CHAPTER 11

End of April 1998

Time went by fast-far too fast-before the dance came. While the rest of the school was engaged in the routine drama of who's-going-with-who, the Head Prefects were in the blur of meetings, forms, and setting things up. There was no break for the two, even on weekends: for Malfoy, it was catching up with Quidditch training and maintaining his physique, for Hermione it was making up study hours and, one weekend in particular, the big dress search.

Ginny and a few other girl friends had invited Hermione along to pick out their dresses at Fleur's new couture shop. She was looking forward to supporting the shop, as well as finding something that would be a knock-out for her last Hogwarts ball-in a reasonable amount of time. She was never one for long, drawn-out shopping sprees, and she had a textbook with her name on it sitting in her book bag back in the dormitory.

A fresh spring breeze swirled through the air outside as Hermione and group pored through the racks, oohing and ahhing at the colors and textures Fleur had crafted into lovely gowns.

"Hermione," Ginny said, calling Hermione out of her dress-induced trance.

"Hmmm?" Hermione responded, looking up. Ginny had a small armful of dresses and a puzzled look on her face.

"You're just standing here going through this rack so slowly. Thought I'd check in on you. Are you about to fall asleep?"

Hermione cleared her throat, embarrassed. "I've been tired lately, Gin. Sorry if I'm a little distracted."

"McGonagall's been working you to death," Ginny chided, clucking her tongue. "I know you're not one for shopping. Here. Come tell me what you think of these for me and then we'll shop for you."

Hermione nodded, quite relieved that there was at least something that someone else could take care of. "Thank you."

"I promise, you're going to be the belle of the ball after I dress you," said Ginny with a wink, whisking them both away to the dressing rooms.

.*.*.*.

Holding a glass of Firewhiskey in front of the Slytherin Common Room fire, Draco regretted ever coming to game night. It was a week before the dance and Blaise was looking smug because it still hadn't happened.

At this point, Draco was starting to lose faith. Not that he could show that in front of Zabini–that fucking asshole.

"I know you're going to tell me you don't want to talk about it," said Zabini, moving his chess piece, "but the clock is ticking. It's nearly May and you're still celibate."

"What the fuck do you mean by celibate?" Draco said cryptically, capturing Blaise's remaining rook with a knight. Blaise cursed under his breath.

"You know what I'm feeling like," said Zabini, grinning after his move. "I'm feeling like a Sex God."

"Well, you're not a chess god," Draco answered, putting him into checkmate. "I win, asshole."

"You're in such a bad fucking mood lately," Blaise complained, resetting his side of the board. "So whiny. Remember when we used to have fun together?"

Draco did remember. There was a time he had looked forward to their boozy game nights, and he had found solace in them. Now they just seemed like an added stress atop the Prefects duties and the bet and Granger's many moods.

"You're right," Draco said, refilling his glass. "I've been quite distracted lately." He nudged Theo, who was on the couch trying halfheartedly to study for History whilst nursing a glass of Firewhiskey. "You know what we should do. We should go out tonight. How's a night at the Inn sound?"

"You mean it?" said Theo, a little too eagerly closing his textbook.

"I mean it. I need a night to not think about this fucking place."

Zabini laughed. "Yeah, why not?"

Draco downed the rest of his Firewhiskey as they packed up the chess board. In that moment, he had all but formally given up the deal in his head. He wasn't going to try anything anymore. If the clock ran out on the deal, so be it. But Draco Malfoy was far too proud to keep letting such a trivial thing run the rest of his school year. It was nearly May, like Blaise said. He had to let this go.

So as Blaise made Portkey arrangements, Draco sat back and let a smile spread across his face. Maybe he could just be free of this cursed deal. It was at that moment that he, of course without saying it out loud, felt very okay about losing the biggest bet of his young, 18-year-old life.

And he was okay with it.

.*.*.*.

Two weeks later, Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, suddenly realizing what she had been swindled into by Ginny.

A sleek satin gown wrapped around her torso, draping her arms in an off-the-shoulder style. At the waist, the fabric cinched then tumbled down like shimmery liquid, with a high slit revealing her leg. It was way higher than she remembered in the store. Way higher.

And how had Ginny convinced her, of all colors, to get green?

"It's your color," she had marveled. "It brings out your eyes. Hermione, you have to get this one."

Hermione had to admit, in the store she had loved it. It looked simple enough, but allowed for movement and didn't constrict her to the point of feeling stiff. But for some reason, as she looked at herself in the mirror on the night of the dance, the dress felt like something else. Her own image felt intimidating. Perhaps it was the intricate half-up, half-down hairstyle Luna had concocted for her earlier. Perhaps it was the gold makeup Ginny had swiped on her eyelids or the dangling gold jewelry Parvati had so graciously lended her. Perhaps it was the whole image combined, but there was a knot in Hermione's stomach. Was it too much? The darker, smoky look felt like it was pushing the edges of sexy and seductive. Was it too mature of a look for a school dance? What would people think?

A knock on the door startled her out of staring herself in the eyes in the mirror. "Just a second," she called back, clearing her throat and smoothing out her dress again. She would have to walk out of there, and Malfoy would be waiting on the other side of the door. What would he think? What would he have to say about her look?

Bracing herself, she took a breath and went to the door, opening it. Malfoy was adjusting his cufflinks. "Merlin, Granger, how long were you gonna hog the-" He looked up, stopping his sentence in its tracks.

Hermione just raised her eyebrows. "It's all yours."

He ran his eyes up and down her figure, hands still frozen on his cufflinks. "What is?"

How brazen. "The bathroom," she clarified.

His eyes lingered a little longer. "You look marvelous in green."

"Thanks," Hermione said, feeling the color come to her cheeks, trying to slip out of the doorway so he wouldn't see the unintentional color on her face.

"Granger,"

Hermione grit her teeth, fighting the burn in her gut and her face. She turned to face him, fully looking at him. He looked fantastically handsome. He wore a perfectly-tailored black suit with a green tie (an unintended match with her dress) and his hair was the perfect sort of tousled style-enough to complement the formality of the suit without negating it. He smiled.

"What?" Hermione said.

"What do you think?"

She rolled her eyes. So he was looking for a complement. "You look great," she said quickly, turning back so she could grab the last forms for the band in the office.

"No shit, I know," Malfoy said, "but I meant about yourself."

Hermione stopped, caught by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"What do you feel about how you look?"

She pursed her bottom lip, puzzled. "I feel fine."

"You don't look… confident."

Disliking the grilling, she turned back towards the office, hiking her way there with her heels and grabbing the paperwork as she went. "What if I'm just a little nervous about how all this is going to go? We did plan this in a very short amount of time," she called from the other room.

"Come here," said Malfoy from out in the hallway.

"What?" Hermione huffed again while flipping through the forms, annoyed.

"Come here," he repeated in a sterner voice. Hermione, with papers in hand, stepped out of the office doorway.

"Yes?" she asked shrilly.

Malfoy had stepped further down the hallway, giving her eyes that made her flutter a bit. A warning to run away? She stayed her ground.

"We planned this thing backwards and forwards. It's going to be fine. And you," he said, "are looking too stunning to be holding all that stress."

Hermione blinked up at him. Ever since her cryptic stipulation two weeks ago, he hadn't tried anything. Both distracted by paperwork and dance details, there hadn't even really been time. But the confusing sweetness still underlay their interactions–a sour sweetness, like the green apple candies, the ones that made her think of him.

There didn't seem to be any underlying motivation in his words. He looked at her, plain and simple, and for the first time she really looked back. He was really just a boy. He was no longer the prick she hated, no longer the begrudging coworker. He was Malfoy, and she knew him, enough to be able to tell when he was being sincere.

And she was thankful for it. She took a breath, trying to let some of the stress slip off her shoulders. "Everything's going to be fine," she said, mostly to herself. "Things are going to run smoothly."

"There you go. Slowly remove the stick from your arse."

Hermione rolled her eyes, playfully shoving Malfoy's shoulder.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I was waiting for you for so long."

"I was waiting for you. How long does it take to get your hair that messy?"

"It's a very calculated kind of messy," Malfoy grumbled.

"Let's go. We have to meet the band as they're setting up."

.*.*.*.

Draco had definitely felt something soften on the night he had given up. His playful returns with Granger had returned to how they were before: unfettered by responsibility or the heavy tension they had built up. Kissing her seemed like a distant memory. He still thought about it every once in a while, but it wasn't a necessity like it was before. Draco wondered, somewhere in his mind, if this was what it felt like to be truly comfortable with someone. To stop having to worry. To just interact without a motivation behind it.

They arrived at the Great Hall together, but separate, understanding their roles as designers of the event. They were ready to take on whatever might arise that could threaten the smoothness of the event. But they were also ready to just have a good time, in whatever way they could.

When they opened up the doors to the Great Hall, as the first real students to arrive in the fully-decorated space, both parties were stunned by the sight. The light was dark and purple-tinted, casting a cozy glow on the colorful streamers and silver confetti sparkled everywhere. A huge disco ball (Granger's idea) hung from the ceiling, which actually looked like a real ceiling for once instead of a mimic of the outside sky. There were bouquets of flowers dotting the circular tables strewn about the hall. The band was setting up on the stage off to one side.

Draco looked over. Granger was smiling.

"This is incredible," she said, taking in the view. "With the lights and everything it–it looks just like what I was imagining."

Draco ran his eyes over the room again. It wasn't what he was picturing at all, but then again, he'd never seen a Muggle prom in a movie, and he'd never really given a thought to decorations like disco balls and paper streamers. But the effect was inviting and charming and low-stakes, and he felt like maybe this would be the best ball he'd ever been to. And it hadn't even started yet.

As Granger went over to hand over the final release forms to the band, Draco went to go check on the food setup.

So began the Prom.

.*.*.*.

Hermione laughed and giggled as Ginny twirled her around. She passed her off to Harry, who continued to spin Hermione until she was feeling dizzy, the world spinning pleasantly around her and her friends (even if it made her feel a little nauseated for a moment).

The band was really good. Hermione was glad that they had played banger after banger, easing her worries that she hadn't picked the right group. She was also pleasantly surprised to see a good number of students, some Muggleborn and some not, singing along to many of the Muggle covers the band played. The theme seemed to be a hit. It was uncomplicated; messy in the right way. It left room for the students to cut loose–and, it seemed, the teachers too.

"Good job, Miss Granger," McGonagall had said to her at the side of the dance floor as Hermione was snagging some punch, a genuine kind smile on her wrinkled face. "This is lovely. It feels just right."

Hermione looked out into the sea of students, who were enthusiastically bopping along to a cover of Baby Got Back, then looked back at McGonagall. The old witch, seemingly unfazed that the entire student body was dropping it low, kept on smiling and tapping her toe. Hermione could hardly contain her laughter. She pretended to take another sip of punch to hide her smile.

The night went relatively smoothly, without major snags–the only minor issues that arose were a momentary dry spell on the punch (which was quickly fixed once Draco went back to the kitchen) and a case of excessive affection between two 5th years happening on the dance floor, which Hermione was unfortunately contracted to break up.

But besides the little moments, Hermione was free to enjoy herself. She tried to relax and let the stress of planning roll off of her shoulders-she had been so worried about it just before, but things really were turning out all right. She danced with her friends, occasionally spotting Malfoy through the sea of faces in the shimmering dim lights.

At one moment, as the music bounced along, Hermione caught sight of him with his Slytherin crowd, jacket discarded and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. He was holding the hand of some blonde–wait, that Greengrass girl–and twirling her under his arm until she had her back pressed to his body. They swayed to the music momentarily, Greengrass rolling her eyes and throwing her head back in laughter.

Time seemed to slow down around Hermione, the bobbing bodies around her seeming to move in slow-motion. She was also dancing, in slow-motion, but she couldn't pull her eyes away. It was like the movies, the ones she had gotten so much inspiration from, but this time, it was the scene where things went wrong and were never the same again.

As she watched Malfoy's face as Greengrass cozied up to him in that split second, a breakthrough suddenly occurred to Hermione. She guessed she had never thought about Malfoy's other life, the one that happened when she wasn't with him. She had almost forgotten that it existed: the Malfoy that actually did have hot Friday night dates and girls he used to bring back to the room. The "man-slut" Malfoy, as his friend Zabini had so delicately put it. Time was still in slow-motion when Malfoy's eyes met with Hermione's across the dance floor, Greengrass still pressed against his body. His hair, still perfectly loose, moved slightly with his movements, and he looked up. Hermione wanted to pretend like she wasn't looking, but it was too late. Their eye contact, unbroken from across the dance floor and between the bodies of students, stuck, and the smile crossed Malfoy's lips just as the unconscious frown crossed Hermione's.

Greengrass spun away from Malfoy, saying something that made him glance away momentarily, giving Hermione the opportunity to turn back around to her friends. What in Merlin's name was she feeling right now? Her chest cavity felt hot, sticky, and heavy, like it was filled with tar. It wasn't like she was… jealous. No, what was there to be jealous of? Nothing at all. Perhaps it was just that she had never stopped to consider that she wasn't the only person in the story. That she was honestly nothing in the big scheme of Malfoy's life. But that's how she wanted it to be, right? It wasn't like he was a big part of hers–

"Granger," came a voice accompanied with a hand on her shoulder. She turned around, startled and briefly irritated that she had been pulled out of her deep thought. It was Malfoy, as if she had summoned him.

"How's it going?" he asked, as the inattentive crowd formed around them, blocking them into their conversation as the dancing circles around then turned outwards away from them. "Things seem to be running smoothly–"

"Yes, they do," Hermione said, not meaning to cut him off.

"Unless you've been dealing with more than your fair share of issues," Malfoy finished.

"Not much has come up," Hermione answered, looking past his shoulder.

"You seem upset again," he noted. "Like the stick has reinserted itself."

Hermione bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from lashing out. It was ridiculous for her to be irritated with him for having the life she knew he had. It was silly–against her own good, in so many ways!-to be upset right now. She mustered a smile, as genuine as she could make it. "Nope, I was having a fantastic time," she said, "until I remembered you were here."

Malfoy, to her great annoyance, smirked, snaking a hand to her waist to pull her into him. The rest of the student body bounced on, completely unaware. Hermione looked up, into the icy eyes, into the impossible smirk. She tried her best not to be affected. It wasn't anything, was it?

"We've thrown a rather lovely ball," the blond commented, the hand on her waist caressing the fabric there.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," she said in response, putting her hand over his to remove it. In response, he held onto her waist more firmly.

"Are you not?" asked Malfoy, right before Zabini appeared behind him, jokingly grinding on him enthusiastically before Malfoy turned around, exasperated, sliding his hand away from Hermione's side in the process.

"Oy, hey there, Granger. Lovely party," said Zabini, winking at her. Hermione nodded her hello, overwhelmed by the loud and boisterous Blaise. "Listen," he said, this time addressing Malfoy, "have you seen Tori? I couldn't find her for the whole last song."

"She probably went to get some punch or something like that," Malfoy replied. "Or you could ask Daph."

"Daph's off making out with her girlfriend. She said I'm not allowed to watch."

"Understandably," Draco said, sighing shortly. Hermione paused for a moment, thinking about Malfoy and Greengrass and their moment of closeness. Had she misinterpreted it? Was she really creating stories in her head just to make herself jealous? Where did those feelings even come from–

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well, like I said, I'd check the punch table."

Zabini looked off in the direction of the refreshments, then nodded resolutely. He turned to Hermione again before he left. "Are you two gonna dance?" he suggested laughingly before taking off. "That I would pay to see." He pointed a finger at Draco, as if hinting something at him, then turned around and disappeared into the students.

"We're obviously not going to dance," Hermione said, glancing around them as the crowd was thinning out for a slower song, leaving the two of them still standing in the middle of the dance floor.

"Obviously not," Malfoy replied, sounding less sure and more like he was just echoing it.

It was just like a movie, Hermione thought, the moment where everything would be made right by an invitation to dance. Two people, once enemies, meet in their final battle on the dance floor. Neither of them win: they both lose, gloriously.

She was about to raise her eyebrows, as if to challenge the blond in front of her, but then there was a crash in the general direction of the refreshments table and Malfoy's attention was hesitantly drawn to it.

Hermione paused, realizing the impossibility of the moment she had been imagining. "If it has to do with food, it's a you issue," Hermione said, putting her finger on her nose to show her "not-going."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm on it."

Just as she watched him walk away, the beginnings of the slow song beginning, Neville tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey, Hermione. May I have this dance?"

Hermione smiled genuinely. "Of course, Neville."

Neville was an expert, thoughtful and confident in guiding his dancers around the floor, and Hermione was thankful to her friend for saving her from the awkwardness of leaving the dance floor alone. Hermione chatted with Neville as they swayed to the slow beat, Neville congratulating her on a ball well done and Hermione celebrating Neville for his recent acceptance into the Herbology Master's program he was excited about.

"We'll all be going our separate ways soon," Neville said, shaking his head gently. "It'll be strange. Like, we don't talk much, but I'll miss seeing you around. You're like a staple here."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Oh, Neville. You've been a good friend, you know that? I can't say I've always been."

"What?"

"I don't know if I've ever formally apologized for the first year. You know, when–"

Neville threw his head back and laughed out loud. "Don't worry about it."

"But I do. I had no reason to put you in a body bind like that–"

"Water under the bridge," Neville said, and Hermione pulled herself closer to him for a hug. She shut her eyes as they continued to sway this way, smiling gently, and when she opened them again she caught sight of two cold gray eyes calmly observing her from across the Hall. Neville was holding on softly, and Hermione had no reason nor impetus to pull back, stunned as she was by the sudden eye contact. She looked down, tucking her nose into Neville's shoulder. Finally, as Hermione tried to avoid the feeling of being watched, they both pulled away as the song ended.

"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said, bowing in front of her and taking her hand for a slight kiss on her knuckles. "Congrats again, on all this."

Once they had gone their separate ways on the dance floor, Hermione couldn't find Malfoy anymore in the sea of people. She straightened her shoulders and went off to go check on things around the Great Hall, thinking, maybe it was better that way anyways.

.*.*.*.

In the aftermath, the band was packing up as the late stayers of the students began to trickle out of the Hall back to their dorms. Some dance committee student volunteers had stayed to make sure everything urgent was taken care of in terms of decorations being put away, but in the end all that was left was for the Head Prefects to see the band out and close up the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was a mess, but it was a fantastic mess. Streamers still hung draped from light fixtures, bits of confetti dotted the now-vacant dance floor. Granger was looking just a little tired–a few rebellious curls had popped out from her meticulously-styled hair and her shoulders slumped a bit as she sat on the edge of the cleared stage.

Draco poured himself a glass of green apple punch from the nearly-emptied refreshments table (the flavor had been quite purposeful at the time), then, from some unknown well of sudden generosity, poured one for Granger as well. He walked up to her at the edge of the stage, handing out the small glass.

"Here."

Granger looked up, taking the cup. "Thanks," she said, returning to her distracted haze. The light was still dim and warm in the hall. It was quiet and empty and peaceful. Draco was struck by how comfortable it felt to be sitting there, next to her. To be sipping on apple punch, thinking of all the ridiculous things that had happened to get them to this point.

"I'm glad," Granger said, looking up after her own sip of punch, "this went so well."

"It was pretty smooth. Except for the part where that 5th year girl flipped the food table."

"Yeah, what was that about?"

"She looked kind of like you after that spat you had with Weasley at the Yule Ball. Remember that?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "Don't bring it up. Why do you even remember that?"

"Because I hated you both and so obviously I found delight in the suffering you were causing each other."

Granger sighed, as if annoyed but too tired to care about responding. "Well that's all in the past."

"The hating you part? Not sure," Draco replied, not as sharp as he normally might. It didn't have the same witty sting as before.

"I'm glad I got to have this night," Granger said quietly.

"The Spring Ball?"

"A prom," she replied. "One final big event to… end it all."

"Was it everything you dreamed it would be? Just like those movies or whatever?"

"Sort of."

"What was missing?"

Granger paused, seeming as if she were going to answer the question but backing out at the last minute. "Nothing."

"Okay, Granger. I'm glad it was all you wanted." He stood, taking in the sight of the Great Hall once more. He was feeling old, like he was outgrowing this place. He felt jaded. A little cold. A little melancholy, like there was also something missing from what this should be.

But it was time to go back to the dorms and go to sleep and continue on with life. Wasn't it?

"Malfoy," Granger said. "I have a question."

He looked back at her as she still sat on the edge of the stage. "Sure."

She took a breath, opened her mouth, then shook her head. "Nevermind."

"Alright," Draco said, confused.

Granger seemed to have gotten her courage to continue with her question. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever asked in my life, but I'm just wondering. Whatever that deal thing that we made was, were you ever actually really attracted to me?"

Draco looked at her. She shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the empty punch glass.

"Why are you so curious about this now?" he asked, not sure how to answer her.

"I think you know what I mean by my question."

"I don't. And what kind of attraction are you talking about anyways? Because we already established these things–"

"What I mean is, that's not normally how I do things. And I just want to clarify–"

"Do you think that's how anyone does things, Granger? Negotiating kisses like trade deals? Normally people just snog if they want to snog, don't you think?"

Granger stood up, still looking at the ground. "I don't understand what you see me as." She glanced up at his face, searching there for a minute. "I don't know how to interact with you."

"What confuses you?" Draco asked, hands up. "I'm an open book."

"It's like you suddenly have a soul sometimes, and it's so confusing, because I could just… I don't know," she said, sparking surprise in a corner of Draco's mind. "I could just brush past all this, not give a second thought to anything, but then you do something like… seem like you might care beyond the level I thought you were capable of? I'm not sure what I'm even talking about."

"I don't know what you're talking about either," Draco said, keeping his witty cool. "I have a finite capacity to care about anything. And for you–"

"Just dance with me," Granger said, cutting him off. "That's what I want."

Draco stopped, looking around for dramatic effect. "I thought you said you didn't dance."

"That was actually forever ago. We can argue while we do it, I don't care."

"There's no music."

"Keen observation." They stood, staring at each other. Draco didn't move. She was confusing him, and he thought he had just gotten a handle on how she operated. The more he knew about her, the less he knew he knew about her.

"Do something stupid," she whispered, voice cracking, shoulders dropping as her defenses did.

So Draco did. He stepped to her and took her face in his hands and kissed her.

It said everything that needed to be said. A single, simple kiss, like one word between them. Truce. When they broke away, they folded into each other's arms, an embrace like the dance in their common room so long ago. They swayed to the invisible music, clumsily wrapped in each other, both in their own thoughts but together in some strange understanding. It wasn't like before. Before, it was a challenge, a battle between the two for some spoken or unspoken prize or pride. Now, it was a surrender.

Draco looked up at the clock just in time to watch it click to midnight. He moved a hand up Granger's spine, smiling an unseen smile to himself. He had lost the bet. The unexpected joy that bubbled up in his heart moved him to lean down and place a kiss on the top of the Gryffindor's head. She smelled like apples. Maybe it was the punch.

Finally, they separated, knowing wordlessly it was time to go home. Draco took Hermione's hand in his and they walked out of the Great Hall, towards their dormitories, towards whatever was next. Whatever did happen, it wasn't going to mean anything anymore except for what they wanted to make it mean together.

.*.*.*.

Hermione thought about how cliche it would be to do it on prom night. She had thought about it all the way back to the room, where she stopped Malfoy in the hallway and kissed him until her neck hurt from looking up at him.

"I want you," she said, finally, pulling at his collar.

"Merlin, I want you too," he responded, tracing a finger over her exposed shoulder and collarbone.

"Glad we've agreed on something for once," she said, a shiver going down her spine.

Malfoy pulled her into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and kissing her all the way to the foot of his bed, where Hermione kicked off her heels and Malfoy slid off his jacket. Like choreography, he unknotted his tie without removing his lips from Hermione's, and gently found the zipper at the back of her dress, fingering it for a moment before beginning to slowly unzip her from her evening frock.

Hermione's heart pounded as she toyed with the upper buttons of Malfoy's shirt. This moment, this concept, had unexpectedly crossed her mind so often that it seemed familiar, although it was in reality completely novel. The fingers on her exposed spine sending waves of heat pulsing through her were real, and this was really happening, she had to remind herself. In the soft light of Draco Malfoy's bedroom, she was about to do something she knew to be completely and utterly stupid.

The questions dissipated almost as soon as they arrived. She knew there would always be time to address them, but right now his lips were on her neck and her dress was undone and she knew, she had known for a while, what she wanted.

Hermione was able to get Malfoy's shirt off of him and maneuver them to the side of the bed before her dress slid down around her body, pooling at her feet. Malfoy paused, inhaling, stealing glances at her body. "You're beautiful," he said. "You're so beautiful."

"You're nothing special," Hermione responded teasingly, her hand on his toned chest. He smirked. Sweet Minerva, that smirk. The next thing she knew, they were falling onto the bed together.

.*.*.*.

Draco stared up at the ceiling, jaw open in fatigue and shock. Had that just happened? He almost had to convince himself of the reality, tracking everything back to the beginning of the day, retracing his steps. He could have almost convinced himself that it was all just a dream, some elaborate fantasy that he had made up. It wouldn't shock him, he had imagined it before. But it wasn't that good when he had imagined it. And Granger was in bed next to him, also staring at the ceiling, both of them naked, both of them spent, both of them flushed with pleasure and surprise.

"I never thought I'd be a partaker in that cliche."

"What cliche?" Draco said, his voice dry.

"Doing it on prom night."

"That's a thing?" he asked.

"Yeah," Granger said. "I'm a typical teen trope."

"Oh, so that's what the 'something missing' was."

"No," Granger said, turning her head to scoff at him.

"So your goal was to get me into bed with you," he said, rolling onto his side and snaking a hand across her waist, causing her to giggle an impossibly seductive giggle and roll towards him.

"No," she said again, adamant. "This was an accident."

"Oh, so you just accidentally–"

"Shhh," she said, placing a finger on his lips. "You're ruining it."

"Am I?" Draco sighed, pulling her towards him to cuddle her back. "I think our silly bickering is quite a turn-on."

Granger laughed, contentedly snuggling into Draco's closeness. Since when was this so easy? He briefly considered that it may have been giving up the game that made it all click into place.

"Can I tell you something?" said Granger. Draco nodded into the back of her head, and she took a breath before speaking.

"I was waiting for all of our work to get done. Because… I didn't want this to affect our jobs."

"It won't," Draco said, sounding a bit too sure of himself. "I mean, we made it this far."

"Yeah, but… it wasn't like this before."

"Like what?" He knew what she was talking about. But he wanted her to say it. Wanted her to say it so he didn't have to.

She turned her head to look back at him. "Am I sleeping here tonight?"

He gazed back into her chocolate-brown eyes, fighting back the huge smirk that was teasing at his lips. She was always clever with her questions, and it pleased him. But he wanted her to know he was serious, and his smirk might make her question it, so he held it back.

"Yes," he said. "I've decided I'm deeply & madly in love with every inch of you, Hermione." And he kissed her again.