A/N: My lovely readers, thank you for being the most patient and supportive people in the world! Here at long last is the final chapter of this work. I've loved going down this little foray with Hermione and Draco, and I truly hope you've felt the same. 3

Harry Potter was not a smart man. He knew this for a fact (made even more poignant when one of his closest friends was Hermione Granger). Yet, because of his job as an Auror, and probably because of his upbringing with an erratic and ill-tempered uncle, he was an observant man. He could read people. So, even had he not known to look for the signs, he liked to think he still would have seen them, plain as parchment.

Hermione was in love with Draco Malfoy.

And somehow, even more impossibly, Malfoy loved her back. He probably even loved her first. He loved her in a way that was borderline revolting. Scratch that, it was full on revolting. When she walked into a room, his face lit up brighter than a Lumos maxima. When her eyes touched his, the smile on his lips was broad and genuine. Everywhere she moved, his eyes followed her. Everything she said captured his full attention. When they were in the same room, there was no room for anyone else.

Thus, Harry watched as Hermione arrived at The Leaky Cauldron on another Friday night and craned her neck around the room. He watched her note his absence, frown, then spot Harry with a hastily recovered smile. He said nothing when Draco finally stepped out of the floo, eyes crinkling as he immediately found her. He covered his smirk when Draco made his way to their group's table holding two—only two—drinks despite the half dozen of them that had gathered. He turned to his wife when they started to talk, trying to give them a modicum of privacy in the crowded room.

And, Merlin be damned if he didn't find himself hoping that tonight would be the night they finally crossed that line together.

"Rosé."

Draco set a glass down in front of Hermione as he slid into the vacant seat next to her. He couldn't help the bubble of hope in his chest that the seat was empty for him on purpose.

"Is this the posh wine of the week?" Her lip quirked up as she spoke. Her eyes danced.

He looked her up and down, trying to come up with a retort, but his mind was blank. She had worn a simple blouse: cream, unadorned, soft, and draping, and when the light hit it just right, it glimmered with a subtle pearlescent sheen. It hung on her form in a way that was entirely unrevealing, but he had never seen anything so elegant and sensual before. Not in all the robes and gowns and gems that the Malfoy vaults could buy for his mother, or on any of the wizarding elite that filled her renowned galas.

Hermione was perfect.

He was enchanted.

But, he was also fucked. He had been staring at her for far too long.

Hermione looked at him with a tilted head and concern touching her eyes. "Draco?" she asked, and she placed a hand on his arm.

"Nargles," he said and cleared his throat. "The nargles got me."

Luna across the table nodded sagely as Hermione erupted into laughter. The rest of the table turned to her. Ron's eyebrows actually disappeared above his hairline. Still, Hermione laughed. She laughed so hard that she snorted indelicately, covered her mouth with wide eyes, then doubled over and laughed some more.

Soon, everyone was laughing too.

So the night was spent among friends: drinking, laughing, talking, toasting, and of course, constantly joking. As the evening wore on, their group trickled away in ones and twos. Harry and Ginny were the last to leave, getting up mere minutes after George and Angelina. Ginny hugged Hermione in a way that was clearly meant to convey something, and though Hermione had drunk only two glasses of rosé, and had her full faculties about her, she could not for the life of her understand what Ginny wanted. Harry was shaking Draco's hand.

"Don't get up!" Ginny demanded as she stooped to wrap her arms around Hermione. "Enjoy yourself," she whispered.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, to make a snarky comment, or in the very least to reciprocate well wishes, but nothing came. She turned back to Draco, who was staring at the back of Harry's head with the strangest expression. His brow was screwed up, but his eyes were blown wide. His jaw was slack, and he was unnaturally still. She glanced at Harry, who retreated without even a glance backward.

What in Merlin's name had he said?

After three long seconds of staring at Harry, which honestly could have just as easily been three years, Draco turned his gaze on her. He cleared his throat and reached to his neck, as if to loosen his tie. Only, he wasn't wearing a tie. Hermione watched him glance down at his clothes and furrow his brow again. He was wearing a soft tee—at least, it looked so delightfully soft that Hermione wanted to bury her face in it—and casual slacks. He had a wizard's watch on his wrist, which, aside from his dragonhide shoes, was the most formal thing about him. If not for his suddenly rigid posture, Hermione would have called him downright relaxed. He looked exactly like the type of person who would feel at home in her living room, on her sofa, stretching his long limbs out and allowing her to slot right in at his side, like they had those weeks ago while watching films together.

She was staring. Oh no, oh no, think of something fast! On instinct, she examined her surroundings for a quick excuse, but her immediate surroundings were Draco. Her eyes stalked over him again, and she delighted in seeing the curve of his back as he settled back against his chair and the flex of his hand as he lifted his wineglass to his perfectly kissable lips. Hermione found herself desperate to taste them—to taste him.

She looked away, never meeting his eyes, and picked up her own glass.

Draco blinked at Hermione. She sipped her wine like a goddess would ambrosia. What was he waiting for?

"I suppose it's getting late," he heard himself say.

"Oh, of course." Her mouth curved downward in a way that made him willing to buy her the whole fucking world to make it quirk back up. "I'm sure you're tired."

"I'm not," he blurted out. "No, I'm not tired," he said more steadily.

"Oh. Right. I don't suppose you want to—"

"Yes."

Hermione smirked.

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm up for anything." He grinned at her, and he hoped to the gods it looked playful and not terrified. Or desperate.

"I suppose—" they had made their way toward the floo, "—well, just come through?"

"Right, yes. Perfect."

They had done this before, winding down the night at her place or his. This was nothing unusual, he reminded himself. Draco waited ten whole heartbeats after Hermione disappeared through the flames, though admittedly each one came faster than the last. Then, he called out her address and went through.

Her flat was a comfortable, easy place to be in. His shoulders released the moment he stepped out of the fireplace. That is, until he looked up to see Hermione stepping out of her heels, back towards him, and bending to pick them up.

Salazar, I am desperate.

"I'm just going to change quickly," she called over her shoulder.

He wished he could say he didn't stare at her backside until she disappeared from view. Tension flooded him.

You can't stand by the floo like an idiot, a voice said in his head.

He jumped toward the couch. The nearest cushion was his first choice, but then he realized it was also nearest to the hall. Would that make him look too eager? He scooted one cushion down, before realizing what a tosser he would be sitting in the middle of the couch, forcing Hermione to sit close to him whether she wanted to or not. He moved down one more cushion. Great. Now he was on the far end, as far as he could possibly sit away from her in the room. As if he wanted distance from her.

Fuck, I'm screwed.

A new thought occurred to him. What would it look like to Hermione to find him lounging in her space, uninvited, like he expected her to wait on him hand and foot?

Thus it was that Hermione came out to find Draco in her living room caught half way between sitting and standing, looking for all the world like he was Confunded and trying to take a shit on her couch. He had never stood so fast in his life, overcorrecting, and nearly toppling forward.

"Wow, Malfoy, I didn't know you were that much a lightweight," she laughed.

He ran his hands through his hair. When he looked up to meet her eyes, he smiled. She was wearing an oversized, threadbare jumper that he had seen her in countless times over the years. It had not made an appearance at work for months now, and he thought she had finally gotten rid of the monstrosity, but it seemed it lived on in the comfort of her flat. It was loose, baggy, fraying, and perfect. Forget the little shorts she threw on with it. (Though, really, he should have been paying attention to that much exposed leg.) Instead, he watched her positively glow with relaxation. Seeing her this way made her all the more real, and the sleek, stylish woman making his mouth water for months fell away. She was replaced by the Hermione he knew all along, who cared so deeply, fought so fiercely, and cast her magic like it was an extension of her very breath.

She reached up and put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "Hey. Are you okay?"

He nodded, and as he did so, he noticed a stray thread on her sleeve. He reached out to pull off, but found it was still intact. He looked up, met her eyes, and saw for the first time how close they were.

He tugged on the little thread.

She grinned.

Suddenly, it wasn't just a thread between them, dangling from her jumper and wrapped around his finger. It began with the quirk of her lip and the firmness of her touch and traveled through his entire body until it ended in his heart. Without any shadow of a doubt, he knew that he was in love with Hermione Granger. The thought filled him with warmth and certainty. He looked at her, and fear drained from him, leaving only the peace that comes from knowing, implicitly, one's own heart.

He loved her.

There was only one thing to be done. Draco looked into Hermione's eyes, and she smiled up into his. He leaned down and kissed her.

He kissed her.

He was actually kissing her!

Hermione was in shock. Or, was she being smothered by bliss? Maybe it was both. Merlin, were her lips moving? Was she kissing him back?

Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and he stepped into her. A sigh fell from his lips, or maybe from her own. Either way, realization hit her like a quaffle to the face. She wanted nothing more in the world than to be right there, kissing him. She closed her eyes and let go of everything but the touch of his lips.

The kiss enraptured her. A calm tingling spread through her, down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around Draco's neck, and his hands encircled her waist in response. Then came the fire. It flashed through her with a life of its own. Draco must have felt it too. Their kiss changed. It had been soft and sweet and all emotion. In a breath it became hot and firm and desperate. Her fingers threaded through his hair as his hand cupped the back of her head. His other hand dropped to her low back, and when she ground her hips against him, he gripped her backside, pressing her closer. The hardness of his length moved against her in all the right places. The moan that ripped through her was jarring.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he whispered against her lips.

"Draco, I—"

He kissed her again, interrupting her. He must have noticed, because he pulled away far too quickly and muttered an apology.

"I think we should—"

He sighed. "Of course, I'm sorry. I got carried away." His hands had dropped away from her. The spots on her body where they had abandoned her were tingling with cold. He stepped fully away from her. He wasn't kissing her anymore, and he clearly had no intention of starting again.

She whimpered—actually whimpered—gods, how embarrassing!

"I shouldn't have assumed," he said.

"Assumed?" Her brain was moving like molasses trying to catch up, trying to not fall into despair at the loss of his touch.

"That you want this, too."

"But I do!" Her voice rang out louder than intended. Crookshanks, across the room in his cat tree, raised his head.

"You do?" His voice was barely a whisper as he took a half step nearer to her.

"I do. I just think we should take this somewhere more comfortable."

A laugh huffed out of him, and he grinned. It took only another half step for his lips to come crashing back to hers. They moved as one towards her couch, and when the back of his calves struck, he sat and pulled her atop him, straddling his lap.

Hermione laced her fingers through Draco's hair and deepened their kiss. She wanted, needed them to be closer. All these weeks of making plans and having meals and talking about everything under the sun, she had no idea was building a hunger inside her for Draco until she was ravenous for him. Now that she had a taste, she felt all consumed by him.

"I don't know—" Draco broke their kiss. "—how much you want." His breath caressed her lips before he captured them again with his own. "We can stop whenever you want." His tongue slipped into her mouth, and all she could think about was ripping off his shirt as well as her own.

"Gods, I want you, Draco," she said, glad to hear her voice had stopped whining. She ran her hands over his chest as he explored the curves of her backside with his own. His head was tilted to one side, and she wasted no time in tracing her tongue down his neck. When she finally grazed her teeth over his sensitive flesh, he whimpered and thrust his hips against hers.

All hesitation left her.

Draco was clearly following her lead, so when she stripped him of his shirt, he ran his fingers over the worn fabric of her jumper like he was worshipping it before pulling it over her head. She tugged off his undershirt, and his hands returned to her body to make quick work of her bra. At that point, distraction was Hermione's best friend as Draco's tongue danced over her nipples. Soon, she was rocking her hips against him and cresting small peaks that left her breathless.

At some point, they stumbled down the hall towards her bedroom. She had no memory of Draco removing her comfy shorts. She had only a vague memory of sliding his slacks over his hips. All she knew for certain was how eager she was to have him inside her. Draco was intent on pleasing her, and his fingers and tongue were put to a use that they were clearly made for. Hermione had never considered herself to be loud in bed, but that seemed to change when it was Draco who shared the bed with her. When her urging cries turned desperate, he finally entered her, filling her with pleasure. They moved together like they had known each other's bodies intimately for years. And, perhaps in a sense, they did. They tumbled over the edge of sanity together in a tangle of limbs and sweat and sighs of completeness.

When they were both well and truly spent, they fell into bed together in contentment and sleep, as easily as they had just fallen together in passion and ecstasy. She did not have to ask him to stay, just as he did not have to ask aloud her permission. There was no silence between them, though there was no need for words. Draco pulled Hermione's body close to him, and he mumbled something against her ear that might have been, "You're amazing." She smiled into his shoulder as she drifted off to sleep.

Hermione knew with complete certainty that when she and Draco woke in the morning, everything between them would have finally fallen into place.

Ginny looped her arms around her husband and kissed him deeply.

"Do you think tonight's the night?" He asked her.

"Yes," she said simply.

He leaned in to kiss her again, but at that moment, a memory popped into her head: Harry shaking hands with his former nemesis, leaning in, and—

"What did you say to him?"

"Hmm?" He chased her lips as she leaned back.

"To Draco. You whispered something to him."

"I didn't whisper it." Harry grinned at his memory of the absolutely stunned Malfoy. They had long since buried their proverbial hatchet, but every now and again, he just couldn't help himself. "I just said, 'If you're waiting for the right moment, open your fucking eyes.'"

Ginny cackled and kissed him again.