Chapter 15

She was a wreck. The confidence she'd felt late at night, tucked warmly into her safe bed, was gone.

Everyone at work had heard the news about Ron and Lavender and though they didn't bring the subject up to her, it was there in every room and in every corridor, every time she went by. She wanted to be able to wave it off as something that had left her unaffected, but she had been distracted and clumsy all morning. It was clear she hadn't had enough sleep and her nerves were stretched so tight she'd walked into a meeting without any of her files and the whole room had had to wait for her to go back and retrieve them. All her hard work to appear normal was slowly being eroded, because the truth of the matter was that she was a wreck.

But she didn't care at all about Ron and Lavender. She was a wreck because she knew she had to face Malfoy and couldn't bring herself to do it. She had thought she would see him first thing in the morning, talk to him and explain her actions from the day before. The trek from her office to the Auror offices was not very far and she had made it a thousand times, for far less important reasons. Still, she kept coming up with excuses of things that needed doing, even though she knew she was just putting it off because she didn't know how she was going to face him.

It was one thing to apologize for her reaction, friend to friend, something they could laugh off together. But she didn't want to stop there. Her introspection from the night before had made it very clear that her feelings had changed. (Grown? Developed, perhaps? Were they always there and she hadn't noticed?) She didn't just want to apologize for running away, she wanted to convey to him that she wasn't going to run the next time. That she wanted there to be a next time.

And just thinking about it was making her a nervous wreck.

ooo

"Malfoy?" She knew he recognized the tentative voice at his door, even though the strained, squeaky sounds that came out of her mouth hadn't sounded anything like her. The wary surprise on his face told her he hadn't expected her to come. Had he written her off already? Just another failed experiment?

The heart already beating too loudly in her chest was on the verge of another panic attack when she calmed it down. No, just regular surprise. It was his office, after all, and she didn't actually have any business being there. Fortunately, Harry appeared to be nowhere in sight. So she walked in slowly, her eyes meeting his with some apprehension. There were several tense moments of silence while she fought her nerves to say the words that had been circling in her head.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she blurted out, quickly. Too quickly, actually, as the words probably didn't make any sense without context. Still, she had started, so she needed to press on. "I didn't know—I didn't think—," she paused, and squeezed her eyes shut briefly in frustration. "I wasn't ready," she finished lamely, her eyes opening, large and vulnerable. So much for elegance and assurance.

When he didn't respond immediately, she added, stammering a bit, "Maybe—maybe we could try it again, another time." Draco's eyebrows shot upwards, and she fought the desire to giggle uncontrollably while she winced at her choice of words. "I didn't mean—what I meant was, maybe we could go on a date. When I'm more—Now that I'm…prepared." She could feel the heat in her face that meant her cheeks were definitely turning pink in embarrassment, but she forged on, taking a deep breath, as if gathering her Gryffindor courage.

"Do you feel like having dinner on Friday, Malfoy?" A pause. "With me, I mean," she clarified, unnecessarily. "Together." She vaguely thought she might want to die at that exact moment. He must think she was a basket case.

ooo

He didn't know what to think. He was sure he had scared her away, and now here she was once again standing in his doorframe. And she was asking him out to dinner. He didn't respond right away—he couldn't—caught up with staring at her, wondering what was happening.

She repeated, self-consciously, "Draco?"

Hearing her say his name jogged him out of his stupor. "I'm free tonight." No time like the present. A Malfoy always presses the advantage. Friday was much too far away when she might run again.

Relief bloomed, lighting up her face, and he felt a shadow that he hadn't even been aware was hovering over his heart, suddenly lift.

"Oh, okay, yeah, I'm free tonight, too," she babbled. He saw the anxiety cross her features before she suppressed it. "I can do tonight." She said it like she was reassuring herself, and maybe she was. "Um, I'll think of a place and owl you?"

"Maybe someplace in Muggle London," he suggested, throwing her for a loop.

"Muggle London?" Her eyes widened, unsure if she'd heard him clearly.

He just shrugged, turning back to his paperwork, offering casually, "Someplace you'd be comfortable maybe." He was giving her control, putting her on her home territory. And away from the cameras. He saw when it clicked to her and she smiled widely, excited, "Okay, great, I know just the place!"

She turned to leave, saying, "So, see you tonight." Only it was more of a question, so Draco responded quietly. "See you tonight."

She walked out and Draco looked down at the paperwork that he had apparently just shuffled together from several different files. He hated paperwork.

ooo

When he received her owl, it was with instructions to meet her in Diagon Alley at the Leaky Cauldron where they'd enter Muggle London together. It also said: 'Wear jeans slacks jeans something that doesn't scream "I'm a Malfoy, and you're a peasant."'

So he bought a pair of jeans. The fabric was rather stiff and unyielding and he wondered why anyone would want to wear something so rough so closely against their skin.

He changed his mind when he saw her. She was wearing jeans that molded to her legs, tapering to show off slim ankles in strappy sandals. She had her hands in her back pockets, waiting for him, and he felt it like a tangible thing in his heart, in his stomach, maybe a little lower, when she turned and smiled at him.

"Granger," he said, by way of greeting, aware that there were still curious eyes on them.

"Malfoy," she said, equally restrained. But then she grabbed his hand and yanked him through the portal. He followed with a short laugh.

On the other side, she energetically began walking in the direction of their destination, describing the place she was bringing him to. Draco briefly wished she would have kept her hand in his. No sooner had he thought that when he decided to do something about it. Matching his stride to hers, he casually grabbed her hand, noting with pleasure the fluttering heartbeat in her wrist that beat against his.

She looked up at him, mid-sentence, flustered into forgetting what she was saying. But she didn't yank her hand back. In fact, she slowed down her nervous steps and their walk became a stroll through twilit London.

In the silence that followed, her hand swinging lightly in his, he said, "What were you saying about the place we are going to?"

"I don't remember," she answered honestly. Her eyes widened slightly, aware that she was revealing how he affected her. He just grinned, delighted, and she added, "It's just a local pizza place, actually."

"That Muggle meat pie?" he asked, skeptically. "The kind they eat with their hands?"

She just laughed. "Yes, the very one. Although," she pointed out, "it doesn't have to have meat on it. The great thing about pizza is you can put whatever you like on it. Plus, if you insist on eating like a snob, you can always eat it with a fork and knife."

He seemed to give this due consideration and then declared, "I do believe I shall." He pointed at his attire. "I certainly didn't buy a pair of jeans to get them dirty with Muggle meat pie."

For some reason this set her off in gales of laughter. She didn't let go of his hand, but she put her other hand to her forehead. Her eyes darted to meet his, and at his questioning glance, she turned away, laughing even harder.

In his defense, he said, "You wrote to wear jeans. Even though it was crossed out, I can still read a word with a single line through it."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her smile still wide on her face. "I did suggest jeans. And they are just right for the occasion."

He sniffed, slightly mollified.

She went on to explain, "Jeans are casual wear for Muggles. You wear them when working outside in your garden, when traveling, when attending sporting events. When you eat, it's not uncommon to wipe your hands on your jeans."

He looked at her, appalled, "Why would you ever wipe your hands on your trousers?"

She just shrugged. "They're jeans." Her free hand fluttered helplessly. "You don't try to keep them clean. You beat them up and then you wash them. And you repeat it until they have so many holes you have to get a new pair."

"Holes?" he repeated, baffled. "My opinion of Muggles is getting lower by the minute."

She snorted at that. "I thought your opinion of Muggles couldn't get any lower."

"Well, in recent years I'd revised my opinions. They produced you, after all, and that single fact can't be discounted." And there he mentioned it, though they'd carefully avoided pointing out her Muggle birth in all their conversations before.

Hermione looked up at him tentatively. "And that doesn't bother you at all?"

"What, that you're Muggle-born?" he asked. And when she nodded, he said, honestly, "It did, once, I think. A long time ago. But not for the reasons you'd think."

She silently urged him to continue, her eyes focused on his. He looked ahead at where they were walking, his hand still clutching hers, before continuing. "If you had been a pure-blood, it would have been easier when you bested me in nearly every subject. It wouldn't have been so embarrassing." She thought about this, perhaps understanding what he didn't say about the pressures from his family to perform as a Malfoy.

Then he added, "If you had been a pure-blood, it would have been easier to explain to myself why I watched you wherever you went. I wouldn't have felt so guilty." He had never told anyone that, though he suspected his father had guessed. But he was getting tired of beating around the bush. There were a lot of things he wanted to say to her and that was certainly as good a place to start as any.

Surprised at this, she asked, "You mean here at the Ministry?"

Turning to look at her directly, he said, "No, I mean at Hogwarts."

She gasped, disbelieving. "But you were so mean to me when we were young."

"Yes," he responded wryly. "Well, I imagine you've seen now where much of my anger stems from." He'd meant frustration and impatience. Selfishness, even.

But she said, "Protection." And then, as if putting the pieces of a puzzle together, "You were protecting yourself."

There was something very raw and real that resonated in him at those words. Was childhood Draco afraid of falling for Hermione Granger and instead lashed out at her at every opportunity? His voice was a little rough when he said, "Well, I was Draco Malfoy. And you were Hermione Granger. It was never going to work out, was it?" And there was something piercing in his chest, reminding him that the situation was not vastly different, even years later. He was still Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater. And she was still Hermione Granger, no description necessary.

But Hermione just squeezed his hand, her eyes warm, and said, "Oh, that never stops a Gryffindor from trying."

Knowing what she meant, he couldn't help but say, "I'm not a Gryffindor."

She grinned at him, "Fortunately for us both, I am."

ooo

After the hilarious debacle of introducing Malfoy to pizza, wherein jeans and reputations were smeared, they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, hand in hand, and made their way over to Hermione's flat. Not once had they lacked conversation and Hermione was trying desperately not to compare it to the sad silences and inattention she had been used to with Ron.

As they came to her door, she shyly asked, trying to pretend like her heart wasn't beating frantically in her chest, "Are you going to kiss me goodnight?" She had been imagining that too-brief kiss from yesterday all evening long, determined not to let it be the last time she felt his lips on hers.

"No," he said, smiling to himself at the confusion in her eyes.

She tried to cover her nerves by making a joke. "You don't kiss on the first date, Malfoy?"

He really laughed at that. "Granger, this was our eighth date."

"What?" She momentarily forgot the previous subject of a kiss to ponder this absurd statement. "I'd think I'd remember if we'd gone on seven other dates, Malfoy."

He leaned in to her, his silver eyes bright and amused as he told her quietly, "I'm going to kiss you next time, Hermione Granger. Count on it."

She shivered at his words, her eyes focused on his lips, uncertain how to tell him that she was pretty sure she wanted him to kiss her right then.

As he walked away, he turned back and said, "And don't forget to count the other seven dates, too."

"There weren't seven dates, Malfoy," she called out to him, irritated to see him grinning at her.

"Count them and see, Granger," was his only response, before he apparated away.

Inside her apartment, she shut the door, confused. The man hadn't kissed her, and the feeling of being all wound up for nothing had her almost as anxious as she had been the day before when he had kissed her.

But then she remembered that he had said he would kiss her next time. He had told her there would be a next time. She closed her eyes at the giddy sensation that seemed to well up inside her from the thought that there would be another date with Draco Malfoy. She hadn't ruined everything by running away.

Collapsing tiredly on her couch, she stared up at the ceiling, replaying her date in her mind. He was arrogant, but he was kind. He was funny and incredibly smart. He was strong and sometimes had these dark depths that drew her to him in ways she hadn't even tried to understand yet.

And he was beautiful. More beautiful than a man had any right to be. His hair always fell perfectly to frame his face and when his incredible silver eyes focused on her, she felt like there was nothing else in the entire world that existed to him. And his mouth, which she remembered to be quite soft and warm…he said that next time he would kiss her with that mouth. She sighed, trying not to wish she didn't have only the memory of that brief moment by the pond.

Surely he wasn't counting that as a date, was he? How embarrassing. In her head, she ran over all of their encounters. There was the Ministry dinner, of course. Maybe the bookstore. The Auror game? She couldn't come up with any more. Seven?

She started back at the beginning. When she'd finally gotten their encounters to add up to seven, she'd realized something: Draco Malfoy had been dating her all along. When she'd thought he was just being friendly, he had always intended something more.

She finally gave in and giggled. She didn't know why she was laughing, but she hugged the throw pillow to herself and laughed until she sighed. For the first time in a long time, she felt good. And she knew it was all Draco Malfoy's fault.

ooo

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I have a feeling the later half of this story is going to go slower than the first half did. My muse has been fickle, and so I've been writing scenes from chapters out of order, or even bits of other stories that I've started and left hanging. Never fear, I will definitely finish, as I've already written a good chunk of the ending chapters. But I've been having trouble working through the more troublesome plot bits, and so it will just have to come when it comes. But at least I leave you on a high note, this time. ;-)