"Absolutely not!" Draco exploded, slamming his glass down on the table so hard that it shattered.

"But I already said we would go," Hermione whined, pulling out her wand. "Reparo" The glass shards melded back together. "Please, Draco? They just want to talk."

"No."

"But I want them to get to know you," Hermione pleaded. "It'll only be a couple of hours. I promise it won't be bad."

"I will not," he said flatly.

Hermione folded her hands beneath her chin and gave him puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"No."

"For me?"

He glared at her, but didn't refuse again. She sensed victory.

"You don't have to like them," she told him, feeling as though she were talking to a five-year old. "Just pretend. I promise it won't be bad at all."

He was silent for a moment. "You want me to go pretend to have a pleasant dinner with the people who have been making your life hell for the past couple of weeks? And, while we're at it, helped make my life hell for seven years at school? And you expect me not to kill them?"

"Yes," said Hermione in a very small voice.

He let out a huge sigh and threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine! But I'm bringing my wand."

- - -

"Draco, I can't get the zipper up all the way," Hermione called petulantly from the bathroom, struggling with her dress.

"I'm coming, I'm—" Draco stepped through the bathroom door and froze, staring at her.

"What?" asked Hermione worriedly. "Does it look bad? Should I wear something else?" She examined her reflection nervously, smoothing the black silk over her hips. "It's bunching, isn't it?"

"You look—stunning," Draco croaked, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Thank you." Hermione flushed in pleasure. "Er . . . the zipper . . ."

"Oh. Right." He moved towards her slowly, eyes still fixated on her. His fingers fluttered over her skin as he reached for the zipper and carefully fastened it, causing goosebumps to pop up on her bare arms. "It's new, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hermione said, distracted by the fact that his fingertips were still lightly resting on her back. "Well, no. I just haven't worn it before." She fastened a diamond teardrop to her earlobe. "So it looks okay, then?"

"Mm." She assumed that was agreement, and reached for the other earring. He buried his face in her neck and exhaled. "You smell nice."

"You do too." Hermione giggled as he planted a trail of kisses down her neck and across her bare shoulder. "That tickles."

"You just happen to be too ticklish for your own good," he said vaguely, extending her arm and continuing his kisses down the sensitive underside of her arm. Hermione watched his reflection in the mirror in fascination as he placed a final kiss in the middle of her palm, folded her fingers over it, and straightened up.

"Don't stop," she said softly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Ever since he had begun staring at her, she'd felt a sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She felt—powerful. Untouchable. Totally in control. Warmth was spreading over her body. Maybe it had something to do with the sensual feeling of the black silk across her skin, or the strappy stilettos, or the new perfume. But she was certain that it was mostly due to Draco's eyes on her, watching her like a hawk, taking her in and liking what he saw.

She supposed that this was what feeling sexy was like.

She liked it.

"I never told you," she said suddenly, turning to face him, "you look stunning, too." She had always liked men in suits, and Draco owned a few particularly nice ones. She ran her fingertips lightly over the lapel.

"We'll make quite a pair, then," he said softly, cracking a smile.

"All the ladies will look at you and faint," Hermione joked. "And then, once they've revived, they'll look at me and say, what's a man like that doing with something like her?"

"Mya." His eyes were admonishing. "No slighting yourself. Especially not when you look like this."

"Like what?"

He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "You make me want to rip off that dress, as lovely as it is on you." He wiggled his eyebrows diabolically. Hermione's mouth dropped and she turned crimson.

"Um . . . thank you?" She was unsure of how to respond, and decided to try seductive flirt. "But I'm afraid I'm not going to allow that sort of talk, Mr. Malfoy. Especially around my friends. And especially if you want any chance of getting the dress off later." She raised one eyebrow, a trick she'd learned from him, imitating his suggestiveness.

He swallowed hard. "Where in Merlin's name did you learn how to do that?"

"Oh, I just have a good teacher," she replied innocently, leaning across him to snatch her handbag from the counter. "You." She winked at him, spun around, and left the bathroom, a very dazed Draco trailing behind.

"Do you have the directions?" she asked, taking down the jar of Floo powder from the mantle.

Draco dug around in his pockets and produced a slip of parchment with a grate number scrawled on it. "Have you been here before?"

"No, it just opened," Hermione explained, memorizing the address. "Supposedly it's the new hot spot in Diagon Alley for wizards around our age. Especially the anti-traditional robes set." She shrugged, tossed the powder into the fireplace, stepped into the flames, and said clearly, "One-oh-two Diagon Alley."

She stepped out into the most extravagantly proportioned entranceway she had ever been in. The ceiling was literally dripping with crystal chandeliers, the wallpaper was patterned with gold, and the marble beneath her feet was so smooth and polished that she could see her reflection in it.

"Wow," Draco said, appearing at her side and gazing around. "They're paying, right? I should have gone into Quidditch."

Hermione snorted. "You? Heir to the largest estate in wizarding England? Owner of every top-of-the-line broomstick ever created? Spender of Galleons as if they were peanuts?"

"That's Lucius's money," he said shortly, and stepped forward to talk to the maître d'. Hermione marveled, not for the first time, at the change in him: just a few years ago, he would have nodded proudly at hearing his assets. Now he wanted nothing to do with the money or with the estates. She was so proud of him.

He turned and beckoned for her, and the maître d' lead them into the restaurant, full of circular tables with elegant settings and intimate lighting, and sophisticated young wizards chatting and dining. Draco casually reached out and took Hermione by the elbow, pulling her closer to him—even she could pick up on the "she's taken" vibes that he was transmitting.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron stood up as she reached their table and subjected her to slightly awkward hugs. "How are you?" Harry added, making an effort to sound relaxed, although he was clearly strained by Draco's looming presence.

"Fine," Hermione said, looking between her best friends and Draco nervously. "Er—Harry and Ron, this is Draco, Draco, Harry and Ron—you all know each other." She plastered a cheerful smile on her face as Harry and Ron took turns shaking hands with Draco, who was still projecting "she's mine" at them.

"Erm—have you ordered yet?" Hermione asked, picking up her menu.

"No," they said simultaneously. Hermione opened her menu, realized that it was all in French, and leaned over to whisper in Draco's ear, "Order for me, please."

He gave her a bemused look, opened his own menu, and suddenly a knowing grin spread across his face. "Certainement," he replied smoothly. Even someone with a very limited grasp of French could understand that, so Hermione settled back in her seat, relieved.

Ron turned to Draco and said something in a very bad French accent. Draco gave a short laugh, and rattled off something so quickly that Hermione couldn't have repeated a single syllable. Ron shrugged.

"I was in France for Quidditch for awhile," he said. "Didn't learn much, but it's enough to get by in most places."

"You'll want to practice your accent, though," Draco said, so politely that only Hermione noticed his gritted teeth.

Ron seemed unsure of whether to be offended or satisfied, and settled with looking blank. "Er—I will."

"That's not his insult face," Hermione told him, a smile playing around her lips. "You don't have to be frightened of him, I promise." Draco gave an unconvincing grin.

Luckily, the waiter arrived at that moment with the wine, rescuing the doomed conversation. Hermione found quickly that, as much as all three of them tried to deny it, the men actually had a fair amount in common. She laughed along with Draco as Ron, supplemented with interjections from Harry, recounted a tale from Quidditch practice. She added details to Draco's story of a college professor who had almost given him a failing grade. She smiled inwardly as Draco gave Harry some very blunt tips for dealing with Megara, who had, in Harry's words, become "unbelievably clingy and aggressive."

By the time the entrée arrived, Hermione was gloating. She had guessed that a type of male bonding would take place once they were all outside their comfort zones, with their traditional rivalry out of the way. She squeezed Draco's knee under the table, excused herself, and made her way to the ladies' room.

She was naturally surprised upon returning to discover all three of them picking silently at their meals with a vengeance. "Is anything wrong?" she asked cautiously, settling into her seat.

"They want to go out to a club," Draco said shortly, stabbing at his food.

"What's wrong with that?" Hermione said, surprised. "I think it would be fun."

He looked up at her. "You do?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I do."

"There's a great place a few doors down," Harry said eagerly, "Screaming Banshee's. The whole team goes there after practices sometimes."

"Yeah," Ron agreed eloquently, forking in his food.

"Please, Draco?" Hermione clasped his hand. "It'll be so much fun."

"Fine." He sounded about as thrilled as if they were planning to visit a torture chamber.

"Good," Hermione said, refusing to be daunted. So what if he didn't like to dance? She would just have to make sure that he had a great time.

- - -

It seemed like all the same inhabitants of the restaurant had continued on to the club with them: the place was packed with young witches and wizards in evening wear. Except for the elegant dress code, Screaming Banshee's was almost exactly like a Muggle club that Hermione had visited with her cousin: dimly lit except for multicolored strobe lights, crowded with sweaty people, and stiflingly hot. The only difference was that the eardrum-splitting music consisted mainly of the Top Fifty hits on the Wizard Wireless Network instead of the Billboard Top 100. Draco looked a bit disconcerted.

"Haven't you been to a club before?" Hermione shouted in his ear.

"No," he said, looking around uneasily.

"It'll be fun, I promise," she assured him. "Let's go dance."

"No."

"Why not?" she whined.

"I don't dance."

"Draco. . . ."

"Hermione." Harry was suddenly at her elbow. "Do you want to meet up again outside around midnight? It'll be impossible to keep track of each other in here."

"Sounds good to me," Hermione agreed. Harry made a beeline to join Ron at the bar, where they had apparently been recognized as Quidditch players, and were surrounded by a large group of young witches.

"So much for Megara," Hermione told Draco, who stood like a statue, arms folded across his chest. "Draco, you're being stupid. You can't just stand there all night."

"Watch me," he retorted, giving her an icy glare.

"Let's just go get something to drink," she implored. "Please? You're ruining my evening." She put on her most downcast face.

"Fine." He gave in immediately. Hermione smiled inwardly in triumph, and marched over to the bar.

"Butterbeer with a shot of firewhiskey on the rocks," she told the bartender smoothly, who nodded and reached for a glass. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Draco, who looked a bit taken aback at her effortlessness. "Something wrong?"

"No," he said shortly as the bartender returned with Hermione's drink, and ordered a dry martini.

"You're boring," she told him, sipping at her drink.

"I have class," he corrected. "I don't like how familiar you are with all this."

"Too bad," she retorted, and took another hefty swallow.

"Mya—"

"Look, Draco, leave me alone. It's not like I have a drinking problem or anything, okay?"

He shook his head wordlessly, drained his glass, and ordered a second. Hermione stared at him.

"After that little display," she said heatedly, "you have no right to admonish me about drinking."

They sat at the bar in an uncomfortable silence that was only broken by sipping and occasional meaningful sighs (on Hermione's part, as she surveyed the dance floor).

"Are we going to just sit here all night?" she asked eventually, setting her glass down on the bar.

"Yes," he said stoically, not meeting her eyes.

"Draco, this is stupid," she exploded. "We came out for dinner, you had a good time, and now you're ruining it all just because you don't want to dance! You're ruining my night! Look at Harry and Ron." She placed her palms on either side of his face and turned it out towards the dance floor, where her friends were surrounded by a large group of "fans". "See? They're having a good time. Dancing is fun, I promise! Please, will you come?" She stood up and held out her hand.

"Look, I don't want to ruin your evening," he said uncomfortably.

"Then come and dance with me!"

"I can't dance," he said curtly, and polished off his third martini.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You can't—you're kidding me. We've had balls at Hogwarts! Of course you can dance!"

"I never did except for slow dances, and it was usually with Pansy, and she always steered." He sounded as if it were painful to drag up that memory. "I don't know how to do that—" he gestured at the crowd of people.

Hermione was now trying very hard not to laugh. She arranged her face into a carefully blank expression and said, "Well, I'll have to teach you, then. It's not hard. You just kind of—move around."

He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. Hermione raised hers right back.

"Come on." She grabbed his hand and dragged him out onto the floor with her. "Look," she said over her shoulder as she led him over to a sparsely populated corner, "there's no one over here. You don't have to worry about people watching you."

"It's you watching me I'm worried about," he muttered, and she giggled.

"Yes, but I'm different," she told him. "I've seen you with bed head and morning breath. Don't worry about looking stupid in front of me, of all people." She grinned, and, for the first time since the club idea had been suggested, he smiled back.

"Okay . . . what do I do exactly?"

"Just watch the people around us," she told him. "It's really not hard. You just kind of move to the music." And she began to demonstrate.

"You're not dancing," she scolded him.

His mouth was slightly open as he watched her. "I'm kind of busy at the moment. . . ."

Hermione blushed. "Stop staring at me."

"No."

She stopped moving and planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not doing anything more until you stop drooling."

"I'm not drooling," he said huffily.

"You're as good as," Hermione argued. "Now if you don't start dancing in ten seconds, I'm going to find a hotel to stay the night."

His jaw dropped. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I? You want to find out?" she challenged him, crossing her arms. "Go on. Stand there like you've been doing. Go back home all by yourself."

He snorted, and proceeded to perform a maneuver Hermione had only seen in Muggle movies, that made her jaw drop and almost made her start drooling: he whipped off his suit jacket, tossed it onto one of the bar stools, and seized her hips and pulled her firmly against him.

"What are you . . . I thought you. . . ." She could barely form words to express her surprise. "You lied to me?"

He snorted again. "I didn't want to give them—" he inclined his head towards Harry and Ron "—the impression that I would enjoy anything they suggested." He shook his head in disbelief. "You believed me? You seriously thought that I, Draco Malfoy, brought up like a spoiled prince, couldn't dance?"

He spun her around into a deep backbend, bent close, and whispered, "Think again."

That was the last thing he said to her for the next hour and a half, and she wouldn't have had it any other way. He was like a supreme compilation of all the steamy dance scenes she had ever seen in movies or on TV, elegant and refined and sweaty and sexy and hot, all rolled into one gorgeous package. She felt, rather than saw, the attention of all the others—she and Draco had eyes only for each other. He made her feel powerful. He made her feel like the most amazing dancer ever to walk the face of the earth. His compelling gray eyes never left her, taking in the loose curls tumbling down from her updo, her silk-draped body, finally meeting her eyes with a look of such passion and desire that she felt dizzy with the power of it. Cliché as she knew the scenario was, it was the best she had ever felt in her life. True, this was the way it happened in all the movies she loved to watch—romantic dancing heating things up—but happening in real life, it was a totally intimate and private experience, although it was in a very public setting.

When the music abruptly stopped, they reluctantly floated back down to earth, their gazes locked together.

Through a haze of smoke and lights and trembling and compelling gray eyes, Hermione vaguely heard the DJ announce that it was midnight, and that he was taking a ten-minute break.

"Midnight," she breathed dizzily.

"Yeah," Draco murmured.

"Harry and Ron."

"Mm-hmm."

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it, and finally realized that her friends were standing right next to them, looking slightly worried. They abruptly broke apart: Draco let go of her hips, Hermione untwined her arms from around his neck, and they broke each others' gaze to look at Harry and Ron.

"Wow," said Harry to Draco, "you didn't say you could dance. And you—" He looked at Hermione with something closely resembling awe "—you never did anything like that at school."

"That was a long time ago," she said breathlessly. "Er—thank you for dinner, it was nice being able to talk."

"Yes," Draco said, absently, "thank you very much. It was nice to talk to you outside of school."

Ron and Harry made some bland remarks that basically reiterated what Draco and Hermione had both just said, they said goodnight, agreed that it could be fun to do something like this again sometime, and parted. Draco and Hermione retrieved their jackets, still in somewhat of a daze, and stepped into the green flames of the Floo Network to make their way home.

- - -

There. 3, 288 words. Longest chapter yet. Worth the wait? I hope so.

My computer is mostly better, so provided inspiration strikes in time, the next chapter should be up in considerably less time than this one took. I apologize again.

Thank you so much everyone who reviewed. Over 100 reviews, yay! Big event for me! I love you all!

-fallenpetal