A gray slate door faced them as Dominique opened her eyes hesitantly. Lysander dropped her hands the second their feet hit the ground, and for a moment, she felt strangely empty.

She tried to ignore the sensation and asked, "Where are we?"

Lysander pulled something from his pocket and went to the door, fitting a key into the lock. "My flat." He pushed the door open.

Dom followed his wave and stepped into the front room ahead of him, not entirely sure why he had brought her here.

He strode into the living room and set his keys down on a small coffee table. He somehow seemed too big for the space, as if his broad shoulders didn't quite fit in the little flat. She would have expected him to have a far more ostentatious home. But the truth was that she'd never really thought about where he lived before. Lysander didn't seem the homey type.

"Tea?" he asked calmly.

Dom eyed him with a modicum of irritation. "We almost got arrested and put on trial by the Wizengamot and you're offering me tea?"

Lysander grinned. "All the more reason." He strode into the kitchen, vanishing from sight. "You don't have to drink any, but I'm putting the water on," he called back.

Repressing a sigh, Dom trailed after him into the kitchen and watched him fill a kettle with water from the sink.

"Please, have a seat." He gestured to the wooden table by the far wall, which was surrounded by dark green chairs.

She sank into one gratefully, suddenly realizing that her knees were still shaky. "Why did you bring me here?"

He flicked the burner on beneath the tea kettle and walked over to her, looking at her for a moment before settling into a chair on the opposite side of the table. "Because you weren't in a state of mind to Apparate anywhere yourself. And because we need to go over what we've found."

She ignored this last statement. "State of mind? I could've Apparated anywhere I pleased if you had let me!" she exclaimed in outrage.

Lysander lifted a skeptical brow. "Of course."

"I don't need you saving me all the time, Lysander." Dom frowned.

"I was hardly saving you," he protested, raising a hand. "What's the harm? That woman would've caught us if we had tried to vault the wall again so I gave up and just Apparated. What do you care if I brought you here?"

She chewed at her lip. "I don't," she muttered. It was ridiculous to be annoyed with him for helping her, but it seemed she'd never succeed at any of this on her own if he was always babying her. But she didn't want to say that to him.

His hazel eyes rested on her face, but he didn't say anything more.

As he looked at her pensively, Dom felt her earlier confusion rush back. The events of the previous night had been pushed to the back of her mind, but now that he sat right across from her, quiet settling upon them both, her thoughts became jumbled once again. How he had pressed against her in Bomsnox's cupboard, his strong arm behind her, his lips brushing her ear, his reassuring words.

"We've had a few adventures lately," she finally mentioned, breaking the silence, pushing thoughts of the cupboard away.

He chuckled quietly. "We have indeed. Although last night was more of an adventure for you than it was for me."

So he remembers it, too…and he probably thinks I'm an idiot. "I wasn't that drunk," Dom protested.

Lysander tilted his head. "Tipsy, drunk, call it what you like."

"It matters what you call it!" she said loudly. "And you're the one who gave me all the Firewhiskey anyway."

"There's more in the cupboard over there if you'd prefer that to tea." His cocky grin blazed across his face and Dominique got the overwhelming urge to hit him.

"I'm not a drunk!" Dom exclaimed.

"I'm not calling you one," Lysander countered.

The whistle of the tea kettle punctured the growing argument and he hopped to his feet. Lysander pulled down two mugs from the cabinet and started pouring the tea.

Dom eyed his back nervously, taking in the broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscles taut beneath his navy blue t-shirt. It was the most informal thing he'd worn, and yet he looked as good as he always did. "Were you flirting with me last night?" she blurted out. The second the words left her lips, she felt her insides contract.

The stream of water stopped, Lysander's hand frozen on the handle of the kettle. He slowly pivoted to face her, devilish look fixed on his face. "Excuse me?"

She licked her lips. "You…you heard me," Dom insisted.

He set the kettle back down on the stove and took a few steps towards the table, mugs of tea forgotten. "What would make you think that?"

Dom couldn't read his tone, but having gotten herself into this mess, she was determined to fight her way out. "You said I was pretty," she argued, raising an eyebrow.

He raised an eyebrow back, as if to say 'challenge accepted.' "You are pretty, Dominique."

Just like the night before, her stomach warmed, and she felt a heavy blush seep onto her face.

"Can't a man tell a woman she's pretty without being accused of flirting?" Lysander inquired, once again taking a seat in the chair across from her.

Dom shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant but likely failing. "I guess so. But that's never happened to me before."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on hers. "Maybe you've been hanging out with the wrong men.

Dominique leaned back against the cold cement of the hallway wall, warmth snaking through her as Eric's arms tightened around her waist. His lips traced a quick line down her jaw to her neck, and her eyes slid closed.

'This is stupid, Dom,' she told herself angrily. 'He's got the intelligence of a fruit bat.' But it didn't matter. Eric MacGillan was handsome, popular and, best of all, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. Victoire wasn't the only one who could get a boyfriend.

Dom kissed him back, hands in his hair, letting him press her up against the wall. She was only good at school, her saving grace was fighting to be best in her class. For once she just wanted to succeed at something other than homework, to be known for something other than coming in second place every year. She wanted someone to see her for who she was, not just as Victoire Weasley's kid sister. Eric saw her like she was a woman.

"Hey, Weasley, guess this explains why I beat you by eleven points on today's Charms test," a harsh voice drifted towards them.

Eric jerked back, arms still around her. "Get outta here, Scamander," he drawled slowly.

Dom's eyes went wide, her breathing still heavy. "Leave it, Eric. He's not worth it."

Lysander strolled towards them, hands deep in his pockets, an irritating grin on his face. "By all means, please go ahead. The less time you spend studying, the easier it'll be for me." The grin grew wider. "Not that it isn't easy already."

Eric pressed his lips against her ear, his body back up against her, as if Lysander wasn't even there.

Dom felt like throwing up, Lysander's words clinging to her, Eric's hands suddenly making her sick.

"Looks like you're pretty easy yourself," Lysander called, still smiling. "Or maybe you're just hanging around the wrong blokes."

She pushed Eric away as hard as she could. "Get off me," she muttered, not even looking at him, hating herself for going back to him again and again. "And you." She narrowed her eyes at Lysander. "You stay the hell away from me."

Dom shook the memory away, closing her eyes for a long moment. It wasn't the first time he had said those words to her. Where had that boy gone, the one whose words cut into her, whose very gaze made her shrink. It seemed like he was gone, but was he really?

"Dom?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Sorry."

"Look, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just don't think you see yourself the way you are." He got to his feet and grabbed his tea from the counter. "You sure you don't want any?"

She nodded, still watching him, trying to find that cocky boy somewhere beneath this grown man.

"Dominique," Lysander settled back into his chair. "I think you're beautiful. And I'm not trying to flirt." The ghost of a smile reappeared on his face. "Take it or leave it."

Dom glanced up, letting her eyes rest on the sharp planes of his handsome face. "I'll take it."

"Good." A brief nod. "Now, we've got five days before our follow up story is due to Cuffe. If it's not perfect, he'll likely kill us slowly and roast us over a spit."

Still flustered, Dom stared at him. How did he move so quickly from calling her beautiful to discussing their impending doom? And why in Merlin's name was there a parade of butterflies taking up residence in her stomach?

"I'm serious. This is pretty much life or death." Though his face was perfectly serious, she thought she could see his eyes twinkling.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny scrap of paper. "Well then it's a good thing we've got this." She spread it out and examined the words again, grateful for something else to focus on.

"That was quick work snatching that note." He took a drink of tea as she stared up at him.

Did he really just praise me? Dom wondered. "Uh, thanks."

"It took a lot of poise to remember it," he continued. "And to close the door behind us in the office. You did a good job tonight."

She scanned his face, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. There wasn't even a hint of mockery. So that was what it felt like to be praised by Lysander. Sure, he'd been kind to her over the past month as they worked together. It seemed, as time went on, that his harsh, teenage self was gone. But to hear him openly praise her undercover work sent a thrill through her.

Lysander didn't seem to notice how happy his words had made her. "If Bomsnox is really running an illegal gambling ring, that's a huge break," he noted. "We've got to dig up some dirt on Lamonde and see if we can find anything else on the French team that might link back to Bomsnox." Lysander jumped to his feet, looking wide awake, as if he could stay up all night just to start working again.

But Dom must've looked less enthused, because he slowed his rapid pacing and looked down at her with concern. "Tired?" he asked.

Dom's eyes shot towards the clock. "It is two in the morning," she offered. "I don't mean to complain but-"

He raised a hand, cutting her off. "You're right. I kept you out entirely too late last night, not to mention the fact that I did get you just a little bit drunk, and now I've done it again."

"Do you run purely on caffeine?" Dom inquired as he rested a hip against the edge of the sink.

Lysander crossed his arms, quirking another smile at her. "I don't really get tired. But I realize you mere mortals need your seven hours or whatever." He waved a hand dismissively. "If you promise to be in the office by nine tomorrow, you can get about six tonight?"

She smiled back at him reflexively. "Six hours sounds like heaven right about now." Trying to ignore the dull ache in her joints, Dom got to her feet and turned to go.

"Let me walk you out," Lysander called after her, pushing off the counter and trailing behind her into the front room again.

Dom felt his arm brush hers in the dark anteway as he moved ahead of her and felt for the lock on the door. She stopped beside him, arm still touching his as she waited for him to find the lock.

"Blasted thing always sticks," he muttered, jiggling the knob. She started to step back, but Lysander reached across her suddenly, feeling for the light switch, chest against hers. He flicked on the light.

The dim bulb flickered to life, lighting up his face, just inches from hers. His eyes locked onto hers, hazel dark and unreadable, his breath ghosting her cheek. That impenetrable gaze traveled down and settled on her lips. He moved closer, pressing her back into the door.

Dom swallowed hard, almost closed her eyes. And then he stepped away.

As if the moment hadn't happened, Lysander threw his body weight against the door, the lock finally clicking open. "There we go," he muttered, yanking the door handle.

Dom felt the tingling in her stomach begin to ebb away slowly, but his eyes were on her again.

Lysander pulled the door back another inch or two and leaned against it. "You sure you want to go? I did promise I'd take you home." The devilish grin was back.

Her face blazed with heat at the memory of the night before, and how she'd assumed he wanted to take her back to his flat. Now here she was, standing in his flat, and she was fairly certain he'd almost kissed her.

But no, she had to be imagining it, all of the tension between them. It was just a figment of her overactive mind. "Shut it," she muttered finally, stepping into the doorway and trying to ignore her proximity to his wiry frame.

"Good night, Dominique," he said softly.

"Good night." Another day, and she was even more confused. Would Lysander Scamander ever make sense?

Author's Note: So much tension! What's going to happen?! Will they ever actually kiss? You'll have to wait and see ;) Please leave a review! I love the feedback...tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you're curious about. I won't be able to update as frequently going forward but I do hope to keep up with it as much as possible, so don't lose hope!