Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the world in which they live. I just write for fun!

A/N: Written for Dramione RomCom 2020 fest. I've also decided that there will be more chapters, so this story now stands at 11. Updates will continue to be on Thursdays. As a reminder, this is based on the movie "13 Going on 30." Hope you enjoy!

4.26.99

The first thing Draco noticed upon waking the next day was the ache in his back. He cracked his eyes open and saw nothing but gray—gray ceiling, gray walls, gray floor.

Right.

Azkaban.

He sighed heavily and tried to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep. After fifteen minutes or so, he gave up. He remembered that he didn't get a single good night's sleep while in prison and resigned himself to being tired all day.

No matter. It was only one day; he'd lived through nine months of it before, he could get through one more day.

The worst thing about Azkaban had been all the time he'd spent alone with nothing more than his own thoughts for company. At least today, his own company would be more enjoyable than it had been in the past. Back then, he'd been wrestling with everything from his childhood—with Harry Potter, the boy he'd tried to destroy, speaking up for his mother and then again for him. He'd spent a long time trying to reconcile what his father had told him and the reality of the aftermath of the war.

Breakfast was served promptly at eight, and Draco forced himself to swallow every bite. His past self had a tendency to wallow in self-pity and skip meals out of some pointless desire for some kind of control, but he really needed a good, solid meal in him.

Halfway through, Draco remembered that his mother had brought him a book for Christmas, and he gleefully went to his mattress, slipped his hand under it, and fished out the book. It was an old Muggle book, as absolutely nothing magical was allowed in, but it had been an excellent choice. He'd always wondered why she'd given him this particular book—Crime and Punishment—but by the time he was released, he had forgotten to ask.

Now, though, he looked forward to spending the day rereading it.

Sometime after lunch—everything ran together in prison—a knock sounded on his cell door, indicating that someone would be entering.

Draco peered up at the guard who shuffled in.

"Mr. Malfoy. You've got a visitor."

He tried not to look too surprised or excited. What were the chances he'd had a visitor on April 26th? It could only be his mother; nobody else had visited him over the nine months of his sentence. Still, it was far better than nothing.

The guard bound his wrists with magical rope so that he couldn't use his arms. Then, at wand point, he led Draco from his cell.

The visiting room was a large room with guards stationed all around the perimeter. The main space was occupied with tables and chairs for prisoners and their guests. He was considered a non-violent prisoner and, as such, he was able to meet his mother in the open, sunny room. He loved seeing the sunlight streaming through the windows.

But the guard walked past the visiting room. Draco knew better than to question him, so he followed in silence to a different room two doors beyond where he'd thought they were headed.

"In here." The guard pushed Draco through, removed the restraints, and locked him in.

This room was much smaller, but the setup was essentially the same: a table in the middle of the room, two chairs on either side of it. Draco rubbed his wrists automatically and sat in the chair on his side of the room. This was different, but he didn't think much of it. At least there was still a window.

He'd tucked his book into his prison robes and now pulled it out to read while he waited. When the door opened, he placed his bookmark and looked up to greet his mother.

Only it wasn't his mother.

Hermione Granger walked in with a steely, determined look on her face.

Draco didn't bother trying to stop his smile from forming

When the door shut, leaving them completely alone, she finally looked at him. His smile faltered.

She didn't move away from the door, as though she might run through it at any second.

"I told myself I wasn't going to come."

Draco sighed. "I wouldn't have blamed you for not."

Indecision danced in her expression before settling into something like resolve. "In the end, though, I simply couldn't stay away. You owe me some answers."

Draco motioned to the chair opposite him. "I don't know about that, but I'm happy to hear your questions."

Hermione walked regally across the small room and sat down, her wand gripped firmly in one hand.

That stung more than he'd thought possible, and he scowled at the thin piece of wood. He knew the guards had made a very special exception for her; usually visitors had to hand over their wands lest prisoners get hold of one. He didn't think they'd suddenly started trusting him.

She looked... Well, older than the last time he'd seen her. There was a certain gravity to her now that he knew she'd gained from the war.

When it seemed she wasn't going to speak after all, Draco held his hands out, palms up. "What would you like to know?"

Her gaze flitted everywhere around the room before she flicked her eyes to meet his for an instant. Then she looked at her hands, wrapped around her wand and resting on the table. "I... I need to understand. I had been under the impression, misguided though it now seems, that we were... friends. Of a sort." She took a shaky breath. "So I don't... I don't understand what happened."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean." So many things had happened since he last saw her.

"I waited for you!" Her eyes flashed at him now, raw magic crackling dangerously. "Every day! After... Dumbledore, I thought I understood everything—that you had made a huge mistake and you recognized that. I thought it was only a matter of time before you would come!"

"Come where?" He frowned, bewildered, but then he realized what she meant. "You mean join the Order?" He shook his head. "No."

"Then tell me! Why not?" She set her wand on the table, a testament to the fact that she did trust him, after all.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "You expected me to leave my parents and join your side?"

"Yes!" She huffed. "Well, I… I thought... this version of you, the one I have spent a little bit of time with, started growing during the war! I kept... waiting for you to show up!" She was practically shouting so she lowered her voice, but she was unable to keep the venom out of her tone. "You aren't the man I thought you were."

Draco felt her words like a physical blow but he tried not to take them personally. He kept his voice calm and even. "Not at seventeen, no. My journey to becoming who I am today did begin during the war, before even, but not in the way you expected. My role was not to be a hero. Or a spy. Or any such romantic notion. My path led straight into the worst parts of the war, and I came through in spite of my bad choices. A person can make all the wrong choices, pick the wrong side, and still not be doomed to a life of wrong."

She bit her lip, her expression determined. "I expected every day that you might come. It was the right thing to do!"

"Maybe in your mind! But it would have been wrong to leave my parents!" He'd had the benefit of many years to look back on the war, on everything before and through it, so he was ready with his defense.

"They made their choice!"

"And I couldn't choose to leave them to die." He felt no need to raise his voice to match hers. He'd had all of these arguments with himself many times over already. "I thought about it, Hermione. I considered the Order, especially after Dumbledore said they could protect me, but then I kept coming back to the fact that he'd died. Right in front of me. How could he really help me, what could he do? My father was disgraced and wandless, my mother a slave in her own home. Running away would have been a death sentence to them. The Dark Lord would have used them as an example to all young people whose parents were involved: if you try to run, everyone you love will die. Is that truly what you expected me to do?"

"I... No, I only... I only thought that you would!" She let out an exasperated huff. "It's not that I wanted you to—I mean, I did, or at least, to join us—but because of who you are now, I expected it! I thought, in your past, that you turned and helped us, and that's why we're friendly in the future, that's why you call me Hermione! And I was bitterly disappointed when you never showed up."

"I can't help that. I had to do what I did. My choices then did shape who I became, who I am now. I didn't follow the path you expected, though, and I cannot apologize for that."

She was quiet for a long moment, the wheels of her mind spinning so loudly he could practically hear them turn. "All right then. When we talked. Sixth year. Why didn't you tell me about any of it? Why didn't you warn me that you were plotting against Dumbledore?"

This was a question he hadn't spent nearly as much time on, but he felt just as sure of his decision. "You know the answer, Hermione. You know how tricky time is. I couldn't take even the slightest risk that something might change. Knowing that it was my mother's lie that directly led to Potter's victory, how could I risk changing anything?"

She seemed ready to explore, to rage, to reach over the table and slap him as she'd once done. Her hands were balled into fists and her lips were thinned into a line. But she didn't do anything. After a moment, she deflated, and her shoulders slumped slightly.

"Thank you. I needed to hear all of that. I've been so angry with you, so disappointed, for so long, that I couldn't even think about the ramifications of you telling me the truth. I felt so deceived, both by your... act—" She waved her hand in his direction. "And your omission. You led me to believe I would see you seventh year, that school would be normal, things would continue... But then you were the architect of Dumbledore's death!"

Draco spread his hands again. "That's why I'm in here. You're completely right. I made some impossible choices that I'll spend the rest of my life fighting, knowing I should regret some of them, because I could have chosen differently, but knowing I did my best at the time. You try living with him under your roof and tell me you'd have done better."

Hermione let out a shaky breath. "I almost didn't come today because of how disappointed I've been, but I'm so glad I did." She smiled tentatively. "I'm sorry for... for doubting you, for all the horrible thoughts I've had towards you, for expecting you to act the way I would have wanted without considering the costs to you."

"You've nothing to apologize for, Hermione. You don't owe me anything." He nearly reached for her hand, hoping to give her some comfort, some sense of the weight of gratitude he felt for her right then. But he didn't know if his gesture would be welcome.

She shifted in her seat, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It promptly came loose. "I considered you my friend. This future you, I mean. Are we friends?"

He shrugged. "Our paths didn't cross for a long time after the war. We are... Friendly. When we see each other."

She nodded once. "As a friend, I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.'

Draco leaned across the table, making sure to capture and hold her gaze. "Like I said, you don't owe me anything. We've spent a few hours together over the course of the last five years. You were completely within your rights to doubt me. You've been too generous coming here today, spending any energy at all on me."

"You're wrong." She stuck her chin out defiantly. "I find this version of you to be fascinating, and it sounds like you don't think very highly of yourself."

"I still have many wrongs for which to atone." He frowned, considering her words. A quick search of his memories showed him that she was absolutely right in her assessment of him: he didn't have a high opinion of himself.

"And you're paying your dues. Right now, in prison. Once that's done, you'll be able to get to the business of your life."

Draco chuckled darkly, remembering his train of thought on the day this time hopping mess began. His life had been miserable with very few good things in it, and by the end of the day, only one thing remained.

The day had begun with him married, at least technically; he'd been the head of a powerful, successful business; he'd had a son he adored more than anything.

Now, the only thing left in his life was Scorpius.

He would divorce Astoria, which would likely drag his family into the spotlight once more, where any and all would be free to speculate and judge. Theo had somehow stolen his company, which would send many smaller businesses connected with his into uncertainty at best, ruin at worst. There was no telling what Theo wanted with it, what he planned to do.

Draco was suddenly bereft of a future with no plans for what he might do instead.

If anything, his self-esteem, his confidence, should be much, much lower than it had ever been before.

In reality, however, he felt... almost good. He had a purpose now, if only to figure out what had happened and how he could fix it. That wasn't happening today at any rate, and he felt a little thankful for the reprieve. Granted, the focus of his previous few days had been not screwing up the timeline, and now that he'd managed that, he could focus on this time jumping problem.

"What will you do next year?" Hermione asked. "You know, on April 26th."

He shrugged. "I have no idea. I'll be getting out of here before too long—they'll release me before my birthday in June. Then I believe I will sit for my N.E.W.T.s, since I hadn't taken them before the Final Battle, and the aftermath was too chaotic, plus I'd been arrested and charged. After that…" He groaned as the memories surfaced. "Ah. I believe next year I'll either be courting my wife or just about to start."

Hermione's eyes widened and she quickly glanced down at the table. "Oh. Um, well, that sounds fun."

Draco snorted and leaned back in his chair. He almost launched into an explanation of why he was dreading reliving it all but stopped himself. Just like he couldn't let anything happen to jeopardize the outcome of the war, he wouldn't risk anything preventing him from marrying Astoria and having his son.

A knock sounded on the door and they both jumped.

"That means I haven't got much time." Hermione leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "There's so much more I wanted to say. I've been doing some research, despite being upset, trying to figure out what's happened to you. I even used my influence with the Minister to get access to an Unspeakable who studies time in the Department of Mysteries. We met, and she said she'd get back to me, but that was only a few weeks ago. I'm sure she's really busy." Hermione reached into a beaded bag he hadn't noticed before and pulled out a book. "There's an old wizarding fairy tale in here, and the heroine has an experience that sounds similar to what you're going through."

Draco took the book and looked at the cover. Wizarding Tales of Yore. He could tell it was old; the edges were yellowed, and for a wizarding book, that signified it was practically ancient. "I can't keep this. If my past self finds it in his cell, it will raise a lot of questions."

Hermione looked disappointed. "Oh, can't you read it quickly, then? It's very short. It starts on page forty-seven."

He opened to the table of contents and saw that the fairy tale in question was nearly twenty pages long. "I don't think so. Not with any sort of comprehension."

"Oh, bother. Well, I'll just tell you, and maybe next year you can find it in a library or something." Then her eyes went wide and she bounced in her seat. "Oh! No! I've got a better idea. We'll meet for breakfast next year, and I'll bring it with me! Then you can read it and look into it further!"

Draco's heart flipped in a familiar and troublesome manner at the hint of seeing Hermione again when he woke. The Hermione before him reminded him more of the one from his time than the school-girl had, but it still wasn't her. This Hermione had years to go before she became the woman who started a school for young magical children, welcoming them from families both magical and Muggle. Her aims were to introduce muggle-born children to the wizarding world much earlier in life, and to give children born to wizarding families a chance to meet the children they would go to Hogwarts with while gaining some understanding of the Muggle world in return.

That woman, Scorpius's favorite teacher, was someone he very much wanted to know better.

Still, getting to know this version of her was nice.

"That sounds fine." His words were stiff, he knew, but only because he was trying so very hard not to show how pleased he was. "We should go somewhere Muggle; we can't run the risk of being seen together."

Her eyes widened. "Somewhere Muggle? You... you go to Muggle places?"

"What?" He smirked. "Don't you?"

Her cheeks pinked prettily. "I—no of course—I was only—" She paused and gathered herself. "The Draco Malfoy I know would never stoop to visiting a Muggle establishment."

"Ah, but the Draco Malfoy you think you know in this time has always been an arse. He gets better, I assure you. Perhaps he's like a fine wine, growing deeper and richer with age." He shook his head. "Or he realized that Muggles make some amazing sweets and his disapproval couldn't extend as far as that. Have you ever had an Aero? Smarties? Or what about a deep-fried Mars?"

Hermione laughed. "All right, fair."

The guard outside pounded in the door again, more insistently than before.

"There's a café near my parents' old office in London. They serve delicious bangers and mash. Let's meet there at nine, next year."

Draco nodded. "Just tell me where to go."

She hurriedly scratched an address onto a piece of parchment. Draco did his best to memorize the information before she tucked it back into her bag.

"I'll be there at nine." He smiled. Hermione stood and Draco did as well. "Thank you for visiting. Really. It meant... a lot." He frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Come to think of it, I don't remember you visiting, so I hope there aren't any major effects to the timeline."

"I've thought about that." Her eyes suddenly shone with excitement. "Oh, it's too bad you only have a day in each year, there's so much to talk about! Anyway, your past self doesn't remember because it isn't your past self I'm talking to!"

"But what happens to him on these days when I'm here instead?" Draco frowned. "Surely he'd have noticed gaps in his memory."

Hermione bit her lip. "That's a good question. Maybe you'll have a chance to ask someone."

The door opened and a very annoyed guard poked his head in. "Time is up, Miss."

"I'm coming!"

The guard glanced at Draco suspiciously, then shut the door.

Hermione tucked her wand away. "I'll see you in a year."

"And I will see you tomorrow." He grinned.

ooo

4.26.00

Silk sheets.

Draco smiled even before opening his eyes. After trying to fall asleep on what could only be called a slab of rock, walking up in his own bed, with his own sheets, was glorious.

He stretched fully, ready to enjoy just lying in bed for a few minutes before he got up to meet Hermione. When his foot touched something warm under the sheets, he froze.

Eyes wide, he slowly turned his head to see what—or, more likely, whom—he had touched. He groaned inwardly at the sight of a beautiful witch with long, black hair asleep beside him; the was sheet down around her waist, exposing her bare upper body.

Shit.

He carefully glanced around the room, relieved to see that it wasn't his own. He could see some of his clothes strewn on the floor. His head was beginning to pound.

Lovely.

He needed to leave before the woman woke up; another look at her told him he didn't remember her name. But then, now that he thought about it, he had gone through something of a phase in the months leading up to the official start of his courtship with Astoria. During said phase, he'd wanted to enjoy his freedom for as long as he possibly could, with as many people as he could.

Thankfully, that meant that what he'd done the night before hadn't been anything more than a one-off. Draco carefully slid out of the bed and hunted for his shorts. His trousers were easy to find at the foot of the bed and he saw his shirt by the door. His tie was, unfortunately, under the woman's head; he'd have to leave it. Only, maybe it was a very important tie! What if it played an important role in his life? Well, he'd decide what to do once he was ready to leave. He gathered the rest of his things and was almost done tying his shoes when the woman made a sound.

He looked up to find her watching him. "Um, morning. Er, any chance I could have my tie back?"

She narrowed her eyes and pulled the sheet up to cover herself. "You're leaving? You told me we'd be in bed all day!"

"Um… change of plans." Draco stood to his full height. "I have to go now."

The woman scoffed and grabbed his tie, wadded it up, then threw it at him. He tried not to cringe as the designer silk creased.

"Right, well, goodbye then."

He Disapparated without waiting for her reply.

ooo

He arrived in his own room and let a long sigh of relief. His peace didn't last long, however, because Kippy popped into his room mere seconds after he relaxed.

"The mistress is asking for you, Master Draco. She is in the breakfast room, Sir." Kippy bowed low and popped away.

Draco sighed. He showered as quickly as possible and got dressed for his breakfast with Hermione.

Narcissa was just finishing her tea when he walked in. She peered at him over the rim of her cup. "What was her name this time?"

Draco froze. "Um, excuse me?"

She let out a dramatic breath. "Don't play dumb, son. I know you didn't sleep here last night. Who she was doesn't really matter, but kindly remember that you begin courting Astoria within a fortnight. And it won't do for you to be sleeping around while that's going on."

He blushed, mortified to be having this conversation. "I remember, Mother. I will do my duty."

"Good. See that you do." Narcissa stood and smoothed her robes. "I'm having lunch with her mother today to finalize some things. I trust you'll behave tonight when we have dinner with them?"

Draco nearly choked on his tea. "Dinner with the Greengrasses?"

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "It's been scheduled for a month, Draco. Really, this inattention to detail is so unlike you. It's her birthday, remember? She's been given special permission to leave school for the evening, and we're meeting them at Hogsmeade at seven. We chose a beautiful, diamond bracelet from the family vault as a gift. She's going to be a Malfoy, so we might as well help her look the part."

"What time?" He checked his watch; he had ten minutes to meet Hermione.

"Seven-thirty, but we'll arrive together, so you must be home by seven to be sure you're properly dressed."

"Yes, Mother." Draco made a mental note to find his father's Pensieve. He needed to watch his memory of this evening to ensure he said everything perfectly. He stooped to kiss her cheek then started for the door.

"Draco," she called in her most obnoxiously suspicious voice. "Where are you in such a hurry to get to? Not another rendezvous, I hope?"

"No, just breakfast. And I don't want to be late. Goodbye, Mother."

Draco hurried away before she could call him back, then Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. He slipped through the door into Muggle London, then cursed as he remembered he didn't have any Muggle money with him.

He caught the attention of a taxi driver and gave him the address. He'd be late, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Hopefully she would wait for him.

When they arrived, twelve minutes after nine, Draco pretended to look for some money.

"Oh no, I don't have my wallet. Look, I'm meeting someone inside, let me run in and ask her to help." He didn't wait for a reply but rushed from the car and into the café.

Hermione was indeed there, watching him curiously. He hurried to her table.

"Hi. Quick. I don't have, um, the right change for the driver."

Hey eyes went wide and she quickly scrounged through her bag. She handed him a credit card, which he accepted gratefully.

He hurried outside, paid his bill, and apologized, then returned. When he sat down, he was winded.

"Thanks." He handed the card back to her. "I'll pay you back. I—tomorrow, I'll go to the bank first thing, then we can meet and I'll give it to you."

Hermione put her card away with an amused expression, then sipped from her cup of tea. "No need. I can handle a one-time taxi ride."

"I mean it. Let me pay you back."

The server came by, a harried-looking woman with light brown hair thrown up in a messy bun whose name tag read 'Olivia.' Once they'd both placed their orders and were alone again, Hermione handed him the book of fairy tales she'd shown him the day before. "I've read the tale in question at least a dozen times. I don't think it's exactly what you're experiencing, but it's awfully close."

Draco flipped to the table of contents. "I can read this now, I suppose."

"Oh, no need. Just send it back via owl before the end of the day."

He nodded and set the book aside, interested in what she'd found and noting that the book looked exactly the same as it had the day before, which meant she'd taken very good care of it in the year since she last saw him. Not that he'd expect anything less from her. .

"I bet it's exhausting, bouncing through time like you're doing. What's going on with your life right now?" She seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.

Draco shrugged. "It's like I told you yesterday. At the end of the Hogwarts school year, I'm beginning an official courtship with… my future wife." He'd nearly slipped and said her name but caught himself just in time. It was crucial that he protect this part of his future just as fiercely as he'd protected the events surrounding the war. He couldn't risk something happening and Scorpius not being born. "At this point in my life, I'm… well, very much not… well, strictly speaking—" He felt his cheeks burn as he tried to say he was shagging anyone who'd let him in slightly more palatable terms.

She arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

The food arrived, and Olivia apologized for the wait. "We're a bit short-staffed this morning, but let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled at her.

Olivia smiled back, relief evident in her expression. "Enjoy your food."

Hermione waited until she was well out of earshot before continuing. "You're exploring your options?"

He let out his breath. "Er, something like that. While knowing that none of it matters and my marriage is set." He wondered what Hermione was thinking of him as he pushed the food around on his plate. "I didn't stray an inch once our vows were said.".

Hermione swirled her spoon in her teacup. "You've every right, of course." Then she stirred it faster, pursing her lips, finally setting the spoon down so quickly a few drops of tea splattered onto the table. "There's something I've been wondering since the first time we interacted. Way back in third year. I'm just going to ask because it's been on the tip of my tongue many times but I've never worked up the nerve to actually say it."

"Go on." Draco didn't know what to expect; that was a bit unnerving.

"It's… about my name. You've called me Hermione since that first day, not once slipping into using my last name. It was surprising then, and it still catches me off guard."

He chuckled and took another bite, relieved even though he didn't know why. "You're right. I think of you as Hermione. I have for a long time now. Come to think of it, I haven't heard you call me anything except my last name."

Hermione cleared her throat. "That's… true. You're right. I suppose I don't think of you as… as Draco."

"I see." He grinned. "Well, you should."

"What are you doing for the rest of your day—Draco? See, I did it."

"Right. It wasn't totally awkward or anything." He sighed and set down his fork. He'd ordered the meal Hermione had mentioned the day before and it had been a fabulous decision. It was definitely the best meal he'd had since this whole mess began. It was hard to believe it had only been seven days, since so much had happened and he'd had to be so careful to keep things straight, but after Azkaban food the day before, this meal tasted better than he'd imagined possible.

"And the rest of your day? Draco?" She gave him a teasing smile. "I'll just have to say your name a lot to get used to it. Draco."

He shook his head and smiled. "Uh, nothing really until this afternoon, when I have a few meetings. Mother and I are dining out with family friends." He swallowed hard. "That's not quite true. By friends I mean my, um, future bride and her family." Why did it feel so hard and unpleasant to tell her? "But that's not until much later."

She moved her dishes aside and leaned forward on the table. There was something mischievous in her eyes that made his heart do funny things. "Want to go to a museum with me?"

Draco blinked. "A museum?"

"The National Gallery is having a special on admission today, and since you're not busy, I think we should go."

Draco's bewildered expression slowly morphed into a grin. "Yeah. All right. That sounds great."

Hermione took out her credit card again, eyeing it and then him as she handed it to the server. "I just realized you had no issue handling the transaction with the taxi driver."

"I'm full of surprises. Who knows what you'll discover after a few hours with me in a museum?"

"I look forward to that very much." She took her card back from the server and gathered her things.

As Draco eyed the card, an idea popped into his head. "First you paid for the taxi, then breakfast, and now you're taking me to a Muggle museum? You must let me pay you back."

She hummed lightly. "There's no need. Though, if you must do something, next year, you can buy breakfast."

He grinned and his nerves fired in a pleasantly twisted kind of way. He had no intention of trying to ignore it or fight it today. "Fine. But a bit later in the day, I'll need time to get to the bank."

"Deal. Where?" She snapped her bag shut and signed the credit card slip.

"How about here?"

"Perfect."

Draco stood. "I want to hear about your year. Every time you ask what's going on with me, and at first, I had some general knowledge of what you were up to because we were both in school." They headed for the exit. "And I didn't want to ask too much for fear my reactions might give something away. But I want to hear what you've been doing since Hogwarts. I was always curious, kept expecting to see you and Weasley in the papers together."

Hermione pushed open the door and looked around. "Well, I'll be happy to fill you in. But first, shall we Apparate?"

"Um, that's fine, but are you sure it's safe?" It was always a risk to Apparate in and around London.

Hermione nodded firmly and held out her arm. "I know just the place."

Draco hesitated only because he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to be too close to Hermione. But, as there was no way to avoid it, he stepped closer, looping his arm through hers. He was very aware of her then, how she was at least eight inches shorter than him, how her hair, which she'd worked to contain in a loose bun, was beginning to break free. He thought he caught a whiff of something floral as she led him to an alley.

But it was when her hand slid down his arm, grasping his so she could lead him better, that fireworks exploded inside him. He'd never felt anything like it, and for a moment, he was slightly alarmed. The feeling passed quickly, however, because he discovered that it was rather pleasant, this constant bombardment of sensations that made him feel like he might come out of his skin.

It certainly made him want to tug her closer and kiss her.

But before he could even think, she'd gotten them into position, pressed against a wall behind a dumpster. Their backs were against the brick, and Hermione had her eyes on the street, waiting for a good opportunity.

Finally, she linked arms with him once more. "Ready?"

He swallowed hard and nodded, completely unsure if he could even form words.

"Let's go."

ooo

Later that day, when he was stuck in a meeting he hadn't wanted to sit through the first time around, he couldn't keep himself from smiling as his thoughts drifted toward Hermione. He'd had more fun that day than any other he could ever remember. Leaving her for something as mundane and boring as work had been difficult, and he'd seriously considered skipping. Why couldn't he simply throw all of his responsibilities out the window? If only he didn't have to worry about being careful.

Maybe that was the key? Maybe he'd learn something from that fairy tale that would show him what he was experiencing wasn't real. Of course, if it wasn't real, then everything he did truly was pointless.

But it felt real, too real to be simply a dream.

When Hermione had taken his hand earlier, whenever they'd brushed up against each other in the museum—his body had reacted. He'd felt things, sensations he hadn't experienced in many years, and he knew that those stirrings he'd felt for the future Miss Granger were now blossoming into a full-blown attraction.

He realized that if they continued spending time together, he was in danger of falling for her one day at a time as he jumped forward through the years. The worst part of it all was not knowing what would happen when he caught up to himself. If he just continued to jump forward, he'd be devastated knowing he could never truly be with her.

A cough in the conference room drew his attention back to the financial report in front of him. The numbers blurred together as his eyes unfocused, his thoughts straying to an especially beautiful work of art that Hermione had seemed to prefer over all others. Maybe someday, if he stopped skipping through time, he'd see about buying her a really nice reproduction of the piece.

But then, the numbers swam back into focus, and he sat up.

Theo, who didn't even work for him yet, was going to wrest the company from him ten years from this day. He'd be left with nothing but his personal vault, which wouldn't last him forever. He needed a source of income after the takeover, something to help him until he could sort things out.

The meeting ended and Draco rushed from the room. He went straight to Gringotts and opened a new account, setting up an automatic transfer that would move ten thousand Galleons a month from the Malfoy Industries account into the new one. It was perfectly legal; the money was his, after all, and the wizarding world's financial laws were minimal at best. He set up wards around the vault in case anyone came looking who shouldn't. Then he put spells on the account name itself; should anyone come across it in various paperwork over the years, they would immediately forget what they'd seen.

It was perfect.

He grinned, knowing that when he got back to the future, he would have quite a nice nest egg and be in an excellent position to start something new or make an investment or two.

Maybe he'd ask Hermione to go on a trip around the world with him.

Maybe he'd buy her the actual painting from the museum.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd ask her on a date.