The lights flickered in that way they did when electricity was reconsidering its servitude to the human race. The storm outside had become a dark whirlwind of summer fury. The trees beyond the window bowed over in the wind and sheets of rain hit the pane of glass sharply.

It had become as dark as twilight and only the bright screen of the laptop lit the office of one Lucius Malfoy. Hermione was riveted by the little box of words. She had just typed something colossally stupid, something she wasn't even sure she meant. Was she giving Draco Malfoy a chance? Was she inviting him to try to win her? Did she want to be won?

DracoD0rmiens (12:19:05): do you mean that?

She typed quickly. Her thoughts solidified as her fingers hit the keys.

BedLAM (12:20:42): I don't know what I mean right now but I can say this for sure: if you really like a girl, it doesn't say much if you're willing to yield her to someone else.

It took him a long time to respond. By the time he did the dark clouds were moving on and people were venturing outside to take inventory of the damage.

DracoD0rmiens (12:39:13): I'll keep that in mind.

And then:

DracoD0rmiens signed off at 12:39:18.

Damn him! Hermione sighed and put her forehead down on the desk. She sat there for a moment, a hundred times more confused than she was already feeling. She had no time to ponder it, however; at that moment she heard movement in the living room. One of them had awakened.

She only barely managed to close the instant message window before Lucius walked in.

"There you are," he murmured. He was a little less guarded than usual, probably because he had just woken up. The sleep hadn't helped. He still looked supremely exhausted. In spite of that it didn't take him long to return to himself; his eyes narrowed slightly and he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Just checking mail. My mum was supposed to send me something, and I figured while you two were sleeping…"

He nodded, his paranoia assuaged. Internally, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had always known that she was a good liar, due to her quick mind and ability to keep her wits under pressure, but rarely had she ever exercised that talent this much. She would be lying to the whole world when their plan went into effect.

He was looking out the window, frowning. He was far away and wouldn't be coming back any time soon. That was where she left him fifteen minutes later when she led a bleary-eyed Ginny out the door.

Hermione and Ginny walked home in silence. They had gained a third party; Ginny had awakened to find Titania trying to clean her like she was a puppy, and after that the dog wouldn't stop fussing over her. Perhaps she could smell Ginny's hurt. Now the supple animal walked at Ginny's side, looking up at her every so often. Lucius had torn himself away from his brooding long enough to say that he didn't mind lending the dog out as long as Fred and George stayed well away from her. That had brought a brief smile to Ginny's lips. She had informed him that Fred and George only tested on humans, and lately their subject of choice was Ron. The same tentative smirk graced Lucius's face after that; Hermione thought that now the rift might begin to heal.

She wished that men were more given to talking, especially Slytherin men. But if Draco could only bring himself to be honest with her from six hundred miles away, behind the cover of a monitor, there was absolutely no chance of Lucius opening up across the table. She felt bad leaving him. She had a feeling that Ginny's confession had cut him deep. He was feeling every word of it, every ounce of blame, and there was no one for him to turn to for comfort. Not that he would look for it.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny said at last, when they were stopped at a crosswalk.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Ginny's hand fell on the top of Titania's head; the dog was tall enough that she was at exactly the right level. "I held it in for so long. I just…"

"It was his fault. He knows it."

The redhead nodded. "I never expected him to…feel remorse. You were right. He has changed."

The light changed and they crossed, Titania loping amicably next to them. The storm had brought a cold front, slicing the humidity out of the air, and the wind blew around the scent of earth absorbing rain.

"All of this seems so silly now," Hermione sighed.

"A little. But I think you should do it. It's high time someone gave Skeeter a taste of her own medicine. You don't read Witch Weekly, because if you did, you'd know that she took a few shots at me when Harry and I first made our relationship public."

"Nothing is too sacred," Hermione grumbled. "What an evil woman. I almost feel bad for her." Ginny gave her a look that said she was off her rocker. That was more like the girl she knew. Hermione smiled. "I did say almost."

The number of owls had reached epic proportions. There were easily fifty of them loitering outside, if not more, and a healthy stack of papers on the front stoop meant that many more had already come and gone.

Hermione groaned. "I guess I have to start reading some of these."

"I'll help you answer your fan mail," Ginny joked.

"Let's hope it's fan mail and not hate mail," Hermione muttered. They walked into her flat juggling the piles of letters. Ginny dropped hers on the couch, Hermione on the table, and Titania began what would prove to be a very long and arduous process of inspection. The grey dog walked around slowly, sniffing everything in her path, while the two women settled in and contemplated the stacks of parchment.

"Ready?" Ginny asked after a few minutes.

"No, but here goes." Hermione opened the first letter.

An hour passed with little but the rustle of paper and the clink of Titania's collar. Then a choked sound of rage escaped Ginny.

"What the hell!" she nearly shouted.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, startled.

"This…this…UGH!" Ginny whipped out her wand and in a second the letter was a pile of ash.

"What did it say?"

"Nothing. Just some double standards on paper. You know, how you should be ashamed of defiling the institution of marriage, and with a former Death Eater, no less…"

"Me? I'm the one defiling the institution of marriage?" Hermione shook her head. "Never mind Ron, he's clearly blameless in all of this. Screwing some girl in Mykonos is perfectly normal..."

"Whoever wrote it is probably two hundred years old and hasn't gotten any since 1912."

Hermione had to crack a smile. Ginny was feeling better. There were bound to be a few bad letters in the bunch, anyhow. She couldn't take them personally, no matter how personal they were. She opened the next one.

Hermione,

I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry. I want to see you. We can work this out, I know we can. I love you. Now, please, please stop seeing Malfoy. You've made your point.

It was Ron's handwriting. She felt like she was far away from herself for a moment. The rest of the world withdrew, isolating her in a bell jar of heartache. It was suddenly hard to breathe. She leaned against the table, struggling to contain the breakdown that her mind wanted to succumb to. Accidentally she placed her hand on top of her quill and the sharp new point poked a precise little hole in her palm. The brief flare of pain and the tiny red droplet it drew brought her back to the present and all its stark reality. With a ragged breath, she turned the paper over and picked up the quill.

Ronald,

Your apology means that you're actually guilty, and in light of that I won't be accepting it any time soon. And do you honestly think you can tell me what do to after this?

With a sniffle she pulled off her wedding band, oblivious to Ginny's curious look. She folded the paper, put it back inside the envelope, and dropped the wedding band in before sealing it. She crossed out her own name and wrote his. Ronald Weasley.

"Are you all right?" Ginny asked.

"No."

Nonetheless, Hermione stood up and walked over to the window. There were five owls outside. She took the letter from one and gave it her own correspondence.

Ginny hugged her from behind. "Is it over?"

Hermione placed her hands on Ginny's arms, which were clasped around her shoulders.

"I think so."

Three days later

She had gone from staring at the computer to staring at the phone. Out of some ridiculous hope she had added Draco's screenname to her list; he hadn't signed on since that stormy afternoon. It was very like him to confess to feelings she never would have suspected him of having and then disappear immediately afterwards. Perhaps his own honesty had been too much for him.

Hermione frowned, contemplating the character of Draco Malfoy. He had probably only told her how he felt because he believed that there was no chance of them ever being together or her reciprocating. She knew he also thought that his father would win the seduction game. But if he just told him that he liked her, she was fairly sure that Lucius would back off. She wasn't sure that Lucius was even interested, but if he was…

She chewed her lip. Even a year past fifty, she couldn't deny that he was a good looking man. She had no doubt of his so-called charms, either; he could talk his way into or out of almost anything, including someone's knickers. She would have to be careful.

But Draco…was he right? Was she lacking any kind of feelings for him? She could say with certainty that he was a good kisser. He'd impressed that much upon her. He wasn't painful to look at, either. His appeal was not the same as Lucius's; there was too much of his mother in him for that, but he could hardly be called unattractive. It was just that she had never noticed before, owing to the fact that she hated his guts. She suspected that the more she looked at him now, the more pleasing she would find him. These Malfoy men were dangerous.

Hermione contemplated her phone. It sat on the night table, the battery indicator light blinking green. At last, she picked it up and opened it. She took a breath and typed a text message.

Help.

Five minutes went by. Then the phone vibrated.

With what?

Her fingers worked quickly.

I'm considering another bender at the pub.

The response was faster this time.

Do you need an intervention?

Maybe just a distraction.

Can't someone else distract you?

I've already bothered everyone else. It was true, she'd seen Harry and Ginny two days ago and spent yesterday with her parents. There was no one else she cared to spend time with at the moment. Except, paradoxically, the man on the other end of the phone, though she told herself that was more because she wanted to check on him and see if he could contact Draco to call off his search. She texted again.

Don't act like you don't want to.

Oh, right, as your boyfriend I'm supposed to like distracting you.

We need to talk about that.

We haven't even been on our first date and already 'we have to talk'? You're such a woman.

Ha ha. Hermione sent him the name of a nearby restaurant and a time, and then tossed her phone into her purse. Either he would show up or he wouldn't. She didn't care either way.

He did show up, and it reminded her of something she had forgotten. When a Malfoy showed up, he showed up. Lucius looked as good in muggle clothing as he did in expensive robes. She had noticed this before, but in the comfort of his own flat he had been relatively casual. What he wore was still casual, but every inch of it looked designer and he looked like the model. Was he wearing aviators? He may as well have jumped out of an issue of GQ.

As he made his way towards her a table of four women turned their heads to gape at him. Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione was giving them a dirty look. He noticed this like he noticed everything and looked quite smug with himself when he sat down.

"Feeling possessive, are we?"

"Shut up," she bit off, embarrassed.

He smirked, but it faded quickly. "You look terrible."

"Thanks."

His eyes did a quick once-over and settled exactly where she hoped they would not – the pale stripe around her left ring finger. "Ah," was all he said. He settled in his seat and picked up the menu. She watched him over her menu, expecting sarcastic commentary at any moment, but he was resolutely silent. He raised an eyebrow when she ordered a bottle of pinot grigio and that was it.

At last, after they had ordered, he spoke.

"How is Miss Weasley doing?"

"Well," Hermione answered, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It seems like a weight has been lifted from her."

"Had she…never told anyone?" he asked, wincing slightly. It was a very subtle movement of his face, one that someone else might not have noticed. He was still feeling it, and very acutely if he was asking about her.

"No one. You and I were the first."

He shifted in his chair. If a metaphorical weight had been lifted from Ginny, it had now been placed upon him. The slight tension in his lips betrayed that.

"She's thinking about telling Harry and maybe her mum," Hermione said, sipping her wine. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if Harry already knows. He's very intuitive when it comes to…him."

Lucius nodded and followed her lead, pouring himself a healthy glass of wine. "I do regret it," he said quietly. "I…didn't choose her on purpose. It was just the first opportunity that presented itself, and I…" He lapsed into a moody silence.

"We're just a barrel of laughs, aren't we?" Hermione mused.

In response, he lifted his glass and drained it in one uninterrupted tilt.

"Careful," she cautioned. "You don't want to end up like me last week."

"It will take a lot more than one glass of wine for that." He refilled the glass, but left it alone. After a moment of thought, he said, "I am sorry about your separation. The end of a marriage is…" he seemed to choose his words carefully, "difficult."

She sighed, nodding. A moment later she lifted her eyes cautiously to his. They were a bit distant, remembering something that no doubt related to the dissolution of his marriage. If she struck now, while he was displaying signs of introspection and openness, maybe, just maybe he'd…

"Why did you and Narcissa separate?" It felt odd to say her name since she didn't know the woman and probably never would. His eyes snapped back to reality very quickly. He blinked once, twice, and then – curses – his face slipped back into the now-familiar mask of neutrality.

"Come now, Hermione," he said, his smooth sarcasm returned, "isn't there a rule against talking about exes on a first date?"

"This can't--" she began, but paused as the waitress arrived and set their food in front of them. "That's what I wanted to talk about," she continued. "There's not much point to this anymore. Ron more or less told me that he's guilty. Draco isn't going to find anything in Mykonos that will prove otherwise."

"More or less? That's hardly definitive. I don't know why he would tell you he did it if he didn't, but I have told a few whoppers in my life that made very little sense. Give both of them a chance," Lucius shrugged. "Besides, Draco isn't just looking for things related to you. We're going to need more than that to bring her down, and something to distract her so that she doesn't realize we're on her trail."

"Can't we think of anything else?" she sighed.

"Am I that aversive to pretend to date?"

"No," she said quickly. "I just…I don't know if I can handle the fallout. Some people are going to think I'm a terrible person." No, she wasn't going to think about the truth – that she was afraid that she might actually fall for him. Already feelings were creeping up on her, feelings she would never have believed she'd experience in a million years. She liked Lucius Malfoy. She liked him as a person, perhaps even a friend, and enjoyed the subtle mystery of his presence.

"You'll be vindicated when we get her." He looked at her thoughtfully before spearing a haricot vert. "Sometimes the suffering is worth the result."

She couldn't control herself. "I'll just tell myself that while we're out on dates."

He snorted and gave her an unappreciative look. But then his face went back to that smug, knowing look from when he'd first arrived. He delivered his next comment with all the skill of a surgeon wielding a scalpel. "Well, Hermione, you don't appear to be suffering too much during this date."

Hermione stuffed a pumpernickel roll in her mouth. She knew when she was beaten.

She felt much better walking out of the restaurant than she had walking in. She hated to admit it, but it had as much to do with his presence as it did with her being full and tipsy.

"You really have no tolerance," he commented once they were out on the sidewalk.

"You barely helped me with that bottle of wine," she responded.

"I had two glasses," he said, "and I'm not in the habit of letting alcohol solve my problems."

"Oh? Then how do you solve your problems, Lucius?"

"That depends upon the nature of the problem."

She rolled her eyes. Always so cryptic! Then again, it had been a broad question. And for another thing, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know how he solved certain problems. There was still much she didn't know about him and given his past there was the distinct possibility that some of his solutions were less than innocent.

"Are you--" she began, when suddenly the heel of her shoe hit a crack in the sidewalk and the rest of the question was cut off by the realization that she was going to fall. She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating impact with the pavement, but it never came. He caught her awkwardly and pulled her back to balance, but in the process they ended up in a strange half-embrace.

He was halfway through what would have been a sufficiently acerbic statement when a bright, sudden light made them both start. She realized what it was before him. It was the flash of a camera. She wrenched out of his grasp, drawing her wand. Across the street a man with mud-brown hair was running, trying to put some distance between them – obviously the sneaky paparazzo. She would have liked nothing more than to hex his hair right off his head.

"Not worth it," Lucius said, touching her wrist briefly. "It's what we wanted anyway, right?"

Hermione frowned and pocketed her wand. How odd it was to be told that it wasn't worth it by someone who, in the past, had reportedly hexed people purely for recreation. She wondered if he would be so sensible if he had a wand. "Right. They're just…so bloody rude, sneaking up on you like that."

"Just be glad he didn't get a picture of you falling on your arse, you lush."

She glared at him. "Do you see that crack in the sidewalk? It's practically a fault line!"

He smiled and held out his arm. And once again, she couldn't be angry at him. This was a serious, serious problem. She took his arm and they walked in companionable silence, one couple out of many meandering through the mild night.

It was bizarre to be walked to her door by him. He had been a perfect gentleman for the most part. She hadn't intended upon this being their 'first date', but evidently life had other plans. It was almost disturbing how much seeing him had cheered her up. Perhaps it was that with him she had a mission, a meaning…the summer was aimless as she didn't have to teach, and that only meant more time to be depressed over this whole miserable situation. He pulled her out of that, reminding her that she had a purpose: bring down Rita Skeeter, newswoman from hell.

"I suppose we should plan our second date," she said when they arrived at her door. She rummaged for her key, and when she found it she turned to face him.

He struggled to contain a smirk. "I'll call you."

"You are terrible." She jabbed the key into the lock. He wasn't kidding when he called it relationship charades, was he!

"Hermione," he said as she unlocked the door.

"What?" she demanded, a tad crossly.

"You asked me how I solve my problems."

She turned toward him, intrigued that she might get an answer, and found him a lot closer than before. Her heart beat faster at the proximity, and, damn her, it wasn't out of fear.

"I find," he said, his voice that refined purr that could stroke anyone in the right places, "that a good snog cures many ills."

Oh, lord, what a line, but she was buying it hook, line, and sinker. Before she knew it, his fingers had lifted her chin and his lips were descending on hers. They were not forceful, but she could no more resist them than she could forget her own name. In spite of the fact that her mind was screaming, she tilted her head and parted her lips. Fuck her mind; it had told her to marry Ron.

He tasted like the after dinner mint. His tongue was gentle, deft, only just acquainting itself with hers before withdrawing. But that was not the end of it. His lips remained, touching, teasing, cajoling with a sensuality she would not have thought him capable of. This was a man who had kissed many women in his time, but she didn't care because right now he was kissing her.

The tip of his tongue brushed her bottom lip and he pulled away. Oh, hell. Oh, fucking hell, her knees were weak. He gave her hand a slight squeeze, and then he was gone. What a bloody Casanova!

Hermione leaned against the door of her flat. What was it Jack said on Lost? Five seconds to let the fear in…she counted to five, letting every misgiving, every viciously rational diatribe, every no and never and shouldn't fly through her head. And then, with one very deep breath, she pushed it all away.

She had kissed Lucius Malfoy and liked it. And that was that. She opened the door, for the first time not having to step over a pile of letters (she hadn't been in the news for three whole days), and walked into her flat.

She almost screamed when she saw who was waiting for her.

"Ron!"

He turned, his face grim. Oh, God. Oh, if she had opened the door before the kiss…Lucius would be dead, murdered by Ron. Had he heard them? Surely he'd be yelling, hexing her, running after Lucius. Had he…?

"We have to talk, Hermione."