Hermione was certain that this dress was enchanted in some way, because it fit her perfectly. She had no idea how Malfoy had managed to buy her a flawlessly tailored dress without ever once taking a measuring tape to her. The only option was an enchanted dress. It fit her like a glove, hugging her curves far too closely for her liking and accentuating all of her best features. She did not like to be so exposed, but she had to admit that she did look good.

At Ginny's urging, she had taken some time getting ready. Her hair had been tamed with multiple potions and spells and she had carefully applied makeup. She had a suspicion that the heels she had worn to Harry and Ginny's wedding were not good enough for this dress, but they were the only shoes she had so they would have to do.

Now to wait for Malfoy. She paced her entryway, feeling nerves and terror curling in the pit of her stomach. She stopped in front of the mirror in her hall and stared at herself, running her hands down the front of the dress. It was very tight – would she even have room to eat? Like most Wizarding clothing, there was a place for her wand, a small pocket in the skirt of her dress, and she checked again that it was there – she was not above hexing Malfoy.

Her consideration of her dress raised another question – where was he taking her that she had to wear something this? Her stomach flipped with nerves and she gritted her teeth.

"Come on now," she spoke to herself. "You've done much scarier things than going on a date with Draco Malfoy." Her reflection in the mirror looked unconvinced, and a piece of her curly hair sprung out from around her face. She sighed and tried to tuck it back, but knew that it was useless.

The telltale crack of an Apparation echoed from outside her door, and Hermione leapt in surprise. A moment later, there was a firm knock. She stared at in dread for several seconds before she opened the door.

When he was not recovering from a fistfight and shock, Draco Malfoy was very attractive. Hermione remembered him never being difficult on the eyes when they were in school together, but the War had aged him just as it had aged them all and he had grown into his looks very well. He was dressed in a neat suit, matching her level of formality. His tie was the exact color of her dress, and he was looking at her with the same amount of shock that she was looking at him.

"Granger," he greeted, not hiding the way his eyes swept her up and down. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk as he met her gaze. "You clean up nicely."

"Malfoy," she answered, clearing her throat and taking half a step back from her door. "I wasn't expecting… this." She gestured vaguely to him.

"Expecting someone else?" he asked.

"Something like that," she answered, taking a moment to carefully observe his clothing. It was after a moment that she realized his suit appeared to be Muggle in nature – it lacked the distinct feeling that Wizard-made clothing gave off, a sort of buzzing energy was absent. She looked at him in surprise.

"The person you're expecting won't be coming," Draco said, watching her studying him. "I assure you, he's gone." He reached a hand towards her and Hermione reciprocated, expecting that he'd Apparate them together.

"Splendid," she answered, and in her surprise her tone came out with a bite of sarcasm. Draco frowned and dropped his hand.

"I'm attempting to be pleasant, Granger. Your cooperation would be appreciated." His tone was clipped and carried a bite to it that reminded her of Snape's on a bad day of potion's class. She straightened herself up.

"You have my cooperation." She gestured to herself. "Am I not here? Am I not wearing the dress you bought me? Have you had to drag me kicking and screaming?"

Draco sneered at her and offered his hand again, but Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere with you if you're going to be an immature brat," she snapped.

"A brat?" Draco answered, barking a laugh. "You started it with your sarcasm and general unhappy demeanor."

"I started it? Are we children? Are we pointing fingers now?" she demanded, throwing her arms up and turning to pace farther into her flat. "You'll have to forgive my unhappy demeanor, I'm struggling a bit with the fact that I am trapped and terrified." She covered her mouth with her hands and whirled to face him, horrified that she had just admitted that aloud, exposing her weakness. She waited with baited breath for his stinging response.

Draco's expression went from anger to shock, and then softened. "You're afraid?"

Hermione nodded, hands still covering her mouth. To her horror, she felt her eyes start to sting and her throat felt tight. The emotions that she had been battling for the last week were now very prevalent and she was struggling to keep them back.

Draco sighed and ran his hand across his face.

"Right. Alright. Can we talk about this over dinner? I've got reservations for us, and I would genuinely like to take you to dinner. Could we start there, please?" His tone was gentle and coaxing, a bit like how someone would talk to a frightened animal, and Hermione let her hands drop from her face. She gave a stiff nod and furiously blinked to avoid properly crying, because her makeup had taken more time than she'd like to admit and she'd be damned before she cried in front of Draco Malfoy.

She reached for his hand and he met her halfway, and after he had laced their fingers together, they Apparated.

They Reapparated into the lobby of a restaurant, and Hermione was pleasantly surprised. She had expected something gaudy and showy, perhaps gold-leafed ceilings and stained-glass panels, ornate crystal chandeliers and waitstaff in full suits. Instead, she was greeted by an upscale but classy French restaurant. They were not overdressed, and it was clear that this was the kind of restaurant you were meant to enjoy the experience of instead of feeling terrified you'd use the wrong utensil.

"Master Malfoy! Bonjour, wonderful boy!" Draco and Hermione turned towards the boisterous and joyful voice that called Draco's name and saw a large, merry looking man ambling towards them. Despite his height and girth, he was quick on his feet in a way that only someone that had come up working as a line cook could be. When he reached them, he pulled Draco into a tight hug and then released him to grasp Hermione's shoulders and plant two very firm kisses on her cheeks.

"Gustav," Malfoy greeted with a smile. Hermione was struck for a moment, wondering if that was the first genuine smile she'd ever seen from the man. "It's wonderful to see you again."

"And you as well! Please, introduce me to your lovely lady?" Gustav looked to Hermione expectantly, and though Hermione had no doubt that he knew exactly who she was she appreciated being treated like a normal witch and not like a celebrity.

"This is Granger. Er, Hermione," Draco said, and Hermione gave Gustav a small smile.

"Ah, this is the gem you picked!" Gustav exclaimed happily. He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Well done, dear boy. I can see she is a force of nature, this woman."

Hermione flushed bright red and nearly leapt out of her skin as Draco put his hand on her waist, pulling her slightly closer to him. She stumbled a bit as he did, partially resisting and partially surprised by the action.

"It is, and she is," Draco agreed. His grasp loosened on her, sensing her discomfort. His face remained neutral. "Tell me, what's on the menu this evening?"

Gustav took the hint like a gentleman and gestured for the couple to follow him. As he led them through the restaurant he explained the night's courses, animatedly describing the dishes. Hermione tried to follow along, but she was distracted by the fact that the restaurant appeared to be completely empty. It seemed odd to her that on a Friday night a restaurant like this would have no other patrons.

She was grateful, because there was also no press waiting to snap a photograph of them. The last thing she wanted was pictures of their first date on the front page of the Daily Prophet. She had had enough of being a headline for her lifetime, and navigating this relationship would be difficult enough without Rita Skeeter and every bloodthirsty tabloid journalist like her trying to leech stories off of it.

After Gustav had seated them and produced two glasses of wine, he let them be. The silence was deafening after Gustav's nonstop chatter, and Hermione exhaled slowly in relief. The beginning of a headache was starting to beat behind her eyes.

"Granger," Malfoy murmured. She looked up and saw that he was holding out her wine glass to her. He had his own in hand. She took it with a small smile and nodded her thanks.

"To us?"

"Whatever 'us' is," Hermione agreed, gently toasting against Draco's glass. The crystal rang clearly in the quiet and they drank. Hermione was not a fan of wine, but found she did not dislike this one. It tasted expensive, and she was sure it was.

She had barely set her glass down before Draco asked: "You're afraid?"

"Do we have to go over this?" she asked, looking away from his intense and prying eyes. "It seems like a wonderful way to make an already difficult evening even worse."

"We do have to talk about this," he pushed, "Because you're the only one finding this difficult. I'm having a rather nice night so far – I have good wine and a beautiful witch across from me."

"Don't," she snapped. "You don't think I'm beautiful. You've made your opinion of me quite clear, our entire childhoods."

"So this is about my prejudices," Draco concluded, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Alright Granger, have at it. Let's hear it."

"Of course it's about that!" she exclaimed, immediately set off by how nonchalantly he was addressing this, like it wasn't an incredibly important issue. "Of course, it's that, but it's not just that! Have you forgotten that you made it your personal mission to bully me relentlessly for years? Years, Malfoy! Not to mention the hell you put Harry and Ronald through, and every other Muggle-born student at Hogwarts."

Her voice began to creep up in volume. "And then on top of that, you become a Death Eater. A bloody Death Eater! You helped them come into the castle, murder Dumbledore, and destroy the only place we felt safe." She heaved a deep breath and reached for her wine, downing the rest of the glass in a single desperate gulp.

"Oh, and let's not forget," she continued, now nearly shouting, "About the time that you nearly killed us at your home, and then afterwards when you tried to kill us in the Room of Requirement, and then after that when you ran away from the battle like the coward that you are!"

Draco winced, but did not interrupt her.

"Then, by Harry's grace alone, you manage to avoid a lifetime of imprisonment in Azkaban, where I am still convinced you should be. I have not seen or heard anything about you since your trial. Not a bloody word, not a thanks to Harry or an apology, not a single voluntary donation to any reparations funds, and then suddenly I'm being forced to marry you! So yes, Malfoy, I am scared."

She collapsed back in her chair, panting, face flushed red and angry, eyes welling up. "Of course I'm scared. I'm terrified."

"Anything else you'd like to say?" Draco asked sharply. Her vicious attack on his character had cut him deeply, and he was debating throwing his hands up in defeat and abandoning Hermione at the restaurant. His jaw was clenched as he waited for her response.

"Not at all," she snapped. Draco was silent for several long moments before his stony face broke and he sighed. She had made incredibly valid points – he was an absolute knob. He had known that for a long time, but having it laid out for him in such a concise and forceful manner put it all at the forefront of his mind, and he could not ignore his wrongdoings or the shame he felt for them anymore.

"You're right," he conceded, and Hermione was shocked to hear how broken his voice sounded. He sounded like he was almost on the verge of tears. He would not look at her. "You're absolutely right. I was horrible to you, and to your friends – to everyone really, and I've never tried to make amends for that."

She watched him, eyes narrowed, waiting for the ruse to be over. There was no way that Malfoy was actually broken up over this. It wasn't in how she perceived his character – that meant he would have had to experience some actual personal growth, which would truly shock her. But he did not laugh, or take back what he said.

"Would it surprise you if I told you that I'm also terrified?" He asked her.

"It would," Hermione admitted, and her own demeanor had softened now. He was being vulnerable, genuinely vulnerable with her. She gnawed on her lip as she waited for him to explain.

Draco gave a humorless laugh. "I am also terrified," he confirmed. "I don't… I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be perceived like this, I don't want to hide away for the rest of my life. I don't want people to see me and think what they think of me. I don't want to be my father, I don't…" he stopped and shook his head, and then rubbed his hands across his eyes. He was dangerously close to crying in a fancy restaurant with Hermione Granger on what was supposed to be their first date.

"I certainly hope you didn't bid on me because you were expecting me to single-handedly fight for your name."

"No, of course not," Draco said quickly. "Well, that was part of it. Although, after your friends worked me over you owe me at least one kind comment in an interview. Your friends are terrifying." He was hoping a joke would ease some of her tension.

It worked. Hermione laughed, covering her mouth as she did.

"They are. We're very protective of each other, but I'm sure you know that. Or if you didn't, you've figured it out." She paused. "Besides your misguided ideas that I'm going to fix your image, which I am not going to do, I have to know – why me?" Hermione had seen the other women that had gone before her, women that were far more beautiful and desirable than she was. Far more what she would consider to be Draco's type.

Draco raised an eyebrow, as if reading her thoughts. "You're easy on the eyes, Granger. Especially when you put in an effort."

Hermione scowled, and Draco raised his hands defensively and shrugged.

"My mother told me to choose wisely. And to choose with me heart." He stumbled over the uncharacteristic romanticism. "I saw you and I knew. Beyond the fact that you would be an overall benefit to myself and my family, I knew you. You're intelligent, and witty. You've got that ridiculous Gryffindor bravery. You care. Blaise called you my 'intellectual equal' and he's right."

He looked up at her and met her wide-eyed stare. "We could be something, Granger. If only for two years, we could be something."

As he spoke, Hermione leaned forward in her chair without realizing it, caught up in the sincerity and logic of his words. She understood what he had been thinking in that moment – a boost to his reputation, and someone that could manage him and that he could enjoy being around. Blaise Zabini had been correct, they were equals in many ways.

Draco was still staring at her, eyes searching her face as she processed what he had said. He had meant every word of it, which was surprising even to him. He was not used to sincerity and emotional vulnerability, and that had been a lot of both. His mother would be proud of him. He was proud of himself. There was more that he wanted to say, about how he was jealous of her security, of her pride, of the relationships that she had with those around her, but he couldn't put words to it yet.

"I've had my ability to choose for myself taken away from me," she finally responded. "But I won't live like that. You need to treat me as your equal, not as your property. If we are going to make the next two years tolerable, we need to be partners."

"We can discuss the specifics of it, but broadly I agree. What we do, we do together. You won't be without agency, and I won't take advantage of you."

"I won't live at Malfoy Manor. Not immediately, and not likely in the future."

Draco nodded. It was traditional for Malfoys to live at Malfoy Manor, but this was not a traditional marriage. Hermione was not a traditional Malfoy wife. "I understand."

"I won't be changing my last name, either," she continued. "I may consent to have both in the future, but not just yours." Her name was all she had left of her parents, and her own identity.

"Of course," Draco agreed.

"Stop sending me expensive gifts. I don't know what to do with roses that seem to refuse to die, and I'm not bribable."

Draco chuckled and nodded.

"I won't be pressured by societal ideals or the Ministry to sleep with you, either," she concluded. "I won't be pressured by you, either."

"I am many things, but I am not a rapist," Draco said shortly. "Rest assured."

Hermione nodded, relieved. "Your terms?"

"We communicate with each other frequently leading up to the wedding," Draco said. "We attempt to let sleeping dragons lie – I understand that there will be some issues from the past that will need to be worked through, but I'd prefer if we didn't dredge them up while we're inevitably arguing." Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then stopped as she realized that was exactly what he meant. She nodded.

"My mother… is very interested in befriending you. She wants to have tea with you, tomorrow if you're available. I told her you probably wouldn't be, and that you probably wouldn't want to be at the Manor, and that you may not want to see her, and she understands. But she is my mother, and I would request that you treat her as kindly as you can manage." He frowned and looked down at the table. "Much of what happened was against her will."

Harry had told Hermione extensively about what Narcissa Malfoy had done for him, and the danger she had put herself in to protect her son. She had known that Narcissa had likely not been a willing participant in many of the atrocities that had been committed by her husband, family, and the man they followed. But she also knew that Narcissa Malfoy had been Narcissa Black, sister of Bellatrix Lestrange and member of the Black family. Sirius had been an outlier – the Black family had a sordid history, too.

"I would never be unkind to your mother," Hermione reassured. Then, she extended an olive branch. "I'd like to have tea tomorrow." The words felt acidic coming out of her mouth, and she immediately thought about the Manor where Narcissa would be. Panic settled sickly and heavily in her stomach, but she fought it down. It was just a house. It had no power over her.

"You don't need to. She would understand. I would understand."

"No," Hermione said firmly. Cooperation. Bravery. She could do this. "No. I will. I'll owl her tonight."

Draco's eyes flitted across her face, seeking out any signs of distress. He could tell that she was struggling, likely with the idea of being at Malfoy Manor, but that she wanted to make an effort. His gaze stopped on her lips, which were pink from her biting, and then his eyes traveled down the line of her neck to her collarbone, where he promptly remembered himself and did not look any further. He looked back up at her face, and it was clear he had been caught looking. Hermione flushed bright red and her eyes flickered away from him.

With the timing of a saint, a waiter appeared with their first course and both parties were thankful for the distraction as the man explained what they would be eating that evening and how the courses would be brought out to them.

As they ate, the conversation turned from an argument and a negotiation to typical first-date chatter. Draco and Hermione knew quite a bit about each other from school, but there was much they did not know. Draco talked about his summers away from school, how he had studied with tutors and participate in private Quidditch training leagues. He told her about long days spent in the libraries at Malfoy Manor, pouring over ancient textbooks about spellcasting and potion-making. He talked extensively about Narcissa's gardens, and about the renovations to the Manor.

Hermione explained to him what the difference between Wizard and Muggle chocolates were and what a spa was. She laughed when he told her that Blaise had been the one to brave Muggle London to find the gifts for her. She told him about her own summers back with her parents, how she had spent them studying or spending time with Muggle friends that she had since lost touch with. She told him about her parents, about how she had sent them away for their protection and about how it hadn't mattered in the end, because they were gone anyways.

Draco had not known the depth of the sacrifices that Hermione had made as a Muggle-born witch. The wedges it had driven between her and her childhood friends, the strain it had put on her parents, the lengths to which she had gone to protect them. It made him sick to his stomach to imagine doing the same, sending his mother away with no memories of him and never seeing her again.

They talked about their friends. Hermione told him about Ginny and Harry, and about how Ron had reconnected with Cho Chang and how surprising their romance had been. She talked about Fred Weasley, and how his death had devastated the Weasley family. She talked about Christmases at their crowded home, and how Molly cared for her like she was another red-headed child.

Draco told her about Blaise, about how they had become closer while they fought for their freedoms and how they supported each other in the aftermath. He told her about Blaise's parents, both in Azkaban, and about how he wouldn't speak about them. He talked about Crabbe and Goyle, who had both died at Hogwarts. He told her about Pansy – not that they had slept together, but that she was the closest friend he had.

By the time they had reached the end of dessert, their voices were raw and they had finished two bottles of wine. The conversation felt easy, light despite the topics they were discussing, and natural. Hermione was loathed to admit that Draco Malfoy was charming, and fun to talk to. It wasn't often she could find someone that could carry on intense academic conversation with her as easily as he could.

At the end of the meal, they thanked Gustav and promised they would be back. Hermione really hoped they would, because the food had been delicious. As they walked to the Apparation point at the front of the restaurant, she stopped and turned to Malfoy.

"Did you rent out the entire restaurant?" she asked. "There's no one here. At all."

Draco cleared his throat. "Yes," he answered, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't know how this would go, I didn't want an audience to whatever happened. I figured you'd be less uncomfortable, too."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "That's… very thoughtful."

Draco smirked and held out a hand, and she took it. A moment later, they Reapparated outside the door of her flat. She stumbled forward a step as they did, and realized that perhaps she had indulged too much. She caught herself on Draco's arm and righted herself with a quick apology.

"Never apologize," he murmured, looking down at her. She was flushed, and her hair had worked its way out of the styling she had done, falling down her neck and the sides of her face. Draco was slightly dizzy with the way she looked, and smelled, and the wine he had had. She was beautiful. She was gorgeous.

She noticed his gaze and looked back at him, waiting for him to say anything else or to do something. She wasn't sure what it was he was staring at, but he looked… smitten. He looked like a man who was enthralled. Her cheeks grew pinker. "I should go in," she said, motioning towards her door.

"Yes, right," Draco agreed, and took a step back. He remembered suddenly that he had the ring in his pocket. He hadn't thought about it all night, and he had been unsure when he brought it with if it would be an appropriate question to ask her. But he wanted to. The intense desire to have her wearing that ring surprised him.

"I'll just…" she gestured to the door again, and moved to turn away.

"Wait, Granger," Draco said, a little too loudly in his haste. He grabbed her hand and Hermione jumped and whirled back to him. "You can say no, of course, but I have – well, I have a ring." He fumbled the box out of the inner pocket of his jacket and managed to pop it open with the hand that was not currently curled around her left wrist. He held it out to her.

"Oh," she said stupidly, staring down at it. It was gorgeous, and surprisingly understated for a ring from Draco Malfoy.

"It was my Great Grandmother Black's. She wasn't a blood purist," he added quickly. "At least, I don't think she was. I mean, not as badly as some of my other relatives. Never mind, this was a monumentally stupid idea, you obviously needn't wear the ring."

"Draco," Hermione said sharply, using his given name. It was amusing to watch him stumble over himself instead of being so self-assured and smarmy like she remembered him to be. "I'll wear it. Don't overthink this."

"Thank Merlin," he breathed, dropping her hand to remove the ring from its box. She held her left hand up and watched intently as he slipped the ring on her finger. It fit, which she found rather serendipitous. Draco was enraptured by the sight.

"I have to owl your mother," Hermione said, also looking at her finger. She wriggled it and the stone caught the light, glinting. "It's late."

"It is," Draco agreed. "You should go inside."

"I should," Hermione answered. She looked away from her hand and up at Malfoy, who after tonight seemed much less like the prejudiced, angry boy she remembered. She by no means trusted him entirely, but… he was different. He had changed.

She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, remaining for a moment before pulling back and reaching behind her to open her door. "Goodnight."

Draco looked at her, mouth slightly agape and blinking stupidly. It was like he had forgotten how to speak. Hermione laughed, shook her head, and stepped backwards into her flat, leaving Draco Malfoy flabbergasted at her door.

Instead of immediately Disapparating, Draco walked downstairs and outside of Hermione's flat. She lived in Muggle London, close enough to the entrance of the Ministry that commuting was a quick affair for her but not too close.

He had never explored Muggle London – it had never even crossed his mind to before. But he knew if he tried to Apparate home now, with his head spinning and his heart racing like it was, that he might splinch himself or end up somewhere else. So he walked.

He was keenly aware that he was overdressed for the area and that it was very late at night, but he didn't feel unsafe. Although it was foreign to him, it was still just a city and he was still a human walking its streets. He wandered aimlessly, passed rows of closed businesses and some late-night cafes that were teeming with Muggles. They were drinking coffee, he realized. He walked slowly past one of the establishments, staring through the glass at a group of four friends who had their hands wrapped around steaming cups, laughing together at something.

It was not so unlike he and his friends at Hogsmeade, laughing together over large and foamy Butterbeers.

He became aware as he walked that he was approaching a more populated area, and instead of exploring further he turned down an alleyway and waited until he was out of sight from any prying eyes. Then he Apparated quietly into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa startled awake from where she had dozed off in her chair, book balancing precariously from her lap. Draco looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not a child, mother. You don't need to wait up for me." His words held no venom, and Narcissa smiled. Part of her had expected Draco to return much earlier in the evening and in a terrible mood, but as the night had gone on and it had gotten later and later, Narcissa had grown hopeful that maybe things were going alright, and that Draco was late because things had gone so well. It seemed that this was the case.

"You may not be a child, but I will always be your mother," she answered. "Which means I will always wait for you to come home. How was dinner?"

"Dinner went… as well as it could, honestly." Draco sat down across from his mother and slipped his shoes off. "It started off tensely but ended well. She accepted the ring."

Narcissa clapped her hands together and rose to her feet, rushing over to hug her son. "That's wonderful," she sighed, kissing the top of his head. "That's wonderful, that's really wonderful." She ruffled his hair and he leaned away from her hand, but he was smiling.

Just then, Narcissa's raven-black owl swooped in from the window, rolled parchment clutched in its talons. It dropped the letter on Narcissa's empty chair and returned out the window, to the owlery on the Manor grounds. Draco motioned towards the parchment.

"I would imagine that's an acceptance for your invitation of tea tomorrow."

Narcissa's face lit up further and she rushed over to the parchment, unrolling it and reading it quickly. She smiled as she did and nodded her confirmation to Draco. He watched her, warmth building in his chest. It had been a long time since he had seen his mother smile like that, or be excited about anything.

"I'm very happy with this," his mother murmured, carefully folding the parchment and tucking it in her pocket. She smiled at him. "I'm very happy for you."

Not only was she happy, she was relieved. Relieved that Draco had behaved himself, that he had seemingly treated Hermione Granger well, that he looked lighter. His brow was not creased, and he was not frowning. He was dressed up, but he was not stiff or formal. He looked his age. He looked like the son she remembered, the one son she had before her life had become dark once again.

After she shooed Draco off to bed and she was alone, she read Hermione's letter for a second time.

Mrs. Malfoy,

Thank you for the invitation to tea tomorrow. I would be very happy to accept and look forward to properly meeting you.

I would also like to thank you for the ring. Draco told me that it was your grandmother's. I know how special it must be to you, and I am happy to wear it.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger