"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

Hermione browsed through the mystery section of Familiar Books, her favorite bookshop in Diagon Alley. Saturday had turned out to be more than just warm—hellishly hot would be a better description—and the only thing a sane person could do was buy a book and a picnic and take it to Green Park to sit under a tree with very deep shade and read the afternoon away. She was rather pleased at hitting on this plan after moaning about the heat in the sweltering flat for most of the morning. Ginny and Harry had invited her to the cinema with them, which had sounded appealing because of the air con, until she looked at the film choices. Explosions or rom-com, no thanks. So the park it would be.

And she needed something good to read along with the lovely cheese, figs and baguette she had picked up at the fancy market. A mystery seemed a little autumnal, but she was in the mood light, but clever. Her eyes darted through the section until she spotted an Elizabeth Peters she had never read. Summer of the Dragon? "Oddly fitting," her brain thought dryly. She plucked the slim volume from the shelf and wheeled around to head to the till—and almost ran into… Draco Malfoy? AGAIN?

This really couldn't be happening, her rational mind protested. But there he was, leaning in the aisle, looking down at her with a bemused expression. He was dressed the polar opposite of how he'd been at the pub the other night. Then he'd been the picture of a perfectly tailored wizard. Today he looked like a cute muggle in a fitted button-down and impeccable summer weight trousers. His sleeves were rolled—his one nod to the record-breaking heat? Oh no, second nod—he was wearing trainers.

God, but rolled sleeves and bare forearms were a kink of hers… Was it possible he looked even more delicious as a muggle than as a wizard? Interesting internal debate for another time, Hermione. Now it's time to stop staring and say something. She dragged her eyes up to his and said brilliantly, "What are YOU doing here?" Lovely Granger, just lovely and very smooth.

"I saw you come in," he said with an enigmatic look.

"Well I. It's very hot as you know, and so I need a book." She was even more thrown off by the idea that he'd followed her. And why did he have to be so put together? She was sure she looked sweaty and disheveled. Her rolled shorts and blousy top, which seemed cute and weather-appropriate when she left the house, now felt so un-crisp.

"Yes the heat makes reading essential for me too." A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips.

"I mean, I'm going to the park to sit under a shade tree and wait out the heat," she said with a better attempt at clarity and lucidity. "And I'll need a book to while away the hours I plan to spend. Hence, being here, and shopping for said book."

"Splendid idea. I commend you," he replied, his eyes traveling lazily down her person.

"What are you doing to… beat the heat?" she asked, swallowing. Oh god that sounded like a masturbation reference. "Apparating to an ice house?" FUCK. She had to STOP.

His eyes flicked back up to hers and held. "Oh no, I was thinking of buying a book and a picnic and going to the park."

His eyes were really the most extraordinary shade of silvery grey, she mused, must be a recessive gene trait that went with the platinum hair… She'd gone silent for a beat as he looked expectantly at her.

She started. Did he want to join her? No, he couldn't! But that had sounded like he was fishing for an invitation. Her mind went into a panicked state. What did this mean? It seemed like he wanted to come? Otherwise why would he joke about that!? But what would they talk about all day? Had it been too long since she said something? Was she being unforgivably rude?

"Would you like to come with me?" she finally blurted. "It would be silly to just be… sitting under different trees." Mouth moving before brain again, she cursed herself. She used to be rather erudite and quick with him. What had he done to her mind-speech connection?

"I thought you'd never ask," his smile was dazzling in the dim stacks. She acquiesced in a daze and paid for her book. They were walking out of wizarding London before she could register what had happened.

"So where are we going?" he asked. "Hyde? St. James? Green?"

"Admirable knowledge of nearby Muggle parks," she said, shooting him an amused sideways glance. Being in a little less close proximity had seemed to afford her use of her brain again. "I like Green Park for days like this. Less crowded and bigger, more plentiful trees."

Their slow stroll—it was too hot to move quickly—gave Hermione a chance to fully restore her equilibrium, although walking next to him, glancing at his fine profile, was a bit intoxicating. She scoffed at herself for being shallow, but she couldn't deny that being so close to a tall, beautiful man was a turn-on. Some small, regressive part of her brain actually liked that people must think they were together. Distressing. She'd have to examine her feminist sensibilities later.

"Oh how did Daphne's birthday go the other night? Did she manage to wear that crown until the spell faded or did she get doused in glitter?"

"Absolutely covered," he responded with a grin.

Hermione laughed and put her hand over her mouth, "Oh no! What happened?"

"You know our Daph's a bit of a lush?" he asked, and Hermione nodded, still snickering. "Well she got absolutely blotto on these ridiculous shots Blaise kept ordering her. I told her shots are for amateurs," he sniffed.

Hermione laughed outright, nodding. She'd said the same thing many times herself.

"So eventually she went round the bend and decided she had to have the crown off. She kept trying to point her wand at it but her aim wasn't great and she took out a chandelier in this smart cocktail lounge we'd gone to. So we confiscated the wand and then she just got angry and tried to fling the crown at Blaise. I think she was hoping it would explode on its way and get him? But as soon as it left her head by a millimeter it was like a small, glitter-filled bomb went off," he laughed, shaking his head at the memory. "Her face, her hair. You know that muggle film Carrie?" Hermione nodded, really laughing now and also a bit impressed at his film knowledge. "Picture that, except glitter instead of blood."

"OhnonoNO, poor thing!" she gasped. "I hope you were all able to help her clean up!"

"Pansy knew a charm for removing cosmetic glue—do not ask because I have no idea why!" he said, holding up his hand and laughing at her horrified, yet fascinated, face. "But it worked and Daph was only a bit shiny by the time we got her home. Excellent night, though. You should have stayed on." His laugh turned into a half smile aimed at her. He looked so fucking adorable that whatever she was about to say in response flew out of her brain and she could only smile dumbly at him in response.

Luckily for Hermione's composure, or lack thereof, their steps had delivered them to the park's lush, emerald grounds. Most of the gigantic oaks scattered about the lawns already had groups of picnickers surrounding their bases. Hermione looked for a nice one and whispered a wandless spell. Suddenly the Muggles occupying the area dispersed—deciding to abandon their choice tree and sit far, far away.

Draco cut his eyes to her and whistled. "Damn, that was ruthless."

She grinned. "Oh I'll use my magical advantages to get the best shade."

~oOo~

Fucking adorable, Draco thought to himself. He cursed his use of that word. But he couldn't seem to help it when it came to her. She was adorable. "And bloody sexy," his brain added. He'd spotted her across the alley as she'd come out of the food market. Or more accurately, he'd been stopped dead in his tracks by her. Again. Especially her legs. Long, smooth and barely covered by some seriously short shorts that she'd rolled up to make even shorter. A clear attempt to drive men mad. His mind had gone straight to the gutter and his feet had followed her into the bookstore before he'd even known what he was doing. He'd had a vague plan to go to the Meadows and do some work today, maybe have lunch with Daph and Astor, but it had all gone out the window the moment he'd seen her. Whatever she was doing today he was now doing.

Something had changed when he'd found out she wasn't seeing Wickham. Before then he'd been attracted to her, but determined to fight it. Why get involved with someone who would pose… complications? He'd felt attraction and not acted on it many times. And the taint of Wickham had allowed his distaste to override his baser instincts. But now somehow his defenses had come down. He'd lost interest in fighting.

When he'd seen her at the bar the other night, he hadn't held himself back and their interaction had been a fucking delight. She was playful and fun and, needless to say, wickedly clever. And it didn't hurt that she'd made him want to cast a disillusionment charm on his arsehole friends and snog her senseless in the middle of the room. And then to top it off, she'd said no to his invitation to stay! He was so used to girls being overeager. He'd really had to hold himself back from flipping Blaise and Theo off and following her out the door.

They stepped into the deepest part of the tree's shelter and it felt at least ten degrees cooler. "Ahhhh" she said, stretching her arms overhead, which lifted her breasts beguilingly. Draco took a discreet deep breath and tried not very successfully to look elsewhere. Thank Merlin for sunglasses. "Now this is lovely. Where is that blanket?" She started digging in her small canvas shoulder bag, bringing out her book, a baguette, cheese, figs, a cutting board, a straw hat, a tube of sunscreen, a flask of water, something that looked like a small muggle electronic device, a few magazines, a deck of cards and finally a folded square of soft cloth. Draco's eyes had gotten wider the more she pulled out of the small sack.

"My God, woman, what else have you got in there?"

She rolled her eyes. "What is it with wizards being shocked by witch handbags? Haven't you ever seen an extension charm before?"

He just shook his head and grinned as she unfurled the square of blue patterned cloth and laid it down on the soft green. She distributed the other items around the blanket, muttered a quick repelling spell to keep others away and then sat down with a contented sigh. Draco dropped down next to her, elbows on his knees and wrists crossed as he took in the scene around them. They sat silently for a while, breathing in the sweet air and cooling down after their hot walk. Hermione passed him the water flask and he drank deeply, a bit struck by the casual intimacy of putting his mouth where hers had just been.

There was a lot of scope for people-watching in the immediate vicinity. One nearby group seemed to be all young women who, at the ripe hour of 11:30 am, were already pissed, if the number of empty wine bottles near their area was any indicator. They were also playing some form of tag that seemed to involve a lot of falling over and giggling. This was much to the amusement of a nearby group of boys, who were ogling the girls as they flashed thighs and knickers with their antics. Another group of mums with young children shot both girls and boys dirty looks as they sniffed and tsked at the rowdy behavior.

"Ahh muggle London," he sighed, watching them all from under his sunglasses.

"Don't be a snob."

"I'm not. I'm really not," he protested, wounded. "I have extreme affection for muggle London. I feel affectionate about this scene."

"Hmph, ok I guess," she slanted him a suspicious look.

"I'm serious." he took off his glasses off and looked back. "When things were bad after the war. Right after they let me out of prison, but people still openly hated me, I came here often. In fact, you know I have a ward? Daphne's sister?" Hermione nodded. "Well when she was small I used to take her to that play park right over there, " he pointed. "And then we'd go for ice lollies there," he pointed to a shop down across the street. "No one knew me and everyone was polite and pleasant. It was refreshing and at the risk of sounding like a total ponce, healing."

"I can see that," she said, tilting her head at him, her eyes soft. He wished at that moment, and probably for the tenth time since he'd seen her at that stupid networking event, that they didn't have the weight of their history between them.

Instead he murmured, "you know, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" she said, "for?"

"Just all of it," he said, suddenly very serious, looking deeply into her eyes. She looked back at him with eyebrows raised. "Bullying you when we were kids. Calling you names. Ever thinking badly of you for how you were born. For not doing more to stop my psychotic aunt."

"Draco, please," she stopped him, stopped the memories, laid her hand on his arm. "Thank you, but it's not necessary. I understand where you came from and you've done so much since then to show who you are. Your work. You helped raise a war orphan, for god's sake! And I do think people can change. Let's let the past stay in the past. Being here, together as… uh, friends, is enough."

He put his hand over hers. "Please let me."

"Ok... then I accept," she said slowly. He held her gaze and the atmosphere became rather charged. But suddenly she smirked and patted him. "Then I also apologize for hitting you in the face third year."

He laughed and withdrew his hand, running it through his hair. "Oh please. A mere slap."

"You didn't think so then!" she laughed. "Admit it, I dropped you to the floor!"

"Bitch," he chuckled, sliding his shades back on and leaning back on his folded hands. "You don't happen to have a pillow in that insane bag do you?"

She pulled one out and pitched it at him. He caught it and tucked it behind his head while she continued rummaging. "What will she pull out next, ladies and gents?" he announced at large, "a harpsichord? The three volume illustrated Hogwarts, a History? A sofa?"

"Arse," she muttered, pulling out another small electronic device. "It's a muggle music player. Didn't you mention you studied muggle music a bit when we were at Theo's?"

"Yes, I did, and it's now another interest of mine," he replied. "Far superior to any wizard- produced music, which is 99% shit."

"Ok I know you're reformed and all that, but to say something muggle is far superior than something from the magical world?"

"Oh there are a lot of muggle things I feel that way about," he said, slanting her a look.

~oOo~

Hermione suddenly got very busy with her music player as Draco settled back onto his pillow. Was he flirting with her? She couldn't quite tell. He'd definitely been much warmer at the pub. And now he was inviting himself on her outing, saying vaguely suggestive things, apologizing? If it were anyone else she'd suspect he was making a play, but her read of his signs was all muddled. She just couldn't trust that he was attracted to her or if it was her attraction to him sending all the signals. Ginny thought he was after her, but Ginny was sort of biased. And insanely confident. Hermione didn't lack for confidence, but Ginny could make her look like a wallflower at times.

Truthfully part of her thrilled to the idea of him. She hadn't been stimulated like this, well... ever. Her intellectual equal, funny, interesting and sophisticated, able to make her pulse speed up with a glance? God, just walking next to him earlier had gotten to her. But her cautious side held sway. As she'd told Ginny repeatedly, it was Malfoy, for fuck's sake. She just couldn't forget or ignore that. With their history and his reputation… and she flatly refused to be just another number in his lineup. He might play this charming role with many girls, like specifically that beautiful girl from the party and the Prophet, she reminded herself.

"Music, cars, clothing, design and architecture, food and restaurants, wine, whisky, psychology, just the sheer variety of experience, all far superior," he ticked on his fingers, addressing the tree tops. "I can't imagine going through life without incorporating the muggle world. It would be so limiting."

"I agree, obviously." She smiled at him, marveling at the change from the Malfoy of their youth. "And from my point of view, some pureblood families seem almost stunted in their ignorance of it."

"Thinking of the Weasleys?" he drawled. She swatted him on the shoulder.

"Hey! You just apologised for hitting me!" he protested. "And you have to admit that that family is a prime example of inbred wizarding weirdness. You should have married one of them and injected some fresh blood into the lineage."

"Well Ginny, Percy and Bill are taken and Charlie's gay, so I don't really see an option there," she said and then broke into laughter.

"Good point," he remarked, smiling at her appreciatively. "It's interesting to see your mean, bitchy side, Hermione. You know I quite like it."

She went to smack him again but he grabbed her arm. God he was quick. Time slowed down as she looked at her wrist encircled by his fingers, intimate as a caress, and felt a stab of pure, scalding lust. What would he do if she turned her wrist in his and stroked his face. Or if she leaned down and kissed him? Would he let her? Would it be sweet and light? Or would it be instantly hot—his hands tangled in her hair? Hermione had glazed over slightly with the possibilities, but he just tsked, and gently dropped her hand. She turned away and rummaged in her bag again to hide her confusion, withdrawing some plates and cutlery, to his renewed amusement. "Lunch?" she asked with only a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yes, please."

Hermione handed him a piece of bread and cheese liberally smeared with fig. He thanked her, leaned back on his elbows and contemplated the park.

"Draco." She prepared her own snack and took a bite. It was heaven; a perfect blend of sweet salty.

"Hmm?" he also seemed to be enjoying the food.

"How did the Meadows come about?" She licked some preserve off her thumb. He watched her from under lowered lids.

"Well," he straightened up. "It was also part of my foray into the muggle world. Once I spent more time here and read more, I realised that muggles have many more options for dealing with mental illness and just… coping… than wizards do. It occurred to me that it was patently ridiculous that we either have St. Mungos or Azkaban and nothing in between. We were essentially 100 years behind the muggles in this area."

Hermione shook her head in sympathy, "completely agree."

"And then the effects of the wars. Two successive generations grew up under the threat or experience of terror and death. Our childhood, for example, was incredibly stunted. You had all these strange effects. People getting married too young, rearing children when they were still children themselves, children without families, anger problems, depression, isolation. But no names for it and no treatment that wasn't a potion or a fucking dementor. Barbaric." He polished off his bread and reached for the loaf again. "This is delicious."

"I'm glad you like it." They smiled at each other for a moment, but then he turned serious again, looking off in the distance.

"And the Manor. I couldn't ever live there again. The whole place was tainted." His eyes flicked to her. "But it seemed so wasteful to just shut it up and let it fall to ruin. I wanted to transform it and, this is going to sound silly," he glanced at her with a self-deprecating shrug, "But I wanted it to be a symbol of a radical dismantling of the past."

"That doesn't sound silly!" she exclaimed. "It's a …a ….noble, ambition" Her eyes shone.

"Ahh yes, I forgot I was talking to the would-be freer of house elves and a scion of Gryffindor house," he said with a smile that took the sting out of his remark. She threw a piece of bread at him. He caught it and popped it in his mouth. "You just can't say those kinds of things around Slytherins…"

"Well you're in a safe space now," she soothed and then snickered. He grinned and shook his head slightly before resuming his story.

"So now we have over two hundred beds as well as outpatient facilities that can treat hundreds more. We offer therapy around all sorts of issues and we combine muggle and wizarding methods. My head of treatment is training the next generation of counselors as well. Right now we're very focused on putting together a course of study that the ministry will recognize with a designation like a muggle doctor of psychology. That's why I've been at the ministry HQ so much lately. A lot of lobbying. I don't like it because it takes me away from the facility, but it's necessary," he shrugged.

"All kidding aside, what you've done is wonderful, Draco," she said. "It's more than enough apology for me." He smiled and lunged for the water bottle, taking a long swig. "And if you're not at the Manor where do you live now?" Hermione asked, realizing she had absolutely no idea.

"I have a flat here. But I spend a fair amount of time in other places. New York, my mother's house, France, Theo's. I'm probably here less than half the time."

Bachelor pad, the thought popped into her head, along with images of him from the gossip columns. But then she felt uncharitable. Hadn't he just told her about the incredibly important work he was doing?

"And I share the flat with Daph," he continued. "As roommates," he added quickly. "We've basically roomed together since we took guardianship of Astoria. We wanted to give her a sense of having a home. Although we do all move around a lot, so Daph and I usually aren't there at the same time unless Astor is there too. You should meet Astoria someday. I think you two would hit it off. She's a complete swot in school too." he smiled.

Now Hermione felt like an arse. She covered it with a barrage of questions about his guardianship and Draco explained how Astoria had come into his life. The way he talked about the young girl showed how much she meant to him and Hermione was amazed at how he continued to surprise her. Harry's words ran through her mind. "The worst thing to do is remain rigid in your thinking about someone when they are showing you that they're different."

She could feel herself relaxing by the minute.

~oOo~

"Enough about me. What about you? What are you working on in Magical Creatures?"

"Well you know about the creature Bill of Rights project?"

He nodded, "An excellent idea. And opposed by many of my father's oldest friends, which means it has my ringing endorsement."

She laughed. "Well we finished our test cases with dwarves and imps. Two admittedly easy species that we knew would be unanimously in favor of and cooperate with the plan. Now it's time for a challenge." He lifted a brow. "We need a high profile species for publicity and to capture the public attention and support. We're not going to be able to do that unless we show that we can tackle more than just the easy cases." He nodded. "So next is Centaurs. Along with merpeople and werewolves, they form our biggest challenge to universal adoption."

He let out a long whistle, "yeah, that's going to be tough."

"Yes, they're notoriously intractable and each one is fiercely individual. Even though they live in herds, consensus doesn't come easily to them. And yet," she continued, "they're one of the most at-risk groups for persecution and misunderstanding. So they need the bill desperately."

"Very true," he said. "I recall discussions at the manor during the war about uses for centaurs once victory was assured." He shook his head, disgusted.

She sighed, "exactly. So I'll be going to France soon for an indefinite amount of time. There's a herd in Provence who have made tentative responses to our overtures. We've identified them as the most receptive of all the groups. They're also large and influential in the greater community. If we could win with them, we'd have something real to take to the others."

"Are you speaking of the Aix herd?"

"Yes! Do you know of them?"

"My great aunt 'owns' part of the land in their territory. Although whether or not she actually owns it is a longstanding bone of contention between them."

"Of course! Your great aunt is Lucretia Black!"

"That's the one," he confirmed. "I'm related to all the Blacks, for better or worse."

"Right... Well, I've been writing to her for months, trying to get permission to cross her land. She's totally ignored my letters!"

"Yes, that sounds like her. Dreadful snob. She doesn't open mail if she doesn't already know the sender."

"But my letters came on Ministry letterhead!"

"Oh that's an even lower chance of success. She doesn't acknowledge the Ministry." Hermione laughed. He examined his fingernails, carefully not looking at her. "I may be able to intercede on your behalf. Would that be helpful?"

"Oh my god! Would you do that? That would be amazing! I have a letter of introduction to the herd from Bane at Hogwarts. I just need your aunt to confirm that she'll lift the wards on her land for me."

It occurred to him that he would do a fair bit to get her face to light up like that.

"Of course. I'll owl her tomorrow. I can't guarantee her permission, but at least she'll read your letter."

"Oh thank you!" Hermione looked like she was about to throw her arms around his neck. And part of him very much wanted her to, but actually getting to know her was proving satisfying. He wouldn't rush his fences now.

"Speaking of Provence," he suddenly declared, "it also has rather a reputation for crisp, dry, thirst-quenching Rosé wine. I should know. I own vineyards there that produce lovely vintages."

She rolled her eyes, "toff."

"ANYway," he said over her remark. "It occurs to me some of said wine would perfect this already pleasant day." Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "And," he continued "I keep seeing folk come out of that shop across the way with cold bottles of the stuff. I propose that I go over there and bring us back some."

"Yes, please! That's a great shop. Good selection and knowledgeable clerk. Can you handle muggle money?" She had started to dig around in her bag again.

"Can I? … Witch, it is lucky that you find me in a mellow and relaxed mood," he said, glaring at her in mock outrage and standing up. He looked down at her and lifted an imperious brow, then turned and strode away. "How do you think I bought the Jaguar?" he tossed over his shoulder. She waved him off and picked up her book.

~oOo~

Of course she was only pretending to read. In reality she was watching him walk. And watching the young pissed girls watch him too. One girl actually lowered her sunglasses and let out a silent wolf whistle at his back as he strolled by. She then gave Hermione a salute of sisterly solidarity. Hermione waved at her then sighed. From an empirical perspective, he really was, what was the technical term? Oh, yes it was, 'fucking gorgeous'. The way he moved—the combination of unstudied elegance and confidence—was unfair. He'd always had that, even when he was a arsey little school bully. It was probably something that came from being born with unnatural amounts of good looks, wealth and privilege.

Fuck. It occurred to her that she was very much on the way to being in trouble here. Was she the type of woman to be seduced by these things? She'd never thought she was. She'd really meant what she'd said in the Nott House library about being happy with a house husband. But did that mean she couldn't also be happy with something different?

Either way, she was having real trouble controlling her brain's tendency to think of scenarios like verbally sparring with him here in the park, then takin him back to her flat to channel that combative energy in, ahem, creative ways as soon as they walked through the door. Or him being very impressive as her escort at future ministry events. After which she would show him her appreciation… in bed.

She moaned and flopped onto her stomach, feeling shallow. But then she reminded herself that she was also appreciating his conversation and actually very impressed with the things he cared about and what he had accomplished. It wasn't just about his looks and stature. She was enjoying him. Let's face it, if this were a blind date she would be sneaking off to the loo to send an excited patronus update to Ginny right now.

And he had apologised. That had been a shock. Maybe she just needed to let this breathe and not be so wound up. He had clearly changed. Or, according to Harry, he'd always been this way and her perception of him had changed. Both of which contributed to his attractiveness. Fuck, back to square one.

She sighed, really the only current course of action was to wait and see. She couldn't forget the dark-haired girl. And who knows how many more there could be. She needed to stay on her guard, but perhaps be open to possibilities? And not get too pissed today. Clearly her hormones were trying to run away with her and she needed to be careful of charming men bearing wine. Which he was—coming her way with a carrier bag.

"Success?" she queried, squinting up at him.

"Well yes," he replied, his brow drawing down. He pulled a lightly frosted bottle from the bag and expertly twisted a corkscrew into it, giving Hermione a chance to lust over his forearms again. "But the man also asked for my phone number…?"

Hermione snorted, unsurprised if the clerk was the very gay one she had chatted to in the past. "Well did you stand around in that louche way of yours and discourse knowledgeably about subregions of the Rhône Valley?"

He glinted a smile at her, "possibly."

She went completely liquid inside, but laughed outwardly and withdrew two glasses from her bag. His eyebrows shot up as he regarded the now legendary canvas square. He caught the glasses up, poured them each a healthy measure and took a sip.

"Crisp with a clean, dry, minerality," he pronounced with satisfaction. "Just as the chap said. Maybe I should have given him my number…" Hermione laughed again and clinked her glass to his.

~oOo~

A few hours later the air was still balmy as they polished off the last bottle of wine. The sun was low in the sky and they lay side by side, not touching, examining the canopy of green above them. Hermione broke her gaze at the tree tops to glance around the park. Not many people had left and if anything, the party atmosphere had increased as muggle London celebrated one of the truly warm evenings of the year. Draco's long legs were crossed at the ankles and he was gesturing with his glass. She laughed out loud when wine sloshed on her legs.

"You are completely full of shit, Malfoy!"

"Am not. You have no taste."

"NO TASTE? I'm telling you Sticky Fingers is the best Rolling Stones album and you are telling me I have no taste?"

"I'm telling you anyone who doesn't rank Exile on Main Street first has no taste. Ergo, dot dot dot. Full stop. You know I'm right."

"What I KNOW is that you've taken this 'I'm an expert at muggle stuff' thing a bit too far. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Hobgoblin of small minds and all that," she said vaguely.

"Are you daring to imply i'm not that intelligent? You will pay for that, Granger. Ooh what's this song?" A buzzed Draco was easily distracted.

"'Fade Into You'. Mazzy Star."

"Mazza wha?"

"Mazzy Star. 'Fade into You'. It was the number one song for muggle boys to lose their virginity to during our school years."

"Oh really?" He perked up and flipped over onto one elbow to stare down at her. "It is rather sexy…"

"Yes this and Glory Box by Portishead. Big makeout songs of the mid-90s. I brought recordings of both of them into Hogwarts and Dean Thomas had a CD player that he somehow enchanted into working. All the witches in Gryffindor loved them. So many snog sessions," she said airily.

"God, what the fuck was I missing? I always assumed we were having the best parties."

"You didn't have any muggles—they couldn't have been as good." He looked at her speculatively and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Why do you like Exile better?"

"Huh?" He was still staring at her in a slightly glazed way.

"How did you develop your uninformed and fallacious opinion about the best Rolling Stones album?"

"Other than having ears?"

She made a rude gesture at him.

"So vulgar! Well my tertiary reason is that I play piano and it's a much better keyboard album."

"You play piano? Like muggle piano?"

"The instrument is largely the same in both worlds, and yes, I play. I grew up learning very stuffy and complicated wizarding compositions and some of the elite muggle classical pieces. Beethoven, Chopin, Rachmaninoff, blah blah blah. But then when I started listening to rock, of course I wanted to play it too. Much more fun."

"So you can play things from Exile?"

"Of course! You should hear my Torn and Frayed. It's fun to sing too. Great country sound. I also like to do Tumbling Dice—and that song alone could comprise my entire argument."

"Fun to sing… you sing too?" she said weakly, mind blown. He nodded. "I would absolutely love to hear that. And I counter your one song argument with Wild Horses."

"Ooh put that on."

"Ok. Does that mean you concede?"

"No, it's just a really good fucking song and I want to listen to it. Are you always this dogged?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. I like opinionated women."

~oOo~

They finally left the park in the deep twilight, chatting companionably as they passed from muggle London back into Diagon Alley. At one point Draco laughed out loud at something Hermione said and his face was so boyishly transformed that it took her breath away.

They were close as they strolled and she felt her shoulder and fingers brush his, contact which sent delightful frissons up her body. This time she didn't try to tamp them down. The better part of two bottles of wine paired with hours of conversation and playful flirting had muted her sense of caution. She was barely paying attention to their route and was surprised to look up and see that Draco had guided them to her street. She hadn't realised he knew where she lived. They slowly climbed the stair and paused at the doorway to her flat. She wondered if she should invite him in. She didn't really want the evening to end. But Harry and Ginny may be home and that could be awkward.

"Thank you for a lovely afternoon… and evening," he said. "I can't remember the last time I did nothing for quite so long—or enjoyed it quite so much."

She laughed softly. "We really were the most appalling slugs, weren't we?" His answering smile flashed through the dark and she felt herself sway toward him—as if her very molecules were being pulled toward his. She was just close enough to catch an alluring hint of his woodsy spice scent when an overly loud voice rang out through the dark.

"Look, Harry! What good timing!" Ginny waved at them from the pavement at the bottom of the steps. Hermione knew Ginny had spoken up to give a warning in case they were interrupting something, but her reaction was still sheer annoyance. But despite her pique, she managed to call down a casual hello while Draco subtly shifted a bit further away from her and greeted Harry and Ginny politely as they came up the stairs.

Hermione participated in the slightly awkward chit-chat about how they'd all spent their day, enduring Ginny's significant looks and Harry's amused ones, but felt disgruntled when Malfoy mentioned that he should be going. He said his goodnights with nothing more intimate than a jaunty wave, before pushing himself off the stair rail and tripping lightly down the steps to stroll off into the night.

The three roommates wandered inside, Harry and Ginny declaring themselves utterly knackered and heading straight to bed. Hermione lingered in the hall staring blankly into space. With no talk of seeing Draco again and no closure to their encounter, she started to second guess the tone of the day. Had it been nothing more than a friendly distraction on a hot, boring Saturday?

Still standing in the hallway, Hermione was contemplating whether she should have a cool shower and fall into her own bed or if a cognac would be advisable, when three soft raps sounded on the front door.

She wheeled back around—what the hell?—and cracked the heavy door to see Draco lounging against her porch as if he'd never left. His eyes kindled when he saw it was her.

"What are you doing...?" she started softly, opening the door and slipping out.

"I forgot something," he interrupted. His eyes were dark in the low light and there was tension in his bearing, although he also wore a slight smile. She looked up, puzzled, as he pushed forward from the rail. He moved closer and then stepped into her, his hands sliding around her waist and pulling her against him in a single, swift movement. She puffed out a soft, "oh," as her hands slid up his chest and her eyes locked with his.

He bent his head but paused, almost touching her parted lips, then whispered against them with that hint of a smile, "I've been wanting to do this all day. You?" She responded by reaching up and capturing his mouth with hers. Her eager reaction seemed to undo his playful calm and he crushed her against him. Desire exploded through her as she gave in to what she'd been fighting for weeks. She pushed even closer, molding to him, reveling in his height and the feel of his lean body as he stroked his tongue between her lips. She ran her hands up his neck and into his bright hair, running it through her fingers and leaning against the closed door so that her weak knees wouldn't give out. She was desperate for the taste of him and he matched her desire, pinning her against the cool wood and ravishing her mouth. She tilted her head to give him deeper access, twining her tongue with his recklessly.

The kiss continued to heat and Hermione lost all sense of where she was and what they were doing—not caring that she was making out with him in the open, for anyone to see. She realised her leg—when had she moved it?—was sliding up his, hooking him to her as he pressed against her and ran his hand into her hair, angling her neck so he could trail kisses down her throat. "You taste like honey," he mouthed against her skin, his voice hoarse and deep.

"Draco," she whispered as his other hand skimmed up under her blouse and over the curve of her waist, his fingers smooth and sure against her bare skin.

He inhaled sharply and his lips crashed back against hers while his fingers spasmed against her hip. She swept her hands underneath his shirt, up the sleek muscle and smooth skin of his bare back. God, he felt perfect—and then he breathed her name and it was absolutely sinful.

The small part of her brain that was capable of rational thought was trying to decide how good of an idea it would be to pull him inside and smuggle him into her bedroom—how fast could she cast a silencing charm?— when a faint noise intruded on her consciousness. She tried to ignore it as he was now doing something devastating to the sensitive spot just beneath her earlobe, but the sound got louder and closer.

"Hermione? Hullo!?"

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. It was Ginny. She must have gotten up after Harry fell asleep to have a chat. She sounded worried and Hermione knew that her bedroom door was wide open and all rooms in the house were very obviously empty. It was only a matter of time before Ginny came pelting outside to see if she was ok. She very reluctantly drew away from, hands-down, the best kiss of her life, and looked ruefully at Draco.

He cupped her jaw in one hand and rested his forehead softly against hers, whispering, "I guess I should be going." She considered the angles and then nodded reluctantly, biting down hard on her swollen lower lip to keep from lunging at him again.

His eyes went dark as he focused on her mouth. "Do you want to drive me totally mad, woman?" he said softly, claiming her lips once more. She responded hungrily and they were off again, but he pulled back, taking a deep breath. "May I reiterate that today was lovely," he exhaled, feathering kisses from the corner of her mouth to her temple and moving his hands to her shoulders. He was breathless. High color tinted his cheekbones and his hair was disheveled. Hermione felt absurdly pleased to have rumpled him. He also looked utterly delectable and she directed a round of particularly nasty mental curses at her best friend.

Ginny's steps toward the front door were audible now, so he placed a last, light kiss on her lips. "I want to see you again. Soon," he said softly, then stepped back, tapped the side of his nose with a wicked smile and disapparated totally silently. Show off, Hermione thought. At that moment the door yanked open.

"What the wank are you doing out here? I was worried!" Ginny practically shouted. Then she looked at Hermione and blinked, taking in her mussed hair and swollen lips. "Oh." Her eyes widened and her mouth went slack. "He. Came. Back! That sneaky git came back!" A huge grin overtook her face and she started to cackle, but then she stopped abruptly, throwing her hands over her mouth. "Hermione oh my GODS I am so sorry! I am officially the world's worst twat blocker. You were about to get some and I ruuuuuined it!"

"Could we please do this more quietly and not on the stair, Gin? And I was not about to 'get some'," Hermione sniffed, conveniently forgetting her thought process of not two minutes previous. "It was just a kiss."

"Some kiss," Ginny said slyly. "You look like you were properly snogged, you slag."

Hermione flipped her off and then sighed as she felt a dreamy look came over her face. They stepped back through the door and into the flat. "Well I think I'm off to bed."

"Yeah and I absolutely promise I will not knock on, open or approach this door in any way shape or form until you exit your room tomorrow," said Ginny, raising her right hand and touching Hermione's bedroom door with her left. "Just in case he decides to put his broom to good use and fly in your window or something."

Hermione laughed, "I think that was it for tonight. I'm actually glad it didn't go any further. If I'm doing this—and it seems like I am doing this—I want to go slow. And I was about to, uh, not go slow."

Ginny snorted, "I knew it!"

"He made me lose my mind, Gin. It's never been like that for me."

"Well, I'm not surprised. As I may have said a few times before, you two have insane chemistry. And he's extremely attractive. I don't know when or how it happened. But here we are. Even I see it. And we're basically born and sworn mortal enemies. But I care more about your happiness and sexual satisfaction than I do about old grudges. And so does Harry. Well less about the sex part and more about the happiness for him. But he and I talked about it. It's clear the ferret has turned—or turned over a new leaf. I dunno. But go for it with our full support."

"Thanks, love, and goodnight," Hermione murmured, wiggling her fingers and floating into her room.