5.

"Oh, those are lovely, dear. Did your gentleman give you that?" Joyce asked as she came to replace the pot of tea on the table.

"Something like that," Hermione said, having to bite her tongue before she could tack on 'mum' to the end of her sentence because – she wasn't – not really.

Raising her brows a little, Joyce probed in an all too familiar fashion, "Come on then, you can't just leave me with that!" When Hermione's lips parted to dissuade her – the woman had a whole restaurant to look after, surely she couldn't spare the time – but she did, taking the empty seat in front of her and smiling earnestly.

Hermione's fingers twitched with the suppressed impulse to take her hand, but – they were friendly but they weren't that close and it would be odd, wouldn't it; holding hands with the lady that runs a restaurant you happen to frequent in a town and country you aren't even from?

"Come on, Helena, you can dish with me. I may be an old lady but I can appreciate modern romance! Why Lucas and I have been together since school and -" I know, you've told me this story a dozen times, except his name is Daniel, and your name isn't Joyce, and you don't run a restaurant, and I'm your daughter. "Let me live vicariously through you!"

I buried you though, a memory of you anyway – of you and dad – you always did want to move to Australia, and I put flowers all over the house because it reminded me of you – And I'm so sorry I sent you away – I'm so sorry I mourned you when you were alive.

"His name is Drake," Hermione found herself saying, the fake name slipping easily off her tongue because she was used to bending the truth with Joyce, used to calling Draco by that name because he hated it – the thought made her smile a little. "We went to school together."

"Oh, that's lovely! Were you two close?"

"Like a cat and a snake."

"So not at all?" her mother asked, laughing behind her hand before exclaiming, "Don't tell me he just now realized his feelings for you! He isn't married or anything, is he?" she added in a scandalized whisper.

"No, no; perfectly single." No one wanted to go near the ruined Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. Its heir had, after all, been accused of being a money grabbing war criminal despite the fact that it was, indeed, his own family's money he had reclaimed. Fortune and last name aside, no one wanted to take a chance on being attached to the history of the family or be forced to visit the cursed ancestral mansion.

The game had changed, and any wizard with an iota of hope of climbing the social ladder and gaining power would never risk it on the social poison that was Draco Malfoy.

Funny, how different the tune would be if – when – they learned the truth.

"So then," Joyce prompted, and Hermione shook her head and smiled, returning to the conversation at hand.

"We reconnected in court one day and got into an argument while we were at it." She still couldn't believe he had tricked her, getting her all worked up for nothing. Well, not nothing – he claimed, as her intellectual equal he just wanted to ensure all her bases were covered. The arse.

"And you enjoyed it," her mother noted with a wiggle of her brows, and Hermione had to laugh at the absurdity of it.

"I did, I – we always were pretty heated in school, always arguing about things but not really arguing – just -"

"Debating," she supplied with a chuckle. "You're a smart woman, dear, it comes with the territory. You need someone who's going to challenge you and give you a new perspective; trust me, I know how that goes!"

"I suppose, everyone in school was about a hundred percent sure we hated one another, and I think for a while we both believed it too."

"Oh! So you two have had a thing before?"

She blushed – Merlin, she couldn't even tell her mother about her first kiss and now – "It was a lust thing, we were two teenagers who happened to be in each other's faces most of the time and it just – happened."

Joyce hummed, and then laughed as Hermione took a gulp of tea blaming the bright redness of her cheeks on the heat from her Earl Grey. "And did it keep happening?"

"For a while," she allowed, "it was a secret thing though, we were at boarding school together and everyone knew everyone's business – I know his parents wouldn't have been happy if they heard about it and it wasn't like we wanted people to know then."

Definitely not; Hermione had just been humiliated in front of the entire school; showing up on Viktor Krum's arm and then leaving like Cinderella at half-past twelve – no carriage or enchanted dress to keep her dignity as she wept on the staircase over stupid Ronald Weasley. Draco hadn't attended the Yule Ball and was only passing by – likely to cause trouble, Harry had said – and instead, found her.

It wasn't meant to be anything more than a moment of human decency and cordiality between two enemies, and yet –

"Anyway, eventually we mutually broke it off -" "You're going to get hurt!"; "I already am!" "- and that was that."

"But now?"

"Now?" she repeated, clearing her throat. "I live in a town where a lot of my schoolmates are, and Drake's fallen a bit from grace – got caught up in a bad crowd - and here I am, successful career woman, recently cheated on, and apparently the timing could not be better," she finished with a sardonic grin and another shake of her head. "I know he isn't in a bad crowd anymore, but he might still be in a bad space – I actually don't doubt that he is – but, Drake's good, he's so good."

"As a person or…"

"Joyce," she exclaimed, turning bright red. Oh, dear God.

Her mother chuckled. "I just want to know all the details; you can't blame an old woman!"

"Anyway!" Hermione continued with a dramatic roll of her eyes, "After we argued, we got into mutual ground -" which just happened to involve us being naked "- and then he left. At the end of the day, my secretary let me know that a package arrived from me earlier and ta-da."

"They're lovely," Joyce commented, rubbing a petal between her fingertips and smiling at her kindly, and God, mum, I've missed you. "He seems thoughtful, dear, and from the way you talk about him, I can tell you really like him."

"I do," she whispered.

"Then remember that because if your town is as small as the one I used to live in, people are bound to talk and, considering your history, I doubt it'll be all approving. If you two are the real deal you'll pull through just fine and, if he keeps treating you the way he does, I think you two will be as happy as can be."

"Thank you…"

"It's my pleasure dear," she said, already making to stand. "Now, I've dallied long enough, you tell that boy to take care of you."

"I will," Hermione said, gripping her hands against her seat to prevent standing up and reaching for her – her arms aching to wrap around a woman who didn't remember her.

"Come visit soon, and bring him with, I'd love to meet him!"

"I will," she repeated, watching her go, and seeing for an instant beneath the glamour she had placed on her; seeing the woman Hermione looked exactly like.

She finished her tea, stood to go, but left behind a single white violet in her booth before departing. The dead deserved flowers, and white violets were her mother's favorite.

.

Owls were sitting outside her window, hooting at her for attention as she modeled her sixth outfit option for her date as she had been doing for the past hour and a half.

Hermione was surprised they hadn't flown off in indignation but she liked to think that, after the first ten minutes, the creatures were just as invested in her choice of attire as she was.

Ginny thought it was just as well considering she couldn't be there in person to help, though her disembodied head from the fireplace was just as good.

"A date, a proper date," her friend rejoiced.

"Relax, Mother, it's not that big of a deal," Hermione teased, playing it off as she turned to check if the dip in the back of her dress was a little too much which Ginny totally disagreed with, of course.

As she walked back into her living room, Ginny shook her head, a disbelieving smile on her lips. "I can't believe you and Malfoy, I shouldn't be surprised really – he does eye-fuck you a lot."

Hermione groaned. "Not you too. Neville said the same thing."

"Because it's true," the redhead insisted. "I admit, I kind of thought he'd try something sooner, but there was Ronald and -" She rolled her eyes at the thought of him and Hermione couldn't help but snicker.

"Aren't you supposed to be on his side?"

"There are no sides here, you're both family. He's a prat, and he's wrong, and you deserve to be happy. And if you're happy with a good looking man who knows how to wear his robes, then what kind of friend would I be if I didn't tell you to climb him like a tree and have his babies?"

"Gin!"

"I'm supportive," Ginny shouted with a laugh, "you can never say otherwise!"

Laughing along with her, Hermione did a turn and asked, "What do you think?"

Her friend hummed. "Those aren't wizarding robes."

"They're not," she allowed, "but it turns out, I don't have many of those." She never really needed many of them. She usually always wore office attire of some sort, with a wizarding robe over it in any event, and Ministry affairs could always be navigated through with a simple, sophisticated LBD. Hermione was better off investing in boardroom gladiator gear than anything else. Besides, her only other robe choice was the one from Draco's Ball and that was entirely too fancy for a first date. Plus, he'd already taken that off of her and where was the fun in doing it a second time so soon after the first?

Ginny hummed again, and Hermione raised a brow. "Something wrong?"

"I just…don't know if you want to take the chance of not wearing robes. I mean, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. Where did he say he was taking you?"

"He didn't really," she admitted, "he just said to wear a dress; I assumed it included non-robe ones."

"Yeah but-" the redhead bit her lip. "Hermione, are you sure?"

"Of course, I am; unless this doesn't look good on me?" She examined her reflection in the full-length mirror she had moved near the fireplace, and examined the way the pale pink tulle skirt complimented nicely with her tanned skin and the black leather material of the strapless bodice that hugged her curves without emphasizing them too much, was a perfect contrast to the pink; it was the contradiction of sweet and dangerous; neither overtly prudish nor overtly sexy.

"No, no, you look amazing! I'm just worried that he'll take you to some fancy pure-blood eatery and the patrons will spend the rest of their evening side-eying you."

Hermione shrugged. "If they do, I hope they get migraines for the rest of the week."

"You aren't worried?" she asked in surprise, though Hermione hadn't expected otherwise. Ever since Ginny decided to wait for Harry as he sowed his wild oats, she'd become hyper-aware of what people were thinking of her which was not helped at all by the number of paparazzi waiting outside her door to do something.

Ginny had been broken in a different way to Hermione, the paranoia struck her deep and Molly had done her best to shield her from the world; it was like hitting the 'reverse' button on her only daughter's personality, and she seemed to withdraw with each passing week after Harry left.

Having him back didn't change anything either but Hermione guessed it might be because everyone in the Weasley family was still living like they had to bubble wrap everything.

"No," she said. "We survived a war, Ginny, why would I let someone's unasked for opinion bother me?"

"Because it might just remind you how little has actually changed, even though we won," she replied, frowning. Even when she shook, Hermione admired the way her chin stayed raised.

"Ginny…"

"It's different for me," the other woman said. "Nothing was ever really going to change for a pure-blood witch, at least not in the same way that it should have for you. Things…things were supposed to be different. Instead, the only thing that's really changed is that you get to sit in the building where people, who judge you based on the side you took and the blood you have, sit as your superiors. I heard about you fighting off yet another Muggle-born based law and I just can't understand why you're still having to fight this...this same thing over and over again!"

"Ginny," Hermione began once more, "no one ever said that the war was the be-all and end-all of the problems facing the wizarding community. I'll keep doing my part to correct that." That was the reality, that was her situation; what was left for Hermione to do but keep fighting?

"Because you have to," she supplied, shaking her head. "When will you stop having to?"

"When they stop trying to make me pick between the two worlds I'm a part of and I can't expect them to do that if I keep diluting who I am to get them to accept me."

Ginny sighed; her hand came into view to push her red hair off her forehead in a similar habit to Harry's. "You're right. Circe, you're right. I just don't know how you aren't tired."

"I am," Hermione divulged, hating the way her body practically sagged against her bones when she wasn't forcing herself to attention by sheer force of will. "But I'm also angry, and I'm not going to stop until the Muggle-borns after me don't have to keep fighting to belong here."

"You know I've got your back."

"I know," she said, with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Ginny."

"Of course, and – back to the outfit – I think it's perfect and it suits you and, if anyone tries to fight you, just take off your heel and stab them with it," she declared with a firm nod of approval.

.

Hermione held his arm for support as he escorted her from the apparition point to the restaurant of his choice, "Dinner," he informed, "is a safe first date option."

"Oh, are we having it in Paris?" She teased, "because I've had dinner dates before."

He snorted. "Dinner dates in pubs don't count."

"And places with no names, do?" she asked, brow raised in curiosity as they finally stopped before what looked to be a nondescript building – there were intricate black iron accents holding the big glass windows that were charmed with warm golden light but, beyond it, nothing could be seen. The door itself looked like the ones that could be found at an exclusive jewelry shop in New Bond Street yet there was no signage at all to recognize it by.

"Prestige needs no introduction." He squeezed her hand. "Ready?"

"Of course."

The door opened automatically as if someone was waiting for some sort of signal, although the person beyond wasn't particularly pleased to see who it was. The sour look on the maître d's face was valiantly put to rest, though as his notice shifted to Draco.

"Lord Malfoy, welcome, it is delightful to see you again. We've missed your presence for some time; I sincerely hope we haven't done anything to upset you?"

Titles and patronage - definitely as pure-blood as it came Hermione thought, forcing her features into polite indifference while Draco neutrally decided that the restaurant hadn't offended him yet.

"May I take your coat, Lord Malfoy?" the maître d' soldiered on, scrambling to make their esteemed guest comfortable and, in so doing, pushing Hermione back out the door – silently suggesting her departure.

Draco, noticing the man's obvious attempt to displace her and ignoring her to boot, made it clear that wouldn't be tolerated as he coldly ordered, "I can take off my own coat; if you wouldn't mind helping the lady?"

The maître d' smiled thinly. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger's reputation precedes her; we don't serve her type here."

Prestige, indeed.

Taking the few steps it took to get back to Draco side, Hermione tilted her head at the man. "My type?" she repeated innocently. "What's that? Muggle-born?"

The rest of the tables looked up and it seemed like the delicate chatter they were greeted with fell into complete silence as Hermione asked, her tone almost confused, "Does my blood somehow affect the way the food tastes here? Or is my type so poignant that it affects the structure of the building, the health of its patronage? Is it so terribly delicate?" She stage whispered worriedly, "How unfortunate."

Beside her, Draco snorted before zeroing his focus once more on the maître d', the message clear to everyone else in the establishment that had stopped what they were doing to pay attention to them. "I suggest you change that rule; I won't tolerate any disrespect towards my date and, if anything further upsets her, I swear on the Black and Malfoy names that I will come for this place and everyone in it."

The maître d', already pale, was starting to look like he was a muggle who had seen a ghost for the first time. "Sir, I…I cannot…those are the rules."

"I'm Draco Malfoy, fuck the rules."

.

It was practically guaranteed that they would feature in tomorrow's "daily spread" in the Daily Prophet. Hermione had heard the gossip on the grapevine that reporters were anxiously awaiting the date with almost unbridled excitement.

Likely, they were hoping to have a photograph of Draco being turned away, embarrassing Hermione; or going to a place where miraculously Draco was welcome but Hermione was not. Either way, the audience would be enthralled and the paper would win.

They were just as calculating and as manipulative as any society debutante, and Hermione could only grudgingly respect their scheme, something Draco had clearly taken into account.

His choice in a first date didn't surprise her in the slightest.

The pure-blood populace that spurned her was exactly who she needed to desensitize to her presence and, if she could find Draco's show of power ridiculously sexy and her less than amicable reception inconvenient at best, handling them at all would be child's play.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked after they were left to their devices in a private booth at the center of the dining room.

Her eyes flickered from the glass of wine in her hand to the man across the table, weighing the options of honesty and deceit before deciding there was little point in it when they were willing partners in the ploy. "Just enough."

"Don't worry, the hard part is over for now," he soothed, raising his own glass and swirling the wine within. "The food here is actually good and privacy is guaranteed now that we're seated."

"I thought the whole point was to be noticed?"

"It is," he allowed, "but we were seen on the walk here and, with that debacle at the reception, I'm sure we've made enough of a splash with our presence. If we make too much of a spectacle of ourselves, people will start to talk for the wrong reasons."

"You could have warned me," she said, a moment later.

"I needed to know that you could handle it and you did, with minimal interference from me."

"But just enough that you look like the perfect gentleman trying to fight for the honor of his lady while simultaneously reminding people how powerful you are," Hermione observed, and with a chuckle she noted, "How efficient of you."

"I do like efficiency," he allowed and, at the same time, they offered their glasses. The accompanying, melodic ting seemed to rouse the world outside of their private booth back into motion. The chatter started up again although how much was about them Hermione couldn't say.

"I intend to make this date ruin all others for you," Draco said, "even if we aren't in Paris."

"I was joking about that," she laughed.

"Nonetheless, all that remains for us now is to enjoy our evening."

"In intervals where the waiter will likely consider spitting in my plate which he'll have ample opportunity to do," Hermione reminded, brows raised. "A five course meal, really?"

"I'd have gone for twelve but I have to wean you off the expectation of Shepard's Pie and Merlin knows what else," he informed. "And this would be the perfect time to ensure your etiquette is up to scratch."

"They weren't that bad and, for your information, I know how to eat my food, Malfoy," she informed prudishly.

"Oh, I'm aware." And though her first instinct was to think he was unimpressed with the way she held a spoon, the sheer heat in his gaze brought her back to that day in his study.

She'd never been one for oral sex especially since neither of her two lovers after Draco were reciprocal.

Even if he hadn't been either, the picture of him so unraveled and undone in the throes of his pleasure made her feel powerful, and the thought of doing it again stirred something in her belly akin to hunger. She hid her swallow with a smile.

"Careful, Draco," she murmured, "I'll start to think you like our arrangement."

He smirked. "What can I say? I've never stopped being a little bit in lust with you."