A/N: This is probably the last chapter. I know this ends a bit abruptly, but there will be a short epilogue coming soon. I might come back to this at a later time to build out the story more, but right now, I'm just feeling a bit spent on where to take the story. Thanks for coming along on the ride and happy holidays!

Hermione plopped down into the armchair stunned. She was over at Harry and Ginny's and they just informed her of why Draco Malfoy had arrived to join them for dinner: apparently, Malfoy was their unborn son's godfather, her co-godparent.

"Granger, you alright?"

Hermione was confused: confused about how the Potters had come to pick Malfoy as their baby's godfather, confused about when Malfoy had become such a good guy, and most of all, confused about why her stomach flipped every time he looked at her with those steely grey eyes.

"Malfoy's been a really good friend, 'Mione, and he's someone we can rely on—someone our baby boy can rely on." Ginny explained.

Hermione blinked to mentally shake her confusion, and responded to her best friends with what enthusiasm she could muster. "Oh, of course, he's dependable and knowledgeable—," she paused and eyed the blonde sideways, "don't let that get to your head, Malfoy." He smiled more than smirked.

They moved to the dining room and though it was a bewildering experience, Hermione settled into the comfortable cadence of conversation. She caught Malfoy's silvery gaze for a moment and smiled. Hermione realised that she and Malfoy were actually pretty close over the last year or so—she had just mostly associated him with work in her mind, but they spent a lot of time together in the lab, late nights at La Palapa, work events, and the like.

Though she had spent a lot of time with Malfoy, she was unaware that her best friends had also formed a bond with him. Hermione observed Harry and Draco laugh at one of Ginny's snarky comments. She would have never guessed that the same kids that were at each other's throats over a decade ago would be sitting here now as close adult friends. The war had damaged so many of them and yet it seemed they endured in such remarkable ways; Hermione shivered—she wasn't sure if it was from happiness or sadness.

The four of them chatted about the baby and dreamed together about fun times to come with a little boy running around. After dessert, Malfoy and Harry broke off to the study in deep conversation while Ginny and Hermione stayed for another slice of cheesecake.

"He's a good man, y'know," her friend raised her brows and took a bite of her dessert.

"Of course I know that, Gin. I don't doubt your decision—I was just surprised is all," Hermione smiled guiltily. She fully expected her best friends to choose Ron as their child's godfather, but after seeing them interact with Malfoy over dinner, it made sense: Draco had a natural relationship with Ginny, a seemingly deep connection with Harry, and would clearly be more engaged in being a godfather than Ron.

"He's a bloody fit man too, y'know," the redhead smirked cheekily.

"Yeah he's fit, but Ginny!"

The younger witch rolled her eyes. "Just because I'm married to Harry doesn't mean I'm blind. Honestly, I'm surprised you guys haven't gotten on with it and just shagged already."

"GINNY!" Hermione choked on a bite of cheesecake, eyes wide and a deep blush tinted her ears. "Are you out of your mind?! We're co-workers!"

"Co-workers, schmo-workers," Ginny mocked, nonplussed. "So you're not denying that you have thought about riding that rock hard bod like a broomstick?"

Hermione's eyes couldn't get wider and her face couldn't get redder as she sputtered, "No, I have not! Stop your nonsense, Ginerva Potter!" She wasn't sure why her face was burning or why her palms got clammy. Since their school days, Ginny and Hermione always confided in each other about boy problems or gabbed about blokes unabashedly, but for some reason unknown to her, Hermione felt weird talking about Malfoy.

She was relieved when all Ginny had in response was an amused look, and even more relieved when the men rejoined them.

…

When they kissed at the Harpies' match over a month ago, she had been so adamant that she didn't like him. Then when he said he wanted to be friends, it made it much easier for Hermione to brush aside her so-called feelings since they were clearly unreciprocated.

Nonetheless, no matter how much she denied her heart, Hermione found herself taking more time on her appearance in the mornings—she hated that she couldn't refrain from thinking about what blouse Malfoy would like or reaching for the lipstick.

Hermione patted moisturiser on her face more violently than needed to shake her thoughts of Malfoy away—for Godric's sake, she was about to go to lunch with some guy named Nick!

There was a knock on the door and she checked herself in the mirror one last time. Hermione was dressed in washed out jeans, black boots, and a matching black turtleneck for her second outing with the muggle detective. She greeted a brown-haired man with striking blue eyes at the door—he had a handsome seasoned look about him. Nick was a detective in the criminal investigations department at Scotland Yard that she briefly met at her old summer camp friend's wedding last year. Hermione quickly locked up and they caught a taxi to a fish and chip shop.

Nick was slightly older, charming, smart, and loved to stay in and read when he could. He had interesting stories from on the job and similar tastes in most things. But throughout lunch, Hermione's brain had a mind of its own—she found herself comparing everything about Nick to a certain blonde git.

"I think the author did a wonderful job chronicling the events that led to Tanis' disappearance." They were chatting about a book about an old Canadian cold case they both happened to read recently.

"But he failed to address how implausible it is for her to have been in the upcountry on her own accord during the time frame of her disappearance. It's a critical part of the case that is better recorded by Dr. Susan Dermot in her expose." Hermione offered.

"I guess so. I haven't read it—I don't usually read true crime stuff since it's my line of work; I like to reach for other genres," Nick shrugged with a half-interested tone. Malfoy would have defended his opinions with more feeling and had already read Dr. Dermot's work—she knew because she noticed a dog-eared copy in his office last week. If he hadn't read it, Malfoy would have delved deeper with questions or asked to revisit the discussion after he read up.

"Did you know this very chip shop is the singer Brian Johnson's favourite? Isn't that wicked?!" Nick's gruffy voice jolted her out of her thoughts. What was she thinking? Was she seriously faulting this guy for not reading some book? He was probably busy investigating murders and catching burglars for Merlin's sake! The other voice in her head retorted, 'So is Malfoy—busy bringing life into this world and advancing witches' health.'

At the end of their date, Hermione politely declined being escorted home and went on her way. She ran some errands in Diagon Alley and prepared for the work week, all the while getting distracted by thoughts of a blonde-haired boy. He was in France consulting on a complicated birth of triplets and she hadn't seen him for a whole week since their dinner with the Potters—even so, he never strayed from her thoughts. It was getting frustrating.

…

The next morning, Hermione kept double-taking thinking she saw Malfoy—he was supposed to be back sometime that day. Why did she care though? What was up with her?

When she got back to her office from morning rounds, she was surprised to see a modest arrangement of sunflowers and daffodils: dedicated love and hopeful new beginnings.

Granger—

May I take you on a proper date tonight?

DM

Her heart skipped a beat. Draco Malfoy was asking her out on a proper date? Was she mistaken when she thought her feelings weren't reciprocated? Did she just admit she had legitimate romantic feelings for him?

She didn't see her coworker until the work day started to wind down. His pale fringe and stormy grey eyes appeared in her office around four o'clock.

"Nice job Granger, looks like you didn't burn the place down while I was gone," he leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly, smirking.

"Please, chances of this place burning down are probably higher with you around, honestly."

"Because I'm hot?"

"Because you're a prick! Pull your head out of your arse." Hermione felt a blush tint her cheeks.

"C'mon you set that one up so well—I couldn't leave that hanging."

"Insufferable, big-headed prat," she muttered.

He chuckled and nervously ran a hand through his hair, "Nice flowers."

"Yes, a nice note too," Hermione squirmed under his gaze. "What time should I meet you and what do you have in mind?"

"I'll come through the floo at seven and the rest is a surprise." Hermione didn't notice the sparkle in Draco's eyes—elated that she accepted his invitation and quite possibly reciprocated his feelings.

"I don't like surprises," she twisted her mouth to the side in a frown.

"I know, but give me a chance." The sparkle in his eyes didn't falter.

…

Exactly as he said, Malfoy came through her fireplace at seven o'clock that night carrying a rectangular wicker and leather case. He wore a dark green wool suit jacket and matching trousers over a black turtleneck with black dragon leather shoes. His striking blonde hair was light styled back.

"Granger," he greeted, shaking Hermione out of a daydream about running her hands through his locks, "you look beautiful tonight." Hermione was draped in a black velvet slip dress paired with strappy nude heels.

She bit her lip nervously, "Thank you. You look quite dashing yourself." Hermione shrugged the thin strap of her beige leather purse onto her shoulder, unsure whether she should have given him a hug or a different greeting—it felt awkward without their usual snide acknowledgements.

"What's in there?" Hermione motioned to the case he was carrying.

"You'll see!" He held his arm out indicating her to side-along apparate.

She held on and felt her insides turn quickly, squeezing and churning like through a blender, and the next moment, they settled. They landed in a small exterior nook of a building under construction in what she recognized as muggle London.

They were squeezed in close proximity to each other and Hermione felt her cheeks heat up from getting jostled against his toned chest. Though she turned her head away in a fruitless attempt to put space between them, she couldn't ignore his scent of mahogany and minty green tea that filled her nostrils.

Malfoy poked his head out of the alcove, glancing left and right, then guided her out onto the sidewalk nonchalantly to join the other pedestrians scattered across the street.

"It's just a short walk across the square." He gestured, nervously carding a hand through his hair.

Hermione nodded awkwardly, "Great."

They strolled through the St. James garden and past the sculptures in an uncomfortable silence. He led the way to a building smashed in the corner of the square with thick oak doors—a building that she was familiar with: The London Library.

"Oh, it's closed for the evening." Hermione pointed and frowned, dismayed at the sign in the window reading, 'Closed Monday night at 6 pm for private event.'

He seemed to pay no mind to the sign or her comment and instead, squared his shoulders towards her. "Look, Granger, we don't need to be so tense or awkward—let's carry on like we usually do and have fun tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah, let's start over," she was relieved they were addressing the awkwardness and motioned to his head, "I see you've learned how to not use a whole bottle of Sleakeazy's in your hair since Hogwarts." The cheeky comment made the air around them feel lighter and more familiar.

He chuckled and fished in his pockets, "I've learned a few other things too." He withdrew a set of keys and unlocked the building. Malfoy held the door open for her and waved her inside with an excited smile.

Hermione looked back at him with an excited but questioning expression.

"One of the trustees is a friend," he answered her silent question with a smirk and a shrug.

The pinkish red carpet squished under her feet as she revelled in being one of the only two people in the building. She had spent many summer days at this library, exploring the cotton and leather clad spines. Hermione inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of parchment that she loved, taking her back to when she first smelled amortentia in sixth year. She had smelled freshly mown grass, parchment, and what she thought was spearmint toothpaste, but in that moment, it dawned on her: minty green tea.

"Snap out of it, nerd," Malfoy teased lightly, "follow me." She saw him climb the black metal staircase, dragon hide shoes clicking excitedly on the steps, and followed after him.

After the stairs and a few turns, Hermione found herself unfamiliar—she knew every nook and cranny of the libraries she frequented most growing up: the one at Hogwarts, the Hampstead Public Library, and of course, this one.

"Where are we going?"

"There's a restricted section and restoration room that's only accessible by a limited group," he stopped at a dark blue door and grinned, "and tonight, that limited group includes us!"

Hermione's stomach fluttered in either excitement for exploring the restricted section or at her companion's broad grin.

"Well, let's go in then!" She urged. Malfoy opened the door proudly, which revealed a cosy room lined with bookshelves. Domed skylights cast an evening glow onto a low and long wooden table in the middle of the room surrounded by plush velvety cushions. Off to one side, a low archway led into a restoration room with big working tables, tools, stacks of parchment, and racks of supplies.

Malfoy strode towards the table and she stayed in step with him, looking around in awe. The table was set with candles and two place settings kitty corner to each other.

He set the wicker and leather case on the table as they sat down and opened the box. "We've got a picnic of charcuterie, a homemade roasted tomato and goat cheese quiche, and a fine sauvignon blanc. For dessert, we'll swing over to The Wolseley."

"Wow, this is incredible," Hermione said breathlessly. He poured her a glass of wine and served a slice of the quiche.

"You made this? Not your house elves?" Hermione was surprised. The quiche looked fit for a cafe display case and tasted wonderful.

"Ouch. I guess that's a reasonable assumption, but no, I made it all by myself. I actually haven't lived with house elves since healer school."

To say she was even more surprised would be an understatement—who is this guy? Despite spending a lot of time working together, it turned out she didn't know much about the man he was now.

"What gave?" She leaned forward in interest, continuing to eat her quiche daintily. She saw him hesitate for a moment, as if considering how honest to be while taking a sip of his wine.

"I wanted to get to know myself independently and how capable I was alone." He picked around at the charcuterie board, "Not because of that unfortunately named organisation, spew."

Hermione huffed, "It was S.P.E.W. — and before you go on about how I was wrong, ok, yes, I know now that house elves like to work and are often treated as family by those who employ them."

"But you were still right in some ways." He offered, likely thinking of the way his father treated the creatures.

"So tell me more about Paris and St. Ozanne — it seems I don't know much about your time there." She prodded, eager to learn more. Something in her chest swelled at the thought of this different side of Malfoy.

They continued like that for a couple hours, shifting naturally from intimate subjects to more lighthearted tones on ice cream flavours, to heated discussions on their favourite tomes while they perused the restricted shelves.

Hermione was surprised that their conversation flowed effortlessly in a romantic setting—she hadn't given it any conscious thought before, but Malfoy was maybe the only person she could have hours of stimulating conversation with.

'Maybe hours of other kinds of stimulation too,' a voice inside her head thought as she caught a peek of his chiselled form as he reached for a book. Hermione internally cursed Ginny for planting a mental image of shagging Malfoy in her brain.

"Should we mosey over to The Wolseley?" Malfoy interrupted her thoughts. She nodded enthusiastically, matching his stunning smile.