On Friday morning, Draco sighed as his eyes snapped open. He'd gone to bed so early last night after mulling over his appointment that he'd awoken just before dawn. Taking care of the more shameful part of his new morning routine (why yes he did in fact begin each morning with a raging hard-on for Granger, thank you for asking) he dragged himself down to the dining room.

He felt completely spent, emotionally and physically, after his breakdown yesterday and subsequent angst-inducing discussion with Healer Browning. Fine, he could admit he missed Granger. He could admit he cared about her. But now what the hell was he supposed to do with this information? Browning may have dismissed the last obstacle as simply "fear" but to Draco it wasn't so trite. Honestly, what if she truly did not feel the same way? What if she was more comfortable being friends with him? What if he was so hopelessly forgettable that one week away was enough for her to remember how much better her life was without him in the picture?

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"Good morning sir," Crick suddenly piped up from beside him.

"Er, good morning."

"Apologies, sir, but as you retired so early last night I held the evening post for you. Here you are." The tiny elf handed him two pieces of mail then disappeared before Draco could even thank him.

In his hands he found a letter from his mother which he summarily tossed aside in favor of a far more interesting item. It was a postcard. A postcard from Venice.

Letting out a breath he was unconsciously holding, he slowly turned the card over. Neat script he knew to be Granger's covered the entire back.

Greetings from Venice!

I'm writing this while camped out on the Bridge of Two Suns, and honestly, I'm not sure how to describe the magic I witnessed as the sun set on the water and simultaneously rose on the opposite side. Truly, I cannot thank you enough for the recommendation, it put my mind at ease just as I was beginning to fret over my upcoming presentation. I've already booked time in the ancient scrolls section of the magical library here and before you roll your eyes and call me an 'unrepentant nerd who wouldn't know fun if it hexed her in the face' I've decided to research the magical properties of this phenomenon. There must be an explanation for this occurrence, I'm sure. There's an elemental quality to the magic, but I'm positive older writings can shed light on whether a branch of divination is also involved. Not that I'm convinced of that mind you, I think you know how I feel about that particular subject. All this to say, the city is very beautiful and I'm glad you shared this travel tip with me, even if the experience was on my own. Try not to eat all the café's blueberry scones while I'm away, please.

See you soon,

Hermione

Draco read through her message once, twice, three times, then a couple more for good measure. Several minutes later and he had the damn thing memorized.

"Unrepentant nerd who wouldn't know fun if it hexed her in the face," did sound exactly like the sort of playful insult he'd lob her way. He chuckled at the image of her eyes narrowing while he smirked at her, before she'd eventually crack and let a smile loose.

Merlin he missed her smile. And her glares. And how easy it was to irritate her.

There it was again: that pesky sprouting of hope inside his chest. She'd thought to send him a letter during her trip. And since this had arrived Thursday, it meant she'd most likely sent this owl on her very first evening. Trying not to dwell on what that might mean, he tucked the missive into his inner breast pocket and left for work.

I am okay with this.

Roughly once an hour, he'd take it out again and read it, despite already knowing the entire contents backwards and forwards. Did she really end up at the library later in the week? How had her presentation gone? When she wrote she was glad he shared something with her but lamented she was experiencing it solo, did that mean she wished he was there too?

Gods, the level of swottiness dripping from her writing was uncharted. Who goes to look through dusty old scrolls while on an Italian trip? He indulged himself in a sudden fantasy of interrupting her studying of ancient magic by sweeping aside her hair and kissing up her neck. Eventually things would escalate to such a degree that he'd pin her against the bookshelves and have his wicked way with her.

This would go down as the most unproductive work week of Draco's entire career.

On Saturday morning, Draco felt as if the walls of his home were closing in on him. Deciding to go out into the world and not fall victim to his own stir craziness, he apparated to the alley near the Muggle coffee shop. The little city square in front of the café was filled with weekend vendors, playing host to a small farmer's market. Striding through the stalls to get to the café, Draco came to a dead stop after passing by a row of flowers.

Hermione.

He whipped his head around frantically, searching for her. She had to be near, he had caught such a powerful surge of her flowery scent just seconds ago.

Stalking back up through the rows of flower stalls, he came to a stop again as a light breeze came through and swept the intoxicating smell into his nostrils.

Hermione.

There it was again. Despite knowing for a fact that her portkey wasn't due to return her to England until late tomorrow night, he craned his neck around to see if she was hiding just out of sight. Instead of the person he wanted to see more than anything in the world at that moment, his eyes fell on a collection of flowers he didn't recognize.

They were potted plants of varying colors: white, pink, and a blue/purple, all with shiny bright green leaves. The more mature ones with more flowers than tightly closed buds rose to roughly a foot high out of their dirt. He dragged a finger along an open plant and admired the soft yet strong petals that grew in an almost conical shape. Picking up a pot containing a plant that was just about fully bloomed, Draco brought his nose to the purple petals and took a deep inhale. Hermione. He'd finally solved the mystery of that floral scent that accompanied her everywhere.

"These flowers, what are they called?" he demanded of the stooped Muggle gentleman who ran the stall.

"Hyacinths," he croaked. "Not great for bouquets, but yeh can plant the bulbs and they'll grow all right with a decent bit o' sun. They show up in spring."

Draco nodded and scooped up as many as he could carry. He bought fully bloomed hyacinths that were already leaking their addicting fragrance and several that had tightly closed buds so green it was impossible to tell which color they'd display.

Forgetting all about coffee, Draco returned to the Ministry-approved apparition point to take his floral purchases home. He deposited his new garden bounty on the dining room table and summoned Crick.

The usually impassive house-elf cast a wary eye over the amount of flowers residing on the pristine antique dining table.

"How may I be of service, sir?"

"Do you know anything about planting flowers?"

"I do sir, the landscaping upkeep falls to me here at Franklin House."

Draco bit his lip and nodded. His elves were still a bit of a mystery to him and seemed content to fulfill their various roles and responsibilities without much direction. Draco knew there was some sort of division of labor between Crick and Watson but could never remember which task fell to which elf (besides cooking, which was solely Watson).

"Right, well I'd like these planted along the verandah in the back of the estate."

Crick approached the table and lifted one of the hyacinths off to inspect it closer.

"I can certainly re-pot these outside, however this type of bulb will need to be planted in the autumn in order for it to succeed. If you don't mind my recommendation sir, I can plant these closed buds which will sprout for you in a few weeks. I suppose they will need to be revisited in autumn to set their proper tending schedule. The ones that have prematurely bloomed will better serve you as display plants indoors. Would you prefer me to place the bloomed plants throughout the home?"

"Yes, I'd like them displayed here in the dining room, the library, and several in my bedchambers."

"Very good sir," and Draco watched as the little elf immediately banished half the pots outside and began levitating the others to different areas of the room.

Leaving Crick to it, Draco retired to the desk in the library to review some documents sent over from his solicitors. Not ten minutes later, two potted hyacinths appeared in ornate pottery along one of the tall window ledges. Crick had obviously disposed of the inferior, plastic Muggle containers in favor of something more befitting of a wealthy estate.

Chuckling, Draco wondered what Hermione would make of him setting his elf with the task of decorating his home with spring flowers. Only one more day without her…

Granger was late. Draco impatiently checked his watch again for the sixth time in the last two minutes and let out an irritated huff. His coffee was growing colder and his temper growing shorter.

Maybe something had gone wrong with her portkey? He'd asked her to owl him when she returned, but if she'd gotten in late last night perhaps she didn't think that to be necessary? She didn't owe him a thing.

He sat for a few more minutes debating with himself on whether he should confront her outside her own home, now that he knew where she lived. It was only a quick few blocks from the café after all. He ultimately decided that would only come across as monumentally creepy, and what if she didn't want to see him? Had he even considered that this infatuation was one sided?

Still, she had taken the time to write him a postcard. Draco took the paper memento out from his inner breast pocket and read through it again, her written words calming him momentarily. Come on Granger, where are you?

She doesn't want to see you, don't you get it? His subconscious hissed at him.

Pathetic, really, how you need her, yet she can't be bothered to let you know she's returned.

You missed her, and worse, you're in lo—

Draco put up his occlumency shields and took deep, calming breaths. Once he regained control of his runaway thoughts, he realized he'd be late to work if he didn't get a move on. He sighed as he trudged morosely down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets. He'd woken up this morning feeling a thrill of anticipation at being reunited with Hermione and hearing her excited voice as she waxed lyrical about everything she learned at the conference.

But no, apparently Draco was not an important enough feature in her life for her to care that she'd stood him up at their usual morning meeting. Of course he should have expected something like this, but it still caused a pang of hurt within his chest. She'd had all that time to herself to rethink their dynamic, and Draco had a feeling he knew which conclusion she'd drawn.

He was steps away from the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron when he heard his name.

"Malfoy!"

He ignored the call, believing it to be his mind playing tricks on him.

"Malfoy, wait up!"

He stopped his forward progress and closed his eyes, hardly daring to believe it was her voice calling out to him. Draco opened his eyes as he turned around slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

There, half-walking, half-running towards him in the springtime sun, hair flying wildly behind her, jacket buttoned incorrectly and work bag unclasped as it hung precariously from her shoulder, was Hermione. She looked disheveled, exhausted, and beyond beautiful.

Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much.

She smiled brightly as she approached, her eyes sparkling and cheeks pink from her furious pace toward him.

"Hello," she said, slightly breathless, looking up hopefully at him.

And despite the unmitigated joy that sprang to life within him at the sight of her, despite the urge to hold her to his chest and never let go, something more sinister fought its way to the surface of his mind. How dare she make him feel so miserable for days on end? How dare she leave him waiting for her to show this morning? So what if the mere sight of her made him happier than he'd been in days, didn't she know how he'd suffered in her absence? Did she even care?

His pride was going to be the death of him.

"Returned from your big trip, have you?" he questioned coldly, and tried not to regret his tone when her face fell in a mixture of hurt and surprise.

"Y-yes. There was a mix-up with the timing of my portkey at the Italian Ministry, and I didn't arrive home until well after midnight, and then I completely overslept this morning," she rushed out.

It was a logical and truthful-sounding explanation and it should have mollified Draco. Not that he had any cause to be angry with her at all, but he seemed to have only one setting this morning: emotionally self-destructive.

"Yes, well not all of us have the luxury of being late to work after a glamorous jaunt to the continent, so I best be going," he drawled. Her stricken and confused face chipped away at the iciness in his heart, but his outward expression remained unmoved.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry, really it wasn't—"

"See you tomorrow, Granger, that is, if you have the time in your busy schedule for me," he clipped and turned abruptly on his heel and stalked off to work.

I am a prize idiot. That was the first thought Draco had when he woke the next morning. He just couldn't stay out of his own way, could he?

The guilt he'd felt at the way her whole demeanor had crumbled because of his surliness ate away at him the second he'd reached his office. I mean really, was he actively trying to drive her away?

Well not today. Today Draco was going to be so fucking pleasant she'd remember that he wasn't a complete prick and that perhaps he did have some redeeming qualities after all.

He received a surprise when he entered the café: Hermione was already seated at their table wringing her hands nervously.

Prize. Fucking. Idiot.

"Good morning," she said cautiously, as if speaking to a frightened animal.

"Granger, look I—" He sat down and noticed she'd already gotten his coffee for him. Not only had he made her feel terrible for having the gall to oversleep after returning from a career-defining trip, she clearly felt like she owed him. Will there ever be a time when I'm not an awful human being?

"I'm sorry about yesterday Malfoy, I didn't mean—"

"Don't, Granger. You don't have to say anything. I hadn't slept well the night before and I wasn't my best self." I'm sorry I'm a giant man-child who doesn't know how to process complex emotions.

She offered him a tentative smile. "How was your week? Were you able to get loads of work done without me talking your ear off about runes?"

"It was fine, I suppose." Lie. It was akin to fucking torture. It took a mental breakdown and an emergency healing session to discover that I bloody missed you. Gods, I missed you.

"But come now, don't leave me in suspense. Did you receive the proper accolades and praise for your brilliant presentation? How much over the time limit did you go?"

His light teasing worked, and the smile on her face turned more genuine. As she launched into a retelling of her presentation, Draco lost himself in the sound of her voice. The emptiness that had festered within him all last week was slowly being snuffed out the longer she talked. She chatted rapidly, without pause, and Draco wondered if she'd stored all this up just for him. Her presentation had been flawless, of course, not that she worded it that way, but so vivid was her description, Draco could imagine sitting in the audience, rapt with attention at the level of detail Granger included in her talk.

She was blinding in her magnificence and it had taken him too long to see.

"…and then of course by the time Paulo gave me the tour of the section on ancient—"

"Who?"

"Oh, Paulo Pescaro? I was fortunate enough to make his personal acquaintance, I couldn't believe it, I mean I cited eight of his works in my discussion and—"

"Gave you a personal library tour, did he?"

So is that what had Granger so distracted that she was late returning from Italy? She met some dashing, Italian intellectual and spent all her time cuddling in cozy library corners, all thoughts of Draco quite forgotten?

"Yes, considering one of the sections is actually named after him, it was quite the honor to—"

"A little inappropriate, wouldn't you say? Fraternizing after hours alone with some wizard you just met?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Draco refused to retract his baseless accusation.

"Excuse me? Do you honestly think I'd…? You know what?" She cut herself off and stood abruptly.

"I don't have time for dramatics today Malfoy, so think what you like about me and my inappropriate behavior." And with that, she collected her bag and swept out of the café, leaving Draco to stare into his coffee cup and regret the day he was ever born.

Prize. Fucking. Idiot.

I missed you.

I am okay with this.

The next morning, Draco was first to the cafe. As he sipped his beverage, he wondered if Granger would even show after his immature outburst yesterday, but she didn't disappoint. No, Draco currently cornered the market on disappointing behavior.

She approached him with a cool glare and settled down across from him.

"Morning, Granger." He spoke first to break the silence when it was clear she wouldn't be greeting him amicably this morning. Though he'd been taught by his father that speaking first during a tense discussion or negotiation was a sign of weakness, Draco thought it best to practice some form of humility after yesterday.

"He's at least forty years my senior, married with five grown children, one of the most respected Mermish scholars in Europe, and my professional relationships are always strictly that, professional."

"What the hell are you…? Oh. Right."

"Right indeed. How could you even think I'd be so shallow a person as to use a professional educational conference as some sort of opportunity to indulge in a romantic rendezvous? Do you really think so low of me? Am I the type of empty-headed, flighty person that is so easily distracted by good looks? Even if Paulo had been much younger and rather handsome, what would it even matter? Why would you assume the worst of me?"

She never raised her voice, but the disappointment came across loud and clear and Draco felt like he'd been hexed in the gut. None of the responses that flitted across his mind seemed worthy of her earnest questions.

You did nothing wrong Granger, not one thing wrong, not now, not ever. My jealousy knows no bounds.

I'm so insecure and emotionally stunted that I barely survived a week of your absence and upon your return made you feel as if you'd committed some betrayal because I'm king of getting in my own way.

Everyone leaves me: my parents, Crabbe, Snape, Theo, and then you, and I couldn't take another person walking away from me.

I don't know what we are to each other anymore and it fucking terrifies me. But I know what I want. I want you, I want to court you properly, I want you in every single way it's possible to want another person. I'm on new ground here, Granger and I need help because I'm so lost when it comes to you.

He cleared his throat and tried to sift through the tumultuous emotions and thoughts. Granger deserved a straight answer, he owed her that much.

"I'm sorry." There, a promising start. Her gaze had softened to a more patient look, but retained a stern quality. He had hurt her and she wasn't going to let him off so lightly with just a vague apology.

"I didn't mean to imply anything untoward, I just—" I missed you. But he couldn't say the words. Couldn't admit the weakness. Coward.

"I obviously shouldn't have insinuated something sordid, you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry I was such a git to you yesterday and the day before. That was hardly the reaction you were hoping for upon your return, was it?"

"No. It wasn't," she replied softly, still pinning him to the chair with her brown eyes. What were you hoping for, Granger?

"Well, now that we've established what an absolute rubbish listener I am, would you be so kind as to regale me with the rest of your trip?"

She recovered quickly and launched back into her description of the other conference sessions she'd been fortunate enough to attend and Draco tried to ignore the hint of sadness that still lurked in her eyes.

The rest of the work week was both wonderful familiarity and exquisite torture for Draco. The pair of them seemed to have fallen right back into the comfort and ease of their morning routine friendship, as if they hadn't spent a glorious night in her bed discovering the feeling of their bodies together. It was two steps forward, and now five steps back.

Of course, that didn't stop Draco from fantasizing about her constantly. Almost every time she opened her mouth, he envisioned his name falling sinfully from her lips. Every time she turned her head and he caught a glimpse of her neck, he imagined peppering her skin with kisses from her throat to her ear. Every time she swept her hair off her shoulders, he remembered how it looked flying behind her while she rode him.

He felt helpless and out of his depth. How was he supposed to make his intentions known to her? Should he wait for Granger to broach the topic of a relationship? Were they just going to forever ignore the sexual tension that had culminated in two rounds of unbridled passion?

When Friday rolled around, Draco felt adrift despite having Hermione back in his life regularly. They'd resumed their friendly discussions so easily, would he be mucking it all up by mentioning he wanted more?

Further, why was this incumbent upon him to pursue? If she wanted him at all, well he was right in front of her wasn't he? His mood was souring quickly once more and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he snapped irritably at her.

"Any weekend plans?" Her question broke into his sulking fit but only fed his bitterness.

"None," he clipped. "And yourself?"

She pushed some hair off her face and thought for a moment. "Ginny wants to catch up, so we have brunch plans tomorrow. On Sunday I have dinner at the Weasleys."

And what about me, hmm? Aren't I entitled to just a sliver of your time? He thought petulantly.

"Ah yes, Merlin forbid you miss one week of the intellectual stimulation from that clan. Tell me, do you positively thrive on the illuminating academic discussions from that brood? Or does everyone sit around and count how many turkey legs your ex-boyfriend can stuff down his gob?"

"Must you be so rude? Why are you in such a foul mood today?"

"Maybe this is just who I am Granger, did your oversized brain ever consider that? Why pretend anything different? But perhaps my personality is too unsavory for you, so I won't bother you a moment longer," he gave her a well-practiced sneer and stormed out of the café.

The second the door shut behind him, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He knew his misplaced anger and frustration had been directed at the wrong person, and yet he just couldn't help himself from lashing out at Hermione. He'd wanted to spend time outside of the coffee shop with her again, but was wary of being rejected and thus, a tantrum.

If you never ask anything of other people, you aren't giving them the opportunity to say yes, echoed Healer Browning's voice in his mind.

Merlin's fucking bollocks, if he could just swallow his pride for two damn seconds, he might be able to salvage the situation with Granger. Gritting his teeth, he turned around and strode purposefully back into the café.

"Granger," he barked, coming to stop in front of her. "Have dinner with me tonight. My place."

She merely arched a brow and regarded him coolly for a moment, giving Draco time to add a reluctant and softer "Please," to his abrupt demand.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and considered his statement. "All right," she finally agreed, but with a small frown.

"All right?"

"Yes," she affirmed, and now looked slightly smug.

Draco rocked back a little on his heels awkwardly, realizing what absolute rubbish he was at inviting a woman he fancied into his home.

"Er, okay, great. How's 7?"

"7 is perfect."

"I'll have the Floo open if that works best. Call out Franklin House, Berkshire."

"Got it, can I bring anything?"

No, all I need is you.

"Just yourself."

"All right, then I'll be seeing you later I suppose."

Draco gave a jerk of his head that he hoped functioned as a parting nod and instead of waiting for her to walk to work, thought it might be best if he had some time alone to both castigate himself for being an utter wanker and then congratulate himself for turning it around before it was too late.

Because tonight he'd have Granger all to himself, and he'd be damned if he fucked it up this time.

A/N: Everyone who comes across this story and decides to give it a read/follow/comment makes me beyond grateful. Thank you so much. Find me on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.