25

September 13th (Monday) – September 18th (Saturday) – Week Four

They didn't talk about it. Their strange sleeping arrangement continued, and yet they both just continued throughout their days as if they didn't spend every night on the same small couch, legs entwined and knees knocking any time they rolled over.

No, it was best to not talk about it.

On the Sunday when he'd asked her to stay with him for the first time – well, truth be told, he didn't actually ask, but Hermione thought that was a close as he'd ever come to actually asking – as she lay there trying to fall asleep with weight of his arm draped across one ankle and the heat of his own beneath her arms, she'd considered enlarging the couch. She was actually astonished that she hadn't thought of it the night before since she'd had her magic back a day earlier, but she didn't.

She'd never admit it to anyone other than herself, but she liked the feel of his body pressed against hers. It was comforting somehow, the way her legs seemed to form so perfectly around his. If she enlarged the couch, she might as well just go toss and turn in her own bed.

She used her wand to turn off the lights in the room before she could catch herself though, and she immediately thought he'd be reminded of her magic and ask her to make some more room… only he didn't. She wondered if the same thought crossed his mind or if he just hadn't really paid that much attention. He didn't really strike her as the type of person who didn't pay attention.

So, they just didn't talk about it.

They'd get up every morning and leave the room at separate intervals so that no one noticed, but they never brought it up. It was a seemingly unspoken agreement between them, to not get noticed. He'd brought up her telling Ron about sleeping with – beside not with – him every night, but after that one incident, it wasn't brought up again. They just fell into a routine.

Every night after group, they'd go to their own rooms, each getting ready for bed and waiting for the silence of the night to descend the hallways. Then, she'd hear his door open and click shut and wait another ten minutes or so to make sure no one would notice before she'd leave her own room as well.

On Tuesday, she'd decided that she didn't really need to be sleeping in her denims every night, so she showed up in black leggings and an oversized t-shirt, Granger Family Dentistry emblazoned across the front with letters so faded they were hardly legible.

The look he gave her when she walked in made her feel like she'd made a mistake. Perhaps she'd become too comfortable and now would be the time that he'd bring it up. His eyes passed quickly down her legs before he looked away, and she waited for him to say something.

"Sorry, Granger, but this isn't working."

"Uhmm, I think we should talk about this."

"This is ridiculous, and I'm tired of being your crutch."

But the words never came. He seemed to appreciate her change of attire, however, because the next evening, he'd shown up in gray sweatpants and a black shirt. She felt like an imbecilic schoolgirl with the way she'd ogled him and quickly looked away, swallowing nervously when he'd caught her staring at the way the fabric stretched across his broad chest and hugged his biceps in a most exquisite way. She caught the ghost of a smirk on his lips when she turned back around, and she knew he'd seen. She couldn't help it. Seeing him in tailored suits and chinos had started playing tricks on her, making her breath catch in her throat any time he rolled back his cuffs or unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, but seeing him in a way that she knew nobody else got to made her feel … special, privileged somehow, and that night she was certain he'd be able to somehow hear the heavy pounding of her heart as their legs wrapped around one another.

Instead, they carried on, neither speaking a word about the strange routine they'd fallen into. She thought surely if she ever did, the bubble would pop, and the spell would be broken. He'd realize that maybe it meant more to her than just two people trying to stave off the nightmares they each faced every night, and then he'd put a stop to it. His eyes would widen in shock just as they'd done when she admitted to having once fancied him years ago, long before the war had begun and cemented his place on the wrong side of the battle lines. She'd been stupid to have ever admitted that out loud, stupid to have felt it to begin with.

She remembered sometime during her second or third year discussing it with her mother, the only person she'd ever admitted it to actually, and Hermione had told her how ridiculous and idiotic it was to be secretly pining over the boy who made your life and the lives of your friends such a living hell. Her mother had lovingly stroked her hair, pulled her into a hug, and said, "You can't help how you feel, my sweet girl." As nice as it was, it didn't help whatsoever.

Now, here she was, once again finding herself pining over him. She knew it couldn't possibly be him. She was simply becoming too attached to the person she spent every night wrapped around. He'd helped her finally be able to sleep in a way that no other person had been able to simply by being there. She'd only woken from a nightmare one time in the week that they'd been sleeping together, and even that one wasn't as terrible as normal. She'd woken up, scared and confused, but quickly she remembered where she was. He'd never awoken, and she just scooted herself a little further down and tugged one of his knees between hers. The ache in her neck was well worth it when she awoke with long fingers stretched around her thighs and his legs past her head and buried in the couch behind her. Another few inches and she might as well had been laying on top of him, the thought alone sending a dozen images racing through her mind and her racing back to her room before he noticed the color tinging her cheeks.

Despite their mornings being so silent, each of them hastily lacing up their shoes and scurrying back to their own rooms just as the sun was rising, when the sun went down, it was as if they were in their own world. They spent every night talking to one another for hours on end, with the conversation flowing as easily as any she'd ever had with Harry and Ron.

After she had played "Bohemian Rhapsody" that first night, they'd listened to the entire album many times since. It seemed to have grown on him, so she introduced him to all her favorite music. She wasn't surprised at all to find that he liked The Rolling Stones. For some reason, they just seemed like him, and she wasn't wrong at all. She already pegged him as a fan of "Sympathy for the Devil" and "Paint It Black", but he did surprise her when "Wild Horses" topped them all as his favorite. They listened to that one last every night, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't love it.

So far, he didn't like anything pop whatsoever. She tried The Spice Girls just to see what he'd say, and if the pillow that he launched across the couch was any indication then he definitely didn't love them. He wasn't a fan of Elton John or The Cranberries, but he liked both Blur and Oasis.

They talked about stupid, meaningless things, and she learned that he can't stand pineapples or porridge and that his parents never let him have a pet. And they talked about things that neither of them had ever told anyone.

She admitted to being angry at Harry for the way he'd had to fake his death during the final battle. She knew, logically, why he'd had to do it, and, of course, she'd forgiven him for the way her heart had torn in two when she saw him lying lifeless in Hagrid's arms. But sometimes, after waking from her many nightmares of having to relive that moment, she couldn't help but be angry with him all over again.

Draco had surprised her then, as he'd been so wont to do in the last three weeks.

"I was angry with him too," he'd said, shrugging and downing the last of his tea. "I thought he was our only hope," he paused to look at her seriously, "if you ever tell him this, I'll never speak to you again."

She smirked and rolled her eyes, causing him to reiterate. "Well, I'll deny it vehemently, and I won't speak to you for at least a whole day."

"Your secret is safe with me," she said, tossing her feet up into his lap.

He took a deep breath and laid one hand nonchalantly across her ankles, his fingers grazing across the two inches of bare skin between her socks and the hem of her sweatpants causing goosebumps to break out across her arms. "I knew if Potter didn't defeat him, we were going to die. Truthfully, I wasn't even scared of that anymore. I just wanted it to be over. If Potter lost, I knew we'd either be dead or living in the same hell we'd been living in for the past year."

He leaned back and turned himself at an angle to throw his own legs onto the couch. He lifted her feet off his lap, putting one of his legs on either side of hers, and laid her feet back into his lap. This was the freest he'd touched her when they weren't both half-hidden beneath a blanket and half asleep, and for a moment she lost track of what he was saying as he brought his other hand to rest across the bare skin of her ankles as well. For a split second she could have sworn he'd absently rubbed a circle into her lower calf with one thumb, but it was over so suddenly she couldn't be sure that she didn't imagine it. She blinked a few times and brought her eyes back to his face, feeling ashamed that she was focused on his skin on hers and not the serious conversation he was trying to have.

"When I saw his body, I knew it was over. I was so angry at Potter for losing, and I honestly didn't even register what was happening when my parents were calling me to their side. When… when he stopped me halfway, I really thought he was going to kill me right there in front of my mother and," his face broke into a disbelieving grin as he shook his head, "instead he just hugged me. How bloody insane was that?! I'm fairly certain I'm the only person in the world who can say they've been hugged by The Dark Lord." He grimaced and gave an involuntary shake.

"Anyway, I say all that to mean I understand your anger," he said, before changing the subject and turning the radio up just as "Wonderwall" came on.

In addition to their nightly slumber parties, they'd started Occlumency practice again, though it was really nothing more than meditation. Hermione was excited to get her magic back for good to really test the limits of her mindfulness. She made a mental note to try again on Sunday, but she wasn't sure how to actually test the theory. She definitely didn't want to try to force a panic attack or a magical explosion, but she didn't think there was any other option.

She brought it up to Alys during one of their daily sessions, and she told her that in a few more weeks, they were all going to be receiving their magic back, at least for more than a single day a week.

"We really need to test everyone's ability to function well with the use of magic. We haven't had a panic attack or a magical explosion from anyone, not just you, in weeks. I think Walt is going to want to start testing those bounds at some point near the halfway mark," Alys had told her, after yet another CBT session.

Following Hermione's encounter with the boggart, she'd begun taking her healing more seriously. She knew the situation wasn't entirely her fault; just as Walt had said, he should have intervened sooner. However, if Hermione had begun the CBT sessions in full force as they were supposed to, perhaps she would have been able to banish hers as everyone else had done.

"To be fair, your boggart was the only one who actually attacked you," Parvati told her during one of their morning hikes.

Even Seamus had gone out of his way to try and cheer her up, adding, "We all would have struggled a bit more if our boggart had us by the throat too."

After he and Draco had both attempted to fight the boggart off Hermione, something in Seamus had shifted. He was no longer surly and disagreeable at every turn, though he was definitely still just as outspoken. Somehow, after that single event, he had struck up an unlikely friendship with Draco. Perhaps friendship was too strong a word, but they were definitely much more cordial with one another. One night when they'd all built a fire and sat around it swapping stories from school, Seamus had actually shared his firewhisky with Draco. It was as close as Hermione thought they'd ever get to actual friendship, but even that in and of itself was more than she ever imagined would happen.

The only one of them who remained at a distance from the rest was Nicola. Where the rest of the group had somehow bonded over their shared traumatic boggart experiences, Nicola had pulled away even further. They saw her during meals and during group sessions, but otherwise, she was absent. Even when they did see her, she remained a ghost. She answered the questions Walt sent her way during group and occasionally she'd speak to someone during meals, but her smiles never reached her eyes and her words seemed hollow and forced.

Hermione tried to reach out to her, but every time Nicola would give the same forced smile and say, "I'm fine, Hermione" before closing her door and secluding herself once again.

All and all the week was draining to say the least; Hermione had finally begun sharing her full story during her one-on-one sessions with Alys. She wasn't quite ready to give her memories over, allowing the others to actually see what she'd gone through during the war, but at least she'd been able to verbalize parts of it with Alys.

Apparently, CBT was doing what it was meant to. The very first time she had to speak out loud to Alys the things that Greyback said and did to her, she'd shook all over and could barely get the words out between her sobs and burying her face in shame, but Alys would have none of it.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Hermione. Nothing. You've heard part of Nicola's memories. You know what she went through. You saw yourself how she feels ashamed because of it. What would you say to her?"

"I'd… I'd tell her that she did nothing wrong," Hermione said, unable to look Alys in the face.

"Exactly. And neither did you." Alys had pulled Hermione's attention back to her by placing a kind hand on her shoulder, and after that, each time had gotten a bit easier.

It still made her uncomfortable to say the words out loud, but at least now she could do it without being overcome with emotion, and wasn't that the point? To get comfortable discussing your trauma? She hoped that eventually she could talk about it and not feel her heart race or the sweat from her palms soaking into her denims. She knew at some point she would have to share it with the group, and she wanted to be able to do it without completely falling apart.

For the next step, Alys recommended that she share her story with someone else. Just the idea alone was enough to cause Hermione to resort to reciting potions ingredients to prevent a panic attack. Perhaps she wasn't as "recovered" as she thought she was.

Alys, seeing how just the suggestion affected her, said they would continue with their sessions as they had been and revisit that idea in a week or so. Hermione's first choice was Nicola. Despite her withdrawal from the group, Hermione did still feel some sort of familial connection with her, not to mention the fact that they'd been through similar situations. As soon as Hermione thought that, she felt sick. Nicola had been through so much worse. Once again, she felt completely out-of-place at even being here. Hearing some of the things that the others had been through and sacrificed, she felt so incredibly weak, but Alys pulled her out again, reminding her that everyone processes trauma differently.

After those daily sessions and then staying up late every night talking to Draco, Hermione really was drained. Despite the fact that she was sleeping much better than she had been in the last year, she still was only getting five or six hours a night before getting up early enough to get back to her room unnoticed.

So, when Walt announced one night that they'd be skipping group on Saturday and spending the day in the Muggle world, Hermione was quite ready for the change of pace. They were all going to get their magic back a day early as well. Then, when she learned that they'd be going to the theatre in New York City, she decided to put her theory about Draco's strange behavior on Sunday to the test.

After he'd been so angry at her following her visit with her friends, her first instinct was that he'd been jealous, though, of course, she talked herself out of it over the course of the night. But, after another few days to mull it over, and continuing to be wrapped around his legs every night, as he'd so eloquently put it, she'd begun to think her first instinct had been right all along.

When the afternoon came for their trip, they all gathered outside, as they typically did, and joined hands. This time Susan was in charge of the portkey, and with one glance toward Walt confirming the time, she reached down to place one hand on the empty soup can on the ground in the middle of their circle.

All at once, they were snatched through the air, spinning in place and landing with a thud in a dirty alleyway in the middle of New York City. Hermione had held roughly onto Draco's hand in hers as she lurched forward when her feet hit the wet pavement. She stumbled, barely managing to remain upright, and mumbled under her breath about how much she despised portkeys.

She looked down, realizing their hands were still clasped and let him go immediately, looking around quickly to see if anyone else had noticed. Thankfully, all eyes were taking in the scene around them rather than focusing on Hermione's nervous blush.

Draco cleared his throat and straightened his tie as she stepped around her to walk between Walt and Dennis. The night before they'd taken a vote on which play they'd be seeing, and surprisingly, Beauty and the Beast won out. Hermione was ecstatic. Her parents had taken her to see the film over the Christmas break during her first year at Hogwarts, and it had become a Christmas tradition for them every year since then. She'd never gotten to see the live performance and getting to see it for the first time on Broadway seemed like a dream come true, even if it wasn't with her parents.

They began walking from the alley where they'd landed toward the theatre, and Draco, Nicola, and Alys were all gaping at the tall buildings surrounding them on the walk over, having never seen such massive structures in the magical world.

"How did they manage this without the help of magic?" Draco asked, unable to hide his intrigue at the sheer size of the architecture.

Hermione placed a hand on his arm, stopping him so she could point down one street to the machinery in the distance. "That's a crane, that really tall thing with the hook on the end. They use that and a hundred other machines to piece it together. It's actually really quite ingenious."

Draco was clearly impressed. He'd come a long way in the short time since their trip to California. Then, he'd certainly been trying to hide his surprise and awe at all the Muggle shops and businesses. Now, however, he was openly eyeing everything he passed. For someone who had grown up with all things Muggle being strictly forbidden, she supposed it was somewhat like a child who'd been deprived of candy receiving his very first sweet.

They made it to the Lunt-Fontanne Theater, and Walt gave their tickets over to the woman working the ticket booth and led them all inside. They took their seats just as the play began, and Hermione was in complete awe. Just as she'd done when they'd all watched The Princess Bride, she had to force herself not to quote the entire play or sing each song as it occurred on stage. Though she'd finished the walk over with Alys and Walt, she'd managed to end up in a seat between Walt and Draco. She smiled to herself, thinking it definitely hadn't been an accident. Draco had just appeared right beside her as they'd begun to take their seats, and she'd be lying if she said him being so close didn't leave a warmth rising in her chest that had her shedding her jumper.

Draco leaned down, sending a shiver through her as his breath tingled across her ear. "This music is amazing."

"I knew you'd like it. I'll have to show you the film sometime. It's just as wonderful." She'd leaned toward him, unable to see his face clearly in the dark, and when the lights flashed momentarily on stage, she pulled back quickly, realizing she'd been speaking not into his ear but directly into his face.

"I don't think there's a telly-vision at The Willows," he replied softly, trying to not disturb everyone around them.

"Television," she said, smiling at his silly mispronunciation. "And, I meant after. We could see it sometime. I watch it every Christmas." As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes opened wide in alarm. They'd never once talked about after The Willows. They'd certainly not talked about doing anything together afterward. She'd inadvertently stepped entirely too close to the line in the sand, their unspoken agreement to not talk about whatever it was they were doing or the fact that they were sort-of friends.

He said nothing, and she leaned back suddenly in her seat, trying to separate herself from him as much as their attached seats would allow. She tried to stop her normal internal monologue from taking over, the standard slew of deprecatory diatribes – You're an idiot. Why would he want to spend time with you? He already has friends. You're so pathetic – so that she could enjoy the play, but once the cycle started, it was hard to turn it off again.

She was halfway through her second course of berating herself when his hand on her arm effectively silenced her inner tirade. He leaned back toward her and said, "She's falling in love with him? That's ridiculous. The man is holding her hostage, and he isn't even a man. He's a large horned animal. Isn't there a word for this?"

"Bestiality?" she whispered, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. Surely, that wasn't what he was referring to. She couldn't see his face, but she'd felt him move rather quickly to face her full on. The stillness beside her told her he was staring at her, and she could imagine the look on his face, causing her to put a hand over her mouth to hold in her giggles.

"No. No. That's… that's not what I meant. I meant a word for her falling in love with her captor."

Understanding hit her full in the face, and she felt like an idiot all over again for not getting it to begin with. The laugh bubbled up through her chest before she could stop it. A shhh from somewhere to their left pulled her back from the brink of falling into a fit of giggles, and she whispered, "Uhm… yes. Stockholm Syndrome. But this isn't that. He's becoming a better man… or beast. She's falling in love with who he is as a person."

"But he isn't a person."

"Well, he was, and he will be. Just… just shut up and watch."

As the play continued, he kept questioning Belle's mentality and how she was able to love the Beast.

"But he kidnapped her."

"How could she forgive him?"

"She's looking past the fact that he's quite literally a monster."

"How can she love him after that?"

Finally, she leaned toward him, putting her hand over his to get him to shut up. "Because she can see he's more than that. He messed up, but he's a good man, even if he doesn't know it yet."

Draco never spoke another word throughout the rest of the play, and as much as Hermione liked explaining Muggle things to him, though she'd be loath to admit that to anyone, she was thankful to get to see the rest in peace. It was beautiful. The music was amazing, and the scene design was breathtaking. By the time Belle was crying over the Beast, Hermione was wiping tears from her eyes as well. She'd always loved the theatre, but this was by far the best production she'd ever seen, and it was clearly the most moving.

Once the play was over and the theater was lit, causing her to blink at the harshness of the lights, she expected Draco to comment on the ending, but instead, he seemed to be focused on something else entirely. She was worried he'd finally picked up on her "after the Willows" comment, but she didn't have much time to think about it before Walt was ushering them from the theater and into the street to find a restaurant.

They ate dinner at a nice Italian place not far from Broadway and discussed the play over their meal. Hermione spent the dinner talking about her favorite Disney films with Walt and Dennis, and she tried not to feel wounded by the fact that Draco chose to sit across the spacious table from her rather than beside her as he'd done at the play. Somehow she thought she'd upset him, based on the way he wasn't really speaking to anyone at all and the way he'd clammed up in the middle of the show, but other than her one slip-up about spending time together after they were finished in therapy, she couldn't figure out what would have him brooding.

Walt looked down at his watch as he slipped a credit card into the black book the waiter had handed him along with the check. "Well, it's about ten our time. Do you all want to hit any other spots before we return for the night? I know of a few places if anyone is interested."

"I've always wanted to see Central Park," Nicola said, speaking up for the first time that evening.

Susan beamed at her. "Me too!"

"I would love to show you Central Park. It's only about a fifteen-minute walk from here."

Hermione, remembering her plan for the evening, said, "I'd actually like to go see a friend if that's okay. He works at a bar a few blocks from here."

Walt looked to be contemplating something before turning to Susan. "You all have your magic back. As long as we can all agree to meet back at the same alley in, what, an hour?"

Susan nodded and addressed the group. "Is two groups enough? I know you're all capable of taking care of yourselves, but this is a massive city and none of you have been here before." She looked around the group, and when they all nodded, she continued. "Whoever wants to go with Hermione's group, just make sure you all stay together and make it back to the alley by eleven… or six New York time."

The two groups split up at the door, Walt, Susan, and Nicola heading toward Central Park, and Hermione and the others in the opposite direction, looking for a bar called The Red Wagon. Hermione had asked the hostess when they first entered where the bar was located and was excited to learn it was only a few blocks away. She definitely didn't think she'd be able to go through with it had they had to walk halfway across the city. And, she wasn't even sure if Paul was working or if he even remembered her after their very brief encounter in Santa Cruz. Hell, he could still be in California for all she knew.

Honestly, she was fully aware that this was an asinine plan, but she had to know. She wasn't sure why it was so important really. She refused to believe it was because she'd actually begun to develop feelings for Draco. No, it definitely wasn't that. She was just curious. That's all it was. And she prided herself on her research abilities. She was simply conducting an experiment. It had nothing to do with her own feelings, which may or may not even exist.

So, with her mind reeling in a hundred directions, she led the group three blocks away until they found it. The outside of the bar was bright red, with large yellow letters over a black painted banner reading The Red Wagon. She started to step inside and then, remembering they weren't actually old enough to drink in the States, she asked them all for their ticket stubs. She waited until there were no other pedestrians and quickly transfigured IDs for each of them that said they were in their early 20s.

"Here, when you order a drink, show them this and tell them it's all on my tab. Then you won't have to worry about paying for anything." When Draco and Parvati flipped their IDs over and looked at her questioningly, she added, "None of us are old enough to drink here. These," she lifted her own ID, "say you are." Hermione thought Alys would have a problem with it, but apparently, she just wanted a drink too. She was the only one of them who could've done so legally, except she'd never owned a Muggle ID. They each placed theirs in their pockets and followed her inside.

The inside of the bar was pretty empty, given that it was still fairly early for a Saturday night, but there were a few groups sitting at various tables around the room. Hermione walked toward a table near the back of the bar and picked up a drink menu.

"What friends do you have in New York, Hermione?" Dennis asked, picking up another menu.

"Well, he isn't exactly a friend. I met him during our trip to California." Draco, who had been looking around the room, immediately turned to face her. His brows were furrowed for only a split second before he turned away again. "I'm not even sure if he's working… or if he'll even remember me for that matter."

She turned to look at the bar, trying to make out the drink specials written across two blackboards on either side of a large mirror. She took a step toward the bar, squinting slightly to make out the scraggly writing from across the room when she heard, "Shakespeare Hermione!" She turned quickly to see Paul strolling toward her with a dishtowel across one shoulder.

He smiled at her so easily, like they were old friends who had known one another their whole life. "No way. What are you doing here?" He actually leaned in for a hug and before she even had a chance to think about it, she was hugging him back. He took a step back once he'd let her go and ran a hand through his sandy blonde waves, pushing them back from his face. His green eyes twinkled, and his lips turned up into a crooked smile.

"I'm… well, you told me to come say hi." He was smiling at her in a way that made her forget there was anyone else in the room until she heard someone behind her clear their throat. Remembering the group she was with, she took a step to the side to introduce them. "Sorry, umm, guys, this is Paul. Paul, this is Seamus, Parvati, Dennis, Alys, and you remember Draco." She'd pointed toward each of them in turn, each of them nodding toward Paul pleasantly, but when she came to Draco he nodded once, his face slightly red and his eyes boring into Paul's menacingly.

"I can't believe you're here. I honestly never thought I'd see you again. What are you drinking? Whatever you guys are having, it's on the house." Paul was rambling and smiling like he'd just won the lottery. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

He walked away, heading behind the bar to fill a few pints. Hermione turned back to the group and Parvarti gave her a knowing smile, her eyes flitting back and forth between Hermione and Paul's back behind the bar.

Alys wasn't nearly as subtle. "Hermione, he is fit." She glanced behind Hermione's shoulder and added, "And clearly smitten."

Hermione blushed, trying not to look at Draco. She looked down, fiddling with the string of her jumper. "No, we've only met once. He's probably just excited to see me."

"Yes, excited. We'll call it that," Parvati said as Paul made his way back to their table, carrying a tray of beer. He placed them onto the table and said, "Here ya go. This is a stout we're famous for. You guys'll love it." They each reached for one of the pints, and Paul pulled up a seat beside them. He twisted the chair around and sat down on it backwards, leaning his arms across the chair back to face Hermione.

"So, Shakespeare Hermione, what brings you to New York, other than me, of course." One dimple was visible beneath the slight stubble of his jaw, and she thought his smirk was gorgeous, but it really didn't hold quite the same weight as Draco's.

She scrambled to stop focusing on his grin and think of something, remembering he'd just asked her a question. "We're on a trip across the US for uni. We're International Studies majors."

She heard the rest of her group talking amongst themselves to her left, and she hoped they were at least partially listening, just in case Paul spoke to one of them.

"Well, it's great to see you. Today's actually my first day back. I'm glad I didn't miss you."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure you'd be working. We actually only have about an hour before we have to meet the rest of our group, but I thought it was worth a shot," she said, taking a drink of her ale. She wasn't normally a beer drinker, but it was actually quite good.

Paul took a drink of his own beer, and Hermione chanced a glance behind her and found Draco with the same expression on his face. His eyes gravitated toward Hermione's, and she watched as the slate grey in his eyes shifted from anger to hurt to indifference as his Occlumency walls fell into place. He downed the rest of his beer and walked to the bar to presumably order another drink.

Hermione felt guilt bubble up in her chest. This was stupid. She felt like a horrible person for having orchestrated this whole situation just to prove to herself whether or not he was feeling some of the same things she was feeling. She knew how she'd feel if he had brought her along only to start flirting with someone else, and she regretted having ever spoken up to begin with, especially given that now she had also given Paul some sort of belief that she was interested in him, which wasn't the case at all. He was cute, yes, but their worlds were completely different, and she couldn't lie to herself anymore. As stupid as it made her feel, she had to admit it.

I have feelings for Draco Malfoy. She groaned inwardly, knowing how ridiculous it sounded even to herself. Her friends would be belligerent. She tried to imagine their reactions and her mind was filled with images of Harry staring at her open-mouthed, Ron, red in the face and pacing around the room, and Ginny yelling at her for being such a moron.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

She turned to Paul, remembering he'd been speaking to her and apologized. "I'm sorry. I … what did you say?"

"I said, I don't think your friend likes me very much." He nodded toward Draco, who was talking to the other bartender, and turned back toward Hermione.

"Oh, yeah. He doesn't really like anyone to be honest," Hermione said, trying to smile despite the bile rising in her throat at putting herself in such a difficult situation.

"I don't know. I think it might be more than that." Draco walked back toward the table, glaring at Paul the entire way. "Are you two together or something?"

Hermione's heart gave a flutter as she said, "Oh, no. We actually used to hate each other. We've only recently begun to tolerate one another."

Paul smirked and lifted his eyebrows knowingly. "From forth the fatal loins of these two foes… You aren't star-crossed lovers, are you?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. If her thirteen-year-old self could see her now. A gorgeous man was quoting Shakespeare to her, and she wasn't swooning at all. He was definitely charismatic, but all she could think about were sad grey eyes.

"No, we –"

Hermione was cut off by Alys, speaking up from behind her. "Hermione, we need to go if we want to make it to Walt by six."

Hermione glanced down at her watch and saw that they actually still had a half hour, but she saw the opportunity to make a getaway. "Oh, you're right." She stood up, finished her beer and placed it on the table. "It was great seeing you, Paul," she said, giving her best attempt at a genuine smile.

"You too, Hermione. If you ever make it back to New York, don't be a stranger." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card for the bar. "I'm pretty much always here. Give me a call sometime." He smiled and leaned in to give her another hug.

She hugged him back, and her group all said goodbye as well on their way out the door. She looked down at the card in her hand and then tossed it in the trashcan as she passed it.

She hadn't realized he was beside her until Draco said, "Wasn't a love connection?"

She looked over at him and noticed his eyes were no longer obscured by Occlumency. She felt herself blush, not at his proximity but at the shame of having organized this elaborate scheme just to test him. She wasn't that type of girl, yet here she was making a fool of herself. Her mind went to Lavender Brown, and then she felt bad all over again for thinking poorly of the dead.

"No, definitely not," she said, looking at her feet as she walked and shaking her head.

"Good," Draco said before stuttering out, "I mean… you can do better. He's a buffoon."

She smiled despite the guilt radiating through her. "No, he isn't. He's a nice guy. He…" She looked over at him sheepishly, her eyes meeting his, and said, "He just isn't what I want."

He blinked at her and his steps slowed slightly. She stopped breathing when his tongue grazed his bottom lip and his voice dropped to a throaty timbre as he said, "And what is that exactly?"

She didn't have a chance to answer as Parvati ran up to meet her, lacing her arm through Hermione's and saying, "So, Paul. Tell me all about him."

Hermione laughed as Parvati pulled her away from Draco and toward Alys as they strolled back to the alley to meet Walt and the others.