles of her feet together and her elbows on her knees. Her back was still to me but I still had to ignore the thoughts of her thighs stretched over my hips. "And in case you haven't heard, he's not been around."

"No, I haven't heard," I lied. "I tend to sleep on the couch on Tuesday nights."

She spun around and looked up at me. "Is it that disruptive?"

I stared straight at her. "It is."

She frowned and then stood, walking across the room and stopping in front of me.

"Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?" I scoffed. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Because I've not once heard any thumping coming from your side of the wall."

"Maybe I'm more considerate. Perhaps you should learn to do the same." I turned away but she grabbed my arm.

"You are jealous! Why?"

"I told you, I am not jealous. I don't get jealous. Of anyone."

"I seriously doubt that. You're the exact type. You scream jealous. And I want to know why. You don't even know Charlie!"

My lip lifted involuntarily into a sneer at his name, and thus, proving her correct.

"Exactly," I agreed sarcastically. "I don't know Charlie, so there's no reason for me to be jealous."

"So why'd you kiss me?" she asked sharply.

"Why hasn't Charlie been around?" I snapped back.

We stared at each other, both stubbornly refusing to respond.

But what was it exactly that she wanted me to say?

Why did I kiss her? Because I had longed to kiss her from that first glimpse of her. Because I dreamed of her lips against mine, kissing me for hours. Because she was the fantasy I couldn't get out of my head.

"Lucius." Her voice had softened. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Honestly?" I asked and she nodded. I touched her cheek and smiled. "Because I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you."

"So, not jealous then?"

"Insanely jealous." I cupped her face in my hands. "Tuesdays have been torturous."

Her hands gripped my hips and she moved closer. "Did you wish it was your name I was calling out?"

"Very much so."

She reached up slowly, her fingertips tracing my cheek, my forehead, my jaw, my lips. She studied me while I held her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing gently across her cheeks.

"Why are you so pretty?" she whispered.

"Why are you?"

I slowly leaned in and pressed my lips to hers. It wasn't wild and frantic, like one of those raw and devouring kisses that romance novels often described. Instead it was sweet and slow, just the gentle caress of her lips against mine.

I felt a trail of warmth run down my spine as she reached her hand up to thread her fingers through my hair. Unable to help myself, I deepened the kiss, slipping my tongue inside her mouth to meet hers. She whimpered quietly and curled her other arm around me, holding me tightly against her tiny frame.

And she was tiny. Of course I'd noticed how slight she was from that first moment I saw her. But pressed against me, I truly felt just how petite she was. However, she had a strength that belied her size. A strength I had come to learn was both fierce and determined. It was the aspect I admired most about her.

But now, kissing her, there was so much more to admire.

She sighed and drew back, smiling up at me. "You're thinking something dickish."

I laughed. "How did you know?"

She touched her fingertip to my lip. "You were smiling. Tell me."

I wrapped my arms around her, linking my fingers at the base of her spine. "I was simply thinking about how determined and fierce you are."

"And…"

I dropped another quick kiss on her lips. "And how good it felt to finally kiss you."

"Hmm, I'd have to agree." She reached one hand up and tugged on the back of my neck, pulling me back down to her. "Maybe I should call Mr Filch and tell him not to hurry with my keys."

I grinned and kissed her again, but it was short-lived.

A loud knock startled us both and caused her to step away from me, her cheeks reddening and her expression that of a teenager caught by her parents. I touched her jaw and winked.

"It's perfectly fine, kissing me." I leaned in and kissed her, just a swift press of lips then I brushed past her. "I'm sure Mr Filch won't reprimand you."

"Yeah, you don't know him all that well then."

"A bit prudish?"

"A bit, yeah. He refuses to deal with Mrs Trelawney, she gets a bit handsy with him."

I laughed and opened the door. "Mr Filch, Ms Granger has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

"Be easier if she just stayed in her own flat," he replied in a gravelly voice.

"I'm sorry, Mr Filch. Really, I am," Hermione said sweetly. "But Mr Malfoy has been an accommodating neighbour and was kind enough to offer me his spare room so as not to bother you overnight"

He eyed me suspiciously and grumbled something unintelligible.

Hermione turned towards me. "Thank you Mr Malfoy. I appreciate the assistance."

"You're quite welcome Ms Granger. Enjoy the rest of your day. I'll be sure—"

"Keys," Mr Filch interrupted and craned his head in the direction of her flat. "I've got stuff to do."

"Of course. Sorry." She followed him down the hallway, turning her head to look back at me. "I have a ballet class that I'm late for. I'll have to stay later."

I nodded quickly, understanding her meaning. She'd stop in after her class, and we could continue what we'd started.

"Thanks again, Mr Malfoy," she said with a grin over her shoulder then schooled her features before turning back to Mr Filch, who had opened her door and was still glaring at me suspiciously.

"Any time, Ms Granger."

I closed my door and did the single most immature thing I'd done in my life; a football-style drop to one knee and a fist pump. It was ridiculous, but I was unable to contain myself.

I had been granted the chance I so desired, and if the sparkle in her eyes was any indication, I might be in for a wild ride.