Matching a Malfoy

by LittleSixx

As a prominent war reporter and news anchor with political ambition, Hermione Granger needs to make significant changes to her public persona. Her publicist signs her up for Malfoy Matchmaking, known equally for their success and discretion. At the same time, Narcissa Malfoy has finally acquired the biggest client of her career: her widowed son.

6. Michelin Star Tits

You put words to my grief better than anyone.

Hermione stared at her phone after Draco ended the call. Perhaps being his friend wouldn't be so bad. Each of her close friends knew her before she was "blown up." Hermione never quite figured out how to phrase what happened. "I got blown up" was far quicker to say than, "I was a bystander victim to a violent act of protest against decades of political and social oppression." She was a wartime correspondent; she knew the risks and took them when appropriate. Hermione didn't begin casting blame until after the explosion when people looked at her differently. Treated her with hesitance and a softness that hadn't been there before. Everyone in her life had seen two different people: Hermione before the explosion, and Hermione after. Draco Malfoy only knew this version of Hermione, and maybe she needed that sort of friend, too.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Hermione glanced around at the chaos of Broadcasting House then back down at her phone to see she was getting a call from … Penelope? Not a call she could decline. Hermione made for the quietest corner she could find then answered,

"Hello?"

Penelope half-shouted through the phone, "How long have we known each other?"

Hermione frowned and guessed, "Twelve years?"

"How long have I been your publicist?"

"Probably twelve years?"

"Because you were my first client and have, until today, been my best client because you always follow my plan."

"I'm still following—"

"No, Hermione, you are not following my plan. I sent you to Narcissa because everyone I send to her ends up falling madly in love and having a successful marriage. All I wanted was for you to sit your arse in a chair next to a man and look like you were having a half-decent time. I never told you that man should be her son!"

"Now you've lost me."

"How long have you been dating Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh when she asked, "Why would you think I'm dating him?"

"Because I barely managed to convince a gossip rag that you were on a date with McLaggen and not Draco Malfoy. I just killed about fifteen photographs of the two of you sitting alone at a restaurant. He's got his hand on you, leaning into your space, looking at you like he hasn't smiled this much in years."

"That's just the angle—"

"Hermione."

"He is not interested in me!" Hermione insisted, "We met two weeks ago when you sent me to his house. You've got it backward; I am interested in him, but he is unavailable."

"His body is singing a different tune in these photos. Bloody hell, Hermione. You could date someone who is literally in prison right now, and it would be less damaging to your UN prospects than Draco Malfoy. Everything you believe about government corruption, and you'd fall for a guy whose father attempted to bribe a dozen members of Parliament?"

"Yet you would let his wife set me up?"

"No, because you didn't want to be set up! You wanted to be photographed! I wanted photos of you and the crypto fuckwit, instead I got photos of you that would kill not only your chances at being taken seriously for the UN post, but this would be the perfect ammunition for BBC to get you out of the seat at Ten."

The world stopped turning.

"Wh—why would they want that?"

"Because there are people in government who wish you weren't quite so good at your job. When people know what's going on internationally, they start to care. Once they care, our government has to do something. You've met enough politicians to know their one goal is to do absolutely nothing. They are putting pressure on the network to fire you, which is why I thought getting you in the gossip pages would be to your benefit."

Hermione asked, "They can't fire me, can they?"

"Legally, no, but they can take you off the anchor desk and put you back on assignment."

"No."

"You always say how much you miss field reporting."

"Not if it is a demotion."

Penelope sighed heavily and said, "Because I am incredible at my job—"

"I never said you weren't."

"I am setting up an interview with Gilderoy Lockhart. He's written a book about Southeast Asia with a focus on Malaysia and Singapore—"

"The most famous cultural anthropologist on the continent is promoting a book?" Hermione couldn't contain her excitement. "And he wants to come onto Ten?"

"Well, no, he was looking for the Breakfast interview. But he's a cocky arsehole and I hate him, so naturally, he thinks he can best you."

"He seems well-rounded, educated—"

"Handsome, Hermione. He's handsome. Don't get caught up in it."

"But—"

"If I can make this interview happen, I want you to bring the guillotine. I want you to eviscerate him. I want Dolores Umbridge to watch this interview and think, 'At least my interview wasn't that bad.' I want Cedric's balls to shrivel up just because he's within proximity to the terrifyingly aggressive female energy you've brought to the interview."

Hermione paused then mumbled, "Mhmmm."

Penelope revealed, "He's had dalliances with more than one of my clients and infringed on the copyrights of at least half. That man has cost me money, and he's put people I care for in very compromising positions. I fucking hate him, so I am feeding him to you, Hermione."

"I'm not wild about that phrasing. He's doing a book on an area I care about—"

"Guillotine."

"Understood."

"If you—oh, well, look at that. Your boyfriend's mother is phoning me."

"He's not my boyfr—"

Penelope ended the call. Hermione looked around at Broadcasting House, the place she'd considered home for four years. The network she trusted, the network that gave her a shot to show why other parts of the world were worth caring for. Now they were turning their backs on her for doing exactly what they asked her to do, because she had done it too well for too long.

Hermione angrily kicked at the wall and grimaced before taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes and thought about what Draco said the first time they met. I don't have to agree with you; I trust you. Hermione remembered the look of relief on Cedric's face when he found out she'd be staying at Ten. She thought about Scorpius seeing her on the news.

Broadcast face.

Broadcast face.

Broadcast face.

Hermione swallowed her anger, opened her eyes, and smiled. She belonged at that desk.

She'd show them.

.oOo.

"The nun clothes."

Cormac's words from the previous weekend wouldn't leave Hermione's brain. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. What she told Draco on the phone two days earlier was true; sitting at the table with him, she felt like she didn't measure up. After everyone left, Hermione stared at the pile of cash Draco had tossed down as if it was nothing. She hadn't felt so unwanted, so unattractive since primary school. She turned back into a buck-toothed nerd struggling to walk with the weight of six library books stuffed into her rucksack.

After the call with Penelope, Hermione accepted Ginny's party invitation. She needed something new, to meet someone new. Ginny hadn't specified the host, the reason, whether there would be any single men in attendance … All Hermione knew was to meet Ginny in Holland Park at six-thirty. She glanced at the text from Gin that simply read: Look cute.

Hermione had a stash of clothes she hoped, one day, to have the confidence to wear. In all likelihood she wouldn't know anyone at this party except Ginny and Dean, so what did she have to lose? Hermione chose a pink one-shoulder top that almost completely covered the scars on her left side, while leaving her right arm completely bare. She stuck some fashion tape just under the shoulder seam to keep it in place, both in the front and in the back. Bits of mottled skin peeked out, but Hermione wasn't worried about anyone noticing. Nobody would dare comment on it to her face, at least.

She fluffed out her hair, sprayed some perfume on her inner wrists, and tugged on the sleeve to make sure it would stay in place. Hermione closed her eyes, counted backward from ten, and opened them to see her reflection with fresh eyes. She grinned and said,

"I look good."

The first thing Colin said when he arrived in the X5?

"Wow! You look amazing."

The first thing Dean said when Hermione stepped out of the car in Holland Park?

"You look so happy!"

The house itself was beautiful. Tan brick, white trim, and a large tree obscured most of the view from the street. Hermione nodded and offered him a one-armed hug as they walked through the front gate. Ginny gave her the once-over and smiled.

"You do look happy, you look good," she shimmied and added, "a little sexy. Unlike Dean, here, who looks like he rolled out of bed and grabbed the first two things he could find in the closet."

Dean glanced down at his outfit and insisted, "This is a nice sweater. No holes, it's cashmere, and it's not under a t-shirt."

"How old are those jeans?"

Dean shrugged and offered, "Four years, maybe?"

"Exactly. You were still married when you bought those jeans. You should burn them. They're horrible."

"My jeans are fine."

Then the very last person Hermione wanted to see stepped through the gates. In the world of broadcast journalism, Marietta Edgecombe was one of many people who believed they could do Hermione's job better than she did. Unlike the rest of them, Marietta had a legitimate reason to dislike Hermione. The level of intensity was unwarranted, but it was not entirely misplaced. Hermione forced a smile and said,

"Hello."

Marietta smiled back and said, "Good to see you, Hermione. I didn't know Blaise was familiar with the Wicked Witch of BBC."

Ginny offered, "I wish I could call you the Wicked Witch of ITV, but unfortunately a house has yet to land on your head. Don't worry, I'll keep praying."

"Oh, thanks, Ginny. To be fair, I am far behind since Hermione's already been lit on fire. It's too bad she didn't melt."

Ginny launched toward Marietta but Dean pulled her back. Hermione said,

"Don't worry, Marietta, I have other careers to ruin. If you'll excuse me, I have to fly into this party on my broom now."

Hermione did not wait for a response. She walked straight up to the door, opened it, and was welcomed by the sounds of indistinct chatter with classical music playing in the background. There were people everywhere, some in the entryway, Hermione noted more lingering on the staircase and others meandering toward the back of the house. Everyone present seemed to be incredibly beautiful, as if plucked from the pages of different magazines and dropped right into this party. Over her shoulder, Ginny said,

"I asked Blaise to invite attractive people and, Marietta aside, he delivered."

Dean admitted, "I think you were right and I should have worn better trousers."

"You are used to dealing with eight-year-olds, but think of it this way. Some of your students and the kids who read your books could outsmart these people. Think of this as teaching practice." She nodded to the bundle of fabric in Dean's hand and added, "Plus, you brought a gift. He likes gifts."

"I wonder if I know anyone here." Hermione looked around but did not see a familiar face. "Nothing yet. I don't know if I should be happy about that or not."

Ginny looked over Hermione's shoulder and teased, "You might be surprised."

"Perhaps if we coordinate schedules, next time we can carpool."

Hermione turned toward that voice and looked up into the grey eyes that seemed to own her weekends as of late. Draco Malfoy was wearing a navy sweater and navy pinstriped trousers, and by the time Hermione realized she was unconsciously giving him the once-over, she looked up at his face to realize he watched her do it. Embarrassed, Hermione replied,

"I'm getting rather used to seeing you."

"Ginny didn't mention you were coming."

"Funny," Hermione replied before turning toward Ginny with a searing glare, "she didn't mention you'd be here, either." This was all part of her plan. Hermione should have known there was an ulterior motive, and that Ginny could see right through her façade. Ginny knew Hermione was attracted to Draco even before Hermione had worked it out for herself.

Draco, on the other hand, looked at Dean and was stunned into silence. Hermione understood; Dean was six-four, slim, and he had incredibly kind eyes. He calmed a room just by being in it. Everyone wanted to be near Dean because the air felt lighter and the world felt simpler. He offered his hand to Draco and said,

"Dean Thomas, good to meet you."

Draco accepted the handshake and managed to say, "Draco Malfoy, likewise."

Draco was holding something back, but Hermione could not suss out what it might be. Draco eyed Dean from tip to toe then looked at Ginny. He offered her a half smile before saying,

"I see what you're doing, and I don't hate it."

"Sometimes," Ginny replied, "things are so obvious you wonder how they haven't already happened."

Hermione was lost in the conversation, trying to make sense of it. But then, Draco turned to face her full on and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Now you, Hermione, you look like yourself tonight."

She could see the truth of it in his eyes. With one sentence, Malfoy managed to acknowledge the work Hermione had done to prepare for this moment and confirm she looked good, but it wasn't his words that mattered most. It was the distinct difference in pressure he put on her left shoulder versus her right without making it look any different. Draco wasn't being delicate, he was being considerate. Hermione had been waiting years for someone to understand the difference and she wanted to stay in this moment of normalcy as long as she could.

"Thank you. I'd been saving this top for a special occasion. Thought I'd have something to celebrate after getting Breakfast, but that didn't pan out."

"It's a good thing you didn't wear this on our date last week," Draco said, "otherwise I'd have had to pull McLaggen off you."

Hermione grumbled, "It's a pity you didn't."

"I certainly would've taken any excuse to punch him in the face. But enough about him, since you're here there is someone I want you to meet."

"Oh?"

Draco nodded for Ginny and Dean to follow along as he took Hermione's hand and weaved through the small clumps of people between the entryway and the kitchen. And what a massive kitchen it was. There were two refrigerators, three ovens, and more cabinets than Hermione had ever seen. A long metal countertop was the centre of the space, with tiny plates of sliced watermelon spread out for the taking. Hermione caught sight of the chef and …

Holy shit.

That was the most gorgeous man she'd ever laid eyes on. Hermione didn't have a word in any language to properly describe him. He was about Draco's height, average build, wearing jeans that were quite tight around the backside. Hermione didn't feel guilty for looking, but she did feel Dean tense up next to her. He looked as if he'd been greeted by a ghost. The host was wearing a half-apron tied around the hem of a lilac jumper, and he had a look of intense concentration on his face. He was sprinkling sprigs of mint onto the watermelon slices when Draco sidled up to him and said,

"Blaise?"

"Not now, just one moment—"

"We have guests."

Without looking up, the man replied, "It's a party, I should hope we have guests."

"Oi!" Ginny half-shouted, a teasing grin on her face. "Blaise who pays?"

Blaise glanced upward and smiled over at Ginny. He half-laughed as he said,

"Gin who wins!"

So that was Blaise. Draco had mentioned him a few times before, but Hermione hadn't expected him to be so ethereally beautiful. Truthfully, she hadn't given much thought to him at all. Ginny had mentioned Draco's family, and that she knew the godfather of his child, but Hermione had not put these pieces together. Blaise didn't move from the meal preparations but held out an arm so Ginny could hug him. She squeezed tight enough to make him wince before she stepped away.

"Thanks for hosting. I wish Harry could come, but he's not quite ready; too many people. I brought my friends along and figured you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all. God knows these parties need more interesting people."

Ginny pointed toward Hermione and said, "This is my best friend, Hermione Granger."

"Oh?" Blaise glanced quickly toward Draco, then back to Hermione. "It's nice to meet you. Draco speaks highly of you. And often."

"Does he, now?" asked Hermione, praying that she wasn't blushing hard enough to notice.

"Yes, he—"

Blaise caught sight of Dean Thomas and it was as if his world stopped turning. Hermione had never seen someone fall in love at first sight. Hell, it took her years before she realized she had a crush on Ron. Harry was ignorant of Ginny's feelings for even longer. Blaise, though, his shoulders tensed, the hand clutching sprigs of mint was still frozen over a plate of watermelon, task forgotten.

"Do I know you?"

"No," replied Dean. "I, um, I think I'd remember you. If we'd met before, I mean. I've seen you in magazines and on Instagram, so I'd remember."

Dean was stumbling all over himself while Blaise looked on, awestruck. There was an awkward pause before Blaise dropped a handful of mint onto an empty plate and shook his head.

"No, I've seen you before. I know it."

"Well—"

"Permesso."

Blaise walked out of the kitchen and toward the staircase, leaving them all dumbfounded in his wake. Ginny shrugged and said,

"That's Blaise."

"You," Dean turned to face Ginny with a pained expression, "are an evil, evil woman."

"I dunno what you mean. I brought you to a party and introduced you to the host."

"You said the host was your friend, you didn't mention your friend is the most well-known gay man on the continent. Not to mention he's wealthier than the crown."

"I told you to wear nicer jeans."

"As my best friend—"

"As your best friend, I know you are ready to open your heart again. Blaise is a frustratingly quiet person who cooks amazing food and would never, never cheat on his boyfriend, let alone his husband. And he looks like a Roman god, so …" Ginny shrugged. "I think I did okay."

Hermione leaned toward Draco and asked, "Blaise is the man who ferries your son about in the Jaguar?"

"Yes," he replied, "he is Scorp's godfather. That position originally went to Astoria's sister, Daphne, but as things occurred …" Draco grit his teeth and paused before saying, "Blaise stepped up for me in a way no one else could, and I trust him with my son's life. Even if he insists on driving the Jaguar back and forth to Wiltshire."

"I see." Hermione didn't press further.

"That's Blaise Zabini." Dean groaned and repeated, "Blaise Zabini. How are you friends with him?"

"Blaise doesn't understand a damn thing about football, but he loves a good VIP box. He'd come to Arsenal games all the time and he's a great guy to have around. He's never inappropriate, doesn't have opinions about the game, and makes some of the best food the team's ever had. He likes to use us to try out new recipes."

"I swear, I've never met him before. I wouldn't have come if I'd known he was here."

"Which," Ginny insisted, "is why I didn't tell you."

Draco added, "I dated him for a year and he never looked at me like that."

Hermione couldn't help but utter a soft, "Oh," of surprise.

"Oh?" Draco frowned. "why 'oh?'"

"I didn't know you … That you are … or aren't—"

"You didn't know?"

"I mean, I noticed you take exceptionally good care of your hair."

"Thank you."

"You are still so deeply in love with your wife," Hermione shrugged, "it never crossed my mind you could have loved someone before her."

Or after.

It was Draco's turn to whisper, "Oh." He frowned and looked down at his wedding ring. Draco had worn it on their double-date the previous weekend, was still wearing it, but looked down as if he'd only just realized what it meant. Hermione felt Ginny's eyes hopping between the two of them. She was about to say something to break the silence when Blaise hurried back into the kitchen, book in hand. The watermelon slices were forgotten as Blaise sidled through to stand directly in front of Dean. He looked down at the book and revealed,

"My godson has asked me to read this to him at least once a month for the past three years. The Boy in the Cupboard, by Dean Thomas." Blaise shook his head and looked up at Dean to say, "I liked it so much the first time I read it that I looked you up. I believed a man with the sort of heart it takes to write a book like this was exactly the sort of man I wanted in my life."

"Thank you," replied Dean, "I am flattered that he enjoys it, still, after all that time. And you, um, you as well. Of course."

"I never pushed further because the internet said you were married."

It was as if all the air inside of Dean disappeared. The smile vanished and his fingers tightened around the fabric between his hands. He glanced down at the floor and nodded. Dean went through so much pain during the divorce, struggling to reconcile the love he had for Seamus with the humiliation. The lingering ache was evident in Dean's voice when he answered.

"Yes, I was."

"It ended?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Blaise nodded, glanced quickly to Draco, then told Dean, "I know how difficult that is, regardless of circumstance."

"I try to give everyone a second chance, but there are some things I can't tolerate, no matter how much I may love someone. Oh, I nearly forgot." He laughed softly and nodded to the small bundle in his hands. "My mum always told me a proper man never shows up to a party empty-handed. Ginny mentioned the host was a chef, so I figured food or wine would be more of an insult than a gift. One of my sisters is into embroidery at the moment, so I hope these will suffice."

Blaise's eyes lit up as Dean offered him the small bundle of fabric. Blaise accepted it, ghosting his fingers over the back of Dean's hand. Draco glanced over to Ginny, who raised a single eyebrow in reply, leaving Hermione to feel like she was intruding on a moment that wasn't meant for her.

"I have so much money, no one ever thinks to bring a gift." Blaise tugged on the ribbon and pulled it apart. "Are you close with your sister?"

Dean laughed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"All seven of them."

Blaise unfolded the fabric to reveal two folded dish towels. He looked at them and laughed softly to himself.

"As it stands, this may be one of my favourite gifts I have ever received."

Dean blushed as Blaise sidled through to the towel bar on the end of the counter. He held up the towels so everyone in the group could see the embroidery at the bottom that read, "Your opinion is not in the recipe." Blaise placed the two new towels over the bar and asked,

"Dean, do you cook?"

"Oh, God, no. I'm more of a takeaway sort."

"Perfect," Blaise grinned, "I can teach you."

"No, I couldn't possibly—"

"Am I being fired as sous chef, then?" asked Draco.

"Yes."

But the look on Blaise's face said, Don't leave. I've just fallen head over heels in love with this man. What the hell am I doing? What do I do? Draco didn't notice.

"Excellent." Draco grabbed Hermione's hand and said, "You have more people to meet."

Hermione let herself be gently pulled along as Draco walked out the back of the kitchen, into a dining room, then out to a beautiful yard. There were a half-dozen people milling about on the patio with glasses of something bubbly, and another dozen were a few steps upward on the grass. The back of the property was insulated from the neighbors by trees at least ten metres tall, and an interior bush lining the edge of the yard stood three metres. It was a breathtaking bit of serenity Hermione never would have guessed possible in a London suburb.

"BLONDIE!"

Before Hermione realized what was happening, a man appeared out of nowhere to wrap Draco in a backbreaking hug. Hermione would know that bombastic voice anywhere. Draco grinned and returned the hug just as tight.

"Good to see you, Bas."

"You, too. Where's baby blond?"

"With Tracey." Another man appeared and clapped Draco on the shoulder. He was shorter than Draco, gangly, with a full brown beard that hadn't changed since the last time Hermione had seen him. "Been a bit, brother."

"Hey, Theo. I wanted to introduce you to—"

"Theo." Hermione offered her hand and said, "It's good to see you again."

"You, too, Granger." He shook her hand. "You look nice. Loved your economic analysis on Monday. BlackRock being indicative of the value of the S&P, then what that means for the international markets, especially China …" Theo shook his head. "Amazing."

"Thank you." Hermione grinned. It was delightful to know someone watched her analysis and cared about it enough to remember. "It has been a long time since I've seen you both."

Draco frowned and asked, "How do you two know Hermione?"

Bastien interjected, "Hermione was at my elopement." He nodded to Hermione and said, "I've been hearing a lot about you."

"You have?" asked Hermione.

"Draco won't fucking shut up about you," he teased, nudging Draco with his elbow. "Padma should be around here some—"

"HERMIONE?!"

She turned to see Padma rushing toward her and braced herself for a tight hug. She let out a soft "oof" when Padma crashed into her, gently on the left side, and smiled.

"Good to see you too."

"Bas didn't tell me you were coming!" Padma, arms still wrapped around Hermione's waist, looked over Hermione's shoulder to say, "Bad husband award for you."

Bastien insisted, "I didn't know Draco was bringing her."

"I didn't bring her. Hermione said she was going to a party on Saturday evening. I didn't know she meant this party." Confused, Draco asked, "You all already know each other?"

Hermione stepped out of Padma's embrace and nodded toward her.

"Padma and I went to university together, then Parvati and I were classmates in Amsterdam. I've known Bastien since he began dating Padma; I was one of the witnesses at their elopement, which is where I met Theo."

Draco turned to face Hermione and there was an odd expression on his face. He wondered,

"How the hell have we not met until … Until we met?"

"Probably because it takes a pair of bolt cutters to unchain you from your desk," Padma quipped. She stepped backward and took in Hermione's outfit. "You look amazing. Parvati isn't here yet. She and Cedric are delayed."

Shagging.

"Though we need to have a serious conversation. Ginny, Ti, and I were planning an intervention. Cormac McLaggen?" Padma grimaced. "You are not that desperate, Hermione. I wondered why you didn't tell us about it, but then, why would you? Bas has loads of attractive single friends. If you want a bloke, just ask. They'll be falling over themselves."

Bastien sent Draco a look that Hermione didn't understand.

"Yeah," said Bastien, "I have a friend who's definitely interested."

Draco glared back at him and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Hermione knew Bastien to be a very honest, outspoken sort of man. He was the perfect counterbalance for Padma, and it made sense that he would be Draco's friend. However, the unspoken conversation happening between the two of them made no sense at all. Hermione insisted,

"Cormac was nothing. Draco can tell you, we were two halves of a double-date. Evidently, because our dates were far more interested in each other than they were us. I think Draco was even more miserable than I was."

"I dunno," said Bastien. "He told me he liked a girl on the date."

Draco looked like his head might explode as he insisted, "No, that is not—"

"I am planning a homicide." Ginny joined their group, looking frustrated. "I need Parvati."

Hermione asked, "Whom are you murdering?"

"Dean." Ginny rolled her eyes and said, "Blaise is falling all over himself trying to flirt with him, and Dean isn't picking up any of it. I have never seen Blaise talk this much and Dean isn't reciprocating at all."

"Give him time," Hermione replied. "He's probably nervous about his jeans."

"Blaise is ready to rip his jeans off and fuck him on the countertop in front of the entire party. I didn't tell Blaise I was bringing Dean because I knew it would make him nervous. I didn't tell Dean that Blaise is hosting because I knew it would make him nervous and he wouldn't come. The entire rationale for this party was getting the two of them in the same room."

Draco asked, "Is Dean a good person?"

Parvati laughed and Hermione couldn't help but laugh along. To anyone who knew Dean, that question was ridiculous. Ginny looked Draco in the eyes and said,

"Dean is the best person I know. He is the kindest soul I have ever met in my life."

Draco nodded and said, "Blaise can be rather intimidating to people who don't know him. I'll humanize him a bit. Hermione, I need you to come along."

"O-kay?" Hermione said, right as Draco half-dragged her away from the conversation.

Draco grumbled, "I didn't realize you already knew my entire family."

"I didn't know Blaise."

"You know, I was meant to go to Bastien's elopement. Scorpius was three and we all thought I was ready to be a proper person again, but I couldn't. I wasn't up for watching someone else get married. All I could think about was Astoria, and how worried I was for Bas that what happened to me would happen to him."

"Wow." Hermione shook her head. How sad must his life have been in all that time? "You really have chained yourself to your desk, haven't you?"

"I didn't realize it until you came into my life a couple weeks ago."

"What did I do?"

"When you called me, you know, after you lost the gig … I didn't know why you were phoning me. I saw your name pop up, so I ended a meeting to answer. I didn't think about it, just said the meeting was over and it had never occurred to me in all these years I had the authority to do it until you needed me."

Hermione admitted, "I did need you, and you knew exactly how to talk me around."

"Blaise can always care for Scorpius, but until that moment I didn't quite realize I am the only person who can take ownership of myself and my time. Now, I trust you and I trust Ginny, so I'm going to play the biggest card I have to play in Blaise's favour. I need you to follow my lead."

"Well I know nothing about Blaise," replied Hermione. "Ginny didn't tell me anything."

Draco turned to face Hermione full-on. He placed his hands on his hips and looked her in the eyes to say,

"Blaise has been searching for love for a long time. I meant what I said, he never looked at me like that when we were together. He has never reacted that way to anyone. I can't explain Blaise to you, nobody can truly explain him, but I can tell you that Blaise is the person who keeps my head above water. I want to see him happy."

But what if it led Dean down the road to another heartbreak? Then again, what if it didn't? Hermione nodded and said,

"Lead the way, Malfoy."

Draco walked through the doors and made his way to the kitchen, Hermione close behind. Dean was leaning forward with his arms on the countertop as Blaise pulled ingredients from a lower cabinet. Draco walked past them toward the refrigerator,

"Hermione wants champagne."

Blaise popped his head up far enough to say, "You can have some, but it must stay in the kitchen. If anyone knew I kept a stash, Italy would revoke my citizenship."

Hermione asked, "You're Italian?"

Draco and Blaise looked at each other, then said, in perfect unison,

"Ovviamente!"

They burst into laughter like that was a joke only they understood. Hermione glanced toward Dean, who looked back with raised eyebrows. Dean mouthed, What is going on? Hermione shrugged. Blaise gathered himself enough to ask,

"Do you have a preference for champagne?"

"It's fine, I'll just, um," Hermione looked at Draco for a clue, but received nothing. Bastard. She insisted, "I can have what everyone else is having outside. Though it is good to meet you. Draco's said good things."

Draco added, "The two of you just missed each other at the manor. Hermione and Scorpius hit it off quite nicely though." Draco nodded toward Dean and clarified, "Scorpius is my son, and Blaise is his godfather. Since my wife died we are, how would you term it, Blaise? Co-parenting?"

Blaise frowned a bit and said, "I am still not sure about the 'parent' label. It feels …" He busied himself opening one of the ovens and said, "It feels like I am taking something away from Astoria."

"Right." Draco pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through a couple photos. He selected one, offered the phone to Dean, and asked, "Does that look like a parent, to you?"

Dean took the phone and looked at the picture for a long moment. Hermione watched a slow smile spread across his face as he glanced up at Blaise, who was pulling something out of the oven, then back down at the picture. He asked,

"You genuinely like my books?"

Blaise was blushing. Genuinely blushing as he placed a pan on the counter. He took off the oven mitt and admitted,

"I buy them all on release day."

"All five?"

"The final four; I didn't know about The Boy in the Cupboard until well after it had been released. While I wish I could give you entire credit, Scorpius loves the books primarily for the illustrations."

"Luna does an excellent job," replied Dean. "We work well together, and she takes exactly what I see in my head then puts it to paper. Brilliant." He returned the phone to Draco and said, "For the record, I think your wife would be happy to see your son smiling that wide."

Draco grinned back at him and said, "I agree, which is why he stays with Blaise through the week, to attend school here. Scorpius considers Blaise a third parent and, would you like to know something funny?"

Dean nodded and Blaise's face began to lose its colour.

"No, you're not telling them that."

"Oh," Draco teased, "but I am. See, a few days ago my son asked me if he could have a fourth parent. Myself, Astoria, and Blaise being his three. I asked what any father would ask in that situation: does he want another mother? He said that would be fine, but what he really wants is a boyfriend for his 'Uncle Blaise.'"

Blaise looked up toward the heavens as if hoping the sky would crash down on him, but Dean laughed. Hermione knew him well enough to see his nerves were gone. Draco had leveled the playing field perfectly; she envied his ability to guide and control conversation with such ease. Dean asked,

"Does 'Uncle Blaise' want a boyfriend?"

There were several awkward seconds in which Blaise tried to form an answer that wasn't, If I could, I'd take you upstairs and show you why I make a great boyfriend. He said,

"No. I date and bring men home, but that is not the life I want to live. There has not been anyone I would introduce to my godson. I am not searching for a boyfriend, I am searching for Scorp's number four."

"What makes number four different, then?" asked Dean.

"I don't know, but I have years of finding out what he's not."

"On that note," Draco offered, "I'm going to introduce Hermione to some more people she may or may not already know."

.oOo.

Draco did exactly as he said he would. He took Hermione around the crowds and introduced her to everyone he knew. There must've been fifty people in attendance, at least, and it was nice to be in a place that wasn't so formal. It felt like—no matter how desperately Hermione wished it didn't—she was being introduced to her boyfriend's friends. She wasn't the only one who took note, as Bastien and Theo were watching them closely. Everyone was nice, though. Hermione steered Draco away from Marietta, and everything else over the next hour was delightful. Once they had a spare moment and Hermione finally finished a glass of prosecco, she asked,

"What did you show Dean to get him to relax?"

"I told you I had one card to play." Draco pulled out his phone and showed Hermione the photo. "This was my son's third birthday."

Hermione looked at the photo and, herself, couldn't withhold a smile. Blaise was sitting on the floor with Scorpius in his lap. They were wearing gaudy party hats as Blaise appeared to be reading him a book: The Scarlet Steam Engine by Dean Thomas.

"If I'd known Ginny knew Dean Thomas, I would've pushed them together sooner. Blaise loves reading these books to my son."

"They look adorable together. You have quite a good, strong family for him. It takes a special kind of person to build a support system the way you have."

Parvati and Cedric arrived just then. Hermione loved that Cedric opted for a blazer even on his day off, like he could physically leave the desk but the anchor position never quite left him. Cedric shouted,

"PARTNER!"

Hermione opened her arms wide and braced for yet another hug. Her shoulder was getting quite the workout; her physical therapist would have something to say about that. Cedric held her tight around the waist, and it was like everything finally settled into something that made sense. It seemed her world and Draco's world overlapped far more than either of them knew. Hermione ended the hug and guessed,

"You know Draco?"

Draco and Cedric shook hands cordially, not familiar enough to hug, but happy enough to see each other.

"Hermione said you aren't dating, but Bas said the two of you have been inseparable all night."

Parvati replied, "This is fine. I have no problem with this, but when we saw you were out with Cormac? We thought you had a concussion or something."

"Draco has been showing me around because he was the other half of our double. We have been celebrating that this Saturday is far less miserable than our previous one together. And I did not have a concussion. Cormac is cute. He's not too tall. He had a nice smile, was a good kisser, and I thought it could be fun. That was all."

"Hermione, you sit next to Cedric on national news four days a week. You know what a decent man is like."

"Thanks, babe." Cedric patted Parvati on the back and added, "Your bias is noted."

"Come on, Cedric has a few dozen single friends who would be all over you. Men, women, both, neither—whatever you want. Lawyers, writers, producers, diplomats … You're Hermione Granger, you don't settle for cute."

Cedric insisted, "As your partner, I reserve judgment. You can date whomever. As Parvati's boyfriend, I agree with Parvati."

Draco teased, "A smart man."

He was going to reply, but caught sight of someone behind Draco. Cedric's face fell immediately as he groaned,

"Oh, no."

Parvati looked around and shook her head.

"We just got here and she's going to ruin—" Parvati grinned and waved. "Hi, Marietta!" Through gritted teeth she whispered, "I hate her."

Draco frowned and asked, "What's happening right now?"

Hermione whispered, "Marietta hates me because after I got blown up, BBC gave her my spot and promised her I wasn't coming back. I messed that up when I actually came back."

"That is hardly your fault."

Hermione whispered, "It stalled her career at the network, so she had to move to ITV."

"She—"

Marietta's voice was just a tad too chipper when she shouted, "Parvati! Cedric! So good to see you both." She turned to face Draco and reached across Hermione to shake Draco's hand. Her voice was a bit slow when she said, "Marietta Edgecombe. Good to meet you."

Draco glanced down at her hand, raised a single eyebrow and said, "Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, I know." She pulled her hand back and said, "It's not often I see Hermione with men, and now there have been two of you in the past week. Your publicist must be working overtime."

Hermione resigned herself to the fact that this wouldn't end well. She felt Cedric vibrating with empathetic rage. Hermione said,

"If someone would stop hinting to the press that I'm gay, she wouldn't have to."

"You've been making very interesting choices. First with cryptocurrency, and now with …" Marietta held up her glass of prosecco. "Let's say, a man with very interesting political history."

"How much have you had to drink?" asked Parvati.

"I dunno," Marietta shrugged. "But I heard Hermione was rejected for a job at BBC after they'd already offered it to her. I only wanted to come give my support, since I am familiar with how shitty that feels."

Hermione looked down at the ground and wished it would swallow her whole. Everyone thought she was dating Draco, who had made it clear that he wasn't interested. She had caused Marietta's career to be pushed back at BBC. Hermione's friends thought she was going through a crisis because she went on one date with McLaggen … The more time that passed, the less important the UN post seemed to be. Why be the nation's top diplomat if every other aspect of her life was in shambles? What did it matter if she was away from her friends and didn't have anyone to share her success with?

Cedric insisted, "Let's go talk to Bastien. I'm sure he has a story or two that's far more interesting than whatever's happening here."

"I'm not finished."

Cedric didn't care. He gently placed his hand on Marietta's arm and tried to steer her away from Hermione, toward where Bastien was chatting animatedly with other guests. Marietta wrenched her arm from his grip and, accidentally or not, spilled the contents of her glass down the front and side of Hermione's top.

Hermione held up her hands and looked at Marietta, supposing this was the only possible way it could have ended. Shocked and cold, Hermione turned her gaze downward and noted at least her trousers had been spared. Marietta offered a half-hearted,

"Maybe now you'll melt."

Hermione still hadn't figured out how to react when her friends leapt into action. Cedric slid out of his blazer and placed it over Hermione's shoulders. She clutched at it with her left hand as she watched Parvati loop her arm around Marietta's and half-drag her toward the door.

"What are you—"

"Saving you from getting your ass beat by Ginny," replied Parvati. "That's what I'm doing." She grumbled, "I'd love to watch that, though. For the record."

Hermione hadn't looked up. She worked out what was happening by the shoes coming in and out of her line of sight. Ginny walked by without stopping. Cedric left then came back with Bastien. Hermione continued to stare at the ground as someone took her hand and led her back into the house, through throngs of people unaware of what had occurred, and up two flights of stairs. The door opened to reveal what appeared to be a guest room, and Hermione gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. She looked up to see Draco staring at her, concern deepening the lines of his face. She tightened Cedric's blazer around herself and wanted nothing more than to disappear, right as Cedric himself appeared in the doorway. He looked over to Draco and asked,

"Have you got her?"

"Yes."

Cedric looked at Hermione, who nodded her confirmation. She was grateful he did not simply take Draco's word for it. Once Cedric left, Draco asked,

"Are you alright?"

Hermione shrugged. She pulled herself back into reality to say,

"What sort of question is that? Am I alright? I never should have come because this always happens. Every time I try to take a step outside my comfort zone, every time I try to be a normal person, it goes wrong. So many people dislike me that this was the only possible conclusion. I felt good when I got here, so naturally something had to happen that ruined it."

"Tell me how to un-ruin it."

"I don't—"

"Why did you feel good when you arrived?"

"Because you were here."

Hermione wished she could grab the words out of the air. She tried to work out the expression on Draco's face, and when she couldn't, she figured it was best to push full speed ahead.

"I trust you and you said I look like myself. I stepped out of my house in something that made me feel just a tad sexier for the first time in years, and you said I look like me. I felt like myself."

"I meant what I said." Draco pointed toward a door behind Hermione and said, "That is the bathroom. There are towels and, um, more towels? Whatever you might need, it's probably there."

"Okay."

Hermione stood up and walked into the bathroom, not taking notice of anything except her reflection in the mirror. She closed the door and shrugged off Cedric's blazer. All her confidence had been crushed in Marietta's hands, and maybe she deserved it. Perhaps Hermione was a truly unlikable person, and this was how the world was meant to treat people like her. Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes then used her right arm to peel the top off her skin and over her head. It clung to the tape on her left shoulder, and she winced as she peeled it off. Hermione held the top in her hands, pressing the fabric between her thumbs and forefingers. It had meant so much to her barely two hours earlier. In a way, this top symbolized a step forward.

Hermione tossed it aside and the fabric squelched when it hit the floor. She pulled a towel off the rack above the toilet, wetted one corner, and dabbed at all the damp patches of skin. She looked at the strips of skin that never healed and felt like she deserved them. What she told Marietta was true, she was known for ruining careers, not helping them along. Hermione dried off and shook her head before tossing the towel onto the floor. She turned and opened the door, stepping into the bedroom, wondering what to do. What was—

"Oh my God."

The words came out of her mouth without intent, but Hermione didn't know what to do. She had been so lost in her own her she forgot where she was: standing in what appeared to be Draco's temporary bedroom, wearing nothing on top except a strapless bra that had seen better days. She glanced down at her chest as she began to process that she was essentially bare in front of a man for the first time in years. Draco Malfoy was at the other end of the room, staring directly at her; making this moment everything she feared. Hermione couldn't make out his expression. Shock, mostly? The last time this happened, she'd been rejected. Maybe she'd be better off walking into the bathroom and launching herself out the window.

"Will you say something?" begged Hermione. "Anything."

"That is a five-star pair of tits."

Of everything Hermione could have guessed, that didn't make the list. There was a brief beat where neither of them quite knew what to say … Then Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it, he said it like he hadn't even looked at her arm. She stifled her giggles with one hand and wrapped the other arm around her stomach to keep herself from bending in half.

"I mean it," Draco said, trying and failing to hide his own smile. "Five stars, ten points out of ten, top marks in the tits category."

Hermione felt tears of relief stinging at the corners of her eyes. Draco looked at her arm, then back to her tits, then caught her gaze and said,

"Goddamn it, Hermione, the way you talked about it I thought you had some sort of fucked-up dinosaur scale shit on your arm. Then I considered maybe it was more of a Gollum situation. This is … Well, I don't know what it is. It's your arm. What happened to your skin is bad for you, I am sure it hurts and is not pleasant, but it's nothing I can't stand to look at."

Hermione tightened her arms around herself and asked, "Do you mean that?"

"I have made very questionable decisions in my life, Hermione, but I am not a liar. I would never lie to my friends, and I will never lie to you—"

"Marietta's gone." Ginny appeared out of nowhere in the doorway. She looked from Draco, to Hermione, noted she was half naked, then said, "Roger didn't know you would be here and I didn't know he was bringing her. I'm sorry, Hermione, I should've punched her before we came in. I am leaving to get back to Harry, but keep me updated on Dean, please?"

"Sure?" Hermione nodded. "I'll do that."

"Great. I'll leave you two to whatever the hell it is you're doing."

She left before either of them could say another word. Draco found his voice first and said,

"I do have an idea for your shirt."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I have …" Draco rushed to his dresser drawer and rummaged through it. "Here!" He held up a pale blue sweater with long sleeves and a torso that looked long enough to be a dress on Hermione. "Blaise turned me onto this brand of knitwear from Italy. It fits about six different sizes, unisex, and it forms to fit you. I might need to cut some length off the bottom—"

"No, that looks far too nice for you to ruin it."

"This might have been two hundred quid, Hermione. It's nothing."

"Because a couple hundred Pounds is nothing."

"Yes." Draco asked, "Do you understand how much money I have?"

"No. It's not like I've Googled you."

Draco glanced quickly down at the ground and Hermione grimaced.

"Did you Google me?"

"After last Saturday, yes, I did, but that's beside the point."

"No, no, that is not beside the point. Friends don't use Google to get to know each other. Friends talk to each other."

"I spent an hour talking to you about the death of my wife. I never spoke to anyone about what happened to Astoria until you asked, and I don't regret telling you, but I poured all that onto you and didn't even know your birthday. Your middle name. I knew nothing about you except whatever friendship we've developed the past couple weeks. I like what we have because it feels different. After showing you off today, I can't help but wonder if I went to Bas's wedding whether I would've been a happier man these past few years. Been more present for my son, because you are the only person who's been able to pull my head out of my bum. On the way home from our double I read through the first paragraph of your Wikipedia article to find your resume is insane. You are insane. You've got, what, six degrees and speak ten languages?"

"First, I have three degrees. I got bored while recovering from my shoulder injury and that is the only reason I have a law degree. I completed one year then waited several until I could go back to Cambridge once I was put on Ten. Second, I speak four languages, and I don't speak Malay fluently. Third—"

"Hermione, I respect you, but it's been nearly six years since a woman was half-naked in front of me. I'd appreciate it if you put on the jumper so I can stop staring at your Michelin Star tits."

"Oh, Michelin Starred, are they, now?" Hermione asked as she grabbed the jumper from his hands. "I don't know what that means."

"It doesn't have to mean anything."

Hermione pulled the jumper over her head, shoved one arm through and then pulled the sleeve far enough down so she could get her left arm in. Hermione pulled the torso down as far as it would go. Surprisingly, it didn't fall as far as she thought it would. Draco frowned and took one of Hermione's wrists in his hand. Hermione held her breath as he rolled the sleeve up once, then a second time to create a cuff. When Draco touched her, it made her feel a kind of way Hermione was not ready to name. Draco did the same to the other sleeve and hummed softly to himself.

"I think this will do."

Hermione tucked the sweater into her trousers and walked back to the bathroom mirror. The sweater wasn't a bad look; it formed to her in a flattering way, clinging to all the right curves and smoothing out the sides. She'd never have known it was a man's sweater. Hermione turned around, walked into the bedroom, and pulled Draco into a hug. He held her there for a minute, not saying a word, staying steady the way she needed him to. When she finally stepped back, he said,

"If you're up for it, I would like you to stay."

"Okay."

"I want to get to know you, and not through Google."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting at Blaise Zabini's dining room table. Hermione was eating a slice of lemon tarte, answering a barrage of Draco's questions.

"Which languages do you speak?"

"I speak and read all four," Hermione said between bites. "I began learning Arabic at ten because I thought the writing was pretty. I wanted to go to Brazil, so I learned Portuguese. I wanted to go to one of the best journalism schools in the world, so I went to Singapore and learned Malay because it has Arabic and Portuguese roots. Though, Malay language is not something I would consider myself fluent in. Everyone I meet seems to believe I did all these things because I wanted to be successful, but I never wanted success, much. I only wanted to learn."

"You are fascinating."

"Thank you."

"And you went into journalism because you wanted to help people learn about other places?"

Hermione shrugged and admitted, "I wanted to be a reporter because I wanted to highlight how special other parts of the world are. When I was young, books were the center of my world. My parents took me on vacations; I got to go on all sorts of adventures and learn new things in new places and read new languages. I wanted people to love as much of the world as I did."

"I can see how you landed at BBC, but how did you end up as a war correspondent?"

Hermione sighed with her entire body. How to explain that atrocious transition? Draco took note of her delayed response and hastened to add,

"You don't need to talk about anything you don't want to discuss."

"No, it's fine, it's only … I love the network. They gave me a shot when no one else would because nobody in the hiring departments liked me. I can be a bit …"

"Curt?"

"Abrasive, I believe was the word. Which is comparatively kind to the adjectives they use now."

"Ah."

"Penelope had one contact at BBC and berated them into giving me a shot as an international reporter in Brazil, because their correspondent there had left. They had lined up this big interview with the ambassador a few months out, and I'm sure you know how that went."

"Brutal." Draco grinned. "Wasn't she banned from Brazil afterward?"

"Yes, and I make no apologies for that. She was awful. After that interview, they figured they had to put me in a spot where I'd be featured more consistently. They had openings across the globe and Penelope made the one mistake she's ever made for me in the twelve years she's been handling my career."

"What's that?"

Hermione grimaced and said, "When a news organization discovers you can speak Arabic, there is only one place they want to send you. I didn't want to go to Afghanistan because every eyeball in the western world was looking there. After being embedded for two months, I quit. When they begged me not to, out of fear that I'd leave for another network, I told them I'd stay in the Arab League as long as they allowed me to cover conflict that was under-reported."

"You must have amazing negotiating skills."

"My publicist does. I felt it was my duty to go to places people aren't looking at because, to everyone, where they are is their centre. To us, Europe is the centre. To Americans, America is the centre, and so on and so forth until you realize there is no centre. I hoped to report from places not because I like exposing terrorism or crime or greed, but so I can show the rest of the world how those horrible things impact the beauty the average person in these places is able to create."

Draco had his chin resting on one hand, and Hermione looked over to find him staring at her, mouth slightly open, like he'd been struck on the head with something.

"What?"

"You're fucking amazing." He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "And somewhere in all that time you managed to get married?"

"Yeah." Hermione smiled and pulled out her phone. "Do you want to see pictures?"

"Of course. I'd love to see the bloke that snagged you off the market."

"He's one of my best friends."

"Is or was?"

Hermione unlocked her phone and pulled up the album filled with copies of her favourite wedding photos. She selected one of her and Ron dancing during the reception and handed the phone to Draco.

"He still is. We've known each other since I was about twelve, and I loved him so much I thought I wanted to be with him forever. At that time, I couldn't imagine my life without him in it."

"He's quite tall. You know," Draco swiped through a few of the photos, "this may be a bit of a generalization, but he looks like Ginny."

"Ron's her brother."

"I see. You look really happy here."

"I was, but Ron is my best friend. When you marry your best friend, I think the friendship and the marriage are meant to be the same thing. Ours wasn't. We had such different views on how our lives should go, and the chemistry was never there. The sex was fine, but nobody really wants to have sex that's decent."

"Fair assessment."

"We would've made it work, but then I got blown up and things soured fairly quickly. I had surgery off and on for a couple weeks and then months, skin grafts and all sorts of work that required recovery time. Another seven months of intense physical therapy so I wouldn't lose the use of my arm entirely. Ron was great through all of it, but it took a toll on us. Then, when I could walk and hold a mic again, BBC sent me back on assignment."

"I'm not understanding. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"It is, but Ron looked at the situation and saw his wife going back into a war zone where she'd nearly lost half her body. He couldn't handle it."

Draco conceded, "I couldn't, either."

"He gave me an ultimatum: either I stayed in England or he'd file for divorce. I thought I was calling his bluff when I left."

"Yet you still consider him a close friend?"

"Our friendship never suffered. We understand each other on that level, and we always will, but our lives are too different to be complementary the way a marriage requires. If we'd held on until I got the job at Ten, I think we would be happy. But he's married to someone else now, and I'm still trying to find the confidence to wear shorter sleeves."

Draco gave Hermione the phone and didn't say anything for a bit. Hermione busied herself fiddling with it, closing apps, then locking the screen.

"Do you miss him?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Why not?"

She shrugged, but didn't answer.

"Was it the sex?"

"No, and when I said decent I didn't mean it was bad."

"You really came to my mother for a photo op, then?"

"Yes, but I didn't have much choice in the matter. Not if the United Nations is a possibility. I wasn't looking for a relationship."

"Wasn't?" asked Draco. "Or you aren't?"

Lie.

Lie, lie, lie.

Hermione schooled her face into a neutral expression and said, "My job isn't conducive to a relationship, and I would always choose my job first."

Draco lazily kicked at Hermione's foot and insisted, "You're lying to me."

"No."

"Lying again, Granger. Not a good look for a journalist."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say you're annoyed everyone keeps looking over here and assuming we're together simply because you are a single woman."

Hermione huffed, "I am aware—"

"But are you looking for someone?"

"Yes." Hermione conceded, "I would like to have another relationship. If I'm honest …"

Draco leaned in close and guessed, "You really want to have sex again."

"God, I do." Hermione let her face fall into her hands and admitted, "It's been a long time. I have tried, but part of me is terrified to let anyone see my skin again. I'll go out with men; but when it comes to the, 'Do you want to come upstairs' date, I never do. I can't bring myself to do it."

"Only because you haven't found the proper person. I do want to know, did you honestly enjoy your kiss with McLaggen?"

Hermione shrugged and admitted, "Yes and no. He is good-looking, put his hands in the proper place, his lips were soft, and the mechanics of it were right. Men like Ron are so much taller than me, I always felt a bit like an inconvenience. McLaggen was short enough that it wasn't a problem, but he didn't ask me before he did it and that negated everything else.

"I see."

"I miss being held like that, though. Thanks to my shoulder, the days of men throwing me against a wall during foreplay are over—"

"Sorry?" Draco's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "When you said decent, I thought you meant your husband was—"

"No," Hermione teased, "I didn't say that was Ron. The summer I was twenty, I had a thing with a footballer."

"One I'd know?"

"Viktor Krum."

"NO!" Draco nearly fell out of his chair. "No way you dated Viktor Krum."

"I did, and it was great. The best sex I ever had. He's a very physical person so he understands what you want, what you like, and reads those cues. Shagging him is like he is under your skin and knows what feels good. But he's also a great teacher, guiding you through what works for him. Or he'd outright ask for what he wanted. It was always, 'My-oh-nee, vill you sit on my face?'"

Draco burst into giggles and bit down on his fist he was laughing so hard. Hermione grinned, happy to have brought that out in him again. There was something satisfying about watching Draco smile. He was so sad much of the time, these moments were the only time Hermione felt like she was seeing the man his wife must have fallen in love with.

"I do understand the need. I haven't slept with anyone since my wife died. After a couple years I considered it, but there always seemed to be a level of vulnerability I couldn't access. I do miss being that close to someone."

Before Hermione could respond, Theo walked into the dining room. He motioned for Draco to follow him, so Draco stood up and asked,

"What's going on?"

"Dean Thomas is leaving," whispered Theo, "and Blaise is walking him out."

"Is it a thing?"

"We don't know. Bastien is watching from the window."

Hermione stood to follow them both to the front of the house. They watched the door shut behind Blaise and crowded around the window at the right of the door. Bastien had the best, most direct view, and began narrating the action for the group.

"Dean's car has arrived outside the gate, but he is walking rather slowly. He and Blaise are still talking a bit. Fucking hell, Blaise wants to grab his hand so bad he's stuffed his own hands in his pockets to keep from doing it."

"But what's Dean doing?"

"Walking."

"And?"

"Just walking. They're almost to the gate."

"Are they going to kiss?"

Bastien frowned and said, "I don't think so. Dean's keeping a full arm's distance."

"But is it an I don't want you to hold my hand kind of distance or an If you get any closer to me I'm going to fuck your brains out kind of distance?"

"I dunno, mate. Neither? I think the poor bloke's nervous as hell and doesn't know what to do. Blaise is a hard nut to crack if you don't know him."

"Yeah, but he's never tried to impress anyone before. He was trying so hard—"

"Shit."

"What?"

"What's happening?"

"Blaise turned around. He's walking back toward the house."

"No!"

"I haven't seen him this dejected since they delivered the wrong brand of prosecco to his restaurant a year back. Fucking hell, he's going to need a hug and a lot of vodka after this."

Draco groaned, "If he starts experimenting with paella recipes again—"

"Wait!" Bastien motioned for everyone to get closer to the window. "Dean's coming back. Get over here! He's coming back!"

Draco and Theo joined Bastien at the window, noses practically pressed to the glass. Hermione managed to get a decent view from the side, to watch as Dean half-ran toward the front door. Blaise was on the first step when Dean yelled after him. They could just barely hear him shout,

"Zabini!"

Blaise turned around and, before he could say anything, Dean pulled him into a kiss. The shift in the atmosphere was instant. Theo shouted, "YES!" Bastien pumped his fist in the air and shouted, "FUCKING FINALLY!" Draco high-fived Bastien with the biggest smile she'd seen from him yet.

Hermione felt several things in that moment. She was delighted to see Dean happy, of course. Dean deserved the world. Blaise was clutching at Dean's sweater like he would collapse if he didn't. His closest friends were right there, quite literally cheering him on. It had been seven years since anyone had held Hermione like that. Had looked at her like that. The only man in that time who had seen her scars and accepted them was not interested. After all these years, he was still wearing his wedding ring. It was Hermione's fault, really; Draco warned her the first time they met.

My heart is unavailable for the taking.

But he was slowly taking hers, piece by piece. Hermione texted Colin that she was ready to leave. A moment later, her phone buzzed with a text.

Five minutes.

Dean pulled back and smiled at Blaise before rushing to his car. Hermione watched Dean leave just as Blaise opened the front door of his house. He walked inside, closed the door, and fell backward against it with a massive smile on his face. He slid downward until he was sitting with his bum on the floor, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. Blaise laughed and said,

"I feel like I may float away."

Bastien pulled him up and hugged him. Theo clapped him on the back while Draco asked,

"Is that number four?"

Blaise was smiling too big to speak, so he nodded. Draco squeezed his arm before walking back toward Hermione. Whatever expression he saw on her face, he didn't like.

"What do you need?"

"Nothing, I, well, I do need to text Ginny. She'll be happy to know Dean made the first move."

"It takes a very special person to make Blaise go weak in the knees like that."

Hermione smiled and insisted, "Ginny knew exactly what she was doing."

"You don't look pleased, though."

"I'm feeling a lot of things I don't want to talk about."

A lot of things I don't want to talk to you about.

Draco nodded and said, "That's okay."

His words were sincere, but Hermione saw the hurt in his eyes. He genuinely couldn't see how quickly he had become everything she asked for in a partner, but as a friend. Hermione sighed, supposing she had to tell him. What sort of friend would she be if she didn't?

"It's been a long time since someone held me like that. Until I saw it happening in front of me just now, I didn't realize how badly I want it. Your mum told me in my interview that a small part of me wants to find a partner, but it's not a small part. It is all of me, Draco, I want it. I can't be happy for Dean until I have a moment to deal with that."

"Okay."

"Alone."

"I understand."

"I've messaged Colin, so he should be here in a few minutes." She hastened to add, "My driver."

"May I walk you out?"

Hermione glanced around at the people carefully eyeing their conversation and said, "I'd appreciate if you didn't."

"But—"

She repeated, "I would appreciate if you didn't."

"Hermione—"

"Look around, Draco. We've spent the entire evening together and I'm about to leave wearing your sweater. If you walk me out, people will talk."

"Let them."

"No." Hermione shook her head and said, "If people believe we are together, then I don't have a chance looking for someone else. That may not matter much to you, but it matters to me."

"Of course it matters to me. You're my friend; I want you to do what you want to do."

I want you to want me.

I need you to need me.

I'd love—

"Truthfully? What I want is to feel," Hermione nodded toward Blaise, "like that. Nobody's ever made me feel, how did you say it? Weak in the knees?"

Draco nodded.

"Then the best thing you can do, as my friend, is help me find that."

Another nod.

"Thank you, though, for being here."

"It sounds like me being here didn't make things easier for you."

"No, but—"

Draco cut her off with, "I feel like I've done something wrong, but I can't work out what it is."

"I feel that way every day of my life."

"Will you still come to the manor next weekend?"

He was so eager that Hermione couldn't bear to disappoint him. Instead of cancelling like she knew she should, the words out of her mouth were,

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Good."

"If you want …" Hermione knew she shouldn't offer, knew it was muddying the water, but couldn't help herself. "I can visit on Friday and Scorpius could ride to Wiltshire with me."

Draco's eyes lit up.

"You would do that?"

"For Dean." Hermione smiled and said, "Blaise should ask him out Friday evening, so I will take your son with me as I'm already making the trip."

"Scorpius will be delighted."

"Good."

Draco stepped forward as if to hug Hermione goodbye, but she stepped back. He frowned but didn't force the issue. Hermione said,

"Be seeing you," as she turned toward the door.

.oOo.

Hermione stared out the car window, watching as half-lit storefronts passed into view then out. She was irrationally angry at each couple she saw standing together outside of the restaurants as her car drove by. She'd been such an ass when she left, but everyone was watching their conversation and Hermione didn't know what to do. Draco was being a good friend. Nothing more, just the best friend Hermione could ask for. While she knew Draco was unavailable, he kept her hope alive with the tiniest things. As they approached her flat, Hermione asked,

"Colin?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Michelin Star tits?'"

"Ah," Colin quickly glanced at her in the rear view mirror and grinned, "Been a minute. Where did you hear that?"

"Does it matter?"

"It's a bit of a crass way to compliment a woman's chest, I suppose."

"It's a compliment?"

"Mhmm."

"I don't understand."

Colin admitted, "In a professional capacity, I don't feel comfortable explaining it to you."

"Pretend you're off the clock, then."

"I'm not sure it works that way."

"I pay you, I say it does."

"Fine, but only because I've been driving you around nearly a year now, and I trust you won't report me."

"I won't."

"Right, um, it's not very respectful, but it is complimentary. Michelin Star tits are top-tier, mouth-watering, perfectly proportioned. I heard it used mostly by my gay friends to mean, 'I don't shag women, but if I did, I'd want to get my mouth on those tits.' Hence the Michelin Star."

That was all sorts of mixed signals.

"Did that help?"

"Yes and no."

"I will say this before going back on the clock. I think there are a few dozen more important things about you than what you look like, so whomever said that to you is a proper twat in my opinion. There, I'm done, no more talk about that, please."

"Thank you, um, for the context."

"You're welcome."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and said, "I like him, Colin. I like him a lot, but his wife died and he's still in love with her. He hasn't moved on so I'd simply prefer to forget about him."

"Can I go off the clock for another thirty seconds?"

"Sure."

"You may want to forget about him, but you're telling me he's mentioned something about your chest being high quality and you're wearing a different top than you were when I dropped you off. Now, I don't have enough pieces to put that puzzle together, but I can say with certainty that he won't be forgetting about you."

"Oh, God, you're right." Hermione pressed her fingers against her temples and groaned, "I'm in trouble."

---

A/N: I am not aware of anyone actually utilizing the phrase "Michelin Star tits," but laughed so hard when I wrote it that I had to keep it in.