I've had this idea in my head for a long time. I've been busy with life and other works. I'm excited to finally share this story with everyone here.

Somewhere in an AU.

Hermione slipped her order pad and pen into the pocket of her apron. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and leaned against the counter. Her eyes scanned the small diner.

Table four needed refills on their coffee. Table two wanted their check. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and grabbed the coffee pot. She worked up a smile.

"Can I top you off? She asked.

"Absolutely," a middle aged man answered. "That's not all you could do for me,"

He was not the sort you'd want to be around. Unfortunately, he was just the sort Hermione Granger spent most of her time with. The diner was a popular spot right off the interstate. Truckers, travelers, and vagrants occupied about ninety percent of her customers.

As she turned to go the man caught the hem of her apron. "What time's your shift end, pretty lady?"

Hermione sighed, "Oh I'm afraid I'm pulling a double," It was a lie, and a blatant one.

The man blanched at her accent, only just realizing the lilt in her voice.

"Well, you're not from around these parts, are ya?"

No. Indeed she was not from around these parts. She had called London her home all her life until she moved to the southern United States. Unfortunately, it only seemed to amp up his interest.

"How'd you guess?" She offered the man a polite smile and he reluctantly let go of her apron, but caught her hand.

She sighed heavily, but he gave no notice. "Table two is wanting their check, I must go,"

His grip tightened ever so slightly. Hermione jerked her hand free and briskly walked to table two.

The customer came in about once a week, and each time he made her skin crawl in some way, shape, form or another. Putting his hands where they didn't belong, and speaking words that would make a sailor blush. Later, she was glad to see him get into his truck and pull away.

The diner always died around midnight even though they were open twenty four hours a day. Taking advantage of the lull, Hermione pulled herself onto a stool at the bar.

"Jer, would you make me a burger?" she called back towards the kitchen.

No reply meant that the only cook on duty had his ear buds in.

She walked back and tapped him on the shoulder. "Will you make me a burger?"

"Sure thing, Minnie,"

She rolled her eyes at the nickname he'd given her as she walked back into the dining room. She took out her hair and gave it a shake. She had a splitting headache. Maybe more caffeine would help. As she reached for the coffee pot she heard the bell over the door jingle. She finished pouring her cup and threw her hair back up into a haphazard bun.

"Seat, yourself," she called.

While her back was turned a hand snaked around her middle and pulled her back against a soft and rounded belly. Hermione gasped and dropped her coffee cup. It shattered on the hard tile floor.

"I'm sorry," a familiar voice whispered against her ear. "I thought you said suit yourself, and I thought I might as well,"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She knew from the sound of his voice that it was the customer from earlier. She never bothered to learn his name.

"Stop," she demanded.

He turned her around in his arms. "Don't pretend,"

"I don't want you to touch me," she begged.

Her eyes, panicking, went towards the kitchen. She knew Jer wouldn't hear her. Her hand went behind her to the counter. She blindly searched for something to fend him off with. She came up empty.

"I only want a little kiss, or what do you call it?" he breathed against her cheek. "A snog? That sounds stupid. It reminds me of a swamp,"

Hermione thought how absurd he sounded. Her mind quickly snapped back to her reality when his hand came up under her skirt. Somewhere inside herself, she thought she might be brave. She thought she could possibly have a spark inside her somewhere.

But, when he pressed himself heavily onto her, and his hand slid further up her skirt…she crumbled.

She thought she heard the bell over the door jingle. The next thing she knew the man was on the floor writhing in pain. He was screaming so loudly for a moment, and then he became eerily quiet and still. It all happened in a split second.

Leaning against the counter and righting herself, Hermione suddenly locked eyes with the only other person in the room. A man, tall and lithe. His eyes were staring right through her with an intensity that scared her. She didn't want to be scared anymore at the moment so she looked away to break the contact. However, when he spoke she was looking at him once more.

"You just can't help getting yourself into a mess, can you Granger?"

Hermione blinked. The man's smart tone, and the way he said her name threw her.

"Who are you?" she asked as she swiped at her tears.

His upper lip curled in what could only be described as a devilish smirk. He walked over and examined the seemingly unconscious body on the floor. As he did, he tucked something into the jacket pocket of his black suit.

He straightened himself and had a look around the place.

"This place makes me sick," he spat. "Are you ready to go?"

"Go where?"

"Home,"

"I am home. And…I don't know you." As Hermione said the words, she couldn't quite make herself believe them.

He laughed, and Hermione's heart seemed to freeze. Something felt terribly wrong, and terribly right at the same time.

"You're not home. And I can assure you, Granger, you do know me,"

He walked closer. His platinum hair was perfectly in place, but there was something wild about him. Wild, and familiar.

"Who are you?" she searched his face.

"Draco," his eyes narrowed. "Your husband,"

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