Draco watched from the shadows as Hermione passed her apartment building, yet again, but did not cross the street like she was considering returning to the café. Keeping her in sight at all times, she unknowingly led him to the front of an ice cream parlor all too familiar to Draco. Merlin, he couldn't believe the run down store Hermione used to drag him to was still up and running. Ten years ago, the shoppe had only needed a sneeze to break the brittle boards holding up the roof. Now the parlor stood strong with painted concrete walls and decent landscaping to giving the image of allure to those walking by.

Hermione had loved this place. It was her favorite place to acquire frozen dessert in all of London, and something within Draco fluttered in relief. Not everything had changed about her.

She did not go into the shoppe right away. Instead, Draco watched her linger a few feet in front of the establishment and dig inside her purse and pull out a lighter and a cigarette for a little smoke reprieve.

Draco leaned against the brick siding half a block away, his own hands and mouth itching for the kicked habit. He had tried it back in Hogwarts his Eighth year, the repeated year since his Seventh was so bloody fantastic. His schoolmate, Theo Nott, had offered between classes in the boys' loo, and Draco hadn't been able to kick the habit until Astoria got pregnant. She had loudly screeched at him to quit because she had to, as well.

The cigarette in Hermione's mouth was decreasing in length, and the wizard wondered what flittered across her mind every time she lit up. Because after all, Draco was the one who got the girl hooked in the first place. If she couldn't remember him, did she even remember her first smoke?

Once finished, Hermione flicked the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it with her shoe before entering the ice cream parlor. He seized the opportunity and followed her.

"What a surprise," drawled Draco as he approached Hermione, who was reading a well-worn book with a medium sized bowl of…

Draco narrowed his eyes and observed the strawberry ice cream with frozen raspberry chunks and chopped pecans with dubiety.

She peeled her eyes away from the pages, but Draco had become distracted by her choice of frozen dessert to notice he got her attention. Her favorite was cookie dough, especially from that particular ice cream shop. He distinctly remember her saying early in their relationship that her favorite had always been chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione's brown eyes widened in surprise, and Draco provided a strained smile to disguise his utter discomfort being near her. Never had he felt such need to run the other direction of her since Third Year. Gathering his nerves and locking them away, he motioned to the chair across from her.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Uh…" Hermione blinked owlishly and hesitated a brief moment before answering properly. "No. No, it's not. Sit down if you'd like."

A smirk slid across his features and situated himself across from her with his own ice cream. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione said and dog-eared the page of her book and closed it slowly, like she was unsure whether to keep it open or not.

"What book are you reading, may I ask, Miss Granger?"

"Oh. Um…" A light blush crept upon the milky skin of her cheeks making Draco swallow roughly. Great Merlin, she was so pretty. He shoved away the urge to caress her face and dive into the dark pools of chocolate she called eyes. They were as lovely as ever. Though the blonde in her hair was hard to look at; the locks contrasted artistically with her maroon framings, dark lashes, and eye color. "The Tragic History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe. It's a play written by a Muggle. It's rather good."

"I've read it," answered Draco truthfully. It had been a decade, but read it, he had. He eyed the book and recognized it as the same one she had let him borrow not long after they had started dating. "I like it, as well."

The corners of Hermione's mouth lifted into a small smile and her eyes flickered to his ice cream cup.

"Cookie dough?" she inquired. "That's a good a choice. Strawberry is my favorite, though, as you can see." She gestured to her own cup. "Is cookie dough yours?"

"Uh…Y-Yes. It's my favorite."

"It used to be mine, too, when I was younger. I like strawberry now, though. It's funny how things change as we grow older."

Draco stared at her for a long moment. He watched as she picked up her pink spoon and shoveled some of her ice cream into her mouth, mesmerized at seeing her lick the spoon clean and then her lips.

"I think it's funnier when they don't," murmured Draco, distracted by Hermione's tongue and lips. Draco was torn out of his stupor at noticing her eyes narrowing and then travelling from the top of his head and downward.

"Everyone changes, Mr. Malfoy. Can you honestly say you are the same person as you were back at Hogwarts?"

A beat passed between them, and Draco had to remember that she was not being rhetorical. She really had no idea and, therefore, was asking because she making conversation and probably wanted to know the answer.

"No," whispered the wizard, his eyes falling to the woman's mouth once more.

"You keep staring at my mouth, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said in an amused, breathy tone.

"It's distracting," he said before he could catch himself. He inwardly groaned. This night was not going how he imagined it would be. He had planned to be friendly and ask questions about her past, likes and dislikes, etc. He needed to know why she didn't remember him. He was fully aware that she didn't even know why she couldn't place his memory, but he had to start somewhere.

"Oh." She blinked a couple of times, and he expected another blush to creep up her neck and flush her face, but it never came. He racked his brain on what to say next when Hermione leaned forward and smiled. Draco leaned back in his chair, and his heart began to speed up in rhythm. Her teeth were exposed, white and straight, the dimple below the corner of her mouth quite prominent. The smile itself was quite pretty; however, it was her eyes that made him gulp in uneasiness. They were downright predatory. He had never seen that expression upon her features, not even when they were together.

Draco knew he should leave. This was not his Hermione. This was not the girl he had fallen in love with when he was just a boy trying to figure life out and thought he could live it his own way. That Hermione would have blushed and squirmed in her seat, or even chastised him for being so bold in a public place. He had loved her shyness and childlike naivety. It had balanced out his boldness and arrogance…for a while at least.

Hermione's fingers lifted to her glasses and removed them slowly from her face before placing the tip of the left side temple on her bottom lip. She really shouldn't have done that, Draco mused, because the glasses had somewhat softened her determined features. Without those specs, she looked capable of rape.

"So Mr. Malfoy…my place or yours?"

What the bloody hell had he been thinking?

Draco stared wide-eyed and up at the dimly lit ceiling of Hermione Granger's bedroom in her flat and swallowed nervously. With hesitation crammed deeply into his neck muscles, he slowly craned his head to the side and…snapped it back.

She was awake.

And staring at him.

With a sheet barely covering her nudity.

"You seem distracted, Mr. Malfoy," he heard her say, a grin loud and clear in her voice. Once again, he turned his focus on her. She had her head propped up on her fist, and she was lying on her side. "Are you thinking about your wife?"

Draco flinched.

His wife?

"Your ring," Hermione smirked knowingly.

Draco tore his eyes away from her and placed them on the ceiling once more. Merlin, he felt sick. Not because he cheated on his wife because what he and Astoria had was far from a legit marriage, but because Hermione had willingly gone to bed with him knowing he was married. Bloody hell, she knew he had a child and still she invited him over for a night of fun.

Swallowing the bile lingering at the back of his throat, he sat up and leaned over the side of the bed to fetch his boxers.

"I have to go," he managed out, his eyes focused on the black material of his underwear as he slid them on, reaching for his trousers.

"Okay," he heard from behind him. The way she said it made him think she shrugged, too, like she completely expected him to leave so soon. He just got there an hour ago. It wasn't even midnight, yet, not even eleven.

He slipped on his wristwatch and let out a disgusted sigh. It was 10:25.

"I'll uh…" Draco started awkwardly, buckling up his belt and searching the floor for his socks. "I'll Owl you."

"Why?"

His fingers froze at her question. He let himself look at her—brown eyes curious with an arched brow. She really wanted an answer to the question.

"B-because," Draco sputtered.

"So you want to do this again?" Hermione asked with curt nod. "Okay."

"Well… I don't-"

She laughed and fell back against the mattress, stretching out languidly. Draco's eyes fell to her exposed calves as they rubbed together enticingly. Her blonde hair fanned out on her pillow, and her light blue sheet and comforter covered all the important parts of her anatomy. His eyes lazily slid up her form and stopped at her hair and could see some of the strands beginning to curl. "I don't expect you to Owl me, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco vaguely heard what she said. Unfortunately, his attention was still on her exposed, olive hued skin and the sprinkles of freckles scattered about. Disappointed, he pressed his lips together to bite back a scoff. Hermione must've yielded to the trend like many witches and regularly use Muggle Ultra Violet booths to maintain a darker skin tone. Her natural skin color was a besotting creamy hue.

"What are you staring at?" the witch asked.

"Nothing." Draco's eyes darted away, and he finished buckling his belt. "I have to go."

"You said that already. And it's probably for the best. My boyfriend's going to be here in about hour."

Aghast from Hermione's words, Draco's eyes leapt out his skull and a deep frown formed on his lips. He shook his head and let out a mirthless chuckle. Who the hell was this girl wearing Hermione Granger's body and dying her hair? This was not how he had planned things. He wanted to talk to Blaise and fast. Who he really needed to talk to, though, was Ginny Potter.

Draco fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tucked the shirttails in. He slipped on his shoes and wanted to leave badly, but he couldn't just go without saying a few more words.

"W-we should…talk," Draco offered though he didn't really want to. He was just trying to be polite, though Salazar only knew why. This new Hermione wasn't a truly polite person.

He snatched up his cloak that was draped across her vanity and chanced looking at her once more. Her eyes were half-closed and her breathing lazy and uneven. Salazar and shite, she was about to fall asleep! Did she not care at all that he was being an utter ponce by being a married man, that she was in a relationship, and he was running away moments after intercourse?

"Now?" her voice was low and sleepy with her brows pressed together.

"No. Some other time. We can talk…about stuff."

She licked her lips tiredly and smacked them together. With a huff, she turned on her side into the fetal position. "We don't have to."

"Come again?" Draco said, unsure of what he heard.

"I'm not a stupid, silly girl, Mr. Malfoy. You shouldn't treat me like one."

"I wasn't t-" he tried to get in, taken back by her behavior.

"I know you won't Owl me."

"Wh-wh-"

"They never do, and that's okay." Her shoulders jumped in a little shrug and the left corner of her mouth tugged upwards. "It's…sweet that you're trying to be nice, but I really don't expect anything. We both got what we wanted tonight, and we're both technically taken."

With that said, Draco watched slack-jawed as Hermione rolled over and closed her eyes. "You can let yourself out. Apparate, walk, doesn't matter. Just turn off the light when you leave."

And so he did.

Draco Apparated into his office, startling his father's portrait a bit. Lucius raised a brow at his son's disheveled appearance.

"Draco," said the late Malfoy.

"Father," mumbled Draco and shirked his cloak and draped it over the sofa before taking a seat at his desk. He brought his hands to his face and messaged everywhere before running them roughly through his hair.

"You seem…off." Lucius' voice was not gentle, but there was the tiniest hint of worry laced around his words. "Whatever is the matter?"

Draco stayed silent, letting his father's voice wash over him. He missed him very much. The portrait was not enough to replace the real man. True, they hardly got along in life and certainly not in death, but the youngest Malfoy longed for the physical side of his patriarch. He supposed he could go to his mother who would treat him like he was once again a child and pet his hair and coo at him; however, he really needed a father's touch on this. A pat on the back, a side embrace, and the masculine words of comfort were things Draco really craved at that moment. Blaise could help, maybe, but once Draco told the man of where he spent his evening, his best friend might just cast an Unforgivable on him.

"I've done something stupid, Father," Draco said petulantly, avoiding eye contact with Lucius.

"I'm afraid, son, that I cannot help you in my current state." Annoyance weaved the words of Lucius', and Draco let out a harsh chuckle.

"I did not ask for help. I simply said that I've done something stupid."

"You were always good at that. Let me assume you've gotten yourself in a spot of trouble with your mistress."

Draco shot his father a look of astonishment and incredulity. "I don't have a mistress."

He then thought of Hermione and what happened merely not even an hour before. She wasn't his mistress. In fact, she wasn't anything. They weren't even really friends. She didn't remember him at all, so she didn't know him. Yet, when he made the mistake of being distracted by her attractiveness, she pounced on him. The woman had little care as to taking him home with her and shagging his brains out knowing that they were both in relationships. She didn't even look hurt when he left her quickly after their tryst. If he were to be honest with himself, she was expecting it and even pushed for his absence. And the way she was speaking was entirely casual like she had done this before, taking strange strangers to bed all the time and sending them on their way before her beau returned.

A wave a jealousy, disgust, and disappointment crashed into Draco. Jealous of all the men that Hermione let herself be touched by. Disgust, for Hermione letting herself be dragged into promiscuity and infidelity. Disappointment, because Hermione had lost the self-respecting behavior of the girl Draco had fallen in love with many years prior. She was the girl that treasured morality, ethics, and rules like she did books.

A tightening sensation embraced Draco's heart painfully. All that could comfort him was the thought of Granger still loving books. The notion was a beacon of hope that somewhere deep down beneath that straight blonde hair and behind those glasses was where the real Hermione Jean Granger dwelt.

Pushing his sullen behavior aside, Draco determinedly grabbed a blank piece of parchment and a quill. Once finishing his letter, he summoned his House-elf to take the letter to the Owlery. He then poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey and spared a glance at the clock and cringed. Ginevra Potter would not be appreciative of the letter being sent so late.