On Tuesday night, she sat down to make a list.

She had known the majority of people at the party, and those she didn't she would be able to get from Harry or Ginny since they were either Harry's co-workers or Ginny's fellow quidditch players. Theo had invited a couple of people that she hadn't known as well, and there was the bloke that Neville brought ("as a friend," he said, then turned red, then coughed).

She sighed and touched the quill to her parchment.

Blaise. The most likely owner out of everyone she knew. Hermione never saw him without some adornment involving jewels and precious metals. Besides that, he had been the best-dressed guest at the party on Saturday.

Seamus or Dean. Unlikely, but worth asking. She had to give them back their shirts, anyway.

Neville and guest. Also unlikely, but he had worn the appropriate clothes for that kind of accessory. And, friend or not, he was apparently trying to impress the man he had brought.

George. If he had worn cufflinks, they wouldn't be something as pretty as this one, and they would have something explosive, or foul-smelling, or otherwise embarrassing, embedded in it. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask.

As she continued to write names down, one came to mind that she had been avoiding. She had caught up with Harry to relieve him of his duty he had promised her, which meant that she was only waiting on herself. Taking a deep breath, she wrote the last name down on her list.

Ron...

In so many ways he was the Ron she had fallen in love with after the war. He was handsome, funny, and kind, and the perfect balance to her serious nature. She wished that it was that easy – that they could find each other, find their balance, and be done with it.

But it wasn't that easy. It started as little things that Hermione could ignore. Her career aspirations had always been a point of contention with them. She had high hopes for her future at the ministry, and while Ron was still supportive, he didn't always understand. He oversimplified her struggles with bureaucracy, red tape, and older male wizards who didn't comprehend her choices and told her so. As these things became harder for her to deal with, Ron's reactions became impossible to ignore.

There was also a disconnect that related to the way they were both raised. She knew from the start that he came from a large family and that he wanted a family of his own. While she wasn't opposed to being a wife and mother, she wasn't ready to put that on her timeline yet. She felt guilty looking into Ron's eyes, knowing what he wanted and knowing it might not line up with her dreams. If he could find that with someone else, she didn't want to be the reason he was being held back.

Their relationship had been good, and it was comforting when she needed comfort. The sex was fine. It wasn't passionate or consuming, but it was loving, heartfelt, and familiar, and it was what Hermione needed from him after everything they went through.

The war had been over for a long time, however, and she was looking for something else now. She wanted a partnership, where she could share her goals and dreams, both short-term and long-term and be understood, supported, and assisted in reaching them. She didn't know if that partner could be Draco, but she knew it couldn't be Ron.

It seemed less likely that it could be Draco now. She thought they were on the same page, that they both were gearing up for a proper relationship, but now it seemed as if Draco had kept her around and strung her along just in case he decided he wanted to pursue her and had decided that he didn't. He had implied that he was ready for her, for them, that the party on Saturday would be the impetus for their next step. He'd flirted with her, made her feel special. But she'd waited by the Floo the whole night on Saturday, and he hadn't come.

Ron's words stuck with her. You deserve to know how people feel about you, he said, and he had followed through, however unrequited it was. She didn't know how Draco felt about her, because he never opened up to her apart from innocent touches that could have been accidents, or fond looks he gave her that could be because she had ink on her face, or casual flirting that he could be engaging in with who knows how many other women.

In fact, the more thought she gave it, the more convinced she was that she made their whole non-relationship out to be something it wasn't. She was the one who had insisted on having lunch together every week. She was the one to start the first lunchtime conversation that didn't revolve around work. She was even the one to propose leaving the Ministry for a proper restaurant.

It was disconcerting, the fact that she was all but throwing herself at him, and he had made no move to start a relationship. She could either move on or move forward, but she didn't want to keep embarrassing herself if he didn't want to be around her.

Holding her list between her fingers, she read through the names again.

The Monday after their first lunch together, Hermione had gone down to his small corner office for the first time to pick his brain about the filing system he had implemented, and whether it might be a suitable way to organize the files in her department as well. The week after that, Draco came to her office again to return a handful of records that should have been in the DRCMC that he had found while combing through the file room.

On the fourth Monday, Hermione didn't have any reason to be there at all, and yet at noon, she found herself taking the lifts down to the second floor and walking back to the corner office.

Draco, of course, hadn't been expecting her.

"What's that?"

Draco jumped, swearing when his knee hit the underside of his desk with a loud crack.

His hands came out to cover the parchment he had been scribbling on a moment before, shuffling together and picking them up to shove into his top drawer. "Nothing," he said, nonchalant. "Personal project. I'm light on work."

"Oh?" Hermione remained in the doorway, not wanting to take up any of his limited space. "What kind of personal project?"

"Doesn't matter." He pushed his chair back and looked down at his knee, holding it steady with one hand and prodding it with the other. He rubbed it one last time and pushed his chair back in. "Did you need something?"

"Have you eaten?"

His eyes widened. "I – no."

"Well." Her hand came up to touch the ends of her hair. "Would you like to?"

"Eat?" He looked her over. "With you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You can say no, you know, that's–"

"No! No, that's – I will, it's just." He looked down at his desk. "I don't have any work."

"Draco," she said, smiling, "We can just eat."

They ended up in the Ministry cafeteria, the first time they had eaten together outside of one of their offices. The conversation was centered on work, but it was easy, and it flowed, and it wasn't until an hour and a half later that Hermione looked at the time and realized how late it had become.

The next week, Draco came up to her office, and they ate in the cafeteria together again. Two weeks after that, he told her about his independent potions studies, and his aspirations to become an apprentice and earn his mastery someday. He showed her the papers he had stowed in his desk, filled with recipes and notes on component quantity and quality, and she, in turn, showed him her half-written paper on house-elf psychology that she was hoping to get published.

Three Mondays later, when there were no available tables in the cafeteria, Hermione took him to her favorite Indian restaurant around the corner from the Ministry. She laughed when he overestimated his tolerance for spicy food, but she gave him her full attention when he told her about the letters his mother sent him in his London flat, even though he visited the Manor every weekend for tea. When Hermione pushed for more information about his life, she learned that his landlord was an older woman who used to rent the space to her grandson (who purchased a house with his wife five years ago), he had been to the cinema but the experience gave him headaches, and he liked firewhiskey but preferred brandy.

The Monday after that, she took him to the Italian restaurant across the street. Halfway through the meal he slid his leg forward and pressed his foot against hers. She sputtered and blushed, and he smirked at her, but neither of them moved away.

When Christmas passed, she got him a leather notebook, and he got her a bottle of porcelain cleaner.

Five months after Draco started in the DMLE, Harry was promoted to Senior Auror, receiving his very own team to manage (which, of course, included Theo). Hermione pulled Draco out of his corner office and into the rowdy celebration on the Auror floor, and he stood beside her as she mingled with the other Aurors and spoke with her friends. He remained eerily calm, but when they returned to his office, he exploded, shouting that he was keeping his head down and doing his job and he didn't need her help gaining any sort of acceptance from his co-workers (which, she admitted, had been her strategy).

He didn't contact her for three days, until the following Monday when he came up to her office to collect her for lunch. They didn't speak of their argument again.

They remained on the cusp of...something, but neither of them took the next step that was necessary to make it official.

Hermione ran through her list in two days with no positive results.

She approached Seamus and Dean early on to return their shirts, but when she held the item out for them to see, Dean asked "Is that an earring?" and Seamus popped it into the air with a swift hit to the back of her hand, and snatched it with a wink.

She had stared at him for several long seconds. Then, "Can I have that back now?"

When she caught Blaise walking out of Gringotts, he said, "I only adorn myself in precious stones." (This, she assumed from the ruby on his ring and the diamonds circling his watch face, was true). He had then asked if she was sure it didn't belong to Seamus or Dean, because it looked very much like something the middle class would wear, and if he remembered correctly, they had spent a large portion of the party shirtless.

Neville wasn't much help either, because although Hermione's cufflink didn't belong to him, it reminded him that he was missing some of his own cufflinks – three to be exact, none of which belonging to the same set – and if Hermione found any of those lying around on her floor, could she please let him know? He spent ten minutes describing each of the three in great detail before Hermione stopped him.

She also asked Neville about his male guest, and Neville flushed, rubbed his hands together and said, "Ah...no, no, I don't think...well, I can ask but...it just doesn't seem like something he would wear. He's a simple bloke." So Hermione moved on to the next person.

A couple of people on her list were Aurors, and she was able to cross them off in one afternoon with a single sweep around the second floor of the Ministry. Ginny's friends from the quidditch league were harder to track down from Hermione's office on the fourth floor, but Ginny assured her that under no circumstances would they even own cufflinks, let alone wear them to a party that they thought would be a casual affair. ("The invitations I sent out said black tie!" Hermione had said, to which Ginny had sniffed, and replied, "Yes, well you did know that Theo was coming, didn't you?").

She had even asked Luna because she often carried things that she didn't need but thought looked nice, but Luna had said, "It's very pretty, Hermione. I wish I could help, but silver gives Rolf headaches, you see." Then, Hermione had asked after Rolf and Luna said he was doing well, "but he's sleeping right now, of course," and when Hermione had cocked her head and drew her brows together, she pointed upwards and added, "because of the sunlight." Hermione wasted no time in thanking her and leaving.

She had even started rethinking what Theo said about Draco having left it there when she knew he hadn't been at the party. Had he been to her house before? Was there a date they had been on that had been obliviated from her memory? And if there was, who would have wanted to remove that memory from her mind?

She stopped that line of thought before it went too far.

Ron was the last person she approached. Chances were slim that Ron was the one she was looking for, but she was nothing if not thorough with everything she did. Taking her time in reaching out to him also gave her an opportunity to craft her response to his proposition – a proposition that was unwelcome and unwanted, so Hermione wanted to be sure there was no room for interpretation in her answer.

He was there when she opened the door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the bell above the door frame emitting an obnoxious honking sound (the last time she visited, it had been a selkie call), and she put up a hand to keep him from speaking as he walked up to her.

"Before you say anything, I have to ask." Ron swallowed at that, and Hermione pulled the cufflink out of her pocket. "Is this yours?"

Ron's gaze landed on her face first, before flitting down to her hand, then back up to her face. He shook his head.

"I found it after the party, I've been looking for – anyway. That's...good to know." The display of skin creams wobbled under her hand when she leaned on it, head buzzing in relief.

"Those are quite fancy," he said, his eyebrows drawing together. "Seems like they would have been out of place."

Hermione pressed her lips thin. "The invitation said–" she surveyed the store, then lowered her voice. "The invitation said black tie."

Ron scratched his head. He stepped toward her, and she stepped back. "Have you asked Zabini? He was dressed rather nice."

"I've asked him. I've asked everyone." An unfortunate development, for sure. "Also–" she drew up her courage, squaring her shoulders and facing him straight on, "we need to talk."

Ron looked her up and down, then waved her back into the storeroom, his thumb rubbing at the side of his nose. He followed her into the storeroom, closing the door with a click and falling back against it.

"I'm getting the sense it's not good news."

Hermione could have laughed if she weren't so overwrought. At that moment, the thing she loved most about Ron was that he knew her so well. She probably didn't even have to go through her speech for him to get the idea, but she owed him that much.

"You're my best friend," she began and winced at the grim smile he gave her. But she persisted. "You are, and you know how much I love you, Ron."

He stepped off the door, his hands hidden in his pockets as he ambled over to where she was standing against the workbench.

"I wasn't planning on it happening like that, you know. How it did." He meant at the party, she thought, and it didn't surprise her that he wouldn't think of himself as an up-against-the-wall-in-front-of-all-our-friends kind of person. "Not to say I wasn't thinking about it – sorry, Hermione –"

His eyes were light and sparkling, which was a good sign.

"How were you planning it?"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet," he grinned, "obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn't have wasted it drunk against a wall."

"It was unexpected."

"Well," he sniffed, "I'm assuming it wouldn't have mattered anyway?" He looked hopeful even though his question was phrased in the negative, and he looked away, thumbing the side of his nose, at her answering discomfort.

"I really am sorry, Ron." She ducked her head. "You were exactly what I needed – then. But now...I think I need you as my friend."

He lets out a breath, a mix between a sigh and a harsh laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest," he shrugged, "but I had to at least try, right?"

He eyed her for another second longer, memorizing her, and then he stepped back, reaching towards the door.

"Ron," she said, stopping him with his hand on the knob. He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "I'm glad that you told me. You were right – I think I deserve to know how people feel about me."

Ron smiled at her then. "You deserve a lot more than that, Hermione."

When Ginny came to her with tickets to the Falcons vs. Harpies quidditch match, she had forgotten that she asked for them. They had been difficult to acquire on short notice, and Ginny had to pull multiple strings to get seats where she did. She hadn't planned on it being her last ditch effort to win Draco over when she asked Ginny about it on Saturday, but she couldn't deny that that's what it felt like, getting ready to give them to him. It was meant to be a beginning of some sort, but it seemed more like an ending now, after everything that had happened that week.

When she pictured this in her head a week ago, the moment that she handed him the tickets to watch his favorite team play, she imagined excitement. She could see his eyes sparkling, that small smile on his face that he reserved for her. His hand would come up to tap on his ring twice in that absentminded way that she found so endearing. Then maybe – a hug? A kiss?

She did not expect him to freeze, one hand on the door frame where he had opened the door to his office. She did not expect his eyebrows to draw together in a frown. She did not expect to feel like him declining was an option worth considering.

He looked down at the tickets in her hand, and then back up to her face, his eyes wary. "You're just...giving me two tickets."

"Well, no." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "One would be for me."

The silence between them was deafening, and she considered turning around and leaving. His eyes, betraying a mixture of disbelief and resignation – and embarrassment? – remained glued to the tickets in her hand, and she tightened her grip until her knuckles were white.

Finally, he looked up. "You. You're." He coughed into his fist. "You want...to go to a quidditch match with me?"

He wore a mask of cool indifference, but his jaw was tight, and there was tension in his stoic expression.

"Well," she said, keeping her voice steady. "It's not just a quidditch match, is it? Aren't the Falcons your favorite?"

"Yes," he whispered. Then, louder: "Yes, they are."

"So?" She thrust the tickets out toward him.

He stared at them again, unmoving. "I don't understand."

"I owe you, right?" She forced a tight smile, which he didn't return. "Remember...for missing the game with Greg. On...on Saturday." Too late, it occurred to her that he may have gone to the match on Saturday after all. That was probably why he missed the party. "Look, it's not a big deal, I just–"

She broke off when she met his eyes, which were now cold and hard, and she didn't know when that had changed during their conversation. She had thought there might have been a chance of him accepting before, but her stomach dropped in resignation as she took in bitterness being directed at her. She wished she knew what she had done in the last two minutes to deserve it.

"Right. Of course." A firm nod. A twist of his signet ring. "I can't. I'm busy." He left the doorway to his office and retook his seat behind his desk, refusing to meet her eye or even acknowledge her as she stood there, wondering what had just happened and feeling nauseous about the whole thing.

She didn't try to change his mind.

Harry's door was closed when she made it back to his office, minutes or hours later. She stood, her fist held up to the door ready to knock, the tickets clenched in her other hand, and she hesitated.

"Returning the tickets?"

Hermione turned to see Theo standing several paces away, everything about him meticulous yet casual in a way she would never be able to pull off. She sighed, fingering the tickets. "I thought I could find someone to go with, but – well. It doesn't matter why." She looked down at the tickets in her hand, what had once been a hopeful symbol, a sign that she was moving forward and not letting other people dictate what she wanted out of her relationships. Well, it could still be that symbol. She was unwilling to roll over for Draco and give him whatever he wanted to appease him, but she had hoped the result of making that known would be a fulfilling relationship of equals and not the image of him walking away from her.

Theo was scrutinizing her, his gaze burning into the side of her head. Gentle pressure was beginning to build behind her eyes, and she breathed in, breathed out.

She looked up. "I don't suppose you'd be interested."

Theo snorted, which did not help Hermione's self-confidence. He held a hand out to placate her. "Sorry, Granger, I didn't mean it like that." He seemed to be reaching for something to say, holding something back. "I just think that certain people wouldn't be happy with me."

Certain people meaning Draco, of course. She brought a hand to her stomach as if she could feel an actual knife there and not just the associated stabbing sensation in her gut.

"I told you, Theo. It's not like that." She said the same thing earlier this week when he asked about the cufflink, and her answer was less sure. But she knew now, without a doubt. It wasn't like that. Whatever they had, it wasn't what she had thought. "Anyway, he said he couldn't go, but maybe...maybe he'd want to go with you." She held out the tickets, and Theo grabbed the ends but didn't pull them away.

"I really only wanted for him to be able to go," she continued, her throat getting thicker the longer Theo stared at her like that. The confused look on his face only dug the knife in her stomach deeper. "Even if I'm not there. I just thought – of course, that was. You know. Before." She shook her head and tugging on the ends of her hair until she could feel the pull on her scalp. Nothing was coming out the way she wanted it to. She let go of the tickets, leaving them in Theo's hands. "Just...take them."

"Wait," he put a hand on her elbow as she turned to leave, pulling her back. "He said no?"

She couldn't look at him. "He said no."

Draco came back the next day, and Hermione almost expected him to rescind his rejection and take her up on her offer until she saw the stiff set of his shoulders and determination in his eyes.

"Theo says I should apologize," he said, staring a hole through her wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

She blinked. "Oh?"

He hummed, and an idle hand came up to trace around the otter figurine. "I told him it was not only unnecessary, it would be counterproductive, but," he shrugged, "he was insistent."

"Counterproductive."

"Quite."

"And that's what you think."

"That's what I said, isn't it? I've done nothing that warrants an apology. If anything–" at that, his mouth snapped shut, lips pressed tight. His hand came up to twist his signet ring around his right pinky. "Anyway. I've come, so I can tell Theo that I have. As can you."

"Mm," Hermione pursed her lips and curled a lock of hair around her index finger. "Indeed. What did Theo think you needed to apologize for?"

Draco rolled his eyes, jaw clenching, and stared at the space of wall just over her shoulder. "He seems to think I've hurt your feelings."

"Hurt my feelings," she echoed, surprised. She was pretty sure Theo had never cared about her feelings. Then again, she had also thought that Draco did care about her feelings, so maybe she should get used to being surprised about how former Slytherins responded to her emotions.

"When you – with the tickets. He thinks I upset you by not being able to accompany you."

"The tickets."

His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and cutting. "Are you going to say something, or just repeat everything I'm saying?"

She moved her quill to the top of her desk. "I just want to confirm," she said, pursing her lips. "Theo thinks that you need to apologize for rejecting me," – his lips tightened – "but you think apologizing at all is...unnecessary."

A single firm nod was all he gave. "So, when Theo comes by to make sure I've come, you can tell him I've done what he said," he uncrossed his arms and started turning his feet towards the door, "so – ta, Granger, it's been–"

"What the fuck, Draco!" She was on her feet before she even knew that she had spoken, her fist pushing into the top of her desk. With a flourish of her wand, her office door slammed shut and locked, and Draco stepped back in surprise.

"What–" he jiggled the handle and gave it two futile tugs before turning back around, seething. "What the hell is your problem, Granger?" And finally, finally, he raised his voice at her.

After a week of indifference and imperturbability, the anger in his tone fueled her, raising her temper. She wanted to hear more, wanted to listen to him yell at her so that she could yell back. She wanted to get everything out of her so that maybe she could understand why he had pulled back from her so suddenly.

"My problem?" She felt her eyebrows rise, forming wrinkles on her forehead.

"Yes, your problem!" As if she were crazy. "You've locked me in here, in case you missed that. I can't exactly stay here all day, Granger, I've got very important work to do, and I don't think Potter would–"

She rounded the desk and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You will stay in here as long as I make you."

He snatched her finger with his fist and threw it back down to her side. "So now I'm your hostage, is that it? That's illegal, you know. Just wait until I've told Robards, or — no, who's your supervisor? Leavitt?"

"I just don't understand, Draco!" The words were ripped from her throat, and she hadn't planned on bringing it up, but now it was out there, and they both had to deal with it. "Just talk to me, please! I don't know what it is I've done that you need to treat me like this–"

"You've locked me in here! I've been perfectly polite, and you've just–"

"You've been treating me like gum on your shoe all week!"

He twirled his signet ring in furious circles and looked away, jaw clenched.

"If – if this is what you want, to treat each other like this, then just tell me. I thought we were friends, at least, but now you can't even look at me unless you're upset with me, which is apparently all the bloody time, and I don't even know why!"

"Fuck's sake, Granger, shut up–"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do! It's like you don't even care–"

"I'm serious, Granger, stop–"

"– but I can't keep humiliating myself like this, so please, just tell me if you're done with me because it feels like I'm the only one who really wants this–"

He broke, his arms flying out to the side, his voice exploding. "And yet you're the only one of us kissing Weasleys against walls!"

She froze, eyes wide.

It was clear he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. As soon as the words left his mouth he brought his hands up to scrub at his face, a pink flush coloring his neck. He pressed his lips together tightly as if that were the only way he could stop himself from speaking again.

Hermione gaped at him. "That's not – how do you even–" She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts, but she was just as jumbled up as before. "Did Theo tell you?"

"Theo?" It came out as a burst, like a dam breaking. He sounded incredulous. "Theo. God. You are so – mm." He spun around, his hands drew into fists at his sides, his breath hot and heaving. Hermione watched him as he pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Her heart was in her throat, her lungs not taking in enough air. The room was closing in around her, and she was dizzy with all of it – with him, with this. Dizzy, and exhausted, and so confused and more than a little angry as well.

"Listen–" she wrung her hands together. "Yes, okay? That – that happened." She winced when Draco's eyes narrowed at her. "But I don't think Theo told you everything."

"Theo told me everything I needed him to, which is more than I can say for you." His tone was icy, and she bristled when he looked her up and down with a sneer.

She tried to remember what Theo had overheard. He had been listening when she told Harry about Ron wanting to be with her, and the kiss, but she had also been clear about how uncomfortable it made her, and that she wasn't clamoring to see or talk to Ron again. How much of that had he shared with Draco?

"Well, Theo left something out then, because you clearly don't know all of it–"

"That's bollocks. I've known about Weasley this entire time, and you never even had the decency to tell me, Hermione!" His hand came up to his chest and curled into the fabric, and she almost missed him calling her by her first name for the first time in a week.

"What was I meant to tell you? We're not attached, I don't owe you anything–"

"You think just because you're fucking Hermione Granger that you can go and snog whoever you like up against every sodding wall in the whole world–"

They were talking over each other again, and Hermione knew that they were accomplishing nothing, but she couldn't let him say these things without defending herself. "Every sodding – excuse me? You have absolutely no right to dictate who I can and can't–"

"No right?" His hands were quivering when he shoved them into his pockets. "I have every fucking right. You–"

"I – what, Draco?" She tensed, the words pouring out of her. Her skin burned, heat simmering beneath the surface. "I listened to someone finally being honest with me about how they felt? Telling me that I was beautiful, and intelligent, and kindhearted? I let them kiss me when I had no obligations to anyone else? No – you're right, how very dare I!" His hand came up to grab at his hair, and he growled under his breath.

She didn't know all of these things bothered her so much until it was pouring out of her mouth. Their non-relationship. His reluctance to be together in an official capacity, and his jealousy when someone did want more. The way he had been treating her the past week like she was nothing more than the dirt under his overpriced dragonhide boots. She thought it would be easy to forget everything and move on, forget he ever happened to her, but she deserved more than that. "I am a...a single woman," his eyes closed and she could see his hands curling in his pockets, "with people in my life who care about me enough to fucking do something about it before it's too late!"

He waffled, opening and closing his mouth. "So, what, you're just." His voice was shaky and high-pitched, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. "You're just going to go be with Weasley, then?"

"I told Ron no, you arsehole!" Hermione threw her arms out wide in frustration and let them fall to her side, palms slapping against her thighs.

Draco froze, swallowing hard. "You didn't." His voice shook, and he took a steeling breath. "You didn't. I saw you."

"I told him no," she repeated, not bothering to relive the past week with him. "But...I want to say yes to someone – someday. And since you've been very clear that it won't be you," – his face snapped toward her, a wrinkle appearing between his brows – "then it's going to be someone else."

His mask faltered, and he swayed back on his heels, a hand coming up to rub at his mouth. His gaze slid from her face towards her desk, to where the otter figurine was perched on the corner.

"Granger." When he met her eyes, her breath left her. "I don't – I can't –"

He broke off and took a step forward, forcing her to step back into her desk. When he took another step forward, her whole body tightened, and she put as much space between them as she could, feeling the edge of the desktop digging into her backside. She grasped the wood with her fingers, pouring her excess energy and emotion into her grip.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, not coming closer but not moving away, and watched as her breath came in and out, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His warm breath drifted across her cheeks. She could just barely smell the edges of his cologne, the scent of cedar and thyme wafting in lazy circles under her nose, relaxing her. She breathed him in and felt her hold on the desk loosen, felt her body begin to sag.

He watched her, his eyes moving back and forth between her own as his breath calmed as well. He took a slow, careful step into her, waiting for her to push him away, and when she didn't move, his fingers came up to graze her hip, testing her. She licked her lips, blushing when his eyes darkened, and brought a hand up to his chest, feeling her heartbeat in her fingertips and seeking out his own. His breath hitched at the contact with her palm, and he bit his lip, leaning closer, a red flush beginning to grow across his neck. He was – she could just – they could –

He stopped millimeters from her lips and sighed. "Why did it have to be him?" His voice was so vulnerable that she wondered whether it was meant for her to hear.

Hermione wanted to laugh because she had thought the same exact thing when Ron had crowded her into the wall and kissed her and then again when he had repeated his sentiments in her office, leaving little doubt as to his wishes.

It struck her, then, that it was happening again. Like she was back in her house, outside her greeting room, being pushed against the wall by Ron Weasley and he was telling her to choose him.

She wanted to choose Draco – wanted to be able to. But there was too much between them now, and she didn't know how to start unraveling it all. It was possible that they didn't have a chance anymore, that they had bungled this so precisely that the only thing to do now is pretend they had been just friends this whole time.

When she pictured this moment, the half-second or so before he kissed her for the first time, she imagined it differently. Sometimes, she envisioned it happening on her doorstep after their first date, and he would cup her cheeks in his hands, his fingers dancing on the nape of her neck, and the last thing she would see before closing her eyes would be his face descending, a smile playing on his lips. Lately, she had been thinking about Harry's wedding, where he would ask her to dance, and then when the song ended he would pull her closer to him and kiss the corner of her jaw, and then her cheek, marking a path to her mouth.

Not once did she picture him pushing her up against the desk in her office, her chest heaving in anger, hurt and confusion. She never thought it would be in the middle of their most significant argument to date, with so much still to resolve between them. She wanted it to be a beginning, something that could give her hope, that she could look to in the future if she ever needed to remember why she chose him.

This wasn't that moment.

She pressed her fingers into his chest and felt the soft rise and fall of his lungs and the thump-thump thumpthump of his heartbeat before taking a deep breath and pushing him away. He staggered back, eyes wide and a hand rising to cover where hers had just been.

"Granger, please, just–"

"I need to – go," she muttered, extricating herself from him and plucking her jacket off of her chair. She flexed her fingers as she shouldered past him on the way to her door, heart pounding, her gaze fixed on the carpet as her shoes scuffed against it. "I'll see you at the wedding."

"Gra – Hermione, wait."

She walked out of the door, leaving him alone in her office.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Last part will be up on Friday.