Author's Note; Thank you so much for following or favouriting this fic, I really appreciate knowing if you like it or not! Feedback is always welcome too ;)

Chapter Thirteen: "Far Behind"

"My fucking back."
Draco turned onto his stomach to relieve his aching spine, clueless as to why the hell he fell asleep in his living room. No less on a rug.
Until everything from the night before flooded back to his groggy mind, and an impish grin crept onto his face.

He glanced up from the floor, listening intently for movement, wondering if she was still here.
She wasn't.

Moping slightly, he stretched, and then checked his watch: 12:47.

Well no wonder she's gone, he thought, shaking his head at his own laziness. Once he got up, he walked to the kitchen and noticed his cell phone lying conspicuously on top of his raspberry chai tea box; the rest were put away.

He had three messages, but the most important one said: Text me when you get up :)

Smiling, he did as he was instructed, ("Thanks for tidying up, wish you hadn't left."), and marvelled at the fact she was turning him. After one night she was able to get him to follow along like a puppy so easily, but then, he was smitten since that evening in her apartment two weeks ago.

"Think this girl's going to be the death of me."

A moment later he received: Me neither, but I'm in a bit of trouble thanks to your 'charm'. Guess you'll have to make it up to me hm? ;)

"I think it's worth the risk."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure if Ginny believed her excuse for being absent the night before. But right now she didn't care.

If everything was smooth sailing with Draco, she'd confess everything to her best mate, and her best mate would understand. Hopefully.
Even if Ginny hated Malfoy, and Hermione wasn't sure if she still did so greatly, she'd see much quicker than Harry or Ron that Draco was different.

She had told her, ambling in at 11 am, looking properly ruffled, that she left because she was feeling under the weather. Neville mentioned she was 'too hot' once people realized she was gone, and Ron started to panic when she didn't answer her mobile.
Spinning a tale of how she visited her mum and dad after they found out she was home by herself, it had convinced everyone so far. Luckily, but unfortunate, Ginny was feeling quite ill. And didn't really want to invest her time accusing Hermione of lying.

Bringing in hot lemon water and toast, Hermione felt a bit bad hiding the truth when she was in perfect physical health, and her roommate looked awful.

"I think it was that damn mallowsweet," her friend was saying whilst moaning.
"As soon as I went into her house for food, I was nauseous. No wonder you went away."

"I'm sorry it's affected you so much."
Patting her on the forehead, she smoothed her mane of ginger hair to the side and tucked her into bed.

"Eh, with Luna's 'events' it's always 50/50 what the outcome will be. Thanks for the nosh, think I'm going to nap for now. Have to get to the bloody practice this afternoon, dead or alive."

Finding her grumbling endearing, Hermione wished her better and closed the door. Then her pocket was buzzing. She knew who it was, and felt giddy. She felt 16 again.

And she hadn't had that kind of high spirit in a long while.

Nothing was quite so pleasing than the idea that she was liked by a boy who seemed to hate nearly everything and everyone else.

And even if that was juvenile and stupid, it was nevertheless the reality. Waking up on his couch, she had fantasized in her sleep about snogging his face off, and more, and now she found it increasingly difficult not to picture him naked, curious if he'd be better than she expected.

Maybe she was just horny, but whatever spell he'd cast on her, it was working very well. She wanted to call him badly, and decided to 'put the garbage out' once she pulled up the message he'd sent: Trouble? Because of innocent old me? Surely you jest. I would never dream of such things. But if you're upset…what would you suggest I do?

As if she were spying, she tiptoed down the hallways ridiculously with her rubbish in her hands, and her mobile perched between her shoulder and ear.

"'Ello, 'Ello," he greeted her, and his voice sent her heart aflutter.

Pull yourself together, woman, she scolded as she made her way to the main floor on the elevator.

"Hey. Sorry I left. Had to check in back here, didn't tell anyone where I was going."

"Tsk tsk, Granger. Disappointed in you," he teased. "How irresponsible to let yourself be alone in the company of such distasteful scum."

"Oh, shut up," she tittered. "I had a nice time. A very nice time."

The line was crackling, and he paused, too elated to reply.
"Are you still there?"

"Yes," he finally said. She sensed that he sounded happier, and she was far too chuffed she could do that to him. "I did as well. So when am I seeing you next? Or are you banned from my presence for being naughty?"

"No, not yet. Although I'm uncertain on whether or not your little friends will ruin it for us before we can get it to take off," she admitted.
During their talk, he had divulged her all about how Pansy had been acting towards him, about how Blaise truly was, and about everything that had been going on in his life since graduation. She counted herself fortunate that she hadn't been quite so involved in dramatics like he had been, save for cheating with Ron and dumping her idiotic boyfriend.

"Whatever. Don't even care, I told them where they could go. What are they going to do? If they hurt you I'll have them assassinated. I haven't heard from anybody, literally no one, since Tuesday, and thus they probably were spreading something round about me to the rest…..I just want to see you."

Hermione didn't think he realized she absolutely melted when he said things of that nature, but she was telling herself she had to be strong, and not crack under her desires in leeway of her common sense.

"I don't know what you want to do. I'm frightfully swamped for the next week, I'm having a mental breakdown now just remembering how much paperwork is sitting on my desk."

"Alright then," he chuckled. "I'll surprise you with something mediocre next Saturday?"

She refrained from laughing, she felt too giggly as it was. "Friday. I can meet you somewhere after work?"

"Even better. I'll keep in touch, never memorize my schedule to be honest. It does often change, you know."

"Okay, Mister Big Shot. Talk to you later?"

"No, don't leave," he whined. "I'm terribly bored. Entertain me."

So she did.
Standing in the hallway for nearly an hour, she recapped her story after leaving Hogwarts. She wasn't ready to discuss more personal things, like the night with a Weasley yet, but she felt an unexpected comfort speaking to him, not uneasy like she probably should.
An hour had passed, her trash not throw out yet, and it was nearly 2 when she stopped to recollect where she was. Resting against the closed chute, she experienced a minor frission of panic; She was meant to go visit Ron on his break at the hospital.

"God, I have to get going, Draco. I'm sorry. Running late to visit Ron, he wanted to see me at St. Mungo's."

"Oh," he said. He was definitely jealous. "Have a good time then."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," she joked, trying to lighten him up. "You mustn't worry about him. Seriously. Having sex with him was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made, and I don't have lingering feelings to want to repeat it. He's still my friend, though, and it won't change if we happen to spend more time together."

"Alright," he sighed, as if with great effort. "But tell Weazelby, whenever it is you decide to drop the bomb, that I'll stomp him into flobberworm fodder if he touches you."

She rolled her eyes, but had to acknowledge she was a bit smug that he was so adamant on keeping her away from other men.
"Play nice, and you will find that I reward good behaviour."

"Dammit, Granger. Stop with your persuasive verbal skills."
His cheek had returned.

"Never. Bye," she sang, and hung up.

Hurrying back to grab her purse, she scribbled a note to Ginny, leaving her tylenol next to it, and apparated to Purge & Dowse Ltd, the warehouse entryway. Waiting for muggles to pass by, she stepped carefully into the glass window of ugly clothes, past the mannequins, and made her way to the commons.

Sitting in the cafeteria that was on the main floor, she bought sandwiches for them. Crisps, and bubble juice too. Greeting a few people she'd gotten to know, and waiting for Ron, she checked her mobile once she found a free table, hating how recently hooked on it she'd become.
She had two new texts.

The first: You're being very mean, getting the last word in. I kind of like it.

The second: Don't know if I can be a good lad when you're being all feisty.

Ron was on-call today, and behind schedule. Before she could fire back a witty reply though, he was rushing over apologizing, making her frantically snap the phone shut as she heard him call her name.

"You alright? We were worried sick. Thought maybe Malfoy kidnapped you or something," Ron chuckled as he dropped into the seat and grabbed the packet of crisps, scarfing it down; he'd had a long day.

He was too absorbed in food to notice how rigid she'd become, and red, fumbling to get off the tab to her drink, sipping it to hide her reaction.

"I'm just fine, thanks. Busy day?"

Her shrill voice didn't bother him, he was much too exhausted and satisfied that she wasn't severely ill.
"Hell, Saturdays are the worst. They've been requesting me to do lots of the patients because I got yesterday off."

"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear."
She tried to focus all her attention on him now, as he'd expressed such concern about her. Their relationship was still a bit wonky since the incident, but they knew each other so well it wasn't hard to try and remedy the error.

"Meh, I'm almost done, started early. Glad you could come out, always appreciate visitors," he grinned heartily. "And appreciate it even more when they get me food."

"Anytime," she replied, squeezing his hand once.

"Oh, you'll get kick outta this," he swallowed, crumpling his chicken salad wrapper. "We're swapping old Zabini's potions for ones from Japan. That's almost a third of his profits. He's going to be pissed."

She didn't feel good about it at all; an unpleasant wrench in her gut made her lose appetite. This was another thing for Blaise to get angry about, and though it was a rightful cause to become angry, he would surely act upon it irrationally.

"Why?"

"His are very expensive, even if they are from home. To be fair, they're quite good. But, we have such skilled healers in here, they can whip up potions just as nicely as the ones at his factory, or wherever they brew them. Strout, you know one of our head administrators, said she tried to bargain with him before they made a switch. But he was very difficult."

"No kidding," she replied acidly, and he raised an eyebrow; he wasn't aware she was still bitter.

"He was arguing that he was really humane compared to the rest of the companies and refused to lower the prices. Which might be true, but the other one is 'all natural', real spiritual crazies, kinda like Trelawney only smarter. And half-price. They can send it over here for us to make; creates more windows for jobs too."

It was a good move on the Ministry's part, Hermione admitted, but she knew something would happen as a result. Too often at school had she seen the influence of the aristocracy's hands extended, Lucius Malfoy one of the worst offenders.

"He's going to be livid."

"Ha, I'll say. Prophet was in here asking questions earlier. No doubt he'll come tumbling down once news gets out."

She groaned. "Great."

"What? Why are you bothered?" he asked, scrunching his brow.

Ron enjoyed seeing justice served, according to crimes he thought the accuser committed, regardless of what the justice was. In his mind, Blaise would never pay enough for hurting Hermione, just like he would always beat himself up for hurting Lavender.

"I'm just hoping he won't be stupid and make life difficult for you guys," she covered up, when in truth she thought he'd probably try to bring others down to his level before saving face. And one of them might be her. Or Draco.

"I'm sure it'll all work itself out."

Friday

And it did work itself out.
Kind of.

The headline "Herbal Magic potions kicked from St Mungo's for more affordable replacement: CEO outraged." didn't really help the matter.

Blaise had given a testy statement to one of the reporters, and Draco had relished in the fact he was squirming for once. At the same time, he was always on the fence about if he'd pop in from nowhere to feed them information like "Desperate Malfoy seeks out the Chosen One's best friend," or something more vile to distract the gossip-thirsty masses.

But so far, he'd not done anything except reiterate a declaration that the new company was less than his, and Draco was glad that the dragging week had finally made it to an end. It was Friday, and he got to see Hermione.

And he found, along with his worry of sabotage momentarily at rest, that he felt like a girl.

"How do you dress on a first date?"

Fumbling to call Roy, he had no ideas, even if he was an 'expert'.

"Ey, tonight's the night, hey? Can't wait to see this girl, mate. Must be fit; lots of trouble to go through just to see her."

He'd been too excited (and scared) not to tell anyone about his date. He'd told Georgia, but she was preparing for school and work, and could only offer a quick squeal of delight before leaving for a shoot. So he informed Roy after explaining Blaise's intrusion, as a thanks was clearly in order, and obviously had to trim the details on why they'd come. It ended up causing him believe that most of it was over Hermione, and not merely past offences.

In any case, Roy was playing a gig with his band, and suggested he take Hermione to it in an attempt to look like he wasn't a social leper.

"She is," he replied. "What's appropriate to wear to a, whatsit? A 'show'?"

He could hear the laughter being stifled on the other end. "Not a suit, that's for sure. Be casual. It's not the bloody opera.You honestly are living in the stone age. Who doesn't know the difference between a concert and a show? Oh, and you might want to tell your lass not to wear heels or a skirt. Gonna get jostled. Unless she prefers to sit during our performance."

"God, you sound like me. I prefer sitting to – moshing? Is that right? I don't even know if you're good. What are you anyways? The drummer? Are you sure your music isn't too heavy or screechy? I don't quite get the feeling she's into that."

"I do not. And yes, moshing. You pussy. I'm the lead singer, thanks. And she'll love it, okay. We'll do lots of covers so nothing too inappropriate for this exalted bar we're being dragged to. I might even dedicate a number to ya if you aren't an arse."

"Please don't," he said seriously, to more chuckling. "Anyways, I'll call you later."

"Peace, brother."

Shaking his head, he then texted Hermione, who was already at work, what Roy advised. Then to meet him at Fenwick of Bond Street, another high end store, where his last client would be meeting him.

Purposely, he'd arranged all his clients and meetings to not begin until noon. As a result, he could spend a good half hour showering, shaving, and primping. He decided on donning a dark grey v-neck with blue-on-black plaid trousers, no jacket. Spritzing a special mixture he'd bought at Madam Pimpernelle's potion shop afterwards to finish. It was meant to mimic amortentia's property to allow the wearer to smell attractive to everyone else, based on what they like.

Standing back to survey himself, his usual confidence slipped away. He felt skinny instead of lean, pale instead of fair, and all of his flaws that he forced himself to ignore normally were pooling to the forefront of his head.
Then, he recollected that this inadequacy was reminiscent of the first few times he'd been around Eliza when Blaise brought her to their circle. That she was like Venus, so perfect, and he was a mortal on the ground. Though the reflection didn't reassure him, it made him smile.

His alarm was buzzing to leave, and he prepared to apparate, unable to qualm fantasies of Hermione draped in only satin, wearing a crown of laurel, beckoning him towards her chambers for some sweet love-making.
"I need to get laid."

"I want to fuck," Hermione unwillingly cried as she reached her peak on her bed sheets, wrapped still in a towel. Closing her legs, she growled in frustration and began to rifle through her lingerie drawer as she wrenched herself from her pleasurable location.

She was meeting Draco at 7ish, and skipped lunch to be able to come home early to wash and change, and do her hair. Under the water, she was daydreaming about his lips, and when he'd flipped her onto her back in this very room to snog her more intensely. She was too horny, and had to get off before she saw him.
Sexual attraction was so deadly.

It was guiding her, perhaps, to pick out a matching, lacy, hot pink ensemble; low cut balcony bra, and nearly see through panties.
Or maybe that was just her justification.
"I've already made out with him and I barely know him, is it a big deal if I go further so soon?'

Her more rational mind assured her it was, and she sighed. She could still try to look nice though; for some reason having lovely knickers always gave her a boost of self-esteem even if nobody could see them.

"Can't wear bloody heels, or a dress? Honestly. Crookshanks, what do I do?" she asked, and the cat offered nothing but an empty stare.

They were going to see some band at a bar, she assumed Draco liked them. Maybe he wanted to participate in the crowd, but he didn't seem the type. She wanted to be positively tantalizing nevertheless, and listen to him, because he no doubt would be and do the same.

After fifteen fruitless minutes of scouring, she gave up and chose her never-fail options; tight black jeans and her combat boots. She didn't know what kind of 'look' Draco preferred, but dark and borderline slutty usually did the trick for most boys. Viktor had said he almost had a heart attack one time she showed up in pull-up tights with a tube dress. But that was too much for a first date.

An idea struck her, and she snuck into Ginny's closet. She wanted to borrow a striped corset-like top with straps that seemed to be in these days. It was very snug, but she got it zipped up eventually, cursing her stomach and praising her bigger boobs.

Then she tackled her hair for another long while, trying to straighten it, whilst muttering that he better appreciate it. Wondering why girls bothered such lengths to look good for four hours, she finished it off by applying some tasteful makeup and grabbing her purse. She left a vague note telling Ginny she was going out, not to worry, and that she had hijacked her shirt for the night. Locking up, she felt all the excitement and anxiety reach its maximum height, and took a deep breath before vanishing to Oxford.

"I don't know, dear. My man won't like this. It seems awfully frumpy."

Draco cringed, and tactfully did not slap a hand to his forehead like he wanted.
Madam Dorothy Manning was a cougar. At 60-something, and a widow with cash to burn, her favourite pastimes were having rendezvous with young men and glamming it up, as he had found out. She'd become a regular.

"I promise you Dottie," he groaned at her grimacing in the mirror, "that long-sleeves and higher necklines don't make you frumpy; it's just more conservative. Your, um, man, will uh, so desire to see all of you when you wear it. If you show off all the goods straight away, then there's no mystique. He's going to want to see what's underneath."

He wanted to vomit in his mouth, but he knew it was a convincing argument. She already refused to wear a dress longer than past her knees, and he was trying to get her to see that aged bulging breasts and extra-constricting fabric was not the way to go.

"Draco."
Hermione was beckoning him over to her in hushed tones by the fitting room entrance. She found herself awfully shy once she was actually here, and didn't want to interrupt his progress. Draco whipped his head to her, and she was turning to jelly at the playful smirk he gave her. Then he hopped up from his chair and ran over to peck her, dragging her by the hands in front of Dottie.

"You might be a specialist, dear. And you have a fair point. It's just not me, though. I think I – oh, hello there. Who's this?" She smiled mischievously at Hermione, who became surprised and discomfited.

"My date for the evening. Hermione, this is Mrs. Manning," he introduced her, and enjoyed the glare she passed to him before shaking her hand. She loathed being put on the spot.

"Nice to meet you," she said graciously.

"Oh, please. Mrs. Manning makes me sound like my mother. That must be exciting. I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Draco. Where are you two off to?" she inquired, adjusting her dress for maximum cleavage.

"It's our first date, actually, but we've known each other for ages," he corrected her, and Hermione was impressed that he wasn't flustered in the slightest. "And to see my web designer's band play. At the 12 Bar Club?"

He glanced at Hermione for her reaction, and was happy to see she wasn't put off by the announcement of where they were headed. Because he didn't know what the venue looked like.

"That will be such fun! I remember when I was twenty and it was all the rage to dress to the nines and - oh, but I mustn't keep you two with boring stories. I'm going to go with the first one I tried on, you think it's better than the one I wanted and I think it's better than this one. But it's a size too small." She held out a leopard print wrap dress, and Draco snatched it.

"Here I'll get it for you, wanna join?" he asked Hermione, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Uh…." She glimpsed from Draco to Dottie, who both had wayward expressions, but decided to follow along once he started to leave, speculating if they were both in on it.

Spinning around to walk backwards, he watched her trailing him. She was fighting off a smile, a bit embarrassed: "What's so amusing, eh? Do you take pleasure in flustering me?"

"Of course I do," he grinned, speeding up as the women's wear was on the floor they were on and scampered off to get the selected garment.
Hermione ran to go catch him, giggling incessantly past the other customers in the store, who wrinkled their nose at her somewhat tarty appearance.

"I'm not playing hide and seek with you all night, alright," she called, seeing him round a corner into the Betsey Johnson section.

When she reached the wall, he jumped out with a 'Boo!' which caused her to shriek, and then smack him on the chest when he started laughing uncontrollably.

"Are you five?" she flushed red, and before she could recover fully, he pushed her against the wall and looked intently into her with burning eyes.

"Nope," he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her ear, relishing when she stilled and gasped. "Just like riling you up. I like what you're wearing more, though."

He traced a solitary finger from her collar down to her hip, stopping to jerk her into him. Draco was well-versed in faking it till he made it, and though he was scared shitless he might be rejected, this is what he wanted to do and refused not to give into impulse.

"Good," she struggled to say, trying to slow her pulse down as she gently pushed him back. "Gave me a lot of rules to follow, don't know if I fancy that. But I suppose the great stylist Draco Malfoy knows better than I do."

She could sense him grin against her lips as he snogged her once before moving away.

"Oh darling, you wound me. Just didn't want you to be uncomfortable. How inconsiderate of me," he teased, grabbing a size 12 from the rack behind him. "And how do I look?"

He posed, hands on his cheeks and bending down like a pin-up model.
"So fabulous," she snickered, ruffling his hair before sauntering back to Dottie, knowing if he continued she'd probably give in and drag him somewhere to smooch his face off.

She noticed that his shirt brought out his (rare) eye colour. And gazing into them as he rambled on - still lightly mocking her - she noticed another hue besides grey. Sky blue, which directly circled his corneas. It was matched to the blue in his trousers as well.
No doubt in her mind this was calculated, and she knew he would continue to do this to her, lure her in with silly antics and good dress sense, until she was smitten.
And maybe, just because it was him, she already was.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked, waving a hand in front of her face as they returned to Dottie, who eagerly shut the curtain to try it on.

"Nope, just was thinking that you have really lovely eyes."
Two could play at this game, and Hermione now understood why he savoured in making her perturbed. He grew pink, and it spread all the way up to his ears.

"Do I?"

"Mmhm," she confirmed coyly.

"Not as lovely as yours," he retorted, still blushing.

"Smooth," she grinned.

"Alright lovebirds, it looks fantastic! You're free to go, thank you love, I will see you next time I have a , what did you call it? Rendezvous."

Dottie swished her way out of the little space, elated and raring to go, strutting down the corridor to the cash register with the price tag still hanging out from below her skirt.

Draco passed a look to Hermione, who had to hide her face so as not to laugh, and then towed her shaking frame to the escalators.

"Get some characters, do you?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. She's quite pleasant though, almost everyone disagrees with me. I especially hate having to do people I know, like, last week I had Cordelia Greengrass, you know Astoria and Daphne's mum – and well, let's just say she left in a huff when I told her she just simply didn't fit into a size 6."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Draco. People are difficult no matter how blunt or not you're going to be. Anyways, did you have a good day otherwise?"

He was taken aback by her swift change in subject. Then he remembered she wasn't Pansy, and didn't gossip; she wasn't mean. She instead actually gave a fuck about how his stupid work was and his sanity after it. Immediately, he wanted to hug her.

"Yeah, I did. Uh, how was yours?" he asked with a distracted brain.

The exchange about discussing their respective fields carried them all the way through dinner. Hermione really wanted something simple like fast food, and Draco, who thought that wasn't good enough for her decided he'd just go with it when she insisted it was.
There was a dingy pizzeria a few blocks down from the posh part of town, and they sat in the lame red booths on a checkered tile floor with cans of soda. It was refreshing that they didn't have to go somewhere exclusive, or trendy, that didn't sell things with long-winded names. And that she could, and wanted, to eat greasy food without complaining about how many carbs were in it.

They ended up on the subject of Mallowsweet and the odd endless fascination they were riddled with last night when they left to go to the bar, which was only a 15 minute walk thanks to Hermione's knowledge of the city.

As soon as they reached it, the noise was so deafening they could barely hear their own thoughts.
"ID?" a huge bouncer with a face-tattoo asked, meaning business.

"What?" Draco shouted over the din, while Hermione shoved him over a bit and pulled out her driver's license. She widened her eyes, turning round to urge him to think fast, unsure of what he was going to use.

"ID," the man repeated, more sternly, and Draco fumbled through his pockets for the muggle identification card he'd received in the post a week ago, keeping it in his wallet. He always forgot about it. Wands, he mused, were a much better form of credential.

Passing it to security and flashing his teeth innocently, the man shook his head and allowed them in, stamping their hands so the bartenders knew they were of age. The cover charge was 6 pounds, and since Hermione persisted on going halfsies, he let her pay without grumbling (with great difficulty).

"Want a drink?" he then asked, motioning to her to come over to the bar.
The place was absolutely packed, it was very small to begin with. The stage took up half the building.

"Just a beer, I guess?"
She was not having a duplicate of the other night. No mixed drinks, and definitely no double shots.

"OI! You made it, you bastard!"

Hermione looked in slight amazement at Roy, who was tottering towards them through the pandemonium. She hadn't expected Draco to hire somebody so…. dishevelled? Let alone a boy who would wear a shirt for Leftover Crack knowing his boss was coming to see him sing.

Draco turned round with two bottles, and received a hearty squeeze from Roy, who then jumped back to survey them, rocking on his heels.

"Jesus Christ, you actually listened to me. It's a Christmas Miracle!"
Roy was smashed, perhaps still a bit high, and had been since the afternoon. Now it was nearly 8:30 and his band Straight To Hell was on in ten, the act before them on their last song.

He noticed who his superior was standing with, passing her the drink. And was mildly impressed that he could bag a lady that was good-looking and didn't seem haughty.
"Are you her then? The elusive Hermione?"

She was slightly unnerved as he looked her up and down, but knew that he was only curious, and must've been told a lot, by the way Draco nudged him roughly to shut his damn mouth.

"I am. You're Roy?"

"I am! She is pretty, mate, don't screw it up," he goaded, to which Draco threw his head in his hands.

"Ready to go? I'd be so nervous," she asked, smiling brightly.

"Hell yeah I am. Couldn't believe when we actually got the gig. Not getting paid anything for it, maybe 10 quid, but who cares! Biggest crowd I've ever seen. You better be up front for it!"

"Maybe if you stop being an arse, and your music is good," Draco murmured taking a sip, a bit peeved now that he was being exposed in such a teasing way. But that, he supposed, is what friends do; it merely wasn't something he was used to.

"Draco." Hermione scolded him, finding him being rude yet amusing.

"Ah, come on. We're doing lotsa covers tonight, we won't be so vulgar."

"Yeah, yeah, well you better get set up, your lads need you," he pointed. The bassist was hollering at him to come check the mic.

"Oh, shite. Welp, enjoy the show!"

"Testy, aren't you?" Hermione whispered to him, grasping his shoulders from behind as they watched Roy jog away. "Don't be embarrassed, I do like that you told him I wasn't hideous."

"Far from it. I also told him you were a genius, but there you go," he stated, turning around so he could wrap his arms around her. "Wanna fag beforehand?"

She hated cigarettes, but then, she wasn't going to try and get him off it on their first date. And since almost everyone he knew was into smoking, she couldn't exactly blame him for getting into the habit.

"I don't like them, actually. But you go ahead, I'll be fine," she nodded reassuringly.
But he wasn't calmed by her acceptance of him killing himself slowly, and he had noticed a few men checking her out already.

"You don't want me to, I won't go," he declared, smiling at her gently.

Hermione said nothing, but stared shyly at the floor and took his hand to move closer, off to the right where there were tables.

She sat down on the padded benches lining the wall with a good view of the stage, and Draco slid next to her.

"I sense lots of static feedback in our futures," she predicted, as the guitarist tried to level out his amp.

"Sounds like it. If you hate them, I'm going to go bury my head in the sand. I just mentioned listening to The Specials and The Clash the other day, and he said that his group here was similar. Think he may have been exaggerating," he chuckled conspiratorially.

"Just give them a chance."
She leaned her head on him, and he held her close, shifting to be as near to her as possible. Lazily they slugged back their beers, watching patrons with colourful hair and studs file in and out between the outside while the sound check was coming to an end.

"Alright, I think we're ready," Roy pronounced, and the rowdy crowd gave hearty whistles and drunken claps. "We're Straight To Hell, and we're from this side of town!"
A few hoots and jeers resonated from the audience, as no doubt friends of the members tried to hype up the rest of the people in there.

"Thank you, thank you. This first song, like many to come to save your souls from my crappy writing abilities, is a cover. You all know it - It's called 'Should I Stay or Should I Go.'"
The intro riff was struck, and Hermione let out an enthusiastic whoop in a fit of daring. Roy looked over and winked, thumbs-up towards Draco.

"Darling you've got to let me know – should I stay or should I go?"

Turns out that they weren't that bad. Simple guitars and borderline tone-deaf singing were features of them, but then, isn't that, to quote Shakespeare, what a punk band makes?
Draco found the performance oddly charismatic, the way Roy was so assertive and into the act. And at least his band mates were altogether, not too off their heads that they couldn't keep it together in time.

"Pretty good, actually!" Hermione shouted to him over the sound, and Draco concurred, gesturing to his empty bottle.

She hesitated, and then agreed: just one more.

And one more drink turned into two more when Draco began dancing. He flailed idiculously right up front coming back from a refill. To try and convince her to come over, he raised his arms above his head and rocked his torso back and forth. She lost count then, distracted, because of her date, and because Roy managed to create a set list of recognizable hits, mingled in with their own badly lyrical numbers. She wanted to watch them, having rarely the opportunity to go out like this.

"Drinking beer!
It's what we fucking do and it must be made clear!
Chugging it down, and smoking pot – we like beer, yeah, we like it a lot!"
Beer, beer, beer, beer!
Maybe some whiskey too! YEAAAAAHHH!"

Draco was nearly doubled over now at Roy's screeching, and Roy, noticing this, jumped down off the low platform, and grabbed Draco into him to chant in front of all these folks.

"Come on now, sing it! BEER, BEER, BEER…"

He gave the 'help' expression to Hermione, who raised her eyebrows to say 'not a chance', and only began to fist-pump along with the more disorderly. He supposed this is what he got for mocking them, so Draco rolled his eyes and joined in.

"BEER! BEER! BEER!" he screamed, feeling his lungs go raw, and Roy patted him hard on the back before returning to where he was meant to be.

The final chord signalled the end, and everyone went wild, feeling good about their wasted selves for still being able to sing along to something.

"That was kind of amazing," Hermione giggled, falling into Draco as he pushed everyone away.

"Amazing? Are you drunk?" he inquired, amused she liked his exquisite 'singing voice'.

"Kind of."

She grinned at him like an idiot, and he flashed a glimpse at Roy, who raised his glass.

"This is our last one for the evening, ladies and gents, I know, I know, you'll be sad for us to go," he joked. "And I'd like to dedicate it to my boss Draco, who, like a bloody fool, thought it would be a great idea to take a first date to see us play."

He pointed to the pair, to subtle 'awwws' and wasted catcalls; they both flushed at the attention.

"It's another cover, by Social Distortion, about cutting areseholes out that fill our lives with nothing but shit! It's called 'Far Behind':
With friends like you, who needs enemies?
You ain't right, you ain't never gonna be.
You're out of the car, I'm afraid you've been declined.
You shake my hand while you're pissing on my leg,
I'm cutting you loose, I don't need this misery.
Your soul is toxic and you ain't no friend of mine, no!"

People began to jump around at the fast tempo, while Draco felt something akin to gratitude fill his insides. He'd never heard of the band or tune, but it hit home, and he couldn't believe that somebody would ever devote something like this to him, let alone stop long enough to pick an appropriate song.

"I'm leaving you far behind,
I'm leaving you – FAR BE-HIND!
Stop wasting all my time,
I'm leaving you, far behind."

Mayfair

"That was a lot of fun!" Hermione hiccupped, as they stumbled into Draco's flat.

There were two more bands after Roy's, and they'd stayed. Draco thought it would be inconsiderate to go after his dedication, Hermione felt the same way. So they bought a round, as well as shirts from their merch table, and had a go at moshing, even Hermione, who gave up immediately after somebody knocked her drink all over her chest.

Draco didn't want her to leave, and told her so when it reached 11. Now here they were; she was feeling content and buzzed, he was so nervous he wanted to vomit.
Besides the initial worry that he'd fuck up where Hermione was concerned, this change in pace frightened him in a manner he couldn't exactly explain. He was going out with a nice girl, supporting friends who actually lived up to the title, and didn't need to worry so much about what he said.

"So what would you like to do? We can listen to music, uh, watch a movie or something or – fuck," he called out. She'd tripped over the edge of his carpet, and he'd managed to catch her before she smacked her face on the wood. "Maybe get you some tea to sober up?

"No, no, I'm alright."
Inside, she was cursing her judgement of how much she could consume before she went from tipsy to worse, and then felt a sharp pain in her foot.

"You sure?"
She was wincing, and had dropped onto the floor to nurse her injury.

"No, ow, twisted my ankle, I think. Shit."
He thought she looked adorable pouting, but now he had a predicament.

"Oh….okay. Uh, ice?"
She gazed up at him, swaying and nearly hammered, and fell backwards so she was lying down, giggling once.

"No, no. It's not that bad. Just should go rest up, mm?" she questioned with eyes closed. "Sober up and see how I feel in the AM."
Even drunk, he hated that she was more logical than him.

"I'm pretty useless for these things, I'm sorry," he apologized, kneeling so he could scoop her into his arms, a bit of a struggling feat.

"W-what are you doing. Stop it, I'm heavy," she wiggled in his grasp, insecure about her weight, chuckling to cover it up. "I can hobble."

"Not heavy, I'm just a weakling, aren't I?" he huffed, smiling at her. "I'm not making you hobble, for Merlin's sake. I'm taking you upstairs."

"Please don't drop me," she said, holding onto him tightly under his arms, while he began treading up the steps.

"Oh ye of little faith. It's two floors, I'm not that pathetic."

"Sorry, it's just –"

"It's me, I know," he comforted her in a low tone, hugging her a bit closer to get her around the corner and up the next flight.

They reached the top in silence, but he wasn't bringing her to a bedroom, he was carrying her outside onto a balcony, through huge sliding glass doors.

"Trying to woo me with beautiful views?" she asked, the cool air hitting her face, and she breathed it in as he set her down on a large ottoman that faced the night sky.

The block was relatively low in terms of height, and she could see the stretch of street extend all the way to Hyde Park, couples and groups milling down below to go home or out.

"Yea, before we fall asleep. Want to talk to you a bit more without having my voice go hoarse," he admitted with no shame, lighting up a cigarette, and leaning over the railing to puff. "I really need to quit this. Can barely last 5 hours without one."

"I think my voice is almost gone, too," she cleared her throat. "And it's not the worst vice to have."

"You know I do love that you continuously try to make me feel better about myself," he beamed at her, exhaling upwards so it didn't invade her space.

She didn't respond, just watched the corner of his eyes crinkle, and was pleased that she could make him genuinely smile. If she was honest, there was something sensual in the way he took a drag from his smoke, so gently, and shot the excess back so it trailed into the atmosphere.

"Do you come out here a lot? I'd be out here at any spare moment," she inquired, adjusting herself in her seat.

"Usually after work, for a quick death stick," he chuckled, facing the outside, ashing onto off the rail. "It's calming to me most days, but I sit here sometimes when its dark out, and grow a bit lonesome, feel a bit isolated. It's nice having somebody here with me."

He turned back round, and she was examining him, looking both happy and quizzical. It was unnerving, and he didn't know how to deal with it. Nobody seemed to observe him the way she did, it was a quality that he only now understood made him fancy her. It was as if he actually mattered.
"Wanna go in?"

"Okay," she agreed, in a way that seemed like she wanted to say something more.

Though he wanted to settle her into his room, he got her into his second bed across the hall: "Lucky you, it's never been used."

It was very minimal, much like the rest of his house. A queen bed with a white waffle duvet sat in the middle to match the cream walls with enlarged photographs and paintings of deceased Malfoy's. The furniture was light wood, a scarce bookcase, a dresser and a bedside table. The best part of it was the window, which was a giant square that took up the entire wall.

"It's lovely."

He propped up her leg with a pillow and dragged the covers over her, wanting nothing more than to jump in beside her. Instead, he marched to his kitchen and fetched her a glass of water with some aspirin. They were too far gone.

"Thank you," she whispered, gazing up at him.
Finding him cute as he clutched one arm with the other, unsure of what to do, she desired to pull him down on top of her. But didn't.

"Maybe we should get some rest," he finally said, after standing around for a long five minutes.
"Sweet dreams," he wished her, kissing her on the head, leaving her with the restraint of a saint, not realizing that she was practicing her own self-control as well.

So it was with great surprise to him, that at 2 am, when he was still awake, unable to clear his head, that there was a knock on his door.
He got off his mattress, wrapping himself quickly in a housecoat and tentatively opened up, to Hermione standing awkwardly on one leg.

"Did I wake you? Couldn't sleep," she mumbled sheepishly, acutely aware that the only thing separating him from her was thin fabric. "Those pictures – they're really frightening when the lights off."

"You didn't. And sorry, granddads pretty ugly. Uh," he flushed, wishing he had on more than a glorified bathrobe, "Would you like to switch then?"

"No, just want to talk or something til I'm exhausted. If that's okay with you, obviously."
She was most definitely still under the influence. But so was he.

"Y-yeah sure," he allowed her entry, helping her to the bed.
She hopped up on his side, and snuggled into it, sighing.
He felt the area below his waist stirring, and swallowed a lump to go lie next to her, wanting to cry with joy when she didn't tell him to sit up.

She pulled him to her, snuggling into his chest, breathing him in.
"You smell good," she murmured, a wide grin spread cross his face.

"Do I? What do I smell like?" he asked, his nerves unclenching slightly, save for the fact that he was trying very hard not to become aroused. She was running fingers through his hair, massaging up and down his nape; it was difficult.

"That's an odd question."

"It's magic. The scent works like amortentia, but please believe me when I say it's not," he chuckled when he felt her freeze in his grip. "For example, to me it's whiskey, raspberries, and broom polish."

"Oh," she relaxed. "I smell….peppermint…parchment pages …and…uhm," she was nearly too embarrassed to finish, "leather."

"Kinky."

"Shush," she snickered, drawing him even closer.

They stayed like that for a while, until his soft breath in her ear was too much to take. She wanted him so badly, and she was forcing herself to wait. Yet again it was too late; she was crossing lines. First at Luna's, then telling him to come back here tonight, and now she was here in Draco Malfoy's bed.

Maybe this wasn't such a big deal. She was a grown up, having fun with another grown up, and he was more likable than a lot of people she associated with on a regular basis.

But that notion flew out of her head when she started pecking him behind the ear, when he reacted by gripped her waist to pull her smoothly against him, his erection pressing in between her thighs. She realized she wanted this to be significant, because she wanted him to be important in her life. She couldn't treat this lightly like she desired to, she had to let it seep in she was lying with the enemy, and she'd probably never felt as electrified as she did when he planted his lips on the skin of her neck.

Their mouths met, and she surrendered herself to him completely, and he to her, getting lost in each other as if they were fused. He was toxic, he could be dangerous, but somehow she knew he wouldn't be.

He wouldn't let her in here whilst he was naked, literally and figuratively. He would've cabbed her home or not have asked her to stay if he wasn't taken with her. And she really hoped he was, because she was snaking her hand to untie his fastening, could feel the warmth of his bare chest.

His breath hitched; but he didn't push her away.