[A/N: Thanks guys for all the reviews! I'm back already! Hope you enjoy. Next one's already being written...]

Chapter 11:

The Man With A Plan

Draco Malfoy was not a fan of accepting things. It had taken him a good long while to accept that Ron and Harry weren't as horrible as he'd assumed. He hadn't fully accepted the fact that Hermione had ended things and left until weeks later, when Longbottom (of all people) found him half-starved and blind-drunk in a muggle bar and forced him to accept the truth. And it had taken him more than a few minutes to process the fact that he was jealous and he was still in love with Hermione Granger.

He loved her.

And he was going to do anything and everything to get her back.

She'd already begun to properly forgive him but even though their breakup was a product of miscommunication and bad timing on his part, he knew it would take a while for Hermione to allow him back into her heart.

What Draco needed was a plan, and it wasn't until a chance run-in with Hermione, her new boyfriend and Alec in Diagon Alley that he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Diagon Alley was bustling at 12:13pm on a Wednesday. People rushed between businesses and offices to little cafés and the occasional restaurant. Young mothers ushered around their small children, holding fast to their hands and parcels. Older men and women chatted as they walked, well accustomed to the weekday crowds. Draco was not accustomed to the weekday crowds, and it was as he was almost knocked over by a third witch hurrying on her errands that he decided to give up trying to manoeuvre down the street until it had cleared a bit.

And it was for this reason that Draco was settling comfortably into a large booth at a new and as yet not popular café beside Flourish and Blotts. It came as a distinct surprise, for he had not even attempted to engineer a meeting with Hermione, worrying that she'd catch on to his feelings before he could come up with a plan to win her back, that his son was seated at the next table.

"Dad!" Alec exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of the several other patrons littered across the room.

Draco's grin, which emerged at the sight of his son, disappeared as soon as his eyes fell on Hermione, who sat holding hands with her date from the other night. Digby. The taxes man.

He did take pleasure in the fact that Digby looked as unhappy with the situation as he did.

However, Hermione apparently didn't find it awkward at all, as she quickly (too quickly?) asked if Draco would like to join them. And, just as swiftly as the whole interaction had begun, he found himself sitting at the nearby table between Alec and Hermione, facing Digby.

"Draco Malfoy," he drawled purposely, smirking. "And you are?"

"I… I think we met the other day. At Hermione's?" The man rubbed an eyebrow nervously, but smiled politely. "Digby's the name. Thomas Digby."

Hermione, perhaps finally seeing the disastrous situation on her hands or perhaps already tiring of Digby, cleared her throat, "Thomas, could you be good enough to go up and order for us? Alec and I'll both have toasted ham and cheese sandwiches with chips."

"Of course." Digby stood, revealing very tight khakis (Draco almost gagged at the sight), and pulled out his wallet, "Draco? Need to order?"

"Oh, no, I ordered when I came in. Go ahead." Yes, go ahead and leave me alone with Hermione and my son. Better yet, leave. "I'll stay here and keep these two company."

Digby wandered up the cake display and began pointing and asking various questions that were too soft to hear from the table. Draco turned to Hermione, who was rubbing her temples.

"Headache?"

She started, hands falling to fiddle idly with her silverware, "No! No. I mean, yes, I have a headache, but it's irrelevant. I've had it all day. Nothing to do with Thom—I mean, lunc—I mean, yo—I've had it all day."

"Yes, you said that," Draco laughed. "Digby's a dud then?"

She looked outraged, "Most definitely not! He's a wonderful, kind, intelligent person. He—"

"He looks and sounds like someone who enjoys talking about taxes."

Alec, who'd been unusually quiet (but was actually just observing his parents' conversation), piped up, "That's what he was talking about the whole way here. That thing! Tack-ses!"

Hermione wrung her hands.

"There's nothing wrong with an interest in certain things…" She trailed off, but Draco heard her mutter something along the lines of "…as long as its not bloody boring things like taxes."

He stifled a chuckle.

And then he knew.

He knew what his plan was going to be.

He was not only not going to interfere with her relationship with Digby the dud, but he was going to encourage it.

He was going to encourage them to spend time together. There was the little problem of physical relationship progression, but Draco had faith in Hermione's boredom that she wouldn't be interested in much more than the bloody disgusting kiss he'd witnessed the other day.

He was going to encourage it, but he was also going to take Hermione and Alec on fantastic, fun, exciting dates disguised as 'family trips'.

He had a plan.

And it was definitely going to work.

It wasn't working.

The plan just wasn't working.

Well… maybe it was working, but Hermione hadn't broken up with Digby the dud yet, and even though they'd been on two family trips and she clearly had begun to consider him as a friend and non-enemy, he was far from getting her to open her heart to him again. And this huge, enormous fact was bloody annoying.

So Draco decided to get drunk for once.

He hadn't often touched liquor after his actions during the fallout from his breakup with Hermione, and drank almost always in the context of one drink or two at a social function or business drinks. But he was sick and tired of thinking all the time. Considering his actions around her, considering how the plan was going. He was a man with a plan and yet it just wasn't working out.

The muggle pub he chose was convenient. Quite close to his place, and the whiskey was good. He liked whiskey. Or perhaps it was the whiskey talking. He was on his third.

After the fourth, he began considering that maybe the plan was working, but he just hadn't seen it yet.

After the fifth, he concluded that he was never going to get Hermione back and he might as well drink away his sorrows.

After the sixth... somewhere during the sixth... Draco made a decision.

He quickly paid in muggle notes, slurring a thanks to the bartender on his way out.

He was a man with a plan.

He'd made a decision.

Hermione.

Man with a plan.

Decision.

Hermione.

Man with a plan.

Decision.

Plan.

Hermione.

When Draco woke in the morning, disoriented and headache-y, he couldn't remember a single thing past stumbling out of the pub. In normal circumstances, it wouldn't have worried him. In normal circumstances he would have crawled home, thrown himself onto his bed or a sofa, and fallen asleep immediately. These weren't normal circumstances.

He wasn't in bed.

He wasn't on his sofa.

He wasn't at home.

Where on Earth was he?

And what in Merlin's name had happened?