It took me almost five months to update this despite the fact that I already written the story. Amazing. I apologise if this chapter seemed messy or anything cause I really can't remember a lot of it and I basically pieced it from several incomplete files I saved it in. Forgive me?

I am absolutely sorry and I promise this wont ever happen because I finally upgraded my laptop so its so much faster now and less prone to crashing. Heh.

A Levels are finally over and I am eight months free from school (unfortunately my curriculum has been replaced by work and application writing) so hopefully my dates will be more frequent. Ha.

Enjoy.

Annoyed as she was with certain friends (read: Ronald), Hermione still managed to repeat the entire date-disaster to them without, surprisingly, feeling a slightest hint of resentment. Far from it. In fact, she fancied it rather to be rather a relish, and enjoyed relating the entire fiasco to anyone she could tell.

This of course caused some kind of shock to her two best friends. Used to her coming back from a matchmaking session with a foul temper, Ron and Harry came over to her flat that very night of the disaster date in an attempt to pacify her, and both were astonished when she answered the door grinning from ear to ear.

Ron was convinced she was imperiused and demanded a full body-check. Hermione just told him cheerily to shut up.

Among her friends was a very new acquaintance by the name of Prudence. They became fast friends since the last visit to her cafe, and she often popped by Hermione's shop for a chat or some sort of gossip. Hermione liked her for her wit and company, Prudence liked Hermione for the exact same reason. Both were also united by their love of abusing Draco verbally.

Hermione enjoyed talking to Prudence Bennet. The redhead was a good listener and a loyal friend. She liked knowing someone so colourful and new that she hasn't already known her entire life. It was rather similar to eating a cheesecake—the old brownie is always good, but sometimes you like a twist in your desert.

"—And then the soda went all over his face!" Hermione laughed as she ended her story, giggling fondly at the memory of Draco drenched from head to toe. Prudence had dropped by again today, a few afternoons after the date, and she casually asked how it went. Hermione eagerly related the entire adventure to her, repeating enthusiastically a blow-by-blow account of what had happened.

Prudence laughed as well, but perhaps for another reason.

Prudence Bennet had known Draco, perhaps not her entire life, but long enough to understand him—he was an elusive character to say the least. But of late, Draco had become even more mysterious and vague, something which arouse the suspicions of his female friend. Though Prudence had whined and wheedled, the blond remained adamant about his increased visits to muggle London, citing it as business.

The redhead however was not as gullible as Draco seemed to presume she was (she felt miffed at that thought). She was utterly convinced about his inclination to a certain brunette. To her, it was also pretty obvious from the flush of her face that Hermione reciprocated his feelings. Instead, she chose not to say anything—not yet anyway. She enjoyed keeping a secret no one else knew of. Draco would just have to figure this one out (a revenge, she evilly thought, for playing dumb).

"Another story I could use to embarrass Draco. Thanks Hermione, I'm kind of running out of ammunition against him," Prudence added rather wickedly, stirring her cup of coffee, her chosen poison. Unlike her uncle, she favoured liquor that was much stronger than the milder tasting tea.

"Malfoy would never let me live if you do so. He did, after all, save me from that terrible narcissist. It was terribly lucky of me—for him to be there, I mean— for it would have been one of the worst days of my life-- " Hermione broke off suddenly, realising how breathless she sounded, feeling a bit puzzled.

Why was she so breathless? Why did she sound like that?

She looked up at Prudence, hoping that her friend hadn't noticed her strange behaviour, only to find her grinning rather widely.

"More coffee?" Prudence asked innocently.

Draco Malfoy had a rather relaxed morning. He woke up at nine today, prepared a simple breakfast of toast and jam, and lounged around the living room reading the last chapters of Atonement by Ian McEwan. Upon completing his book, he was left wondering about forgiveness, misunderstanding and what Hermione Granger would think of this book. He thought she might rather liked it.

As the clock struck one, Draco stood up from his seat and headed to the bathroom.

There was a stark change in his mannerism after he left the bathroom. He rushed to his closet and emptied half the contents to his bed, trying to decide what to wear. After 10 minutes of vexation, Draco finally decided on a black trousers and crisp grey shirt, slightly unsure about his selection. Upon ensembling the outfit on himself and viewing his reflection in the mirror, he changed his mind and took off the shirt immediately. With further contemplation, he fancied a white shirt instead and made a grab for the shirt. Still unsatisfied, he put on a black tie and tried to find his matching blazer without avail for the next five minutes. Said jacket was hung in the closet and said blond only realised it after. Looking at himself in the mirror, he wondered why he cared so much and berated himself and threw on a random shirt over his head. Looking at the clock, he swore for a while and finally left the house, wearing the original shirt he picked out.

Draco reached the café by two fifty panting, slightly later than he had planned. Pausing for a deep breath, he then entered the store and mill around the room looking for its owner, wondering where she might be.

He spotted her sitting at her usual red vinyl booth, in a slight daze. She was, in his opinion, particularly pretty today—the white floral dress she wore became her. Her curly hair was pulled back slightly with butterfly clips. The corners of his mouth tugged. She was adorable.

Feeling a slight leap in his heart, Draco slid into the seat opposite her, noticing nothing but her.

"Not thinking about Harvey are you?"

Hermione looked up, and saw Draco grinning at her. She felt her face warm a little, slightly embarrassed to be caught zoning out. She returned a smile to acknowledge it, knowing that he was teasing only.

"Draco," she greeted, noting that he looked nice in that grey shirt, even though there was a slight crease on it. She saw his gaze fell upon the two empty cups of coffee on the table. And a half eaten cheesecake.

"Prudence just left," she elaborated, gesturing to the cups.

He didn't question anymore, but simply acknowledge it by a nod.

"So what brings you here today?" she asked, trying to change the subject. She hoped that Draco wouldn't ask her why she was acting like so spacey two minutes ago.

"You are trying to avoid something," the blond observed, leaning back on the vinyl in a relaxed manner.

"If I am, I am not likely to tell you am I?" She said with a sly smile on her face. Draco laughed at that.

"Prue is starting to be a really bad influence," he said, shaking his head. "I can already tell with those cryptic signals."

"Maybe she is. So, really, why are you here?" she probed, leaning forward slightly as

she lifted her fork and took another bite of cake.

"Must there be a reason?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and gave him a long look.

"You are right though," he conceded, throwing his hand up in defeat. "I have a favour to ask of you. Well, not exactly a favour."

"Concerning?"

"A certain red head who sat here not too long ago," He said.

"What about?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Have you heard the line, 'All bad poetry springs from genuine feelings'?" Draco grinned roguishly.

"No," she answered slowly, wondering what he meant. And why was her heart hammering away like that when he mentioned that? Surely this was ridiculous.

"It's an Oscar Wilde quote." Draco elaborated. "Prudence loves poetry—well, usually. And another friend of mine does too."

"Who is it?" Hermione asked suspiciously, spying the big devious grin Draco was sporting.

"Blaise Zabini."

"Draco, please don't tell me we are matchmaking for Bennet." Hermione said deadpanned. Her partner nodded in affirmation, snickering.

"I thought she doesn't like the guy."

"They are perfect for each other. Very Benedick and Beatrice. And look at this." Draco shoved a colourful leaflet to her. Hermione glanced at it doubtfully.

Need a Hanky? Or just fancy a hanky-panky?

Come down to Mr November's Poetry and Tea Session!

No rhyming experience needed.

14Brown Street, London, Clemming's Bookstore.

Hermione laughed. "Very cheesy and very appropriate," she admitted. Prudence Bennet would have a field day reading the pamphlet itself.

"Oscar Wilde compels me to think that with the poetry session would be a success."

"She will absolutely murder me for this," She laughed. "What do I do?"

"Just bring her down next Tuesday. I will be there with Blaise."

"And we run away later?"

"We pull a runner," he agreed, before suddenly looking down interestedly at the table. Hermione was about to ask how he found out about this poetry session, but she noticed Draco wasn't quite done with what he wanted to say. She paused, waiting for him to continue, wondering why he seemed so hesitant. He didn't speak for another minute. She waited.

Then, not quite meeting Hermione's eyes, he finally added, "And maybe afterwards, we can go for dinner."

It was her turn to look at the table and turn as red as a poppy. She was determined not to look at her handsome companion, wondering how come she felt so dizzy with excitement and happiness at the same time.

"Well?" She heard Draco ask again when she did not respond. She looked up to find his gaze on her, so intense she could feel herself burn. His grey eyes were focused solely on her again. For a moment she could not speak, and a part of her fervently hoped that she was just dreaming.

But all the same, Hermione knew immediately what her reply was.

"Yes, I would like that very much."

Draco tried not to look too pleased.

Narcissa Malfoy waited exactly one week before she couldn't stand the curiosity anymore. Then, disregarding whatever cool front she had been putting up for the past seven days, she finally abandoned any uninterested appearance, put on her best dress and set off from the manor to Muggle London.

"Hermione Granger."

Hermione perked up at the sound of her name—she was not imagining it. Someone was calling her, and much to her delight, this meant that she had company. The monotony of a scorching afternoon in her café was getting to her. Hastily she turned around with a beam on her face, eager to greet whoever it was.

Her smile faltered right then, replaced by surprise.

Narcissa Malfoy was standing right there, gazing straight at her calmly. The woman standing at the door was blond and uncharacteristically pale; her height framed by entrance at which she was standing—she looked almost exactly like Hermione remembered her, yet somehow slightly changed. But she would forever be tall and beautiful.

Hermione hadn't seen her for years, perhaps not since the end of the Great War. But it was Narcissa alright— the loftiness and composure was still recognisable. It was a Malfoy trait.

"Narcissa," she greeted warmly. Although she could not fathom why Draco's mother was here, nevertheless she was delighted at the appearance of a familiar face. She bore no grudges against this person. Her contributions to the war had been endless.

There was something about the woman before her that surprised Hermione though. Even with age she was still as devastatingly beautiful as before. She was pale as the moon, but not a trace of fragility did she bore. On the contrary, she was strong and held herself well, her lovely grey eyes reflecting determination in them. Granted she seemed nervous, but her stance did not waver. But it was not all these that stunned her; it was the fact that Narcissa Malfoy was smiling so brightly at her.

It was probably the first time Hermione had seen her showing any form of emotion.

"Please Hermione, let's have a seat." Narcissa said, gesturing to a table. Hermione acquiesced, and the both settled opposite each other.

Did I dress well?" Narcissa asked nervously, smoothing her clothing. She was wearing a pale plum crisp dress and a white jacket. It became her rather well, or maybe it was the smile on her face that suited her.

"It's my first time here, in Muggle London," she added, as if explaining.

Amazing, Hermione thought. It was the witch's first venture here and she looked impeccable. And people like herself had problems dressing halfway decent in the morning.

"You look well in them," Hermione assured her, amusement written all over her face. Perhaps, she thought with merriment, that this was a Malfoy trait as well. Draco was more often than not immaculate.

Relief was evident in Narcissa. "I wondered about what I had to wear all morning. I am not accustomed to wearing Muggle clothing, you see."

"You will get used to it if you come down more often."

"I hope I will have the opportunity to," Narcissa winked, her eyes twinkling with excitement. This, Hermione realized, was the key difference that made the Narcissa Malfoy in front of her so unrecognizable.

"I'm sure you will," Hermione replied, looking puzzled but not saying anything.

"I will."

"Would you like some tea?" she suddenly asked, unsure of what to do. Narcissa nodded. The ice in her seemed completely melted. She wasn't the aloof, silent person the wizarding word thought she was.

"I would love some."

"I must get you a cup then," Hermione told her politely, standing up from her seat.

"Of course, I wouldn't mind coffee either. I heard so much pleasant remarks about the Columbian beans you used," Narcissa added conspiratorially. The gleam in her was obvious.

This caught Hermione off guard again, speechless. She docilely nodded, leaving the table looking more confused than ever.

As she returned to the table with the two heavy cups of coffee her companion thanked her. The both of them sat there silently for a minute. Narcissa was appreciating the aroma. Hermione was trying to figure out what was going on. Both were waiting.

"Look, Narcissa," Hermione interrupted finally. "I don't mean to be impolite or anything, but..."

"But you don't know why I am here," Narcissa finished matter-of-factly, looking directly at the dazed girl. She nodded.

"If I said I don't know, what would you do?" She asked lightly, putting down her teacup. Although not as restrained as before, Narcissa tried to remain in control as she would have. She silently watched Hermione's reaction

"You don't know?"

"If I don't know."

Hermione thought about this for a moment. Narcissa Malfoy had no reason to lie to her.

"I would ask you about Draco, then." The girl replied, beaming.

"He is, as usual, well enough to keep his mother perfectly worried about him," Narcissa told her, a sign of a near smile on her pale face. "Just yesterday he came in with three broken bones."

Hermione looked alarmed.

"Is he all right? What happened?"

Trying not to look too pleased or satisfied, she took another sipped of her tea, gazing again at the brown haired girl before answering. So she did care.

"Accidentally fell off a broom showing off a stunt."

Relief flood Hermione. She smiled.

"That sounds like him years ago," she said faintly, recalling the days in Hogwarts.

"And that is still him now," Narcissa frowned. "Mischievous and full of trouble."

"He will always remain like that, I hope," Hermione said, relaxing.

"Draco has an exceptional talent for such things," the blonde woman mused. "He is always up for some ranks and mischief. He hasn't changed since he was three."

"Not at all?"

"Only that the pranks get worse," she acknowledged, trying to hide a smile at the memory of her son. "Did you know," she added casually, "That ever since he got that wand of his, he would always jinx the house turquoise whenever he can?"

"Does he still?" Hermione smiled, trying to imagine. It was not hard, whether she tried to picture a three year-old Draco or a twenty-three year old one. He was exactly the type of person who would do that.

"Yes. Every opportunity. And the walls get more difficult to restore each time." Narcissa recalled with a smile. "But I got used to it."

"I should think so."

"But it makes him happy, so it makes me happy as well."

Something in Narcissa's tone made Hermione looked at her immediately. There was suppressed happiness and a hint of anxiety in the woman's throaty voice. The hints couldn't be more obvious this time. She did have something more to say.

Narcissa gazed at her directly now, suddenly motionless. Her intense grey eyes met Hermione's, as if searching for some kind of an answer. She had once again, caught Hermione off her guard.

"I do have a motive for coming," she admitted finally, not even attempting to break eye contact. Hermione waited for her to continue, sensing that she had not finished.

"I need to talk about my son."

Hermione felt slightly confused. They had already been chatting about Draco for the past few minutes. Weren't they?

The pale face of Narcissa Malfoy seemed to have also read the baffled expression. She, for some reason, became even more excited, anxious if you will, at the sight of this. She made no more attempt to compose herself—an attempt that was surely out of her usual cool character.

"I need to know," Narcissa rushed, leaning in towards the shocked brunette.

"Know what?" she asked, still puzzled. The woman beside her was making no sense at all. She hadn't a clue what Narcissa was talking about.

Her white hands suddenly grabbed Hermione's from across the table, again betraying even more emotion than she had ever showed before. She had held Hermione's hands with a tight firm grip.

"But you must have already known," Narcissa stated, looking slightly quizzical. Then she understood—Hermione did not know what was going on.

"Known what?" She repeated, nervous this time.

Narcissa Malfoy sat up straighter this time, as if suddenly mindful of her behaviour, though the seriousness in her eyes remained. She seemed to regain her composure once more, but did not let go of Hermione's hand. She smiled at Hermione, still gazing at her intently.

"You must know what my son feels for you."

Narcissa Malfoy had left her house, trying to remain cool and void of emotions. She reminded herself not to scare the girl, and not overwhelm her with enthusiasm. It was not an easy task for the zealous mother; the eagerness of seeing Draco's object of affections—possibly her future daughter-in-law— made it difficult to restrain herself. Needless to day, she had failed.

Hermione thought she heard wrong. "Pardon me?" She asked faintly.

"My son is in love with you," Narcissa told her, smiling.

Hermione's heart fluttered. It was not possible, but why then did a rush of thrill run through her at the thought? She forced herself not to feel the blood rush to her head, firmly trying to remain calm.

"I am afraid you made a mistake," She replied, trying to sound natural. Instead she was stammering.

Narcissa shook her head, still smiling slightly.

"I am never mistaken. Not about Draco."

"Still—" Hermione tried to argue, but the blond woman was firm.

"I am his mother, Hermione. I have loved him for more than twenty years. I know him. And I know it is you," she said emphatically, smoothing her dress.

For a moment her brain couldn't process. The hammering in her heart when berserk.

"Believe me, Hermione," Narcissa said softly.

Hermione couldn't find any words to say. She was very tempted to trust Narcissa, but logic made her doubtful. It couldn't be. Draco never said anything to her to hint this, even if he did look at her a lot.

"A mother's instinct is strong, Hermione. I have been watching him," Narcissa explained, "There is purpose and life in him now. Something that has been absent for a long time. You brought that to him."

"It is so obvious, sometimes I wonder how I almost missed it," Narcissa mused again. "There were the signs."

"Signs?" Hermione echoed blankly.

"The hints he made. The faraway look he sometimes has during dinner and those secret grins that are almost meaningful."

She remained silent, thoughtful as she tried to comprehend it.

"Then there was his extreme aversion to matchmaking," Narcissa pondered, laughing. "But recently it's gotten worse. He is reduced to resorting to extreme measures to keep the entire matchmaking community at bay. Now he terrorizes everybody."

Hermione laughed at this, remembering just weeks ago in the exact same booth did an extremely furious date threw a cup of coffee at him.

"And of course, there are the times he becomes breathless when he talk about you." And then she added, "Sort of the way you are now."

She sounded breathless? She suddenly remembered the time she talked to Prudence, when she thought she sounded like that too.

"Do I sound breathless?" She asked anxiously. But even as the words came out she realised she need not ask. Hermione could hear it—she did sound breathless.

"Very much so," Narcissa assured her, smiling.

"I never realised," she said, her head beginning to feel lighter.

"People in love seldom do."

"I never thought about it." She said honestly, looking at Narcissa.

"Please think about it soon."

There was now something even more in Narcissa's voice that she had not recognised before. Desperation, Hermione realised. Desperation.

"Hermione, I am a mother. There are things that I long for that are out of my control most of the time. You wouldn't understand until you become one," Narcissa said, beaming. "I would love to have a grandchild. I would like a family again. And most of all, I would like Draco to be happy. And he is, with you."

"I didn't realise that I affected him so much," Hermione commented, slightly dazed.

"I didn't think that it was possible for him to ever fall in love," Narcissa said truthfully. The corners of her lips went up. "He was the most impertinent boy. But then he met you again, and I believe that he has finally become wiser. It's time for him to settle down."

"It is time, isn't it?" She smiled fondly, thinking about the changes Draco went through since Hogwarts.

"It is time," Narcissa agreed. "And I would love to have you as my daughter."

The word daughter brought the gravity of the situation back to Hermione. A flurry of feelings overwhelmed her, wondering whether it was true. Today seemed so surreal.

Narcissa stood up. She sensed that it was time to leave Hermione alone to figure it out.

"I have to go," she stated, reluctant to depart. "Please think about it."

"I will think about it," She promised, almost whispering. "Narcissa?"

"Yes?"

"Do you really think it's possible for him to love me?"

"I know he does," she replied softly, kissing Hermione on her forehead. "And I am always ready to welcome you into our family."

With that, Narcissa left.

Hermione sat in her seat again with amazement and shock, unable to speak. The truth was, she now had no idea about how she felt about Draco.

Okay this chapter is slightly different from the rest I admit. Less light hearted I guess, but I hope it sits well with you guys.

Oh, and I wrote a Twilight oneshot. Do check it out and review!

I am so pissed. Have I mentioned that the Twilight movie will not be shown here until 18th December? This is so not fair, especially when I have been waiting forever for it to come out. I bet half of you already seen it and the rest already watched it twice. I am miffed.

So throw a bone to me you guys and review.