God, why does make formatting these things so difficult, don't they know that page breaks make these stories easier to read? Anyway, please ignore the (I), as it only exists as a placeholder since double spaces don't seem to want to work.

(i)

It was raining in the city of love.

I realized after I'd apparated that I probably should have checked a weather report before choosing my attire. My knee length halter-dress, and sandals were sorely out of place in the crowds of raincoated pedestrians that ambled along in the streets, and I blamed Malfoy for it.

It was his fault, really that I was outside, wandering around in this awful weather.

Shortly after arriving home from my rather disappointing meeting with him earlier in the afternoon, I received an owl… well, a package from him that was delivered by that unnerving Falcon, who flew into my bathroom window as I was undressing, and proceeded to give me a look, before I shooed him back out, making sure to latch it tight. Really, sometimes there was an intelligence behind those eyes that was frightening.

I'd refused to look at the package until after my shower, I'd be damned if I'd let that complete wanker ruin another shower, and so it was that by the time I read the note tucked under the package strings, it was too late to do anything about it.

Granger,

The note had said,

This package contains a dress I would very much appreciate if you wore.

Regrettably, I won't be able to see you answering your door in it, as I have to go to Chez Malfoy early to see to some last minute problems that have arisen. Please apparate there at your earliest possible convenience..

Followed by some apparation coordinates.

I'd shoved the package unopened into the deepest recesses of my closet, never to be seen again. The last thing I needed was to be parading around in an outfit of Malfoy's choosing, bad enough that I was going to this little soiree as his escort. Besides, I'd already decided by that time what I was wearing. A blue silk dress, so fine as to be nearly sheer, and sandals to match.

Now I was almost sorry I hadn't seen what was in that package. Maybe Malfoy would have had a raincoat in there.

Although, if I'd just been able to apparate into the building, like I was supposed to, I wouldn't have wandered ten blocks in the wrong direction, only to find out it was another 20 blocks back the other way. You see, it's possible for a Wizard (or Witch) to apparate without a mental image. Hell the chance of Splinching yourself is actually quite low. The main reason it wasn't done was that apparating with only a set of coordinates to guide you and no mental picture of your destination, resulted all too commonly in the apperator appearing sometimes up to 2 miles off their mark. Disorienting to say the least.

In this case, it wound up plunking me down on a dark, deserted street, in the rain, with no way of knowing which direction I needed to go in. The result was a thirty-block walk around Paris… and not even any of the good parts.

After a good half an hour walking about in the rain, I found myself standing in front of a very trendy looking building emblazoned with a neon sign proclaiming it 'Chez Malfoy' in flowing cursive. I could see the shimmer of a weak glamour on it, and knew the muggles around me were seeing the dilapidated shell of a particularly unsavory restaurant which they were given the magical compulsion to walk across the street from.

I drew an odd look from an elderly couple walking an equally elderly poodle, but they quickly forgot about me and my odd behavior once I passed the muggle wards.

Safely out of the sight of prying eyes, I performed a quick drying spell, and stepped under the overhang of the building to pull my hair out of the bun I'd coaxed it into only an hour before. The hair would have to air dry, drying spells only made the frizziness that plagued me in my youth worse. With a disgruntled sigh, I transfigured the seventeen hairpins I'd used to tame my mop into a delicate looking metal headband, and shoved it into my hair.

It would have to do.

"Stupid rain," I muttered, "stupid Paris, stupid opening," and for good measure, "stupid Malfoy!"

And it was at this point that the door I had just been reaching for burst open, emitting an immaculately dressed, but obviously frazzled Malfoy. His robes were the black silk of traditional former wizard wear, but shorter than normal, not even reaching his knees, so I could see the slacks he wore underneath them, and belted at the waist by a silver chain. Over this was draped a black velvet cloak, the whole ensemble contrasting mightily with his pale face and, surprisingly mussed, pale hair (he must have been quite agitated, I thought, he always runs his fingers through his hair until it gets messy when he's agitate). It occurred to me that the outfit should make him look… well… flaming, but oddly enough, he resembled nothing more the picture of a dashing pirate that had been on the cover of one of my books as a child

This I observed from on the ground, where I'd been knocked when the door had opened so abruptly.

Malfoy simply paused with his fag halfway to his mouth, and gave me a quizzical look. "Granger, what on earth are you doing on the ground?"

"I'm not here for fun you know, some great lummox just knocked a door into me and didn't even appolo…" I trailed off, noting the path his eyes were taking as they traveled over me. With my face flaming, I tugged my dress down to cover more of my legs.

"A gentleman would offer to help a lady up," I informed him snappishly.

"Who said I was a gentleman?" he asked with a decidedly devilish gleam in his eyes, never the less, he reached down, and hauled me up by my arm. "Now, what are you doing out here in the rain?" he asked, before turning me around, and drying the spot on the back of my skirt.

I swatted his hands away, and fixed him with my best cold glare. "I was trying to find this place, you see, my escort never came to pick me up, and as I'd never apparated here, I missed the mark by a few blocks."

"Is that so? Well, your escort must be a fool, or at the very least, a complete prat to let a vision of loveliness such as yourself come to this event alone."

"Are you trying to be charming?"

"It's a pretty good attempt, you must admit." He said with a grin that it was absolutely impossible for me not to return.

"I don't have to admit anything," I informed him.

This he returned with a wry twist of his lips, "of course you don't, stubborn little witch." He gave a little chuckle, "but I meant what I said, you clean up nicely, Granger."

"Gee, I'm so happy you approve."

"Mmm, do I ever" was his smirking reply, but when I returned his smirk with a cold glare, he dropped it for a frustrated scowl as he fished a silver cigarette case from inside his robes. "God, I've been dying for a fag," he confessed to me. "I don't suppose you've got a light?"

I shook my head, mustering my best disapproving look. "I don't smoke, Malfoy, and neither should you."

"Concerned for my health?" he asked hopefully.

"Mine, actually," I informed him, "second hand smoke is a killer."

"Have it your way," he said with a shrug, and quirking one corner of his mouth up, he parted his lips slightly, and placed the filter between them. With a wink, and a snap of his long deft fingers, Malfoy was sucking the death out of a glowing roll of tobacco.

"Cute little parlor trick, Malfoy," I said, unimpressed. "How long did you have to practice to perfect that piece of magic?"

"Months," came his smooth reply, "I can be very diligent, when I need to be."

"Indeed?" I didn't like the smile he was giving me.

He nodded, "oh, yes. Sometimes, I spend hours on a task. I'll do it over and over again until I get it right. I usually work all through the night."

At the suggestive tone of his voice, I couldn't help but blush. He was doing it just to annoy me. "Prat," I mumbled to myself.

"Hm?" he asked between puffs.

"I said, you must not be very skilled if you have to try so many times to get it right."

"That's such a Gryffindor answer." God that smirk was annoying, "I'm good because it takes me all night."

I couldn't suppress my shiver.

"Oh, honestly, Granger," Malfoy grumbled, the humor sliding from his face as he misinterpreted it, and slid his unclasped his cloak. At first, I was so unused to Malfoy behaving like a gentleman, that I had no idea what he planned to do with it, but then the realization hit me.

"Malfoy, there's no need…"

"Shut up," he commanded absently, as he settled it around my shoulders. "Honestly," he scolded softly, "the smartest witch in our year, and you don't know enough to wear a jacket."

"It was warmer in London," I replied, in a slightly dazed voice, as I drew the fabric around me, holding it closed with one hand. My eyes slid shut involuntarily, as I absorbed the comfortable warmth that still clung to the cloak lining from it's proximity to Draco's body. I let the warmth seep into my bones, and inhaled his spicey scent.

"Warm…" the word slipped out of my mouth unbidden, and I was aware how much it made me sound like a child.

Malfoy chuckled. "I have and unusually high body temperature," he supplied.

"Is that so?" I heard the whisper of fabric on fabric, and I opened my eyes to see that Malfoy had shifted so that he was leaning against the wall next to me.

"Yeah," he replied, but he was no longer looking at me. Instead he was staring straight into the rain. "So," he said, after a moment, "are you going to tell me why you were standing out here?"

"The note you sent said to come early."

"Would that be the same note that said to wear the dress in the attached package? I love how you pick and choose which orders to follow."

"First of all, I'm not some soldier in 'Draco's Army,' and I'm not your slave. I'm your employee, that means my life is my life, and what I do or do not wear is my choice. Secondly," I said with a sniff, and a haughty tilt to my chin, "it wasn't my style."

Now he looked at me, his shrewd eyes examining my features before he cracked a grin, "you didn't even open it, did you?"

I glared back in reply.

"Typical," he said with a head shake. "Well, I'm a bit disappointed, but I can't say I didn't expect it," he gave me another once over, "or that I disapprove of your choice in attire." He leaned in a bit closer, and I felt my palms start to sweat. "So you read my note, and you came early, that still doesn't explain why you were out here instead of inside where it's warm and dry."

"I had only just gotten here when you threw the door open, and knocked me over."

"So you weren't trying to catch me alone for a little tete-a-tete?"

"God, you are incredibly arrogant, you know?"

"I'm incredible at a lot of other things, as well, Love." He threw his spent cig to the ground, letting the rain put it out, and offered me his arm, "shall we?" he asked.

I eyed his offered appendage, then coolly ignored it, stepping out from under the overhang and out into the rain to walk around him.

"Cold," he said in a not unamused tone.

"I thought you had an unusually high body temperature." I shot back over my shoulder, as I opened the door.

"I do, but you, my dear, are sub-zero. I simply can't compete." He followed me into the club, and stopped me in the archway of the receiving area with a hand on my shoulder. I turned to give him some comment about personal space and respecting it, but he just slipped the cloak off my shoulders, and handed it to a man I assumed was the host, who in turn handed it to a bus boy with a whisper of "coat room."

I turned once again to go inside, when he stopped me again, "Granger," and I was momentarily shocked by the seriousness of that voice. I realized how rare it really was for Malfoy to be serious with me.

I turned back to him.

"Yes?"

"There are some things we need to discuss, the press will be here anytime, and the guests should start arriving within the hour. I'm sure you know this affair is by invitation only, and the critics that are coming aren't only going to be examining the food, atmosphere and entertainment. It's important that tonight you are-"

But he was interrupted by a call of "There you are," from across the room. Actually, it was more like 'Zere you are,' as it was said in an all too familiar heavy French accent.

"Fleur is here?" I asked, in near panic.

At the distress in my voice, Malfoy gave me an odd look, and answered, "yes, she the events coordinator… Granger, why do you look like you just swallowed a toad?"

But I hadn't time to answer his question. For at that moment, Fleur flounced up to us, and grabbed Malfoy by the arm, hauling him in the direction of the kitchens, if the faint banging of pots and pans were any indication.

"Oh, Monsieur… c'est terrible…" and she launched into and explanation in French so rapid, all I managed to catch were the words 'lobster,' 'red-tide,' and 'lawsuit.'

"Oh, for the love of God," Malfoy answered in English. "If it isn't one thing, it's another," he glanced back at me, with those eyes all molten silver. "Granger, don't move, we aren't done talking yet, and this shouldn't take long. I need to go over some menu revisions. Don't Move." I could hear the capitals as he turned from me, and had to fight the childish urge to wander, simply because he'd told me not to. With a sigh, I sank into a nearby chair to wait for him to re-appear.

(i)

Fleur was here.

I hadn't seen Fleur in months. Over a year actually. In fact, you could say that Magnus and I got together as a direct result of the last time I saw Fleur.

It had been at a Weasley family Christmas dinner, I'd come with my current beau, a man named Cable who I'd met at Flourish and Blotts only two months before, as we reached for the same book. Chains: the History of the Enslavement of the House Elf. We'd hit it off immediately.

Bill was there with Fleur, of course, their on-again, off-again relationship having spanned the better part of a decade, and finally settling into more on-again.

It was a real shock when Bill and Fleur had a huge row, over the roast goose, about the dangers involved in his job as a cursebreaker, and her desires for him to quit. It was even more of a shock when she got up from the dinner table, and left. With a bit of the Veela charm turned in his direction, Cable left with her.

She'd done it, of course, to get back at Bill… but had she had to take my boyfriend to do it?

It was because of Cable's betrayal that I was dateless that New Years eve, and, rather than going out and making merry, I decided it would be a much more productive use of my time to get a little work done. That was why I happened to be in the office, when Magnus, who'd just been promoted to module leader, came in, a little tipsy, and a lot merry, to retrieve the wand that he'd left on his desk the day before.

Magnus and I had been flirty with each other before this, but it was different now.

We made love for the first time on his desk in a deserted office.

Two moths ago, I might have thanked Fleur, now, I just wondered if Magnus had shagged the secretary on that same desk.

God, just thinking about it made me ill.

(i)

True to his word, it didn't take Malfoy long to finish whatever problem had arisen over dinner, and soon, I saw him strolling back over to me, with Fleur latched onto one arm, as they talked.

I gave a snort. Fleur was statuesque. In her heels, she had to be at least six-foot-two. She towered over Malfoy by a good four inches. I wondered if he knew how ridiculous they'd look together… she leaned over to whisper in his ear, and he chuckled as they drew up to me.

Ridiculous.

Draco Malfoy and Fleur Delacour. They deserved each other.

""Granger, are you alright?" he asked, coming to a stop before me, and pulling his arm from Fleur's grasp, "you look as though you've eaten something that didn't agree with you, or smelled something really foul."

"Perhaps I have," I shot at him defiantly, and the playful grin that was on his face melted away to be replaced by a look that seemed to say, 'oh, right… should have expected that.'

"I should have expected that."

"Damn well right, you should have," I grumbled.

"That's what I needed to talk to you about, actually, you foul tempered minx. There will be none of that at tonight's event." He gave me a level stare to make sure that I understood. "As far as anyone knows, we're here together because we enjoy each other's company. The press will be here, and I don't like the idea of the whole country talking about how you and I couldn't keep from ripping at each other's throats. Best behavior, Granger."

"Hm, so I'm supposed to make nice with you for the evening, smile for your associates, and smile for the cameras? Don't you think that will look odd? I mean, a few years ago, I was adamantly trying to put you and your father into prison, and it was I who insisted the ministry keep looking into your affairs. And everyone knows I hate you."

"First of all, Granger, no, you don't. We've had this discussion already. Secondly, since you've had the ministry breathing down my neck off and on over the years, you should also know that they've found nothing. We've had this discussion before too. Ever since I took control, Malfoy International has been clean as a whistle, so get off your fucking high-horse. This isn't just for the cameras. If Salinger knows we aren't together because we want to be, what do you think he'll assume?" He extended his arm, and tapped me on the forehead with his index finger. "Be smart, Granger."

"Monsieur," Fleur whispered to him loudly enough so I could hear, "I think that I should go," and then she leaned in a bit further, and whispered something a bit more privately. Whatever it was, it made him smile.

It made my skin crawl.

"Of course," he replied and slapped her bum playfully as she left out the front.

"Delightful girl," Malfoy said in an almost wistful tone, before turning back to me. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe we were laying down the ground rules for this evening, and while were at it, I have a few rules I'd like you to follow. Since every one is to be under the impression that you and I are a couple, then you had better not talk down to me again, or we'll suffer a very messy break-up. And another thing, keep it in your pants tonight."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, keep it in you bloody pants. You're worried about how it would look if we squabble on camera, well, think about how it would look for me if my date can't keep from trying to bed every female in the room. I expect you to exhibit some control."

"Believe me, Granger, I am. Right now, it's taking every ounce of control I have not to hex you into oblivion."

"The feeling's mutual."

He growled, then closed his eyes, muttering under his breath. He was on 'neuf' before I realized that he was counting to ten in French.

"Look," he said, after giving himself a shake, "this is getting us nowhere. Fine, I agree to your terms, I wont even look at another woman tonight, unless she's taking my drink order, which, by the way, I'll need a lot of, since I'm bloody well confined to your company. And you will manage to say my name so that it doesn't sound like some really foul insult. Can you do that?"

"I won't be expected to call you, 'Draco,' will I?"

He chuckled, "oh, God, no. Gives me the willies just hearing you say that… no, Malfoy should be fine, provided you can wipe that scowl off your face when you say it. I certainly don't plan to call you 'Hermione,' I'd never be able to keep it straight…"

"…Granger?"

"…Granger?"

"Huh?"

I snapped back to attention, and felt my face flush.

"Granger, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." But I wasn't. Not really. Malfoly said my name like it was a caress, rolling the syllables around on his tongue, tasting the letters before breathing them out into my ears, and it made me shudder in a not at all unpleasant way. Hearing him say my name gave me the creeps too. "Listen, Malfoy, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about Ridgeback. I've found a file…"

"Sh," he put his finger to my lips, silencing me, "remember, you aren't on the job right now. All work related questions will have to wait until after the opening." He gave me a playful smile, and outside the door, I could hear the press starting to show up, "right now, Granger, it's showtime."

(i)

"My, but you are a delightful young woman, aren't you?" Mr. Salinger was a thin man, older, but not old, thirty-five, maybe, with a deep tan, and dark hair streaked with silver. He was a man who smiled easily, and every time he smiled, it reached his sparkling hazel eyes.

He was really quite charming, and he'd been turning that charm on me for the last half-an-hour or so, to the consternation of his date, a blonde woman with too much make-up, and too little brains. Malfoy had started fidgeting, bouncing his knee and twirling his fork in the same manner I'd seen him twirling his wand.

"You're such a charmer, Mr. Salinger." I gave him my most charming smile.

Malfoy's jaw twitched.

Mr. Salinger reached a hand across the table, and clasped mine. "You really must come to the theater tomorrow, I have a private box."

Malfoy dropped his fork.

"Both of you," Mr. Salinger added, with a furtive glance in Malfoy's direction.

"I don't really think…" I began.

"No," Malfoy said tightly, "Miss Granger and I will be busy. Won't we, my dear."

"Well, maybe if," I was cut off as Malfoy kicked me gently beneath the table. I couldn't help the smile that found its way to my lips, "very busy, Mr. Salinger."

Salinger shrugged, and smiled, "as you wish, my dear."

Malfoy let out a sigh, and raised another fork full of duck to his lips.

A piano playing Jazz singer took the stage, and her voice, sweet and soulful, filled the room, effectively putting an end to all conversation. She was finishing up her first number, when, I felt it. Malfoy shifted a bit, leaned closer, and slipped an arm around my shoulder. I lifted my wine glass, and took a sip.

I did not shake his hand off.

It would have looked very bad on camera.

(i)

Well, that took a lot longer to get onto the computer than I had thought, especially since it's only about four-thousand words.

Hope everyone enjoyed this.

And Plastraa… still waiting.