Hermione stood in front of her closet, trying to decide on what to wear. She didn't want to dress too formally, but she did want to leave an impression. "What do you think, Crooks?" She held two options out towards where he sat on the bed, tail swishing.

The large ginger cat blinked slowly at the clothes presented to him. Eventually, as if he'd needed time to consider, he gave a single "mrow," and then curled into a ball, covering his eyes with his tail — clearly done with the conversation.

"Hmm, you're right," Hermione mused. She put the black jeans and scarlet jumper back into her closet and laid the long sleeve, knee-length, flowy dress on her bed. It was a relatively simple tan, printed dress, but when she added a wide belt and combat boots, she felt like it gave her a look that was chic, but still very her.

After spending far too long in front of the mirror trying to decide what to do with her hair (Crookshanks was no help), she finally settled on leaving it down, teasing her mane into loose curls. Magic made the entire process much easier, and she loved the way this style left her hair slightly tousled, while still looking put together — something she hadn't been able to achieve until her early 20s. Hermione finished with minimalist makeup, applying mascara, brow powder, and a lip tint before inspecting herself in the mirror. Pulling one of the soft coils straight, she let it go and watched it spring back into position with satisfaction. She sucked her lip between her teeth, recalling just how good it had felt when Draco had dug his hands into her hair earlier, before pushing the thought away; it wouldn't help to get ahead of herself.

There was still time before Draco was due to arrive, so she cast a few cleaning charms, making sure her living room was presentable. Once she was satisfied, she sat down to read for a bit, resisting the urge to tinker nervously with a potion. The heat of the cauldron would absolutely destroy her hair.

The Floo roared to life at precisely 8pm, and Draco Malfoy appeared in her living room, wearing a tailored charcoal blazer over a collared shirt, paired with dark denim trousers and oxfords. Hermione rarely saw him without robes in the office, and the few times she had seen him without them had been brief. Having him stand before her now in fitted clothing where she could more openly admire him made her mouth dry.

"Sure you don't want to back out of this, Granger?" Draco asked with a smirk, as she tucked away her book and rose from the couch.

"Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge, Malfoy?" she asked playfully.

"Very well then," he said, smirking. "May I?" He held out his arm towards her and she accepted, Disapparating with a loud pop.

When they reappeared, Hermione was standing in the open living space of a large, modern loft apartment. The open floor plan also revealed a spotless kitchen and several hallways leading further into the apartment. There didn't appear to be anyone else here.

She looked around, confused. "Draco, where are we? Is this one of those farm-to-table places?"

Draco released her arm and moved a few paces away towards a table, set for two. "No, this is my home." He looked suddenly nervous. "I hope you don't mind. I couldn't come up with anything suitably private on short notice and didn't want to create a public scandal."

"But this isn't the Manor," she insisted, stating the obvious.

Draco laughed lightly. "Funny enough, that's the same thing Theo said." He smiled at her: an unguarded smile that left her feeling warm. "Theo is out, and I don't expect he'll be back tonight. But if you'd be more comfortable somewhere more public…"

"No, this is lovely," she protested. "But why are you worried about being seen in public with me?" She was genuinely confused. They'd gotten coffee together, and he'd joined her friends at the bar — those were certainly public places.

"Hermione…" She loved the way her name rolled from his lips. "I would love nothing more than to take you to the best restaurant in London," he said earnestly, "but I'm not exactly the most popular person at the moment, and I don't think you being seen with me in a romantic setting would be wise… I don't want to feel like I have to be on guard tonight and I don't want my reputation to create a problem for you."

"Draco…" she started.

"It's the way it is, Hermione. I've accepted it," he said stiffly, pulling out a chair for her before changing topics. "Tragically, I can't cook worth a damn, but lucky for the both of us, I do know a fantastic French chef who owes me a few favours. I asked her to create something special for tonight, though I nearly had to make her swear a Vow of Secrecy when I told her who I was dining with. Wine?"

She accepted, needing something to calm her nerves. Draco took a seat at the far end of the three metre long dining table, levitating a wine bottle to fill her wine glass. The table was beautiful, decorated with delicate flowers she didn't recognise and elegant, classic candles. Draco snapped his fingers and the first course appeared on the table — brie with pesto and baguette slices. As he levitated the food onto their plates, Hermione drummed her fingers on the tabletop, and nibbled her lower lip. She was sure that she was about to break at least five pureblood courting rules. The idea concerned her briefly before remembering that she didn't give a shit about pureblood ideals. Besides, she doubted having a witch over for a private dinner alone as a first date was standard courting practice, which meant that Draco probably didn't care either. So, she took a sip of her wine, and pushed out her chair. In a very unladylike fashion (wine glass in hand), Hermione pulled her chair around the table until she was next to him. When she had settled herself, she noticed Draco's face was a bit pink.

"This is much better! I could hardly see you from all the way down there," she said cheerily, hoping to ease his embarrassment as her place setting floated to her new location. "Besides, if it's just us, there's no need to be so formal, don't you think?"

Draco's blush spread. "Of course, I should have thought of that… Silly of me…" He took a long drink from his wine glass to avoid her eyes.

"So, the apartment-that-is-very-clearly-not-the-manor," Hermione said teasingly, touching his forearm lightly, which caught his attention. "What happened? Did they finally kick you out?"

"Ha, no. My mother is quite upset over my absence, actually. She's not keen on the idea of me living outside the wards. She's very traditional, as you know, and feels that as inheritor of the estate I should live in the Manor."

"Then why did you leave?" she asked, curious. As lovely as his apartment was (much more impressive than her modest flat), she still couldn't believe that this was his home. In all the historical biographies and genealogies she'd read, she had never heard of an heir of a pureblood family leaving their ancestral home. Even The Burrow had been passed down through generations upon generations of Weasleys.

Hermione took a bite and made a delighted noise in the back of her throat. How was something so simple this delicious? She couldn't recall the last time she'd tasted anything nearly as good.

He took a long drink before answering. "I needed space. Staying there was unbelievably triggering, there were too many memories… There wasn't a single room I could comfortably enter without having to suppress a flashback when I returned from America. It was an enormous setback in my recovery, as you can imagine, and I just couldn't be there anymore." Hermione rested her hand more heavily on the back of his arm. "I was also hoping that separating myself physically from the Manor would help rebuild trust with the wizarding community. Though it was probably just wishful thinking on my part. I stopped wearing my signet ring around the same time… it's still odd to be without it sometimes." He thumbed the empty place on his left pinky where his signet ring must have once resided, as if he still expected to find it there.

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, watching as Draco pushed food around on his plate without eating.

Searching for a topic of conversation that wouldn't stray into painful memories, Hermione asked, "So, have you finished Cold-Forged Grimoire?"

"Yes, it was amazing—" he cut off abruptly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "But… how did you know I had it? It doesn't come out until next month."

"I mean, you were practically flaunting it at the Double Bubble, the first time we met for coffee," she reminded him, cutting into her confit de canard. It was just as delicious as he'd promised.

"Ah, that's right. So, I take it you're a fan?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I'm a fan! Williams is a bloody genius. I don't know how she does it, but every single book is spectacular," she gushed. "I can't wait to read Grimoire!"

"Hmm, well it's too bad you have to wait another month then, isn't it?" Draco teased, smirking as he popped a piece of chicken into his mouth. "Why didn't you just ask to borrow it?"

Hermione laughed incredulously. "Are you serious? I was still expecting you to laugh in my face and sneer at me at that point."

Draco didn't laugh. Instead, he put down his silverware and turned to face her fully. "I am so, so sorry, Hermione. I don't think I ever apologised for how awful I was to you at school. I was a right arse and an all around terrible excuse for a human." He exhaled heavily before placing his hand on her forearm, the sudden contact taking her by surprise. "Thank you for believing that people can change. I don't deserve—"

"Stop," she cut him off. "I forgive you. You were awful, but that's in the past, now. You've proven to me that you've changed. Knowing what you were like at school, I believe I have a unique appreciation for how difficult that change must have been… And I know it's genuine." She beamed at him and placed her hand over his. "I think maybe we're all just a work in progress. Recent events have made that more obvious to me. I'll accept your apology… if you let me leave here with that book." Draco's laugh sent tingles down her spine.

"Deal."

After dinner, he suggested they take tea on the sofa. Hermione nearly laughed again when he pulled out Hermione's chair and offered his arm to walk across the room to the sofa, no more than 20 paces away. While Draco prepared tea, she scanned the apartment, noticing the loft area, which hadn't been easy to see from her seat at the table. She made a little sound of restrained excitement upon realising that the loft was a personal library. Shelves filled to bursting covered the entire length of the wall. Glancing into the kitchen, Draco was still busy fetching tea, so she slipped upstairs to explore. It was an open floor plan after all, so it's not like she was really snooping.

Beginning at one end of the loft, she trailed her fingers along the spines, feeling the different textures — many were leather bound, or had other luxury bindings. She wasn't sure when the habit developed, but she enjoyed running her fingers along the spines of books; she liked to think it was her way of introducing herself to them, and they to her. When she reached the end, she slowed down and worked her way backwards, looking at the titles. She recognised many of them: several were special editions of classic authors or other highly sought after works, but most looked like personal favourites. A few Muggle titles were (surprisingly) interspersed among them, including several by one of her favourite authors (Jane Austen), and Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell. Before she'd explored much, she heard Draco calling for her from below.

"In the loft," she called back, and heard him climbing the stairs a moment later. He emerged with a serving tray in hand, which he set on one of the low tables, shifting a pile of books out of the way to make room. The sight of Draco Malfoy with a serving tray was a novelty. She would have never imagined the spoiled child she met at Hogwarts to carry his own tea tray; such pedestrian tasks would have been below him.

By the time he set it down, she had pulled Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches from the shelf, and was flipping through its pages. She snorted at some of the section titles. "Where on earth did you get this? It's terribly outdated. 'Order the most expensive thing on the menu to make a good impression.'" She shook her head, grinning. "'Always make the first move.' My goodness, what year was this published?" She flipped to the front, searching for the publication date.

Draco took it from her, placing it back on the shelf. "It was Theo's. He gave it to me a while ago — claimed he didn't have a need for it anymore." He shrugged.

"Oh? And what's your excuse for this one?" she asked, holding up a copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests and quirking an eyebrow at him.

"It's hilarious. Have you read it?" he answered, with no shame in his voice. "We can't all have such high-brow reading tastes, Granger." The side of his mouth turned up at her — "Granger" was sounding much more affectionate (almost a pet name), and less like a way to maintain distance than it once had.

She continued her exploration further, before being effectively blocked by Draco, leaning against a bookcase. "The tea is going to get cold," he said, attempting to redirect her. Surely he knew her well enough to know that there was very little in the world that could distract her from exploring his library.

On a shelf above his shoulder, she spotted An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms: one of her absolute favourite books. When she was at Hogwarts, she'd checked it out over and over again; she really ought to buy a copy now that she was thinking of it. Hermione shoved at his arm playfully. "In a minute, I've only just started looking! Just cast a stasis charm if you're worried about it."

As she scanned the rest of the shelf, she recognized several other books: Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, Quintessence: A Quest, Curses and Counter-Curses, Asiatic Anti-Venoms, and Hogwarts: A History (oh how she'd gone on about that book at Hogwarts) — all books that she'd loved during school. Some she had at home, but others she'd never added to her personal collection. When she caught sight of The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology, she tried to suppress a laugh, but it came out sounding like a snort instead. Despite Draco standing between her and the book, she stood on her tiptoes to reach it, earning a disapproving look from him.

"Goodness, Draco, are you still on about Buckbeak?" she laughed, flipping through the text.

"No!" He sounded defensive, a touch of the entitled rich boy resurfacing. "But you carried it around with you for a full month that year, if you recall, so I bought it. I had to see what all the fuss was about." His cheeks were a touch pink.

Hermione suddenly had a strange thought, at the same time as she realised how very close to him she was after reaching for that book. His eyes darted to her mouth, his own lips parted slightly, in the same sequence of events that had led to their dizzying kiss that afternoon. His pupils were dilated and the hunger in his gaze sent heat swirling through her belly.

Resisting the urge to kiss him, she spoke in a whisper, their close proximity ensuring that he heard her. "Draco," she murmured, "all the books on this shelf were my favourites in school."

"Hmm. Is that so?" he breathed, a crooked grin lifting one corner of his lips, making him look quite roguish. "What an odd coincidence."

Unable to resist any longer, she placed both her hands on his chest, and he inhaled sharply as she ran her hands gently up and over his shoulders, resting her wrists there. She closed the space between them, pressing their bodies together lightly, feeling the heat emanating from him.

"Tell me why you bought them, Draco." Her lips brushed lightly against his neck and he made a strangled sound deep in his throat, head thumping back against the shelves. Beneath her lips, she could feel his pulse thundering rapidly.

"Fuck," he swore. "You were always going on about— about those damn books." His jaw clenched, and he swallowed thickly.

She smiled into his neck, placing another kiss there. The resulting shudder that ran through his body made her blood heat. Hermione noticed his hands were gripping the shelves behind him so hard that his knuckles were white. After this afternoon, she was sure that he was interested in becoming more physical, but his apparent reticence gave her pause.

She pulled back a few centimetres to give him space, easing the press of her body against his. "Is something wrong? Do you want me to stop?" She was afraid that he might say yes, but prepared to respect his wishes.

"Gods… No, Hermione. Nothing's wrong. I just…" In his carefully restrained expression, she saw urgency and desperation.

"I mean, I hope you're not actually scared of me." She laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension. He didn't.

His voice was strained. "Not of you, never… but…" Squeezing his eyes shut, he tilted his head back, trying to compose himself. Hermione waited for him to go on.

When he opened his eyes and looked at her, the unrestrained longing there made her heart clench.

His hands trembled as he cupped her jaw. "I can't—" he cut off, squeezing his eyes closed, and tried again. "I can't be casual about this… about you… I've tried—" He opened his eyes to look at her again. "If we go any farther, it's going to change things. I… it's not something I'll be able to just walk away from."

In the back of her mind, logic told her she should be worried about this much intensity this quickly. This was their first date, after all, and setting boundaries and expectations was great. But this was something else. The worst part was, whatever she was feeling for him was equally intense and irrational. So instead of backing away or taking things slow, she kissed him softly.

"So don't walk away," she breathed against his lips.