Hello, hi. What? I'm alive? Indeed I am, but also very much busy with university things and certain developments in the situation otherwise known as love life.

So, I hope to make people's day with this new chapter. Sorry it's short, but I otherwise had no other inspiration, and this is what I spat out. So, I hope you enjoy it like the rest of my chapters...

Disclaimer: would I really be Rowling? No, didn't think so. She doesn't do Draco's sexiness justice.

What the hell am I supposed to wear? Hermione was tugging on a strand of her hair and biting her lip anxiously whilst standing in front of her wardrobe in her underwear. Does she wear purple and blue or go for a sophisticated brown? A little black number was not really in question: they were going to a matinee, but they were also going to dinner afterwards. Should she bring money with her? Draco paid the time before; did that mean it was Hermione's turn now?

Ugh! Stop thinking! Hermione chided herself. She thought that after her few days with Ron, her head would screw itself back on, but as soon as she received a reply from Draco, her stomach started fluttering and she starting counting down the days. And now here she was, two hours before she was to meet up with Draco, with no idea what to wear and knew even less where her heart lay.

Draco was waiting outside of the theatre, leaning casually on a pole, hands deeply in his pockets, watching the people walk by. She was late. Maybe she wouldn't arrive at all. Maybe she changed her mind, and decided to stand Draco up. Maybe she was still with her friend. Stop that, he told himself, and shifted his position. She's going to come. She's just running a little late.

Draco turned his grey eyes to a mother and her daughter. They were standing by the pillars in front of the theatre, the mother fussing over some ribbons in the daughter's long silky hair. The little girl was growing rather fussed with all the attention, but the mother held her with a firm grip. Draco made a small face, trying to ignore the connotations it had to his relationship with his parents, and instead turned his eye to a couple holding hands who were slowly walking past him. They seemed wrapped in their own world, lost in each other. It seemed that everything disappeared around them.

Draco smiled inwardly. It seemed really cheesy, and way too romantic. But the last thing he did for Hermione Granger was exactly that. What was with that woman? And what was taking her so long? Just as he thought that, Hermione stepped out of a black cab, and Draco almost sighed in relief.

And then he saw what she looked like.

She tied her hair back in a casual bun, a few strands falling around her heart-shaped face. She wore waist-high black trousers with soft ankle boots and a wrap-around sky-blue top. Draco had never noticed Hermione's figure before, but oh, he noticed it now. And worriedly enough, he found himself liking it.

"Mademoiselle," he greeted her with a kiss on the back of the hand. She actually blushed, Draco noticed, pleased.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," Hermione responded in kind, even adding a curtsey. The corner of his mouth curled slightly. He then straightened, and held out his arm.

"Shall we?"

She looped her arm in his. "Indeed we shall," she replied with a brilliant smile.

She'd watched the play before, at least ten times. Her frequent visits to London with her parents resulted in watching many plays and musicals. She didn't mind watching them several times over. They were good plays and they were almost always staged really well. Though, out of the corner of her eye, she watched Draco too; saw the nuances of his reactions, and the steady rise of his chest. She resisted the urge to drop her head onto his shoulder: perhaps she would give him the wrong idea.

But was it the right one?

After the show, there was the inevitable discussion over a cup of coffee in a nearby café whilst watching the subdued colours of London's setting sky. It seemed that Draco enjoyed it, although he had some strong opinions about the lead actor's skill. Perhaps it wasn't irrelevant to Hermione's enjoyment of the play, but she didn't rate it as the most important thing in watching a play. Still, it provided a steady conversation as they finished their coffee and smoothly proceeded to dinner. It was a short-lived affair, with pasta being the main dishes, and neither in a particular mood for dessert and thus moved swiftly to a lounge bar.

Hermione, with cocktail in hand, seated herself primly on a chic sofa opposite Draco, who drank a straight whiskey. "I never got the attraction to whiskey," Hermione confessed, looking curiously at the amber liquid.

Draco shrugged, not looking at his drink but rather at Hermione's deep brown eyes. "It's the smoky flavour. For me, that is. For others, it is the sheer fact that it makes them look important. I just like the taste."

"So it has nothing to do with your high upbringing?" Hermione asked teasingly.

Draco's expression didn't change. "Perhaps it has something to do with it. My father always drank it after dinner. I never acquired a taste for it when I was younger, but since I moved to London, I've taken a liking to it."

Hermione smiled. "I always thought it took a sophisticated man to really appreciate whiskey." She then giggled slightly. "I always thought it was rather sexy," she confessed.

Draco smiled slightly, but it didn't reach the intensity of his eyes. "I'm glad I suit your taste."

Hermione sipped her cocktail, blushing from a mixture of the drink and Draco's intent gaze. It was incredibly intense, and Hermione could not stop her heart from beating a rhythmic drum beat on her chest. As he spoke, his eyes never left hers, his words seemly holding the conversation, but his lips spoke of a sly secret. Hermione seemed drawn to him. Whether it was natural or the drink, she did not know.

She eventually shook herself and thought about Ron. Her stomach became a simmering pit of shame, her head spinning with guilt. "I should go home now," she mumbled, after her third cocktail.

Draco nodded fairly.

As they stepped into a cab, it started to rain, the drops pelting heavily on the windscreen. They pulled up in front of the Granger household, and Hermione gasped.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, actual concern lining his grey eyes.

The lights were off and the house was still. "I completely forgot that my parents were out this evening. I didn't even take any keys…"

"You could stay at my condo, if you wish," Draco offered, perhaps too quickly. "I have a second bedroom, and Blaise won't be home until morning, probably." He was right: Blaise's night-time adventures lasted until well into the next morning. He would often stumble into the condo mid-morning demanding coffee or more liquor. Hermione gave him a quick look and bit her lip worriedly. She didn't know Draco all that well to stay at his place, but he did say that he had a separate bedroom. Where was the harm in that? What was the risk?

Absolutely zero.

Exactly.

"This is a really nice place," Hermione said as she stood in the middle of the lounge, holding her arms awkwardly.

"Thank you," Draco replied from the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable. Do you want any coffee?"

"Um, yes please," she replied, seating herself on a rather comfortable but sophisticated-looking couch. Very Draco Malfoy, she thought to herself mischievously. She would never imagine that she would end up in Draco Malfoy's apartment when she came back to London. It was ridiculously big, but what more could she expect from the heir of the Malfoy fortune?

Draco came through with two steaming cups of coffee and set them down on the table in front of Hermione before seating himself. The only thing that could be heard was the steady patter of rain of the window pane and the steady ticking of the clock. Hermione didn't really seem to know what to do with herself. Everything seemed so foreign to her, Draco's condo, and the whole situation, all of it.

"Is anything the matter?" Draco asked, noting Hermione's silence.

Hermione shook her head and rubbed her neck. "No, nothing."

"I mean if you're bothered with anything, we could always come back until –"

"I mean it Draco," Hermione said reassuringly. "Everything's fine." She smiled and put a hand on his arm. It seemed like time stood still and all ambient noises around them were dulled in that moment. Hermione felt electricity enter the air around them.

"Everything's fine?" Draco said, leaning forward. "Nothing's wrong? You have no problems?"

"Absolutely zero," Hermione seemed to whisper.

Draco smiled, looking into her brown eyes once again. Her demeanour seemed completely open, and her hand was still on his arm. His pale, spidery hand shifted to hold hers. Their fingers intertwined together. Draco took this as another sign to lean closer still.

He smelled flowery perfume, cocktails, and fragrant shampoo. It was all distinctly Hermione-like, yet Draco couldn't imagine her smelling like anything else. They were very close now, Hermione's soft breath stirring on his cheek. She didn't lean back, she didn't resist. She merely closed her eyes as Draco pressed his lips against hers. It seemed everything melted together and the world exploded between them, nothing else mattering but the chemistry between them.

She melted against him as his kiss deepened, his hands wound around her waist, her hands entangled in his pale blond hair. He steadily pushed her down the couch, the coffee on the table long forgotten, the rain pattering steadily on the window.

It was about six in the morning when Blaise came in. He was…moderately sober as he traipsed through the dining room, dumping his jacket on one of the chairs. On the way to his bedroom he paused. On the couch, intertwined in each other's arms were two lovers, fast asleep on the couch.

Blaise only smirked and said, "Hermione Granger, eh?" before proceeding to his aforementioned destination.

There we go. Let's see what happens after this, shall we?

Reviews would be cool.

Signing off:

Caneater