Beta love to CourtingInsanity for her awesome work!

The Blue Jazzist Club, four weeks later

Hermione opened the door of the dressing room at ten-fifteen to prepare for her Saturday night set, feeling a mix of apprehension and anticipation. Will there be anything waiting for me? she wondered.

For the past few weeks, on the nights she performed, she would find a small gift waiting for her. She had received several bouquets of flowers, small items of jewellery, a bottle of wine and a rather beautiful pin for her hair. None of the gifts gave any indication as to who her mystery admirer may be.

Tonight, however, she gasped when she stepped over the threshold. A beautiful floor-length gown hung on a hook opposite the door. It was a deep jade green with plunging neckline and a nipped waist, cinched by a wide satin belt. The pleated skirt was designed to hug the hips and upper thighs before flaring at the knees. Stepping closer, Hermione gently plucked the garment from the hanger and turned it around to discover it was backless. Turning it back to face the front again, she noticed a small tag. Written on the tag was a note. It simply said, "I sincerely hope you will wear this tonight."

Indecisiveness flickered over her face as she debated what to do. She could not deny it was a beautiful dress, and the gifter had guessed her measurements almost exactly. She thought it might need a minor adjustment in length, but a quick charm would alter it to suit her height.

However, would it be appropriate to wear the dress? She didn't know who the gifter was and therefore knew nothing about them. If she wore it, would it send the wrong message? What if the gifter revealed themselves and expected her to spend time with them? How might they react if she declined to interact with him… or her?

She looked down at the floor, and it was then that she noticed the shoes. They were strappy stilettos, a slightly darker green than the dress, with sequins decorating the straps. Like the dress, they were absolutely stunning. Slightly too big, but another spell could easily remedy that. And it was far too much.

Abruptly, she hung the dress back up on its hook, turned on her heel, and marched out of the room.

Roger looked up in response to the sharp rap on his door, but before he could speak, Hermione quickly stepped into the room. She looked flustered. "Who has been leaving the gifts?" she burst out, twisting her hands.

"Ummmm-" was all he could muster.

"Don't tell me you don't know!" she said, incredulously. "They're being left in the dressing rooms. That area is off-limits to patrons. So either you or another staff member is delivering them on their behalf, or some unknown person is wandering about at the back of the club!"

Roger was quick to reassure her. "No. No, nobody is wandering about back there who shouldn't be. I've been putting them in your room."

"And you didn't think it a little presumptuous that they would deliver a dress and shoes?"

Her boss shrugged uncomfortably. "I thought you'd like 'em. I don't know much about women's clothes, but my wife is always showing me dresses and shoes she likes. I took a catalogue into a shoe store last year because they had a pair she said she wanted and asked if they could get 'em for me, and they did. I gave them to her for her birthday and she was over the moon." He looked at her worriedly. "Are the clothes not right?"

Hermione felt herself smiling slightly at Roger's efforts to buy his wife shoes, but then sighed in frustration. He was a man and didn't really understand. "It's one thing when the man knows the woman and has a comfortable relationship with her, but when they are strangers it's a little... odd. Gifts of clothes and shoes are-" she paused, trying to think of a way to explain that would make sense to him "-intimate. It's very forward and, although flattering, somewhat inappropriate. I don't know this person's intentions or what message they'll take if I wear them. I really don't want to give them the wrong idea, given I don't even know who they are."

Roger frowned. "I see." But Hermione could see he didn't; not really. He was trying to understand, and sensed her discomfort, but he simply didn't have the ability to see things from her perspective.

"I take it you know who this person is, then?"

"Yeah, I know 'im." He looked distinctly uncomfortable now. "He comes in on the nights you perform, just to hear you sing. Sits quietly about halfway back, listens. Leaves once you go offstage. Doesn't say much to anyone."

"And he's responsible for all the gifts?" Hermione clarified.

Roger nodded in confirmation. "He brings them to me, then goes to watch your set."

"And he never says anything about wanting you to introduce us, or talks about approaching me?"

"Never. He just comes in with whatever he has, asks me politely to deliver it to you, thanks me, and heads out to the main bar."

Hermione looked away contemplatively. "And you say he sits about halfway back from the stage? What does he look like? Does he leave immediately after I finish?"

"No, he usually hangs about for ten minutes or so. Like he's gathering his thoughts, or something. He's quite tall, dresses neatly, light blond hair." He looked at her worriedly. "Do you want me to tell him to stop sending you things?"

"No." Decisively, she repeated herself. "No. I'll confront him myself. I want to know who he is, and why he keeps sending me gifts." She checked her watch. "I need to get ready. I'll speak to you again after."

With that, she exited his office, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Well, shit," Roger muttered.

Roger hadn't been entirely upfront with Hermione when she asked him if she knew the identity of the man who had been sending her gifts.

After that first night, when Draco had discovered who the mystery woman was, he had gone back to Roger's office. Roger had been surprised to see him again so soon, and found himself disconcerted at the shell-shocked look on Draco's face. "May I come in, sir?" he asked.

Roger had nodded wordlessly, completely baffled as to why the young man who had so earnestly begged for a chance to see the woman to whom the voice belonged now looked like he had seen a ghost. Draco sat down in the chair opposite the desk, fidgeting nervously for a few moments, before blurting out, "I-I know her."

"I thought you said you didn't." Roger frowned.

"No, I-" Draco shook his head "-I didn't know who she was before tonight, but now I've seen her perform, I recognise her." Roger, still baffled as to what was going on, merely looked at Draco questioningly. "Her name is Hermione Granger."

Roger started at this. So the lad really did know her. And he didn't look too happy about it. "Is that a problem?" Roger asked. He was beginning to think allowing Draco to re-enter the club had been a poor decision, after all.

"Not at all!" Draco exclaimed. "It's just that-" he looked down at his hands, and damned if he didn't look regretful.

"Go on, Mr-?" Roger prompted gently.

"Malfoy. But please, call me Draco." He looked up to meet Roger's eyes again. "We went to boarding school together..." Roger nodded at this, although truthfully he didn't know anything about Hermione's schooling. "I-I'm afraid I was-" Draco sighed "-I was rather cruel to her."

Roger said nothing, though what little warmth he had felt developing for the young man threatened to fade. He loved Hermione like a daughter, and with her kind, friendly nature she was popular amongst the club's staff and patrons alike. "The truth is," Draco continued after a moment, "I was quite the intolerable little shit. My family was wealthy and I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle."

Roger snorted at this; he had suspected Draco was a rich toff unaccustomed to being denied anything. "I figured you were most likely born with a silver spoon up your arse." He observed dryly.

Draco, despite his discomfort, laughed at Roger's crude but accurate description. "Yes, sir, you would be right. It was wedged quite firmly. I'm amazed I never did myself an injury." He gave Roger a wry smile, and was rewarded by a snicker from the older man.

After a moment's pause, Draco continued. "My father ruled our household. He loved my mother and never mistreated her, but he was very much the head. His views on people not of similar status to us was-" he paused again, seeming to search for the right word. "-uncomplimentary. Regrettably, I, in my desire to please him, mindlessly accepted and parrotted his views in my youth. This motivated me to be needlessly cruel to Miss Granger, simply because she was from the background my father viewed with disdain."

"I see," Roger replied evenly. He sat for a moment, thinking. "Am I right to assume you no longer hold these views?"

Draco nodded in response. "I was just a stupid kid. A lot of things have happened since school that have made me realise there are more important things in life than your ancestry."

Feeling slightly reassured, Roger asked, "Okay, so what now?"

"Well, I'd like to keep coming in and watching her sing. She really does have a beautiful voice. Is that okay?"

"So long as you remember the rules."

"Thank you. When does she perform?"

"Fridays and Saturdays, 11pm."

Thank you, sir. I appreciate it." Draco got up to leave. He reached the door, then stopped, as if he were trying to come to a decision. Abruptly, he turned back. "Would it be alright if I stopped by to see you next Friday?"

"Fine by me," Roger replied, bemused.

Draco had left then, but true to his word he returned the following Friday with a bottle of whiskey for Roger and a small box which he said contained a pair of gloves for Hermione.

"I would rather she didn't know who they were from," he had said quietly, when Roger had agreed to pass them on on his behalf. "We haven't seen each other since we finished school, and I imagine her opinion of me has not changed since then. Honestly, I don't blame her." He paused, reflecting. "Still, I would like for her to enjoy them, and I suspect if she knew they were from me she would not accept them. I just want to make her smile. I've been looking forward to hearing her sing again all week."

Roger had not known quite what to make of this, but he had promised not to reveal Draco's identity.

They had soon settled into a routine. Every Friday and Saturday night, about an hour before Hermione was scheduled to perform, Draco would visit Roger for a chat. Often he would bring a small gift for Hermione as well. The friendship between the two men had blossomed, and Roger had come to enjoy their time together. Draco showed quite an interest in Roger's vast experience in running a club, and never tired of the many stories the older man had to tell.

So when Hermione had burst into his office earlier, flustered and insisting on knowing who the mystery gifter was, Roger knew that the jig was up. Sighing, he checked his watch. He would wait until after Hermione's set had started, then go out and give the poor bugger a heads-up.

Draco sat quietly at the bar and nodded to Frank, the barman. Hermione was due to come on stage in about five minutes.

Lloyd came over to him. "Evening, Draco. What'll it be tonight?"

"Are there any mocktails I haven't tried?"

Lloyd laughed good naturedly. "You and your mocktails! Nope, you've tried all the ones we have."

"In that case, I'll have the strawberry daiquiri, please."

"Coming right up."

Draco had built up a rapport with Lloyd over the last few weekends. He showed an interest in bartending and the work that went into the job, and he enjoyed sampling different drinks. True to his promise to Roger, he didn't touch alcohol while he was in The Blue Jazzist, though he readily admitted he strongly craved it. Instead of alcohol, he had slowly made his way through the mocktail list, as well as trying other non-alcoholic mixers. He quite liked a drink called lemon lime and bitters, although the strawberry daiquiri remained his favourite.

That first night, after Hermione's set had finished and she had retreated backstage, he had gone back to Roger's office in a panic, with Theo trailing behind. Draco had found himself pouring out the story of his and Hermione's history and his upbringing to the older man, although he had been very mindful of not giving any indication that they were magical. It had proven challenging to explain the situation while appearing to be like any other muggle, but he had managed it.

Roger had been suspicious at first, and then cautiously accepting, for which Draco had been grateful. Since then, he had grown to respect Roger immensely. The man worked very hard at and was passionate about his business, had a wealth of experience and knowledge, was wise, and had a quick sense of humor. His stories had Draco cringing, staring in disbelief and laughing uproariously.

My father was truly ignorant, he had thought to himself on more than one occasion. Muggles like Roger are to be admired for their perspicacity.

Lucius would have looked down on Roger with contempt and considered the business of running a club to be terribly uncultured, but Draco thought it was interesting and recognised the skill and sheer hard work that went into it.

Lloyd had finished making Draco's drink and set it down on the bar. "Thanks, Lloyd," Draco said with a smile, and moved from the bar to his usual table to wait for Hermione's set to commence.

She was about halfway through and he was lost in her voice. She was singing,

"Sun lights up the daytime, moon lights up the night

I light up when you call my name, and you know I'm gonna treat you right."

"Draco!" a voice hissed beside him.

Startled, he turned to see Roger sitting beside him, looking worried. "Roger. Is something wrong?" He frowned.

"She knows."

"What do you mean, 'she knows'?"

"Well, she doesn't know. But she came to me insisting that I tell her where you sit and what you look like. I didn't tell her your name or that you know each other, but she intends to confront you. It-It seems she thought the dress was a bit much."

Draco felt his heart begin to hammer painfully in his chest, and his stomach began to tie itself in knots. He had been slightly disappointed he wasn't wearing the dress, but he had half expected her to wear a different article. He was distressed to hear the gift had upset her, and even more distressed that she intended to confront him. He felt the urge to just get up and run from the club. Gods, he needed a strong drink.

"What should I do?" he asked.

"I dunno, mate. There's no best option, really. But my advice is to stay and take your licks." He looked at Draco shrewdly. "Taking off before she can confront you won't make things any better. You can't run from your problems."

"What if she hates me?"

"Well, that would be understandable, I think you would agree. But maybe this is an opportunity for you to apologise and attempt to make amends properly. You can only hope for the best. Whatever happens, you've given it your best shot."

Draco felt himself trembling, his stomach was churning with anxiety, and he felt like he might be ill. Instead, he took a deep breath in an attempt to steel himself. "Right. Right. Thank you for warning me, Roger."

The owner clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, mate. Come and see me after, if you want." He headed back into the depths of the club, leaving Draco to his swirling thoughts as he waited for Hermione's set to finish, and the inevitable confrontation that was to follow.

After Hermione had confronted Roger regarding the mystery gifter, she headed back to the dressing room to finish getting ready. She kept glancing uneasily over at the dress and shoes, as if they might rise up and attack her at any second. She changed into her gown and sat down at the vanity to apply her makeup, but she could see it out of the corner of her eye.

All the while, her mind kept running over the last few weeks. Who was this person? How long had they been watching her? What was their intention? Why would they think it appropriate to gift her a dress, anyway? She sighed. It was a pity; it really was beautiful, and would fi-

"Ahh, fuck!" She had glanced back towards the dress as she was trying to apply liquid eyeliner, and it had gone into her eye. To make matters worse, she had dragged the brush along her cheekbone when her head jerked in response, leaving a big black smear.

With her injured eye smarting, Hermione fumbled for her makeup wipes to clean the eyeliner from her cheek before standing up and striding over to where the dress hung. Snatching it off the hook, she opened the door to a small storage cupboard and unceremoniously shoved the hanger which held the dress onto the crossbar installed near the top. Shutting the door firmly, she turned and made her way back over to the vanity to repair her makeup properly.

Hermione was onstage. The band played on behind her as she belted out the lyrics to "Fever", one of her favourite songs. Despite the fact the lighting over the stage made it impossible to see further back into the club, she caught herself straining to see the audience, looking out for blond hair which might be the tall, well-dressed mystery gifter. Distracted by movement further back, she felt her voice hitch slightly and mentally slapped herself.

Get a hold of yourself! You've got a job to do!

Accustomed to giving her best effort to everything she did, she was cross with herself for letting her preoccupations intrude on her routine. Determined to carry out the rest of her set without further lapses, she forcefully pushed the thought of the mystery blond to the back of her mind.

She weaved her way determinedly through the tables, her eyes scanning the patrons sitting at the tables. She was still in her stage clothes, not willing to waste time getting changed and potentially missing the mystery gifter. She saw a flash of blond under the dull lighting off to her right, and turned in that direction. As she approached, the figure seemed to shrink slightly into his chair. She stopped before the table and gasped in recognition.

"Malfoy?"

Draco had managed to get through her set, and watched her with growing apprehension as she descended the front steps of the stage and began making her way through the tables. Her head turned, looking for the person who had been leaving her gifts. Looking for him. She looked in his direction, and started moving toward him with purpose. He unconsciously tried to make himself smaller, hoping futilely that she wouldn't see him. As she got closer, he fought the overwhelming desire to run. She stopped in front of him and, seeing the look of shock on her face, closed his eyes.

"Malfoy?"

He had finally been unmasked. Draco forced himself to open his eyes and look at her. "Hello, Granger."