A/N: This takes place right after chapter 16: the first date (the first taste)

She reaches a hand up, tracing her lips. Wow. The door to her modest flat swings shut behind her as she steps in, dropping her purse onto the floor. She doesn't think she has stopped smiling since he said goodbye, stepping back to let her apparate with a final brush of his lips against her knuckles. A proper gentleman till the very last breath. It is common enough for him, she supposes. Hermione has seen him do the same thing with a thousand girls before, a remnant of the upper-class upbringing he made no effort to hide.

Never before had Hermione dreamed that she might be at the receiving end of his gallantry; had never dared assume that he'd grant her the same gesture considering their turbulent past.

But he's different now.

Then she remembers the way his eyes had gleamed, the corner of his lips lifting into a smirk that's so achingly familiar to her. The way he laughed tonight, throwing his head back as his walls dropped momentarily. For a few seconds, it was like she was at Hogwarts again, sneaking glances at him across the Great Hall. His teasing cadence, cajoling in a way she remembered. The moments in the library that she had over analysed during those late nights in her dormitories. Those glances that she liked to pretend were more than just coincidence. Maybe he has always been like this. Perhaps Hermione is the one who is transforming.

She sighs, kicking off her heels as she leans back against the door. Her eyes flutter shut as fragments of the night flicker through the forefront of her mind. Draco's hand on her waist, fingers tangling in her hair as he tugs her closer. His tongue slides against hers as he takes his sweet time. Her toes curl as she reconstructs the moment in her head.

A perfect kiss.

Hopefully, the first of many others they would share.

Godric, this might be the best idea Harry has ever had. And to think that Draco has been worried about her inhibitions...as if she would give up this opportunity. Some part of her ought to feel guilty⸺there must truly be something wrong with her enjoying what was probably so abhorrent to him.

She recalls the sharp tang of his cologne and the little noise he'd made. Hermione sucks in a breath as she remembers the growl, fingers tightening so possessively she wondered if she'd just imagined his intensity.

Her stomach twists, desire making her skin flush. Her eyes flutter open as she takes in a deep breath, willing her heart to calm down. Pushing herself off the door and slightly shaking her head, Hermione removes her cloak before making her way to her bedroom.

It's pointless, however. She can't stop thinking about him.

His hands around her waist, his mouth pressed against hers. Her hand comes up to curl around the base of her throat as she inhales deeply. The hard lines of him as she wraps herself around him, the champagne she could taste on him. The silkiness of his hair as she greedily raked her hands through it, desperate to etch the feel of him into her skin.

Hermione slumps onto her bed, her thoughts spinning. It had all felt so real. Tonight, there had been moments when it had been so easy to forget that they were only playing a part.

She could replay tonight forever.

The pergola in her recent memory blurs until it's him pressed up against her bedroom walls. A fantasy she's only gotten too familiar with; it's amplified now that she's finally gotten a taste. Damn it all. He is an intoxication in its purest form. She's drunk on him and sobriety isn't an option. Has it ever been?

She allows her thoughts to run rampant, wondering how it would feel to have their positions switched. Her trapped in between him and the cool wall with his arms holding her hostage. His thigh slotting in between her legs as she drinks him in.

It's the best kind of bliss. The worst kind of ruin.

Would he be gentle? She loves to imagine his hands moving down the sides of her body, slow as he takes his time. The wicked gleam in his eyes would be a scandalous promise fueling her desire. Hermione could almost feel the ghost of his lips against her throat, his breath on her skin. Her leg hitching up to wrap around his waist as she would fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Hermione groans as she lets the fantasy wash over, scribbling in the edges with the details she'd gained tonight. Maybe she'd be the one to lead him to the bed. He'd smirk as she crawled on top of him, pushing him down onto the mattress.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her face burns as her eyes flutter open. Merlin.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She'd certainly gotten carried away. Hermione turns towards the noise, just barely catching the shadow of a large owl fluttering in the scarce moonlight. Her heart is racing as she shuffles over to her bedroom window, face burning. What would he think if he knew?

A soft click and she slides the window open, cooing at the tawny bird. Impressive and regal, she already knows who it belongs to.

After all, the Malfoy family doesn't hesitate when it comes to matters of ostentation.

She removes the small envelope the bird carries, tracing the intricate wax seal she's come to recognize over the weeks but there is something different about it⸺something that tells her that this isn't another one of Lucius Malfoy's ill-timed missives.

The bird hoots, jumping up and spreading its wings, leaving as quickly as he had come and Hermione opens the letter, a lone flower tumbling out and dropping to the floor. A smile tugs across her face as she immediately recognises the script.

I had a lovely time tonight, Miss Granger.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Hermione bends down to pick up the scarlet rose. She twirls the delicate flower in between her fingers, bringing it to her face to inhale deeply.

A rose by any other name, indeed.