Hermione reflected, staring into the mirror at herself, that it had been an exceptionally pleasant date. Draco Malfoy appeared to not only understand how to not talk with his mouth full (Ron), but could also pronounce her name properly (Viktor), and to top it all off, knew enough French to order in a restaurant. Hermione thought, from the sound of his accent, that he knew a rather lot more than that too.

There had only been a couple of unexplained oddities about the date:

First, Luna Lovegood had been in the background at the restaurant, scribbling notes on a piece of paper. And eating snails, of all things. Hermione had made a point to not listen to Luna's talk about strange magical creatures too often - but she had remembered that Luna hated eating anything other than beef, lamb, or chicken. Snails!

Second, Draco Malfoy hadn't managed even one insult. Oh, he had a wit, for sure, but it was used in service to rhetorical flourish, and not to wound. It was a decidedly odd experience.

Third, Hermione Granger had an itch in the back of her spine, for the entire date. If this had been the war... Hermione would have been convinced there were Snatchers about. Someone watching her, quietly, almost... invisibly. Hermione's eyes widened at the last... Harry! She thought, her mind leaping like lightning, the way it always did at the end of a particularly satisfying puzzle. Anger followed, the hint of I can take care of myself, you nit! Hermione took a deep breath, and let out a long sigh. It was nice, she thought, to have people so concerned for you that they would be this stupid.

The thought, unsurprisingly, did not fill her with any warmth.

[a/n: Imagine if Draco had figured out about Harry? Leave a review, kids and ladies!]