Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. All others belong to me.

Just because you're along doesn't mean that you're lonely. Like that one? Yeah, I like how it makes me sound all intellectual. Unfortunately, just because I sound like I know everything doesn't mean that I actually do.

Damn this logic.

Hermione's living room was slowly flooding up. With tears. It wasn't very pretty.

"So this is how you spend your Friday nights? Bawling in front of your television screen, crying your heart out for fictional characters who fall in love and take forever to realise that they're meant for each other?"

Draco smiled when he became recipient to one of her infamous deathly glares. Merlin, if it weren't this fun to get her ire up, he would have stopped years ago. She just had too much fire for her own good.

"It's a romantic film. It's designed to make people—mainly women—cry," she informed him, eyes still narrowed in irritation. He wondered at her ability to still sound condescending while blowing her nose into several wads of tissue paper.

Or perhaps all women were like this?

He fairly shuddered at the thought.

Draco had thought to take her out to dinner that night. He heard of this Indian restaurant from one of his designers at work and decided to try it out with Hermione. However, what should meet his dismay but a slobbering woman?

He felt a bit foolish to have been alarmed upon first settling his eyes on her. Now, though, he wanted to wring her neck. Lovingly.

Sitting down on the tissue-crowded settee, he instinctively pulled her closer to him and placed his arm about her back to let her lay her head comfortably on his shoulder. He sighed a little at the death of his plans and turned his attention to the movie playing before them.

"What are we watching?"

"Sleepless in Seattle," she replied between hiccups.

"Oh, right, of course," Of course, he didn't really know what the bloody film was about.

Either way, insomnia in some other part of the world would not spell romance for him.

"When do they get to the shagging?"

"Shut the gob up, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, looking thoroughly incensed and lifting an elbow to his face menacingly. "I'm trying to enjoy the movie."

Apparently, she thought that to be threatening. Gryffindors.

And all I could say was, "hello."

As if the puddle of tears at their feet wasn't deep enough, Hermione started up once again with the waterworks.

"I love that movie, too," she cried, grabbing desperately at the used tissues on her lap. She mopped up the newly sprung tears from her eyes as well as the ones immediately following. "Have you ever watched that movie? An Affair to Remember? Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr? And Cary Grant's character says the most beautiful line... he says..."

Draco raised his eyebrows when her voice took on an overly dramatic tone. What was it about women and love?

"There must be something between us, even if it's only an ocean," Hermione finished wistfully.

"Oh," he replied, trying his best to look interested but failing miserably. She didn't seem to notice, though. Or care.

Now that was when people knew how to be in love. They knew it! Time distance... nothing could separate them because they knew. It was right. It was real. It was...

A movie! That's your problem! You don't want to be in love. You want to be in love in a movie.

Hermione scoffed loudly followed shortly by a loud harrumph that conveyed perfectly her obvious annoyance. "What's so bad about that? What's so bad about wanting that?" she asked him, her gaze still steadily fixed on the television screen. "I want to be in love in a movie. Because even if everything imaginable can go wrong from point A to point B... you still get to point B. You still get your happily ever after wrapped up in a white... shantung silk wedding gown and peach roses on a seven-tiered cake."

Oh, the female dream.

"I thought you didn't want to get married?" Draco pointed out. And pointed out a bit too off-handedly for Hermione's tastes as it earned him both a glare and a scowl. "What?" he began defensively, "weren't you the one who called marriage just another financial institution, just another barbaric custom designed to make us conform to society?"

"I was bitter!"

"You are bitter, sweetheart."

Honestly, he was beginning to think that he actually enjoyed pain the way he was practically asking to be hurt. Kinky. Perverted thoughts aside, though...

"So you want to get married now?" he clarified slowly. "Did I get that right? Why the sudden change of heart?"

Apparently, she didn't know the answer to that question either—which accounted nicely for the peaceful silence interrupted only by some timely background music. Or she could just be gathering fundamental thoughts needed to form a coherent answer. He preferred to believe in the former, though it was probably the latter that was true.

"Gertrude's getting married," she answered simply.

Draco wasn't sure if he was supposed to understand that statement. He didn't even know who Gertrude was to begin with...

"She's my cousin. She's like... the younger version of Harry's Aunt Petunia."

No. Still not understanding...

"She looks like some sort of cross between a horse and a human, has the finesse of an elephant, the laugh of a hyena, the grace of a cow, as engaging as sabretooth tiger and the manners of a goat."

"And she's getting married," he added.

"And she's getting married," she echoed. "I don't understand. Aren't I a good person? I'm a good person!"

When one's friend is standing at the brink of insanity, the loyal thing to do is just to agree with whatever they say. It doesn't really matter if they're wrong or right. What matters is... it isn't your fault.

"You're a great person. A superb, one-of-a-kind, really, really, really good person," he replied emphatically.

He really shouldn't have been so enthusiastic. It was catching.

"Right!" she exclaimed loudly and Draco half expected her to start pumping her fist in the air. "And I'm intelligent and young and I'm a downright sexual being. I ooze femininity and all that comes with it."

He was far too kind to point out the fact that everything that comes with femininity wasn't necessarily good. It had crossed his mind to mention it, though. See how much he had changed over the years? He was a paradigm of compassion.

"Of course you are, sweetheart. You ooze a lot of things."

There was obviously something wrong in that statement, but thankfully, Hermione didn't seem to notice.

"Precisely," she muttered as she reached for the remote control and Draco watched the television screen suddenly go black. "Now, it's time for you to be completely honest and tell me what's wrong with me. Go ahead. I can take it. I know I'm not perfect so we might as well put it all out in the open."

Of course, he also knew that she could probably transfigure him into a lovely piece of Limburger cheese to feed to the small mice dwelling near the trashbin beside the building of her flat.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione."

The beginnings of a glare were showing on the northern hemisphere of her face. Apparently, she wasn't pleased. "And why isn't it a good idea?" she asked, putting emotion into words. "Tell. Me. Now."

Draco looked at her, aghast with her vehemence. "Hermione—"

"Is it that bad?" she wailed haplessly and Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow at the slow formation of tears in her eyes. "It is, isn't it?"

"You're too impatient, Hermione Granger. That's what's wrong with you," Draco informed her testily. Pulling his arm away from her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and held her in place while looking into her eyes. "You are used to having things happen your way and having them done immediately."

"Hey!" she sputtered in quite an unladylike manner. "The Polyjuice potion in second year took over a month to brew!"

He wasn't going to ask.

"That's beside the point, love," he told her kindly. He tried to think of something to make her smile.

Honestly, he couldn't think of anything to say. Most of his words were designed to get women into his bed and if he actually got around to making them smile—it was after he got them into his bed.

"God... I am impatient, aren't I?"

Well, at least reality was finally sinking in.

"Let's put it this way. This is how you would pray to God: Dear God, please give me patience. Now! Now! Now! Give me patience now!"

He made her smile. Unfortunately, he also made her whack him quite painfully on the shoulder.

"I just want to fall in love, Draco. You know... head over heels in love, all that 'love at first sight' 'I loved you the moment I saw you' shite. I want to meet someone who will take me completely by surprise and sweep me off my feet."

"You just described a hurricane."

I remember walking through a small wizarding village in Southern Italy when I was around seven or eight. My parents were on their nth honeymoon and I did quite a bit of begging or—rather—throwing around a lot of toys, pounding on the floors and causing quite a racket to persuade them to bring me along. They did. They probably didn't enjoy it as much with me around, but it was a lovely trip all the same.

I like going on trips. They make you forget and sometimes they make you remember. More importantly, they're new memories unto themselves.

Times like these made Draco curse the fact that he was so bloody meticulous. If he were anywhere near intelligent, he'd be like a madman, throwing all sorts of shirts, trousers and underwear from his drawers in his haste to get packed. Instead, he was now carefully folding his clothes (as his mother taught him early on that you shouldn't use your wand for folding clothes when you're tired, unless you want it to come out looking like some sort of formal folded napkin on a dinner plate) and painstakingly arranging them into his suitcase.

Blast all to Hades for having forgotten that his trip with Hermione was today.

In about thirty minutes. So much for the supposed meticulousness.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to have been out so long. After all, all he did was go for a walk in the wet, very wet weather of London. Which was, amazingly, pleasant enough except he came back with something that could be currently taking a piss on the living room sofa.

As if on cue, a shouted expletive was heard from an estimated fifteen feet away. Or pissing in Liam's expensive leather shoes.

"What the shite? There's a dog in the living room and he's made a loo out of my brand new coat!"

The door flew dramatically open and Liam entered the room equally dramatically. Draco had to roll his eyes. The presence of Liam Lafferty demanded that sort of reaction. And just for that reason, Draco rolled his eyes again.

"Glad to know you can spot a dog when you see one," he replied offhandedly as he resumed his packing. "Now, if you'll excuse me—which you probably won't because we've all agreed that you're a bit of a rude human being—I have more packing to do."

Liam, still as oblivious as the day he was born, sat down on the edge of Draco's bed and peered into luggage to his left. "You're leaving?" he asked as if the pieces of luggage and the motions of packing weren't enough indication, before pulling out a dark green shirt, causing it to unfold. "Isn't this mine?"

Moments with Liam were never boring. They were, however, tedious, grating and could very well push one to the brink of suicide. Or homicide. The latter was more preferable. Reaching out, Draco grabbed the shirt from his flatmate's hands and began folding it once more. "It's mine, actually," he informed the younger man tersely. "Although I can see why you may think that it's yours considering you've had it for the past two months. And yes, I'm leaving."

"Where are you going? A weekend of lovin' from a hot bitch, I'll wager."

"Good God, man! Are you leering at me?" Draco asked, quite exasperated at Liam who was looking at him like some sort of meat.

"No!" Liam shook his head furiously, a look of unbecoming disgust crawling onto his face. "No! Christ, no! Malfoy, you know I don't... swing that way." He made a flippy hand gesture to accompany his shocked words. "I was only... imagining, you know, a hot bitch. And lovin'. I want hot bitch lovin'! That's me! A lover of hot bitches!"

"If I were your mother, I'd be rolling around in my grave by now." Draco turned to gather his spare toiletries from the wicker basket Hermione had given him that was lying on top his armoire. Absolutely no point in risking the wrath of Hermione "I'm Never Late" Granger in favour of listening to the clueless ramblings of a clueless half-wit arsehole.

"Hey," Liam said slowly after a few moments' silence. "Mother isn't dead."

Draco stifled a suffering groan and emptied out the wicker basket into a small pouch. "Anyhow, I'll be gone for the weekend. I'll take it you'll survive. If you don't, hey, I'll gladly foot the bill for the funeral." He turned just in time to see Liam give his own eye-roll. "What? I'm sure your father will insist should you die of alcohol overdose because I'm not around to pry bottles from your suction-like mouth. However, in the case that you do actually survive, try not to incinerate the place." He dropped the pouch into his luggage and zipped it up, the noise filling the room. "Although, I suppose with you, fires are unavoidable. So fires that don't burn down the furniture into ashes are all right. Otherwise, I'll Evanesco your balls and have jolly time doing it."

Liam, unsurprisingly, readily agreed. Obviously, he hadn't been listening to a word Draco had said. Something Draco was certain would happen.

"And don't forget to feed the dog," he added quickly. He grabbed the paper bag that had been sitting on his desk and tossed it at Liam. "That should hold the mutt until I get back. If not, I suggest buying more as I don't think he'll think twice about lunching on your magazines stashed inside your closet."

"Hey!" Apparently, mention of pornographic material is a sure way to attain Liam's precious attention. As there is only so much to go around. "You've been going through my stuff?"

Draco shrugged indifferently before heaving his luggage onto the floor. "No, but honestly, after that leer, I'm definitely making sure that you have some opposite sex stimulation." He paused for a moment to reconsider his words. "I can't believe I just encouraged you to have sex. Merlin knows you do it enough to populate a country."

"I'm just taking on your share of work, Malfoy," Liam retorted snidely. "Seeing as you've been 'out of order' since... Wait, now. Since when exactly?" The little shite was obviously enjoying Draco's currently plight of having to endure his unwelcome attempt at conversation. "Oh, no, I remember... It was since you started your little relationship—"

"Friendship," Draco quickly clarified. If the man was going to have a go at his dignity, he should at least do it correctly. Honestly, some people are just inconsiderate.

"Right, right... friendship." Liam enunciated the word so much that his 'p' ended in a popping sound. And much spraying of saliva on Draco's duvet.

Heh. Duvet. Christ, that sounds poncy.

"Well, ever since you've began your friendship with a certain Miss Hermione Granger, I don't think I've seen you in actual relationship with anyone. Women practically throw themselves at you and kiss the ground you cast shadows on, so that rules out the lack of opportunity. I know you started something with that lovely piece of redhead that I caught storming out of your room one night—but that was once and quite a long time ago."

Draco stared at Liam in complete and utter surprise. He remembered that night vividly. And amazingly enough, everything that Liam had said was true. Liam Lafferty making sense? Hell should be freezing over right about now. Truthfully, though, he hadn't really been out with anyone for quite a while now. But he had been terribly busy over the pass few weeks, erm, months and there was barely enough time to engage in any sort of relationship. It required time. He didn't have the luxury of time. He had work and work caused problems and problems needed a lot of time and attention. Besides, who needs a girlfriend all the time? He had Hermi—um, he had friends. Who needs a girlfriend when you have friends?

"You were unconscious and lying in a pool of what was, presumably and hopefully, your drool with a half-naked woman draped on top of you. I thought you weren't capable of recognition. I'd also throw in mental processes, but then that wouldn't surprise me or anyone for that matter."

Draco had had his fill of the conversation (actually, he'd had enough before it even began) and started for the door, suitcase in hand. He made a quick mental note to send an owl to Daniel to see to things while he was away. The younger brother has proved to be the more responsible one between the two. It wouldn't be wise to leave the fate of another living being in the hands of Liam. Liam could barely look after himself which was the primary reason for the current living arrangements.

"I'll be back by Monday afternoon, assuming that I still have a home to come back to," he told Liam, unable to resist a few jabs at Liam's survival skills. "Don't forget to feed the dog and take him for a walk outside. Women love dogs," Draco pointed out, aware of the imminent whinging he would receive upon such a request.

After a few last minute instructions, Draco Apparated himself into Hermione's living room where he was immediately assaulted with the smell of something quite... unpleasant.

"Hermione?" He called out uncertainly. Instinctively he followed his nose that led him to the kitchen where small billows of smoke were being puffed into the room via the oven. "Oh sweet goodness, Hermione," he muttered as he took the kitchen towel from the counter and tried to wave away the smoke. "You know you can't bake for shite..."

"Hey! I heard that!"

A flurry of red, denim and brunette zipped passed him and pulled open the oven door allowing even more smoke to enter the kitchen. Without thought Hermione reached in and grabbed the baking sheet inside consequently burning her hand and causing her to yell and let go off what were, possibly a quarter of an hour ago, biscuits.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Draco took out his wand that quickly expelled all signs of burning from the room. Well, except the wound that Hermione was now sporting due to the fact that she wasn't using her head, but Draco was there to rescue and just as efficiently as he cleared the kitchen, he healed Hermione's hand.

"See? I told you that you were mortal, but would you listen? Noooo," Draco joked good-naturedly as he pulled out a seat for her. "So, what's with all this sudden interest in domesticity? Plus, shouldn't we get going? And here I was thinking that I would disappointment Miss Punctuality."

Hermione gave him a rather unattractive glare which spoke volumes of frustration, hurt and unfinished packing. "If you must know I was trying this... three-step biscuit recipe that my mother told me about. It sounded," she looked almost ashamed as she said this, "easy. And in answer to your other questions, I'm in no real hurry to get there so..."

"It's a three hour long drive, Hermione. Do you know how long three hours is?"

Hermione had insisted that they drive all the way to their destination instead of more practical means. Although, it might be wise to show up in a car instead of popping up out of thin air. That might cause some suspicion. Besides, Draco rather enjoyed driving. It was quite pleasurable.

"Oh let me take a bleeding guess, yeah? Maybe, and I'm not exactly sure, but could it be as long as, say, three hours?"

Draco grinned and tweaked her nose affectionately. "You're pissing me off but I still love you, you brat. Now tell me what's really bothering you because it seems to me like you're stalling our departure for the land of about to get married cousins and stuck in the sixties uncles. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm now looking forward to it."

"I don't want to go. Can we not go, Draco, please?"

The pout will not sway me. My will is ironclad. The pout will not sway me. My will is ironclad.

Oh... fuck.

"You're a bridesmaid," he told her in an effort to push some reason into the situation as it was in dire need of it. "You're a part of that blasted entourage and you'll miss out on old ladies dabbing the corners of their eyes for nonexistent tears and saying how lovely the bridesmaids look—"

"You obviously haven't seen the dress, Draco." Hermione's voice was somewhat pained as if the news was horridly agonising. "It's... it's... there are no words. I, Hermione Granger, have ran out of words to describe just how despicable this bridesmaid dress is."

Well, that would be a bad sign. Nevertheless...

"How about we leave right after the reception? How about that?"

"Do you honestly want to drive home on Sunday night? It wouldn't make much of a difference if we drive back on Monday morning like we planned," she pointed out. "So that would rule out leaving early. Dammit all... this is so pathetic. Why can't I stand my family?" Hermione let out a huge, pitiful sigh and Draco was almost tempted to kidnap her and send her off to Rome just so she'd have an excuse not to go to the bleeding wedding. "I mean... they're all right in small, inconspicuous amounts. But the constant questions of when I'm going to get married or how much I'm making or when will they ever finally get to meet my boyfriend that they've all convinced themselves that I've somehow acquired is starting to wear me down. That thin sheen of patience? Long gone. It is but a memory. Much so like my sanity."

Draco kneeled down in front of her and cupped her chin in his hand. She had such soft skin... "I know that I'm not much of an expert on family. Then again, the fact that I'm related to convicted criminals makes your family look like a dream come true. But the thing is, is that," he smiled softly and shrugged his shoulders a little, hoping it would lighten the situation, "they're your family. They're... you. You'll probably kill me for saying this, but I see a little of you in your family. Like your mother's passion for schedules and your father's cheerfulness. I think you've gotten a bit of Uncle Frank's humour in there somewhere—"

"Oh, God... Uncle Frank?" Hermione groaned, but Draco could tell that she was beginning to come around.

"Yes, Uncle Frank. And your Aunt Deb can't bake for shite either!"

Hermione stared at him for a moment before reaching down and pulling him into a fierce hug.

"Give me half an hour," she whispered softly against his ear. "I haven't started packing yet."

I'd love a bowl of ice-cream right about now. Smothered in chocolate syrup and nuts. Hold the cherries, though. Those bottled cherries are like mush in my mouth. I don't see why you have to turn perfectly good cherries into something like... that.

I happen to like it the way it is.

Author's Notes:

waves timidly

Hi! I'm back! I know I've been horrible for having gone so long without a single update. But RL (namely, uni) caught up with me and zapped me of all creativity and time. However, vacation is near and I'll be able to update more regularly. Hopefully. Possibly more along the lines of... bimonthly or monthly, which is much better than annually, I think.

This Chapter: Oh, look! No mention of alcohol!

The initial version of this chapter had quite a bit of Narcissa and Hermione bonding. But I've decided that that could wait. It was funny, though. Apparently, the Narcissa in my mind likes to embarrass her only son when in front of girls that he obviously, oh, I don't know... loves? Heh.

Draco. Oh, Draco, Draco, Draco... You handsome, clueless bastard. Even Liam knows what's going on. Let's hope you have more fun in the next chapter.

Hermione. I know she's supposed to do something. I mean, I want her to do something. I must have been feeling particularly sadistic when I outlined this plot. Anyhow, as you can see (or not) the romantic in Hermione Granger might (ironically) be the reason why she won't immediately find it.

Next Chapter: King-sized beds, flowers, garters and the grand Granger plot to rule them all.