She's something mystical in colored lights
So far from typical, but take my advice
Before you play with fire, do think twice
And if you get burned, don't be surprised
Sugar - Robin Schulz
Wrenching her scratchy red polo over her head, leaving her in just a tank top, Hermione released a long sigh, rolling out her neck.
Two glorious days off. Her job wasn't particularly arduous – it didn't require any significant level of intellect and Hermione was bored beyond belief.
Roger, her supervisor, somehow managed to be both pretentious and unassuming, and had a tendency to explain the most menial of tasks to her as if she were slow, which left her wringing her hands more often than not.
Repeatedly, she reminded herself that it was only for the summer, and then she'd be returning to England to get started with a real job in a magical field. At which point she might long to return to something simpler.
And it was convenient to work at the Pier, given Malfoy was often able to drive her if they worked the same shift.
Despite the mindless nature of her work days, she was looking forward to having two consecutive days off.
She'd made plans to go out with Lisa the following night, and in her understanding, Mikhael and Malfoy would be coming along, as well as some others. Hermione couldn't quite deny the butterflies that leapt in her stomach at the thought of that.
They had only seen one another when he was able to drive her to work since the day they'd spent at Venice Beach together, when she'd managed to surf a few passable waves. And she could confess, if only to herself, that she was beginning to enjoy his company.
Which was a most preposterous thought in itself – or it would have been, a month ago.
Hermione hadn't delved into his experiences during the war, or since, but whatever had happened had shifted him into a person who she didn't quite know anymore – but wanted to.
Tucking her polo into her beaded bag with a furtive glance to be sure Roger wasn't watching, Hermione checked out on the timesheet and made for the metro station that would take her home.
Stopping short in surprise as she hit the parking lot, she noticed a black Jeep with a blond driver.
"Get in," he muttered, tilting his sunglasses down to peer at her. "We're doing something."
Feeling a shake of trepidation, Hermione slipped into the passenger's side, a smile pulling at her lips. "And what's the something?"
Malfoy ripped out of the parking stall with a smirk. "You'll see."
On a random street in a quiet part of town with which Hermione wasn't familiar, he pulled over, his dark glasses obscuring his expression as she eyed him with caution. Without a word, he exited the vehicle and came around to Hermione's side, lifting a haughty brow.
"Get out."
Huffing, Hermione folded her arms. "Not unless you tell me what we're doing."
Malfoy gave an exaggerated scoff. "Swot. I'm teaching you to drive."
"I know how to drive." Eyes narrowed, she glared at him. "And why are you doing this?"
"I'm feeling particularly charitable," he said, lips twitching and mischief in his eyes. "And number one – you don't have your license, so it doesn't matter if you know how." Before Hermione could ask about the legitimacy of his identification, he added, "And unless you're interested in going to New York, I can't help you secure a fake. You probably don't want to ask too many questions about how I managed to set up my identity stateside – the less you know, the better."
Wide-eyed, she gaped at him, but he went on. "Two – have you ever driven on the right side of the road?"
"No," Hermione allowed, tilting her head, and deciding to let the legality of his identity go. The idea had merit – and if she had her license she wouldn't need to rely on Malfoy, Lisa, or the metro to get her everywhere. She wasn't even sure if she had the proper specifications to get a license in America, but it likely wasn't worth arguing the case when her time there was finite to begin with. "Fine. I'll allow it."
"But," he carried on, "obviously my car has a manual transmission."
The image of Malfoy lecturing her about vehicle transmissions was one she never thought she'd see, and Hermione found herself gaping at him as she slouched in her seat. His words didn't even register for a prolonged moment until she glanced at the shifter, feeling a dull heat in her cheeks.
"I don't know how to use a manual transmission."
Malfoy pressed his lips into a forced smile. "Exactly as I feared."
Tapping her fingers on the dash, Hermione conceded. "Fine. But you can't blame me if I crash your car."
"If you cause any damage, you'll learn the spell to reverse it," he posed, cocking a brow.
Hermione nodded. "That's fair." She released the clip on her seatbelt and circled the vehicle, slipping into the driver's seat. His legs were significantly longer than her own, so she had to shift the seat forward; Malfoy folded his hands in his lap, staring blankly at the roof while he waited.
"Right foot manages the gas and brake, left foot to the clutch." Peering beneath the dash as she toyed with the pedals, he nodded. "The vehicle won't shift unless your foot is on the clutch."
He looked wholly unimpressed – despite that it was his idea – as he turned in his seat to face her, dropping a hand on the shifter. "This is neutral. Brake and clutch, Granger. This is first."
She scrambled to keep up with his instruction, noting he was about as terrible as a driving instructor as he had been at the beginning of their first surfing lesson. His demonstration with the gear shifter didn't register as she stared; it looked as if his hand was in the same place and he huffed a breath, moving the shifter back into the middle.
"You try it." His gaze was insistent on her as she stamped both feet into the pedals, fidgeting with the shifter. "To the left and forward."
Making a face, Hermione pulled at the shifter, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. Embarrassment and shame crept through her, again making her feel poorly that Malfoy knew so much more about something Muggle than she did. But a handful of lessons with her father years ago didn't stand up to his months of experience.
Scowling, Malfoy dropped a hand on top of hers, maneuvering her hand to the left and forward. His eyes met hers, and her stomach twisted into a tight ball. "First. Do you feel that?"
"Yes," she breathed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I feel it."
His expression faltered, then softened, and his hand flexed around her smaller one, loosening as he eased her hand back away from the dash. "Second."
"Second," she repeated in a whisper, wondering if he could hear the way her heart was racing.
His hand dragged hers forward again, through neutral and ahead. "Third." He guided her through fourth and fifth before maneuvering her hand into reverse with a brief explanation. Scratching the back of his head, he looked away. "You'll always start in first, or you'll stall the transmission. Keep watch of your RPMs for when you need to shift – but you'll feel it too."
Nodding, Hermione moved the gear shifter back into first when he extracted his hand from atop hers and he pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Fine. Now, left foot stays on the clutch. Right foot to the gas – and you'll ease off the clutch as you ease onto the gas."
Making her best efforts at his instruction, she abruptly stalled the vehicle. Malfoy's lips twitched and she felt her flush deepening.
She wished she knew how to do something he didn't, so she could force him into feeling this same way. He settled back into his seat, noisily opening a packet of crisps. When she scowled at him, he feigned an innocent look. "What? We could be at this a while."
Several hours later, Hermione was quite certain she had some form of minor whiplash from the number of times she had stalled Malfoy's Jeep. But after a while she began to get the hang of it, and she'd crept through quiet back streets at a slow pace, cautiously adjusting to the feel of shifting and pulling off the clutch.
Slowly, she began making her way home. Her stomach was rumbling up a storm and she felt a great desire to eat.
"Good," Malfoy murmured, tapping an anxious rhythm on the dash. "Now you won't feel comfortable driving in England anymore."
"Right," she mused, eyes flickering to him. The vehicle jolted sharply as she shifted gears, and Hermione pulled her lower lip between her teeth. "Thanks for the lesson."
Clicking his tongue, he shifted in his seat. "You're welcome. A couple more goes at it and you might be able to pass the exam."
"It's a fascinating thought." Peering at him, she attempted to figure out his angle. "When given the fact that I'll be headed back home soon."
His tone was neutral as he asked, "And when are you planning on doing that?"
Easing into a parking spot outside of Lisa's house, Hermione put the Jeep into neutral and turned to face him as he yanked up on the parking brake. "Before September, I imagine. I have a few potential options that start in September."
Humming, Malfoy dropped his head back against the headrest on his seat. "Doesn't surprise me. What are you going to be doing?"
"Healing, or maybe Curse-breaking," she said, aware they were treading cautious waters. "I haven't quite decided yet."
"Curse-breaking sounds interesting," Malfoy drawled, his gaze fixed firmly on the dash. "I would have been interested in something like that. Before."
Swallowing her nerves and indecision, Hermione breathed, "You still could."
With a derisive snort, he shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. "I couldn't. There's no way I can ever go back to England. And I never took my NEWTs, so no one in their right mind would hire me. Even if the former Death Eater title wasn't repulsive enough."
Her eyes widened in surprise as she blinked at him, unable to find the words with which to respond.
Malfoy snickered, his brows knitting. "No. All of that is out of the cards for me. I have no intention of going to Azkaban. No magic usage, no prodigal return home. But this feels like home now at least."
Frowning, Hermione stared at him. "Why do you think you'd go to Azkaban?"
Sweeping his hair from his face, he turned to look out the window. The sun was dropping, casting the street into an array of gold and shadow. "Maybe you didn't notice, Granger, but I fled a war. I ignored my trial summons – all three of them. Bloody Ministry birds tracked me down while I was still on the move. I can only imagine I'll be arrested the moment I land back in England, and charged with an extensive litany of my foul misdeeds."
He barked a laugh, as if he'd told a joke, but Hermione felt her insides twist up and freeze. "So that's why you won't go back home?"
"Yes." His nose wrinkled. "And I know you've been dying to ask this whole time – so now you know. This is it for me. But there are certainly worse places in this bloody world."
Something akin to sympathy, or maybe pity, tugged at her chest and she opened her mouth to speak, but forced her lips shut. Malfoy's face rolled towards her again, and he scoffed.
"Don't look at me like that. I made my fucking bed, Granger." Lips pursed, he shook his head slowly. "I made a lot of poor choices, because I didn't think I had any options. Turns out, I just wasn't willing to open my eyes."
She didn't know everything he'd been faced with during the war, but something about his words didn't quite ring true. Her voice was soft. "I don't get the impression any of the decisions you made were easy ones."
His grey eyes flashed with something she couldn't place, and Hermione found herself lost in his stare, her own gaze stinging. But then he frowned, and huffed, and clapped his hands to the dash.
"Are you eating?" He raised an innocent brow, and Hermione, heart mourning the lost potential of a true moment between them, forced a smile.
"Yes, come along. You've put your life in my hands, after all."
He cracked a slow, lopsided grin.
Shaking her head, Hermione exited the vehicle, leading him into the house.
Hermione would have been lying if she claimed she didn't spend extra time on her appearance the next day, knowing Malfoy would be meeting up with them that night.
And after shifting through her meagre clothing supply, having only originally packed for a week, Hermione was met with Lisa's pity when the girl announced they were going shopping.
In her best jeans and a new top, coupled with a pair of Lisa's heels – secretly imbued with a cushioning charm – and some borrowed jewellery, Hermione was torn between an apprehensive trepidation and eager anticipation. She had applied some blush and mascara – and a thin line of kohl at Lisa's insistence – and fixed her hair the best she could manage.
Before they'd left the house, Lisa had glanced at her with a knowing smile, and quipped, "He'll be all over you."
A hot flush had flared to life in her cheeks and down her neck, because Hermione wasn't certain that was what she even wanted.
But she couldn't quite deny the fascination for Malfoy that had been manifesting somewhere deep within her since she had first seen him working on the pier.
Even with all of her deeply-rooted nerves, Hermione found herself sipping a cocktail for liquid courage once she and Lisa arrived at a club in Santa Monica, and joined up with a few of the people Hermione had met the first day on the beach.
She hadn't seen any hint of either Malfoy or Mikhael, and it took everything she had to keep herself present in the conversation going on around them. Lisa didn't appear overly bothered that Mikhael hadn't shown up – despite that Malfoy claimed they were sleeping together – and Hermione did her best to follow her new roommate's lead.
It wasn't as if there was anything between her and Malfoy, so it shouldn't matter to her whether or not he came out.
And in fact, if he didn't show up, all the better, because she could simply have fun with the others and meet some new people. Tossing back a thick swallow of her drink, Hermione gave herself a sharp nod as she poured all her conscious efforts into focusing on what Lisa was saying.
When Malfoy slipped into the upholstered booth next to her, she was laughing at a joke, and didn't even notice him right away. A frisson of pride straightened her spine.
But his pale eyes flickered and shone in the black lights of the club, and his lips twitched with a smirk as he looked at her and muttered a hello.
Sipping her drink, she returned the greeting with a nod.
Allowing her gaze to land on him for a brief moment, it occurred to Hermione that liquid courage was not what she had needed, because her heart leapt into overdrive as her stomach twisted into anxious knots.
He wore a dark button down, the sleeves rolled to the middle of his forearms, and a pair of dark jeans. His hair was styled nicely, swept back from his face, and his jaw clean shaven. Having grown used to seeing him with stubble, Hermione realized he looked much more like the Draco Malfoy she knew from school, and instead of leaving her perturbed, she felt fascinated.
He looked younger – but different.
Sipping from a dark beverage, he slipped seamlessly into the conversation, muttering a witty quip that set the rest of the group off.
The seat he'd claimed was so close to her own that if Hermione shifted, her thigh might have pressed against his, and the thought caused a hot flush to shoot across her skin that had nothing to do with the warmth in the club.
Grey eyes slid to meet hers, and a slow smile tugged at his mouth. "You look nice."
Pressing her lips together, Hermione gave a short nod. "Thanks. And you."
He gave a nonchalant shrug, and Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as his grin widened; he nodded at her outfit. "Much better than the carnival polo."
Her eyes tightened. "You know I hate that bloody polo."
"I would too." He made a show of cringing. "It's about the cheapest grade of synthetic fabric I've ever seen."
The words reminded her of the haughty countenance he'd carried as a youth at Hogwarts. Opening her mouth to retort, Hermione froze when he turned halfway towards her, propping an arm up on the back of the bench near her shoulder. He raised his drink, his expression sobering. "To doing what you have to do."
A tiny smile pulled at her lips as Hermione clinked her partial glass against his. "To just going with it."
Malfoy barked a laugh, keeping his glass pressed against hers for a delayed moment. "Just fucking going with it. Right."
He tossed back a swig of his drink, and Hermione took a pull of her own, her gaze falling on his. He confessed after a moment, "This sort of thing isn't really my scene. Not anymore, anyways. Too many people, too much noise."
"Neither, if I'm honest." Her heart thudded in her chest as she stared at him; her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and she thought his eyes darted from hers for a brief instant. "I don't usually drink very much."
Murmuring in a low voice, he said, "We can be uncomfortable together."
Hermione wasn't sure she didn't like the sound of that.
Several hours later, Hermione was a few drinks in, and she found herself dancing with Lisa, the pair of them twirling and spinning with abandon.
She was quite certain Lisa was drunk, and her own brain felt a little fuzzy, but she had already decided days earlier she was going to let loose and have a little fun. It would only be a month or so until she would return to England and face everything back home.
And maybe Malfoy had the right idea – in going elsewhere. There was a genuine type of carefree energy here, and Hermione released a bright laugh as Lisa twisted and stumbled into her.
A heavy beat permeated the air, quaking into Hermione's spine, and neon lights flashed and danced to the rhythm. Her eyes fell shut as she allowed herself to simply be, enjoying herself with a new friend.
When Hermione took a break for a drink of water, leaving Lisa dancing aimlessly on her own, she spotted Malfoy and Mikhael in conversation near the dance floor. She sidled up with her glass of water, a little unsteady on her feet as she leered at Malfoy.
"Having fun?" he asked, turning to face her. His hair was a bit scruffier than it had been earlier, and the way he clutched his drink suggested he'd had a few.
"Yes," Hermione proclaimed with a nod. Mikhael shifted, peering towards the dance floor.
"Lisa still dancing?" he asked, setting down his empty glass. Hermione nodded, and the man ducked away with a quick wave.
Fixing Malfoy with a stare, she leaned against the nearest table for balance. "Are you going to come dance?"
He snorted. "I don't like to dance."
Dropping her chin, unimpressed, she said, "You danced at the Yule Ball."
Even as he rolled his eyes, his lips twitched. "Let me clarify: I don't like to dance." He smirked, shaking his head. "Besides, I was fourteen, and it was mandatory. I was forced into ballroom lessons most of my life and I'll happily avoid anything like that the rest of it."
Her eyes met his. "This isn't ballroom dancing. Ten minutes." Lifting a hand, she made to reach for his wrist, but dropped the hand partway. She slammed the last of her water, leaving the empty cup on the table.
Malfoy made a face, brows knitting on his forehead. "Fine, Granger. Ten minutes."
Ordinarily Hermione didn't care to dance in front of others, but there was something exhilarating about the atmosphere, and she had consumed enough alcohol that her usual inhibitions had sloughed away, leaving her with a lightness flowing in her veins.
Without waiting for Malfoy, she made her way back to the dance floor, locating Lisa and Mikhael. Lisa was swaying dangerously off balance and Mikhael laughed, tugging her closer into his arms.
Something jolted in Hermione's chest at the sight of them, and she halted mid-step, feeling Malfoy collide into her back. His hand steadied against her hip, and a burst of energy chased her spine at the feel of the contact.
Despite the innate feeling, deep down, that she should keep her distance, Hermione didn't shift away and found herself melting back into him.
Turning on the spot, she dropped a hand to his bicep, snaking up around his neck as his fingers tightened on her hip. His grey eyes met hers, dark under the black lights of the club. The rhythm coaxed at her, and she felt herself moving to the beat, a smile lingering on her lips as her eyelids fluttered.
And Malfoy danced, drawing her closer; she could feel the warmth from his body emanating, a light sheen breaking from her temples as she pressed still closer, her conscience and all shreds of logic screaming at her from deep within.
But she repressed the thoughts, some other part of her rationalizing the moment as her hand dragged down his chest, and at some point his hips found hers, shooting a jolt of heat straight to her core.
His breath was hot against her skin as her fingers toyed with the blond strands at the base of his neck, all logic forsaken as she ground against him, her brain hazy and idle.
Fingers tugged at her curls and Malfoy's eyes were on hers, dark and enticing, his lips parted as he gazed at her. Hermione blinked up at him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as her hips met his again, enticing a sharp huff of a breath from his mouth.
His fingers trailed down her spine, coming to rest in the small of her back and he hitched her forward to press tightly against him. Staring down at her he swallowed, his grey eyes heavily lidded. A hand swept to his jaw, and Hermione leaned in, lifting onto her toes; she could taste the alcohol on his breath as it mingled with her own.
Her heart pounded in her chest, anticipation hot and eager in her belly.
His gaze was fixed on her mouth, hands flexing on her – and then his face snapped to the side, his grip loosening. The haze fogging Hermione's thoughts dissipated as if by a bucket of cold water, and she noticed Mikhael muttering something in Malfoy's ear, but the music was too loud for her to hear.
Gaze flickering to her, Malfoy released her, stepping away. With a nod in her direction, he followed Mikhael from the dance floor and Hermione chased after, her steps a little unsteady.
She knew with absolute certainty she wasn't ready to unpack what any of that had been.
"Lisa's sick," Malfoy explained once she caught up to them along the periphery of the club, where the lights were brighter and the music was quieter. "She's gone to the ladies' – can you find her?"
Nodding, Hermione ventured into the bathroom as Mikhael said something about calling a cab; she didn't meet Malfoy's gaze as she walked away, a hot flush colouring her cheeks at just the thought of him.
Several minutes later the four of them were outside, and Hermione felt the cold breeze nipping at her bare shoulders; Lisa leaned against her, barely managing to keep upright.
"Are you sure you can get her home?" Mikhael asked. "Do you want us to come along?"
"We'll be fine," Hermione replied, the urgency and the fresh air playing wonders on the hints of intoxication that had made her thoughts and actions so fuzzy. She didn't dare entertain the thought of Malfoy coming back to their house.
And if she wasn't certain Lisa would toss the contents of her stomach again, Hermione might have considered side-along Apparating her home – if it wouldn't break about a dozen laws of the Statute.
Once the taxi arrived, they situated Lisa in the backseat, and Hermione slipped into the other side. And despite the situation – once the door closed behind her, without a word spoken of what had occurred between her and Malfoy on the dance floor – she felt a massive sigh of relief chase from her, sinking back into the seat.
Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor of their dimly-lit bathroom, idly tying Lisa's long hair into a single plait down the middle of her back. The girl groaned, dropping to the floor. She was pale and sickly, a sheen of sweat on her face, and her eyelids fluttered shut.
Dragging a soothing hand across the girl's temple, Hermione said, "Mum always said, better out than in." Her heart clenched at the memory, feeling a sting when her mother's voice echoed in her head.
Lisa huffed a poor attempt at a laugh, settling her face on Hermione's knee. "Mine always said don't fucking drink if you don't want the hangover the next day." Her words were slurred and clumsy.
Hermione tittered, sweeping a few stray hairs back from Lisa's face. "That you'll have, I'm afraid." She peered at her new friend, a tilt to her head. "Are you okay? Truly?"
Rolling over so she was facing the ceiling, Lisa sighed. "I don't know. Sometimes I ask myself if this is worth it, you know?"
"With Mikhael," Hermione inferred. Lisa pressed her eyes shut and nodded. "You care for him."
She muttered, "More than I should. But he'll never see me like he saw her."
There was a hesitant silence between the two of them; Hermione had never been very good at this sort of thing, especially since the only female influences through most of her adolescence had been Lavender and Parvati, who generally avoided talking about boys with her. And Ginny, who had usually wanted to talk about Quidditch.
"Her," Hermione finally mused, "his ex-girlfriend?"
"Charlie," Lisa scoffed, shifting to drop her face into the soft strands of the bathmat. "She was a model and an actress, and Mikhael treated her like a queen. But she never cared about him in the same way."
She was silent, her mouth twisting to one side, before continuing. "He did everything for her; even bought her a board and a suit so he could teach her to surf – the ones you use, by the way – but she had no interest."
"She doesn't sound like she was very nice," Hermione admonished, propping her knees up and dropping her chin.
"She wasn't," Lisa slurred, her face half pressed into the floor. "She cheated on him – at least twice. He was heartbroken but kept thinking she could change."
"I think he likes you," Hermione said, "judging by the way the two of you were tonight."
"Maybe he does," Lisa said, her whole body shifting with a half-hearted shrug. "But he isn't over her, not truly. I can see it in him when we're together."
Staring at her new friend, Hermione felt a tug in her chest. "Maybe he just needs a little more time. Have you told him how you feel?" She hesitated, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. "Maybe he thinks you don't want anything more."
Lisa blinked several times, her green eyes foggy and her mouth gaping. "Maybe. Have you told Draco how you feel?"
"I don't –" Hermione began, frowning.
"You're so obvious," Lisa said with a huff of laughter. "And so is he, by the way."
Tapping a pattern on the floor, Hermione avoided Lisa's penetrating stare. "I don't think I am – or him. In fact, I can promise you he'd never be interested in me. You don't know half of the things we've said and done to one another."
"People change," Lisa muttered, as if it were that simple. "He didn't kiss you tonight?"
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Hermione shook her head, unwilling to divulge how close the two of them had actually come – but Malfoy had consumed too many drinks, as had she, and that had to be the only reason.
Lisa smiled sadly. "I was sure he was going to."
A glimmer of longing tugged at her chest as Hermione shook her head. "Nope." She snapped the 'p' for emphasis, falling silent for a moment in thought. "And even if he had – it's a terrible idea, you know? I'll be going back to England at the end of August, and he's going to stay here in LA, and the last thing I need is any sort of attachments."
Musing, she stared at the mat beside Lisa's plait, and shook her head. "It's for the best – really. There's too much negative history between the two of us, and…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I think it would just be asking to get hurt. And maybe I've dealt with enough of that over the last few years."
Pensive, she fell into silence, wondering whether the words were meant to convince herself.
Lisa was fast asleep.
A gentle smile on her features, Hermione collected her wand and levitated Lisa's prone, unconscious form into her bedroom, leaving a glass of water and aspirin on the nightstand, before changing and collapsing into her own bed, wholly uncertain about the myriad of thoughts coursing her brain.
Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your continued support. I'm always so thrilled when your lovely comments come in, and thanks also for the follows and favourites! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Massive shout out to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347 for their alpha work, and to I was BOTWP for her beta efforts.