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As a general rule, Draco Malfoy didn’t enjoy seeing others fail spectacularly. Revelling in the downfall of others was something that lost its lustre after age 16, when he had been forced not only to acknowledge his own downfall but to then spend the next twelve years making up for it. 

Yet there was an exception to every rule, which is how he found himself hiding a grin as the man across the bar failed spectacularly to pick up the woman he was chatting up. In fact, he had failed to pick up any of the three women he had been speaking to, despite the fact he was the Chosen One. 

If Draco was being generous, again not something he was wont to do, he would have said that perhaps it was because they were in a Muggle pub that the Chosen One was failing so badly. After all, if you can’t tell women you saved the world – twice – what else is there? But as he had two perfectly working eyes, he could admit that it had nothing to do with the location and everything to do with the pitiful aura emanating from the man on the other side of the room.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” Harry Potter spluttered as his former school enemy slid onto the bar stool next to him.

“Aren’t you meant to be a world-renowned Auror?” Draco drawled. “I’ve been watching you embarrass mankind for at least an hour.”

“Oh, piss off.” 

Draco chuckled to himself, running his hand through his still naturally pale blonde hair, his signet ring glinting despite the low light of the pub. He noticed the pretty redhead across the way glance over at him again, but she could wait. They always did.

“Seriously Potter, is it your goal to make every woman that comes up to you to leave in a hurry while looking wildly disappointed? Because if so, congrats. Exceeding Expectations right there.”

“No,” Harry huffed.

Draco arched an eyebrow, inviting the other wizard to elaborate.

“I’m out of practice. Ginny and I split up and well…” Harry mumbled.

Draco had known, of course, that Potter and the female Weasley were over. He still took the Daily Prophet and, despite it being more focussed on actual news these days, like it or not Potter was newsworthy. What he hadn’t known was that those pathetic attempts he’d witnessed earlier were Potter genuinely trying to flirt. Merlin help them all. 

“What are you even doing in here Malfoy?” Harry tried for suspicious, but it came out as curious.

“I was seeing friends.” It was true, though the trouble with his friends now was that they had their own lives and children. What would once have been an all night drinking session with Nott was now a lunch with his oldest friend Theo, his wife Daphne and their children. Pleasant, but not quite the debauchery of their youth.

“I didn’t know you had any, thought it was just a revolving door of witches.” 

Draco smirked. He'd let Potter have that one. It wasn’t as if it was a lie. Besides, Witch Weekly always made sure he looked favourable and after the first time when they’d tried to portray the woman as a slut, resulting in Malfoy threatening to turn their entire printing press into dust, they’d been respectful of his dates too.

“Jealous, Potter?” he drawled.

“Yeah.” Harry muttered miserably into his drink, surprising them both.

The mournful tone in Potter’s voice convinced Draco that he should cut his losses right here, right now, and go home with the pretty redhead. Or if by some odd quirk of the universe she wasn’t amenable, there was a quite plain brunette he’d seen earlier who certainly wouldn’t turn him down. He should finish his drink and leave Potter to his sad life. Instead, he leant against the bar and appraised the two-time Saviour of the Wizarding World.

“Potter, are you poor?”

“No.” Harry answered slowly, unsure why Malfoy was asking the question. After all, Draco knew Harry wasn’t Malfoy rich (who was?) but he certainly wasn’t poor.

“Are you blind?” 

Draco could actually see Harry’s confusion now. He reached up and took off his glasses – still the same oversized round frame ones of his youth – rubbing his eyes before putting them back on. Draco arched a single brow, waiting.

“Not legally. Although I do need my glasses.”

“Are you allergic to cashmere?”

Harry shook his head.

“Cotton?”

Another shake.

“Linen?”

Shake.

“Silk?”

Shake.

“Then please explain to me how it is that you are dressed in drab, ill-fitting, mixed blend fibres that look like a single spark would set them alight.”

Harry looked down at himself. He was wearing an olive t-shirt that had possibly been Ron’s once upon a time, and dark blue bootcut jeans with an unintentional hole in the left knee. On his feet were his favourite trainers, a pair of brandless grey and blue running shoes he’d had for five years. The right sole had worn down to next to nothing. 

Draco took a sip of his Macallen, the 15-year old double cask blend, naturally, and gave Harry a pained look.

“You are wearing the worst combination of ill-fitting clothes I have ever seen with a haircut that somehow manages to be worse than that mop you favoured in fourth year.”

“I-”

“None of that needed a response from you.” Draco sighed, the weight of the world on his broad, toned, aristocratic shoulders. He swirled his drink and wondered, yet again, why he was helping his former nemesis when said former nemesis was apparently incapable of helping himself. “You are a war hero. You are mostly not an idiot. And despite not being my choice, you’re not unattractive and yet --” he gestured with his free hand. Sometimes words were truly overrated. 

“Do you really want to move on from your ex?” Draco asked despite himself.

Harry nodded. “She has and I’m trying to.”

Draco had once read about sainthoods and thought that what he was about to suggest should put him right to the top of the queue. Or at least get him a coveted spot on a chocolate frog card.

“Then I will help you.”

“Why?” Harry asked, suspicion lacing every letter. 

“Recently I have found that I’m dissatisfied, it’s boredom mostly, a touch of malaise possibly,” Draco began lazily but honestly, “I’m independently wealthy so there’s no need to work, my passion projects are all excellent and my sex life is even better --” he ignored Harry’s grimace “-- I’m in the prime of my life and I’m feeling generous.”

“I don’t need money, Malfoy.”

“Good, because I’m certainly not giving you any.”

“Then what are you suggesting?” Harry asked, wary this time.

“We’re going to get you laid.” Draco grinned, before downing the rest of his drink.

As Harry choked on his beer, Draco stood elegantly. He slapped Harry on the shoulder and with nothing more than “I’ll be in touch,” he was soon making his way out the pub with a very pretty redhead on his arm. 

*

“Is he in?” Draco asked Lucy, Blaise’s assistant, with a smile.

“Yeah, he’s just finishing up the editorial conference. They should be done in five if you want to take a seat. I’ll grab you a coffee. Your usual?”

“As always, Luce, you’re a bloody gem.” Draco charmed.

Lucy rolled her eyes, but smirked back at him. “Save it, Casanova.” 

Draco took a seat, hitching the trousers of his bespoke suit to prevent the knees wearing as he did. He liked Lucy, she had been Blaise’s assistant at the Daily Prophet for two years and while she was always happy to indulge in some lighthearted banter with Draco, she never expected more. Which was good, because Draco didn’t sleep with his friends’ employees. Not anymore, anyway. He’d learnt that lesson after a night out with Pansy’s intern, a night he’d thought was a one off but the witch had assumed was the start of something more. There’d been tears, accusations and a particularly painful hexing from Pansy that he couldn’t quite say was undeserved. After that he’d updated his rules – no witches in relationships, and no witches that worked for his friends. It still left a plethora of options, so he wasn’t too bothered.

Lucy returned with the coffee at about the same time as the door to Blaise’s office opened and a stream of witches and wizards tumbled out. Draco stood smiling politely at the ones, mainly women, that smiled at him, but waiting for one in particular.

“Seriously, why are you always here?” The narrowed amber eyes of one Hermione Granger fixed on him. 

“Just came to see you, darling,” Draco drawled, his eyes roving up and down. She was wearing a pale blue wrap dress, which Draco wouldn’t have said was his preferred garment on a woman, but she could admit she’d come a long way from the bushy haired, badly dressed witch of their youth.

“Come to confess to financial crimes? You know I usually get anonymous tips but I’ll gladly make an exception for you,” she smiled at him. It was a smile that said, confess and I’ll go easy on you. A smile he was not fooled by.

As the Prophet’s lead investigative reporter Hermione had broken more stories of corruption and ill-doings than any one else on the paper. She had such a fearsome reputation that most of the Ministry and Gringotts employees performed self-silencing charms around her in case they accidentally slipped up and got their whole department arrested. (As had been the case in the infamous weighted snitch debacle of 2005 – poor MacKenzie McCarthy was currently working for the Alaskan Quidditch league, which consisted of three men and a husky.)

“I’m on the straight and narrow these days, love, nary a crime to be found,” Draco teased. “Unless you call being insanely handsome and a snappy dresser a crime.”

“I do not know why I indulge these conversations; they always end up revolving around your sartorial choices,” sighed Hermione.

“To be fair to him, Hermione, it’s not every man that can make a grey suit look interesting.” The amused tones of Blaise Zabini cut into their banter.

“It’s the subtle herringbone, it elevates it from grey to charcoal,” Draco expounded.

“I’m too smart for this,” Granger muttered, rolling her eyes and making her way down the corridor back to her desk.

“Always a pleasure,” Draco called to her retreating back, smirk fixed on his face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” she called back without breaking her stride.

“You know,” Blaise began, ushering Draco into his office, “the more you piss her off the more chance there is that she’ll restart her investigation into what it is you actually do with your time.”

Draco rolled his eyes and took a seat in the chair facing Blaise’s desk, unbuttoning his jacket as he did so.

“It was pure luck that she got distracted by the Troll scandal last time she went digging. You know if she puts her mind to it she’ll find out in a second that you’re the owner and publisher of the very same newspaper she works for,” Blaise pointed out, taking a seat in his desk chair. It wasn’t an unreasonable comment and it wasn’t the first time Blaise had made it.

Draco considered the man across from him. Blaise was looking every inch the newspaper man, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his fine rimmed silver glasses somehow managing to make him look serious while highlighting his flawless dark skin.

“Are you still going to Sight Unseen for your specs? They look good.”

“Yeah, there’s a new guy, Alexis, who is excellent. Are you finally admitting you need reading glasses?” Blaise grinned, “This is a banner day. Tell him I sent you and he’ll sort you out.”

“I don’t need reading glasses,” Draco grumbled, “but I will pay your man a visit. Actually, that leads me quite nicely into why I’m here.”

Blaise peered curiously over the aforementioned glasses.

“I’m undertaking a charity project of sorts,” Draco explained. “It’s rather high profile, but I want it kept out of the papers.”

“I know you’re hands off usually, but you do own us,” Blaise shrugged. “If you don’t want something in I can make sure we don’t publish anything. Is it the kind of thing Weekly would be interested in?”

“Very much so.”

“Well, I can talk to Padma, but again, you own the magazine so if you want to pull rank you can.”

“You know I prefer a more out-of-sight role.”

“What is this charity?” Blaise asked.

“It’s not technically a charity,” Draco hedged.

“Malfoy, am I going to have to bail you out of prison? Again?”

“No. And that was only once.”

Blaise opened his mouth but Draco was quicker, adding, “on British soil.”

In his defence, it wasn’t like he was committing actual crimes; he was telling Granger the truth about that. It’s just that some men tended to get a bit fighty when they found out you’d slept with their girlfriend. And apparently not knowing they were taken wasn’t a defence. Hence the need to make sure the women he now pursued were actually single, with a verbal confirmation.

“You’re being cagey. Not in a return of the Dark Lord way but in a I-shagged-Pansy’s-intern-and-now-need-witness-protection way.”

“Fair.” Draco chuckled, “Well the thing is, I’ve decided to take pity on Potter and give him a makeover so he can get over Ginny Potter and under someone else.”

Blaise opened and closed his mouth twice before he finally spluttered, “the fuck.”

“Quite. Now, as this will involve me being seen with Potter, I’d prefer to not have the press speculating about what we’re up to.”

“I could genuinely put Granger on this assignment and she still would not come up with you giving Potter a makeover so he can get laid.” Blaise shook his head, “Merlin, why did I stop day drinking?”

“Bad for business.”

“Right, Padma will want this. Not the details obviously, but the world is still mourning the demise of Potter’s marriage,” Blaise began, before breaking off and leaning forward conspiratorially, “And not for nothing, something seems to have gone down there. Everyone involved is being incredibly cagey, and when I mentioned it to Granger she blushed bright red and started talking about snidgets.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed. But back to the matter at hand, you gadding about with Potter is what passes for news over at Weekly and I can only fend off Padma so much. You’ll need to give them something, make up a reason to be seen together. Refuse photographs but confirm you’re working together in some capacity and she’ll leave you alone. To be honest you’re both rich enough that you can throw some money at an actual charity and call it quits if need be. If that doesn’t work, then play your owner card.”

This was why Draco had come to Blaise. After his night with the redhead, he’d woken up thinking about Potter (a strange feeling and one he did not want to repeat.) The guy had looked so broken and Draco, who knew a thing or two about being broken, had realised he really was going to help Potter. Of course, neither of them were low key and despite the fact that Thuban 48 Incorporated published the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, he really did prefer to take a hands off approach and let his editors, Blaise and Padma Patil respectively, handle things. But Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hanging out would be news, and Draco wasn’t sure how to spin it. Hence, Blaise.

“Thanks, mate.”

“Do I want to know why you’ve decided to help out Potter? Your former nemesis?”

“I get to boss him about. Why wouldn’t I do this?” Draco smirked.

“Sadly, that does actually track.” 

“Theo and Daph send their love. The children are still terrors.”

“I know, last time Pans saw them one of them dumped jam in her handbag.” Blaise laughed.

“I know. Theo told me yesterday, he still looked shell-shocked. Daph just laughed.”

“Drinks next week, if you’re not too busy with your charity project?” Blaise asked, watching as Draco stood and smoothed his suit.

“Sounds great.”

“And please stop winding up my best reporter. If she comes for you, I can’t save you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Draco asked shrewdly.

“Does it matter?” Blaise chuckled, before turning to the pages in front of him and grabbing his red quill to make some edits.

Draco let himself out with a wave to Lucy and headed home to owl Potter with the next stage of the plan.

*

Draco leaned against the coffee shop wall across from the Leaky Cauldron entrance. He’d asked Potter to meet him at eleven sharp. It was eleven-fifteen. They would be having words about the importance of time keeping. 

Draco glanced at his watch again, a round-faced vintage Omega (he couldn’t help it if Muggles made the better watches) before tucking it under the cuff of his navy ribbed shawl cardigan. His pale brown shirt was open at the top two buttons – curious, not crude – and tucked into his well-fitted blue jeans. He tapped the heel of his brown suede loafers, impatience getting the better of him.

Finally, from behind his round framed sunglasses – his one concession to the bright spring weather – he saw Potter ambling along the street. For a brief moment, he wished he hadn’t.

“You’re late.” Draco began when Potter stopped in front of him.

“Yeah, sorry.” Harry replied, running his hands sheepishly through his unruly hair.

Draco closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and took a deep breath as he took in the appearance of the man in front of him. Ok, he knew he’d done some crappy things in his life – well, one very big crappy thing – but he was making amends. He’d worked hard to repent and change his legacy. So, what on earth had he done to deserve the wrath from the gods that was the way Harry Potter was dressed.

“Potter, are you a player for the Holyhead Harpies?”

“You know they’re all women.”

“Are you a coach perhaps?”

“You know I’m not.”

“Are congratulations in order, then? Did you decide to buy a Quidditch team?”

“No, what? Malfoy, what are you on about?”

“So if you’re not a player, not a coach, and don’t own the team, please explain to me why you, a grown man, are standing here in front of me looking like a Holyhead Harpies merch stand vomited on you.”

Harry looked down at himself and had to concede that Malfoy might have a point. He was wearing a faded green jersey with the talon logo of the Harpies, green and gold tracksuit bottoms and his reliable brandless trainers. He also knew, without looking, that he was wearing the gold and green windbreaker that, while logoless, was also clearly Harpies colours.

“Ah,” Harry smiled ruefully.

“Yes, ah,” Draco replied, with more of a grimace.

“Come on.” Draco stalked off, leaving Harry to trail in his wake. “Look, Potter. One of the best things about being a wizard is that really you only need about sixteen items to rebuild your entire wardrobe.”

“Sixteen!” Harry said incredulously.

“I know,” Draco drawled, intentionally mistaking Harry’s horror for approval.

“Where are we going?” Harry inquired as they turned away from Diagon Alley.

“We’re starting Muggle. We need more than one row of shops to sort this horror.” Draco said, waving a casual hand at Harry’s entire being, “Though we’ll have to go magical to deal with that.” Here he gestured to Harry’s hair.

“Do you have sterling or will we need to convert some?” Draco asked.

“Hang on,” Harry paused, pulling out the beaten leather pouch that had been a gift from Hagrid. The enchantment had faded over the years, but Hermione had added velcro to it so nothing would fall out. He pulled it open, the velcro crackling into the air.

“Sweet Salazar,” Draco said, hand on his heart, looking down with disgust at the pouch in Harry’s hand.

“What?” Harry called after Draco, who was once again marching away.

Hours passed and they had sufficiently, in Draco’s view, and exhaustively, in Harry’s, made their way through Marylebone and Bond Street. Refreshing (Harry’s word) or replacing (Draco’s word) the Chosen One’s entire wardrobe. It had been an education. 

Harry had apparently been wearing the wrong size jackets. (“Do you want to look like a small child playing dress up, Potter?”)

He did not understand the basics of skincare. (“You may be a wizard but you can still get fine lines like everyone else.”)

He also did not understand jeans. (“Do you want to look like a dad who has given up on life and now can only wear dark bootcut jeans because everything else reminds him of his wasted potential?”) (“No?”) (“No, Potter you do not. Stop buying denim from people who do not understand denim.”)

Harry had tried to argue about his coin purse but he had quickly realised that Draco Malfoy was not so much asking for Harry’s opinion as he was instructing him in the new world order. 

“It’s got sentimental value.”

“Then sentimentally put it in your vault or on your mantelpiece, and get a wallet that does not make you look like you’re on the run from a dark wizard.”

Once Harry conceded to a new wallet, a stylish leather billfold which he had to admit was quite an improvement, Draco had clasped his hands together and announced they were done. Harry took this to mean that he was free to go, but it seemed it actually meant they were done with Muggle London. He next found himself sitting in a barber’s chair in front of a wizard named Alfonso, who Draco declared to be a genius.

Harry had to admit, as he stood in front of the mirror in the dressing room of the barbershop that Draco had ushered him into, that Alfonso might actually be a genius. His hair was cut in a way that kept the messiness no charm could cure but made it look intentional, windswept like he’d just stepped off his broom, but controlled like he knew what he was doing. That it made him look five years younger didn’t hurt either.

“Stop stalling and try on the clothes, Potter!” Draco shouted through the curtain.

Right. That was why he’d been ushered into the dressing room, so Draco could see his handiwork in action.

As he pulled on his new chinos (“Not every man can wear chinos, Potter. Take it as a compliment.”) and the simple white crew neck t-shirt which would artfully poke out from under the pale grey cashmere jumper that sat under the navy chore jacket, Harry had to admit he didn’t look half bad. Of course it was hard to focus when he could hear Draco talking to one of the young, female shop assistants on the other side of the dressing room door.

“What are you doing later?” Draco was asking with a chuckle.

“I don’t know,” the witch replied laughing.

“I do.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I know exactly.” Harry could hear Draco’s smirk as he pushed his feet into the all-white Stan Smiths.

The witch was chuckling and Harry couldn’t help himself. “Seriously?” he called out, “You ask her out like that?”

There was a pause, and Harry tucked in his t-shirt as Draco replied, “Yeah.”

“And that worked?” Harry called out, untucking his t-shirt again.

There was a longer pause this time but eventually two voices confirmed, “Yeah.”

“Ridiculous.” Harry muttered to himself as he came out of the dressing room, pushing his new glasses – black thick rimmed instead of the awful bottle tops he’d had for years – up his nose.

“Wow,” the assistant smiled, “look at you.”

“I feel like I’m playing dress up,” Harry grumbled.

“Would you sleep with him?” Draco asked the assistant.

“Merlin!” Harry muttered, embarrassed, “Was there really any need-”

“Yeah,” she cut him off, considering, and tilted her head to look at him, “yeah, probably.”

“What?!” Harry spluttered, “I mean, Merlin, why would you? Crazy.”

The assistant looked hesitant now.

“You see what just happened there, Potter? The second you opened your mouth Ella here started doubting whether she wanted to sleep with you.”

“It was not that bad,” Harry argued.

“It truly was. I’ve seen Weasleys with more game than you.”

“Well, that’s a bit mean,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh hush, I’ve said worse about you and to you over the years. Come on, we’ve still got work to do,” Draco replied, pushing Harry towards the door, stopping briefly to kiss Ella on the cheek and tell her he’d be in touch.

Harry watched it all happen and wondered if he had been hit by a bludger at some point and this was all a hallucination.
 

* 

They were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, Draco nursing a Firewhisky and Harry with a Butterbeer that had not gone unnoticed. (“Are you a twelve-year-old, Potter? Then do you care to explain to me why you’re drinking a twelve-year-old’s drink?”) when they were spotted.

“Oh hello, what’s this?” Romilda Vane asked, coming over and smiling down at Harry and Draco.

“Can’t two old school friends catch up over drinks?” Draco charmed.

“Two old friends can, two former nemeses, not so much,” the witch grinned. “You forget, I was at school the same time as you. I know you two weren’t exactly pals.”

Harry fidgeted in his chair and Draco fought the urge to kick him. Romilda Vane was the best gossip columnist that Witch Weekly had, and while he’d managed to keep Padma off the scent by pulling the “I own your company, here’s what I’ll tell you” card, he couldn’t exactly tell Vane to butt out, otherwise the whole secret owner thing would no longer be a secret. He stayed as close to the made up truth as he could.

“Times change,” Draco shrugged, “and while we’re not ready to make a thing about it, we’re working on a charity project of sorts. I think Patil knows the details.”

“Interesting,” Romilda said insincerely, before turning to Harry and tilting her head in what she clearly thought was a sympathetic manner, “And how are you Harry?”

“Fine.”

“Of course you are, you poor lamb. I heard the paperwork has not been filed with the Ministry yet, is a reconciliation on the cards for you and Mrs Potter?” Romilda asked, still in the same faux-sympathetic tone.

“Now, now, I said Potter and I were working on something together, not that I have any interest in his personal life,” Draco cut in, all aristocratic boredom. “If you want his life story, buy the unauthorised biography like everyone else.”

Romilda rolled her eyes, but left with a smile at both men. 

“Thanks.” Harry muttered.

“That woman is a viper, if she knows something is up she’ll never let it go. Trust me I’ve ended up in her page four column more times than I care to acknowledge,” Draco shrugged. “Now, on to the important charity work.”

“I don’t appreciate that expression.”

Draco ignored him and continued, “Do you want to start magical or Muggle?”

“Huh?”

“If we start in the magical world then obviously you’ll have the Chosen One thing on your side, but I imagine that might give us false positives and won’t help. After all, you probably want to know if you have game without the whole Saviour of the Wizarding World element. Personally, I have my doubts,” Draco mused, “but I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

“Huh?” Harry said again.

“I agree. Muggle it is.”

Draco scribbled an address down on a piece of parchment and slid it over to Harry.

“Eight Sharp. Do not be late, Potter. I mean it.” Harry looked down at the parchment and saw the address for a bar in Soho he’d never been to. “Wear a suit. Open collar. No tie.”

And with that Draco was gone, leaving Harry with nothing but the shrunken shopping bags in his robes and a sense of being thoroughly out of his depth.

*

“You know all you do is complain about him.” 

Hermione frowned at her friend. 

On paper Matilda Dahling, Fashion Editor at the Daily Prophet, was an unlikely pal for the always serious Hermione Granger. Tall, blonde and willowy, when they’d first met she’d reminded Hermione of Fleur in a not so flattering way but just as there was more to Hermione than brains and curls, there was more to Matilda than red lipstick and the latest couture.

“Is this your idea of being helpful?” Hermione grumbled, playing with the stem of her wine glass.

“Nope. You didn’t ask for help. In fact you said, shall we grab a drink after work this week has been a nightmare and I want to hear all about Paris. Then you proceeded to bore on about Cormac the second we sat down.”

“Remind me why I’m friends with you?” 

“My charm, good looks? Access to the beauty cupboard at the office?” Matilda trilled as Hermione frowned,  “Or maybe my darling girl, it’s because I, like you, don’t have time for bluster and sugar coating. You aren’t happy. You weren’t happy when I left for Paris, and now it's a year later and you’re still not happy.” Matilda reached for Hermione’s hand.

“I’m fine. It’s just not been great. I feel like we’re not on the same page anymore.” Hermione admitted.

“Then maybe, my little brainiac, it's time to turn the page.”

“It’s my turn to get us a refill. Same again?” Hermione asked unsubtly changing the subject and making her way to the bar.

As Hermione was going up to the bar, Draco was checking his watch and wondering why none of his friends could ever be on time. 

He was waiting for Blaise and Theo outside the Six Kneazles, a slightly fancier pub than the Leaky Cauldron halfway between Knockturn and Diagon Alley, where for the first time in months they were meant to be having a guys night. 

It was also the first time in two weeks that Draco was not out with Potter. They’d been out five times now since the shopping trip. Five times Draco had attempted to wing man and five times it had failed. Draco was starting to lose faith. Not in himself, Merlin forfend, but in Potter. It always started well, women would come over, they’d have a bit of conversation. Draco would excuse himself when it seemed like all was well and then inevitably less than twenty minutes later Potter would be on his own, or worse, telling the poor woman his life story.

Draco was starting to think that witches might be the way to go. At least they’d already know the deal and could decide if they wanted to shag Harry, baggage or not.
 
Merlin help him, even when he wasn't with Potter he was thinking about Potter. It was like being back at school. Draco realised that in all his efforts to help Harry he’d been neglecting his own wants and needs, well not anymore. Tonight he would take a beautiful witch home Potter-be-damned.

Deciding that his friends would inevitably arrive and inevitably assume he was inside Draco went inside the pub and immediately spotted a beautiful blonde in the corner. He could only see her profile but he could tell she was stylish and stunning even with the limited view.

He made his way over. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s almost offensive to me to see a beautiful woman sitting on her own,” he charmed as he came up to the table.

“I bet you say that to all the - Malfoy?”

“Mattie! I thought you were in Paris,” he smiled and greeted his old friend with a kiss on each cheek.

“I was. Got back last week.”

“Welcome back to London,” he grinned, unbuttoning his jacket and taking a seat at the table.

“Thank you darling. I can’t believe you were trying to hit on me using that cheesy line.” 

“Hey, don’t blame me if that kind of thing works, blame your gender.”

“Oh yes, because all women are the same.”

“You said it darl,” He drawled with a wink.

“You are ridiculous,” Matilda laughed, flicking her hair over her shoulder, “when are you going to settle down?”

“Never. Why should I settle.”

“Fine, when are you going to meet your equal and fall head over heels in love?”

“It’s more likely I’d settle to be honest,” Draco laughed.

“No, no way. Get lost Malfoy. Stop flirting with my friends,” grumbled Hermione as she came back to the table.

“Granger, always a pleasure,” he smirked.

“Stop flirting and get out of my seat.”

Draco stood and pulled the seat out for Hermione with a flourish, before grabbing one from the neighbouring table and sitting back down, “technically I’m not flirting.”

Both Matilda and Hermione fixed him with identical looks of disbelief.

“Fine, I’m not flirting anymore. I was when I came over but only because I didn’t recognise Mattie at first.”

“Thanks, I think,” Mattie deadpanned.

“You know what I mean, I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“You don’t have a business,” Hermione pointed out.

“It’s why I give so much pleasure,” Draco leered.

“I walked into that one,” admitted Hermione, mostly to herself. 

“You really did,” Matilda agreed. “Is that Theo Nott with Blaise? I haven’t seen him since Daph had the second kid. I should go and say hi.” 

They all looked over at Blaise and Theo who were at the bar gesturing to ask Draco if he wanted a drink.

He nodded at them, then stood as Matilda excused herself to go and say hello to Theo.

He sat back down and turned to Hermione, “so her and Blaise are sleeping together again then?”

“It was a terribly transparent excuse,” Hermione agreed, “Everyone knows she hasn’t spoken to Theo since that incident with Astoria at fashion week.”

“That really wasn’t Theo’s fault. He can’t not take Astoria’s side, she is his sister-in-law.”

“Of course you’re siding with Astoria. Tell me does every woman you sleep with get a pass for bad behaviour,” Hermione snapped cattily, not quite sure why.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Hermione grumbled, “Bad day.”

Hermione took a large gulp of her wine and tried to push her bad mood aside. She watched as Matilda made an excuse to talk to Blaise that meant they needed to step out of the pub. Truly, they were the least subtle people she knew and she was friends with the entire Weasley clan.

When she looked back at Draco he was watching her a light smirk playing on his lips, “trying to decide which career to ruin next?”

“If someone has their career ruined because of my reporting they probably deserved it.”

“I don’t disagree,” Draco laughed.

“You don’t?” 

“No, it’s not like you’re punching down or only going after salacious gossip. Most of these people are doing wrong and it should be pointed out.”

Hermione gaped at him.

“Stop looking at me like that, I keep telling you my nefarious days are over.”

“Tell that to half the witches in this pub.” Hermione scoffed.

“Jealous?” He teased.

“Of what? The fact you pick up any witch that moves? No, I’m not.”

And she wasn’t, not really, though she could admit privately that the brunette who kept throwing appreciative glances in Draco’s direction was beginning to grate on her nerves. 

“I’m a little bit more discerning than 'any witch that moves',” argued Draco.

“Right, that must be why you’ve never made a pass at me. Your discerning standards.” 

Hermione didn’t know why she’d said that, the instant it came out of her mouth – the tone a little too arch to be entirely joking – she’d wished she could take it back. She frowned down at her empty wine glass so she didn’t have to look at Draco.

“Well, as a general rule I prefer the women I go after to be interested in me,” Draco said, then added, “plus I don’t go after women that are taken.”

“Oh, so if I didn’t have a boyfriend you’d attempt to pick me up?” She rolled her eyes before looking up to meet his.

“Of course I would,” Draco replied seriously.

Hermione sensed that the tone had shifted but she didn’t know why. Draco was looking at her intently, the brunette across the room long forgotten. Hermione couldn’t hold his gaze, she looked down at the table.

The silence stretched and Hermione knew she should make a joke to break it. Or talk about her latest investigation, but for some reason she didn’t want to examine, she wanted to know if he was telling the truth.

“Wait, so you’re saying the only reason you’ve never tried to hit on me is because I have a boyfriend?” Saying it out loud sounded ridiculous.

“Yep. I’m not a cheater, Granger,” he smiled, his tone lightening, “Well, never knowingly,” he amended with a small chuckle. 

“It’s not because I’m a muggleborn? Or an insufferable swot?” Hermione asked.

Draco looked at her almost fondly, “no.”

Hermione frowned as Draco took off his jacket and leant forward rolling up his shirt sleeves before leaning on the table, “While both those things are true. No. You’re the fucking white whale, Granger.”

She wrinkled her nose at the analogy. “That is hardly flattering.”

“Oh, come on,” he laughed, “You know what I mean. You’re the one I can’t have. The one I’ve never been able to have.”

“So it’s the chase?” That, Hermione understood. Wanting something because you couldn’t have it was just basic psychology.

“It’s not the chase. Though I’ll admit that adds to it. ” He shrugged, “You’ve never been won over by me.”

“I remember you as a child.” 

“So do lots of witches and they still end up in my bed.”

“Oh, I always just assumed it was me,” Hermione blushed as she trailed off. 

He leaned in even closer, close enough that Hermione could smell the crispness of his aftershave, close enough that no one but her could hear his voice, low and gravelly as he said, “Trust me, Granger. If you were ever single, the only thing stopping me from taking you home would be you.” 

Hermione fought the urge to melt into him. Instead she watched as Matilda came back into the pub, with Blaise following a few minutes behind. 

“I think that’s my cue,” Draco said. “Night, Granger.” 

“Mattie.” Draco nodded as he passed Matilda on his way to join Blaise and Theo at the bar.

“Draco,” she smiled.

“That looked cosy,” Matilda teased as she took her seat next to Hermione and passed over a glass of white wine.

“Please, it was Malfoy being Malfoy.” Hermione took a large swig of her wine.

“You mean, being a devastatingly handsome flirt?” 

“You forget I don’t get that side,” Hermione half lied. “I get jibes about my work or…” she trailed off. She couldn’t actually remember what, if anything, he had insulted her about recently.

“Mmm hmm,” Matilda replied, not quite so oblivious as her bushy-haired friend.

“Will you please start going to see Aisha for your haircuts again? It hurts my heart to see you in wrap dresses with unconditioned curls. I can only cope with one or the other.” Matilda sighed dramatically as she changed the subject.

“Remind me again why I missed you when you moved to Paris?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Because you love me.”

“I think you might be getting me confused with Blaise,” Hermione teased. this was safe. This was normal. She was out with her friend, teasing her about her secret romance and definitely not thinking about anything Draco Malfoy might have just said. 

*

Draco had had a long, irritating week. Ever since last Friday when he’d somehow ended up at a corner table confessing to Hermione-insufferable-Granger that he’d always wanted to shag her, he hadn’t quite been able to get her out of his mind.

Of course, it didn’t help that he was forced to spend time with Granger’s best friend. Yes, fine, he had forced himself to help Potter out of the goodness of his cold black heart, but still. He was not having a good week. This was the third night this week he’d been out with Potter and honestly it might actually be the worst one yet. 

Potter was drunk. The woman that he’d been talking at was long gone, taking her friend - and Draco’s option for the night - with her. And so now here he was on a Saturday night in the prime of his life listening to Harry Potter’s drunken monologue.

Harry was currently leaning on one hand, peering across at Draco lazily on the bar. 

“The thing is,” Harry gestured, “I get that it’s like a thing to explore your sexuality, and Merlin knows I thought about it once or twice when I wasn’t almost dying or trying to save the world. Hermione worked on a potions project with Nott in sixth year and I always thought he was handsome in a rakish way.”

Draco blinked slowly. He had no idea where Potter was going with this conversation and was now being made to consider the fact that the very drunk man next to him thought Draco's childhood best friend was ‘handsome in a rakish way’ which wasn’t wrong exactly, but is not quite what he was expecting.

“Nott’s married.” It felt like the only useful thing Draco could add.

“So am I technically,” Harry countered, “but that wasn’t my point. I’m just saying if experimenting with our sexuality was a thing, she should’ve told me. It’s not like I didn’t think about it.”

In a strange way Draco could see Harry and Theo working, if they were in a different universe where either of them were into men and hadn’t married their childhood sweethearts, but they’re in this universe so Draco focussed on the problem at hand.

“So the littlest Weasley hooked up with a woman.”

Harry nodded morosely.

“And I’m guessing it wasn’t with your blessing.”

Harry frowned from behind his glasses.

“Hey, it was worth asking,” defended Draco.

If possible, Harry slumped further practically face-planting on the bar.

“It’s a woman on her team, they’d been flirting for months apparently and Gin wanted to know what it was like. So she slept with her or did stuff. I didn’t ask for the details. Don’t even know who the other witch was.”

Draco forced himself to not do a mental rundown of the Harpies team sheet. Or think about the details.

“And that’s why you ended your marriage?”

“It’s not ended... It’s paused,” Harry declared, sitting up as straight as he could. Which was not very straight at this point, “and technically she paused it.”

“Right,” Draco said, “and that’s why you’re here in a bar with me trying and failing to pick up women because you keep scaring them off with your marriage tales of woe. Which by the way completely defeats all the hard work I’ve done upgrading your wardrobe so you no longer look like an overgrown man child.”

“You didn’t do any hard work, you just bossed me around from shop to shop. I’d hardly call that work.”

“Trust me Potter, it felt like work. You are incredibly trying.”

Harry slumped again.

“Ok, clearly tonight is a bust--” Draco started.

“No. I wanna do this. I wanna meet women and not be sad.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, who was actually looking very good in his white shirt and crew neck red jumper. If he wasn’t so sad and wildly drunk Draco would be tempted to call this a success. 

“Potter, tomorrow is another day. Go home, go to sleep and think about if this is what you actually want. There’s no harm in just telling your wife that you love her and want to make a go of it.”

“She’ll think it’s about the kid thing again.”

Draco decided to leave that one, he was rapidly approaching his quota for supportive listening and talking to a drunk Potter would do him no good.

“Come on, you lush. I hope you are not too far gone to know where you live because it’s almost certainly a part of town I’d never willingly set foot in.” Draco groaned, as he stood and hoisted Harry out of the seat.

“I live in Islington, you snob.” Harry grumbled, “Just get me to an apparition point and I’ll be fine.”

That’s debatable, thinks Draco, but he wisely doesn’t say it. 

*

What Draco couldn’t have known as he said goodbye to Harry at the apparition point was that Harry had no intention of going home to his cold empty house. Nope, he was going to see his best friend, because he was Harry Potter and he could do what he wanted. 

What Harry couldn’t have known was that the last thing Hermione needed was a drunk Harry Potter apparating into her flat as she broke up with her boyfriend. Again. This time for good.

“Oh good, Harry’s here.” Cormac, Hermione’s on-and-off again boyfriend of the last five years pouted as Harry stumbled into the room.

Hermione sighed as she took in the sight of her very drunk friend and her very unhappy, soon to be ex-boyfriend.

“Hello!” Harry waved with a cheery smile.

“Now’s not a good time Potter,” snapped Cormac.

“Oh don’t mind me,” Harry replied blithely unaware of the tension he’d dropped into.

“Get rid of him,” Cormac gritted at Hermione.

“Cormac, he’s clearly drunk, I can’t just turf him out.” Hermione sighed, looking over at Harry who was now picking up photos from her mantelpiece and pointing to himself (“that's me!”).

“We’re in the middle of something.”

“No, we’re not. There is nothing left to say.”

Cormac opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione was done. She’d been 93 per cent done by the time Harry had dropped in unannounced and now she was fully done. Maybe it was seeing her oldest friend, smiling at a photograph of himself despite the fact she knew his heart was broken. Or maybe seeing Harry just reminded her that she was Hermione bloody Granger, and staying in a relationship that made her unhappy was not how she wanted to live her life.

“We don’t want the same thing. We don’t make each other happy. We’re more like friends than lovers and we’re barely even friends,” Hermione argued.

“If I go I’m not coming back this time, I mean it.”

Hermione looked at the man she’d spent the past few years with. She’d loved him once. He wasn’t the arrogant, handsy boy he’d been at school. He was handsome and charming, and they’d had some good years. He would make a wonderful partner for someone, just not her. 

“I think that’s probably for the best.”

“Are you fighting? Should I go?” Harry whispered to Hermione none-to-quietly, “Or punch him?  I defeated a dark wizard once, you know.”

“I do know,” agreed Hermione as she tried very hard not to laugh. It would only make the situation worse if the look on Cormac’s face was anything to go by.

“I have to say, I always figured it would be Weasley that was the third person at the end of our relationship,” sighed Cormac.

“Ohh is Ron here?” Harry piped up with a grin.

“I’m sorry Cormac, but this is for the best. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, right.” Cormac shrugged, ran his hand through his sandy blonde hair and picked up his leather holdall.

“I’ll see you around kid,” he gave her a soft smile that almost shook Hermione’s resolve but before she could say or do anything he apparated out of her flat with a pop.

“Did I interrupt something?” Harry asked with a moment of clarity.

“Nothing that wasn’t already in motion,” Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face before taking a deep breath and putting her hands on her hips. “Not that you’re not welcome but what are you doing here at eleven pm smelling like a brewery.”

“I went for drinks.”

“Yes, I’d worked that out.”

“And then I didn’t want to go home so I thought I know, I’ll go see Her’minny.”

“Not my name but the best we can hope for at this point I think,” Hermione teased. She gave her friend a once over, it had been a while since they’d done more than grab a quick lunch or chat over the floo. He looked well, he looked like himself again. If himself actually had a sense of style.

“You look nice. Pissed as a newt, but nice” Hermione said, “new clothes?”

“Yep!” Harry nodded, “it’s time I stopped dressing like a manchild.”

“Not the phrase I would’ve used but I agree with the sentiment.” Hermione smiled, watching as Harry drunkenly weaved his way from her fireplace to the sofa tucked toward the back of the room.

“Clothes maketh the mizard!” Harry declared as he slumped on to her sofa.

“Do you mean clothes maketh the man?”

“I was trying to say man but then changed to wizard and it came out as mizard. Which is what I am. I am a man wizard,” Harry grinned lopsidedly, “I’m a mizard.”

“You’re a drunk is what you are,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I’m a mizard!” Harry slurred triumphantly lolling onto his back on Hermione’s sofa.

“I’m going to get you some water, stay there.” She added unnecessarily.  

When Hermione came back Harry was snoring loudly on her sofa, one arm dangled off the edge and the other across his face. She placed the water down beside him and turned to her floo, kneeling down and calling out Ron’s address.

“Hermione, is everything alright?” Ron’s freckled face appeared in the flames.

“Yes, sorry to call so late but I thought I’d let you know that Harry’s here. I know you went by Grimmauld earlier.”

“Is he alright?” 

“He’s drunker than Hagrid on Samhain but yes, he’s fine.”

“Shove over, I’m coming though.”

Hermione scrambled out of the way as the long limbs of Ronald Weasley climbed out of her fireplace.

“Were you sleeping?” Hermione asked, taking in Ron’s Chudley Cannons sweatshirt and his flannel pyjama bottoms.

“Nah, I was listening to the Cannons get their arses handed to them, again. The match has been going on for three hours and they’ve barely sniffed at a goal. Honestly I don’t know why I bother.” 

“You can’t choose what you love,” Hermione teased.

“Don’t I know it,” Ron laughed, before looking over at Harry, “How did he seem?”

“Other than drunk, fine. He looked good even. New clothes I think.”

“That’s good. Odd but good. I’ve never known Harry to shop.” 

“Well I heard he’s doing some charity thing with Malfoy, and you know how vain he is so maybe he forced Harry to sort himself out,” Hermione shrugged.

“Rather him than me,” Ron laughed. “I’d be concerned he’s hanging out with Malfoy but it’s not ten years ago and frankly I’m just glad he’s getting out of the house, I was beginning to worry.”

Hermione looked at Ron, the boy she was once in love with, the friend she would always love, and felt a real tug of fondness towards him. 

“How’s Gin?”

“On the road with the team but not good. She made a mistake and doesn’t know how to fix it.”

“Has she told you any more about what happened?”

“Nope, I know the same as you. She was feeling trapped, there was someone else, this Cece woman, and it was a one time thing.” Ron sighed uncomfortably, he didn’t like thinking about his sister’s romantic life, “has he said anything else?” 

“I’ve barely seen him and whenever I do he tells me he’s fine even when he’s clearly not. They’re both hurting but I don’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s not up to us to fix, believe me if I could I would. If they’re ever going to sort this out they have to come back together as equals, and us getting involved won’t help.”

“When did you get so wise?” Hermione teased, nudging Ron’s hip with hers.

“Ahh, you just caught one of the few wise five minutes I have every so often,” he chuckled.

“Cormac covering the game tonight?” Ron asked, as if suddenly noticing the other usual occupant of Hermione’s home wasn’t in.

“Uh, no he wasn’t. He was here but we broke up. Actually Harry arrived in the middle of it.”

“Bet that went down well.”

“About as well as you can imagine,” grimaced Hermione.

“You ok?”

“Surprisingly, yeah.”

“Not surprising at all. You’re too good for him. You’re too good for any wizard but definitely too good for him.”

“You’re my best friend - you have to say that.”

“I was also your first love so I like to consider myself as something of an authority on what it takes to win Hermione Granger.”

“And?” Hermione smiled softly.

“Well, you have to be intelligent obviously. Ambitious. Confident but not arrogant. Self-assured but not self-obsessed. Willing to be overlooked for a righteous cause and be supportive about it because you know it's more important than you. And you have to know you will never be the best or brightest in any room.” He smiled fondly at her and Hermione felt herself well up.

“Oh Ronald,” she muttered, tucking herself into his chest for a hug.

“Oh, and you have to not have a screaming row and break up over a game of wizarding chess,” he added with a laugh referring to their infamous break up ten years ago.

“Oh yes, and that,” Hermione chuckled. “You’re a wonderful man Ronald Weasley, and Pansy is lucky to have you even though you’re both pretending nothing is going on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ron replied airily, his face turning crimson.

“Sure you don’t.”

Harry snorted and rolled over, half falling off the sofa before Hermione flicked her hand and spelled him back into place.

“You can go, I’ve got him.”

“Nah, I’m not leaving you on Potterwatch alone. Where’s your wireless? I bet the Cannons are still failing at anything resembling competence. You can sit and listen with me while we make sure Harry doesn’t choke on his own vomit.”

“Charming,” Hermione deadpanned. “You know I’ll fall asleep if you put the match on.”

“I know. I’ll keep watch, it’ll be like old times.”

Hermione flicked the wireless into life.

“And the Cannons trail by 380 to 50, even if they catch the snitch now there’s no chance of a win,” Lee Jordan’s voice came out of the radio.

“And frankly Lee I’m not sure they’d deserve it, the way they’ve been playing,” added Katie Bell.

“Traitor,” Ron muttered as he fell down onto Hermione’s oversized armchair pulling Hermione down with him. She curled into his side. 

“I wonder what Malfoy and Harry are up to?” Ron said as he stretched his legs out in front of him and Hermione got comfortable.

“Now it really is like old times,” she chuckled into his shoulder, his low laugh vibrating against her side.

“And the Cannons Keeper let another goal through, at this point is it even worth him being on the pitch?” Lee Jordan mused in the background, as the sounds of the match and the comforting presence of her friends lulled Hermione to sleep.
 
*

Hermione was having the best day of her professional career and the worst day of her personal life. Well not quite the worst, she had been tortured once and spent a year on the run from a dark wizard but it was certainly a no good very bad day.

She’d known when she’d broken up with Cormac that things would be tough. They worked together, yes he was on the sports desk and she was on the news desk but still the Prophet was hardly huge. But it had been ok. The last month had been a little awkward but they’d managed. 

But now they were all out at a dinner celebrating her Ministry Expenses Scandal scoop. Something she had been working on for months and something that had been so sensitive only Blaise and her fact checkers, Bill and Ben, had known about it. And that was the problem.

Well, no Cormac drinking and talking loudly was the problem. 

“We just wanted different things. I want marriage, commitment, a family. She wants to pretend it’s still 1998 and she’s hunting the bad guys.”

One of things Hermione had always liked about Cormac, even back in Hogwarts, was that he had a presence. He wasn’t embarrassed to be himself even when sometimes he probably should’ve been.

Right now however, as he was holding court at the opposite end of their table at Loco Loco, a terrible Mexican restaurant in Diagon Alley, Hermione struggled to think of a single thing she liked about him.

“I mean take this, the scoop.” He waved the paper in front of the interns and junior reporters he was talking to, “She shut me out of this, so she could focus on the story. On being the Golden Girl who brings down the bad guys.”

“I could hex him,” Mattie whispered in her ear, “I’m pretty good with a wandless curse.”

“I could hex him. I’m excellent with a wandless curse,” Hermione grumbled back.

“Yes, but if you do it you look petty. If I do it, well I have some sway with the boss.”

“I could fire him,” Blaise, who was on Matilda’s other side said, leaning across her to talk to Hermione.

“You can’t fire him,” Hermione sighed, “he’s the best sports reporter this side of the Atlantic.”

“Who needs the best for sports. I’ve got you on News. This one,” he nodded to Matilda, “on fashion. And Barclay on Business. Three out of four ain’t bad.”

“Ahh yes, the motto of every thriving business.”

“I’ll have marketing play with the wording,” he said with a lazy smile.

“You know it’s all bollocks though don’t you,” Matilda cut back in, “McLaggen is saying this because you’re the best bloody thing that ever happened to him and he’s hurt. None of what he is saying is true.”

“I didn’t tell him about the story though,” admitted Hermione in a small voice.

“Yes, because you just broke open the biggest Wizarding scandal since the last one you broke and it needed to be handled quietly. And your boyfriend here.”

“Ex,” Matilda interjected.

“Your ex-boyfriend clearly has a big mouth,” amended Blaise.

“I’m starting to think Malfoy might be right,” Hermione whined.

“Huh?” Blaise gaped.

“Don’t mix business and pleasure. Clearly working together is not going to work, The Quibbler is having a relaunch and I know Luna wanted a more news focus,” she mused aloud.

“Firstly, Draco is one of my oldest friends and so I say with absolute confidence you should not listen to any of his self-professed rules. Secondly, if you quit I will refuse to accept your resignation. Thirdly, I’m serious about the quitting thing. I will go to our publisher and make them create literal golden handcuffs to chain you to your desk. Fourth if you leave me for The Quibbler I might actually die.”

“I think what Blaise is trying to say, rather dramatically, is that you are excellent at your job and this will blow over. McLaggen is making a fuss now because he can. Be the better person and let him have his petty moment in front of two interns and my fashion assistant Dave who is the dumbest man I’ve ever met but can style an outfit like a dream.”

“Was there a point in that?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Matilda huffed, “Here, drink this.” She pushed another margarita in front of Hermione, “My point was that you are brilliant and he is hurting, but he is sitting at what is effectively the kids table while you are with the superstars.”

“She means us.” Blaise interjected.

“I got that.” Hermione laughed.

“So drink up and remember that you are Hermione-bloody-Granger and you are worth a thousand of him.”

Hermione held up her glass in salute and proceeded to drain it. 

* 

Draco was starting to wonder if there was a conspiracy against him. If he had somehow been targeted with a specific type of time turner that meant what he thought was on time was actually wildly early. Surely there could be no other reason that he was sitting in a bar in Muggle London waiting for Harry Potter who was twenty minutes late.

Normally he’d have left already but in the past few weeks something had changed with Potter. He’d not only pulled a few Muggles, but he told Draco that he actually met a witch and they were having some no-strings-attached fun.

Of course before Draco had been able to get details Romilda-sodding-Vane had appeared and they’d had to switch to talking about their fake charity project. Something he was concerned he might actually have to turn into a reality lest he get Granger on his case. He thought again about the scoop in the Prophet this week. The week-long expose of the expenses scandal at the heart of the Wizengamot was certainly worthy of a Postlethwaite (the highest journalism honour in the Wizarding World), it was some of the best reporting he’d ever read. He knew she was brilliant, but this was next level.

Draco finished his drink and stood. Thirty minutes was his limit to wait for anyone that wasn’t his mother, and she had good enough manners to not make him do it.

There was a pretty woman who’d been eyeing him since he arrived at the bar, and Draco thought now was probably a good time to introduce himself.

He was well into his second drink with Michaela, a charming conversationalist with the best cheekbones he’d ever seen when he heard a shout from the doorway.

“You!”

Draco turned away from his date to the sound of the voice he knew oh-too-well at this point. Yep, there was Granger stalking towards him like a furious, sexy, Valkyrie in a boring wrap dress, but you couldn’t have everything.

Draco pointed to himself.

“Yes, you Malfoy.”

He stood. She stopped within an inch of him and Draco could see that she was furious, but also kind of nervous.

“Still maintain the only reason you’ve never hit on me is because I had a boyfriend.”

“Yeah.”

“And that if I was ever single the only thing stopping you from taking me home would be me.”

Hearing her say his words back to him made Draco’s heart pace, but he was too cool to let it show, instead he smirked, “yeah.”

“Right.”

And then Hermione Granger was kissing him. It wasn’t soft or tentative, it was full on. Her hands on his face, body pressed up against his and her lips searching his. For a moment he was too stunned to do anything but let her kiss him but it was just that, a moment. Then his arms were tight around her waist, he was lifting her off her feet for better leverage and kissing her the way he’d always wanted to. She pulled back first.

This close he could see the individual freckles on her cheeks, the flecks of honey in her brown eyes and the halo of her hair, shutting out everything but her.

“I’m single. Still want me?”

Draco didn’t give her enough time for the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes to do more than flicker. This time he went in for the kiss, soft, hot, his lips pillowing hers promising more.

He broke the kiss, dropped her back to the floor and lent down to whisper, “You’re coming home with me,” before grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the bar behind him, his date long forgotten.

Malfoy apparated them both back to his flat, only letting go of Hermione’s hand once they were safely inside.

“Drink?”

“Yes please.”

“Negroni ok?”

“Of course you drink Negronis,” Hermione laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he raised his brow.

“It’s just a very smooth drink. Suave.”

“I’m taking that to mean you think I’m suave.”

“You can take it to mean anything,” she laughed.

Draco moved to the kitchen as Hermione glanced around his flat. It was much more homely than she was expecting. Not that she’d ever really thought about it but if she had she’d have probably assumed it would be all minimal and harsh lines but it wasn’t. It was modern yes, but with rich colours and deep soothing tones. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” Draco said as he came in with the drinks to see Hermione looking at his bookshelf.

“Did you know that Martin Postlethwaite founded the first Wizarding press?” Hermione asked, accepting the drink and pointing to the books on his shelf.

“I did. That is his original work on the importance of a free press.”

“I’m impressed.”

“I keep telling you.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Not so nefarious,” she replied.

Draco laughed and watched as Hermione flitted across his sitting room. She was clearly nervous, the fire from the bar gone now.

She perched on the arm of his sofa and blushed as she realised he was watching her. Taking a large sip from her drink, she almost winced at the strength but just lightly put the glass down.

Hermione had been weaving her way home after drinking far too many margaritas with Blaise and Matilda when she’d seen Malfoy in a bar in Muggle London. Something had taken over and she’d marched in and kissed him before she knew what she was doing. But now she was in his flat, and the ol’ Granger courage was faltering slightly.

So she did what she did best – asked a question.

“So, come on then, what’s the full Malfoy treatment? What’s your move?”

“Who says I have a move?” He raised one brow.

“Only every witch ever,” Hermione teased, “come on Malfoy, show me your move.” 

“I have lots of moves,” he grumbled.

To her delight, two spots of pale pink appeared on Malfoy’s cheeks as he began to blush.

“Come-on, show me. Show me the big move.”

“Fine,” He huffed, before taking a large sip of his drink, “I work Cassandra Balthazar and her Seven Daughters into the conversation.”

“The Wizarding Wireless show?” asked Hermione, confused.

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Uhh, did you ever listen?”

“No, but Lavender and Pavarti did at school. I know the basics. Wizarding show that’s been on the wireless forever. It’s basically a soap opera about the lives of the Balthazar family.”

“Yeah, well, the summer before seventh year. Before all hell really broke loose and they stopped broadcasting there was a storyline about Beatrice Balthazar, the granddaughter from one of the original families, falling for Rafe.”

“Oh, I remember. He was the older Italian wizard who was tutoring her for the summer or some such nonsense.

“Thought you didn’t listen,” it was Draco’s turn to tease.

“I didn’t,” it was Hermione’s turn to blush, “but I spent a lot of time with the Weasley’s at the Burrow that summer and Molly was obsessed.”

“Well, there’s a scene where Rafe is teaching Beatrice a levitation charm and because she couldn’t get the theory, he offered to demonstrate. On her.”

“That is not a remotely sensible teaching method,” Hermione huffed.

Draco choked down a laugh and continued, “Beatrice said the same thing, but then Rafe convinces her that it doesn’t matter because he’d be able to catch her anyway, and he says if she was really uncertain they could practice in the water, so if she falls it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I think I do vaguely remember this. Molly was outraged and Fleur and Ginny thought it was the hottest thing ever. He lifts her over his head right, and then they kiss.”

“They don’t actually kiss but it was implied that was where it was leading.”

“What does this have to do with your moves?”

“I can do the lift.”

“Huh?” Hermione gaped at him.

“I can do the lift. So I work Cassandra Balthazar and her Seven Daughters into the conversation and I do the lift,” he can see her processing the information.

“And if they’re Muggles? Because I know you don’t discriminate on your hook ups.”

“I take offence to that--” Draco started, but a look from Hermione made him change track, “fine. Have you heard of Dirty Dancing?”

“The Muggle movie? Sure. It was popular when I was a kid. I think I watched it on a break from Hogwarts once--” Draco sees her face change the moment she puts it together, “oh.”

“Yeah.”

“How have you seen Dirty Dancing?”

“That’s really your question?” He smirked.

“I’ve just been given a lot of confusing information,” Hermione smiled sheepishly.

He laughed softly.

“So your big move is that you lift a woman above your head and they what, swoon?” 

“How do you manage to make it sound so pathetic?” he grumbled.

“It’s a gift,” Hermione trilled. She considered him for a moment, “I can’t believe that works.”

“Me neither but it does every time.”

“Every time?”

“Every time,” Draco confirmed. “I work Cassandra Balthazar and her Seven Daughters, or Dirty Dancing into the conversation, say that I can do the lift. They always want to see it and well...”

Hermione tilted her head to really look at Draco. He was leaning against the doorframe between her and the kitchen, his drink in one hand and the other in his pocket. The only thing that showed anything different about their evening was that his usually perfect hair looked slightly mussed from where she ran her fingers through it earlier.

“Take off your jumper,” declared Hermione.

“Excuse me?”

“Take it off. You claim you can do the lift but no offence Malfoy you don’t look that strong.”

“Hey!” he spluttered.

“Take off your jumper, for proof.” 

He walked into the room, his eyes twinkling and Hermione knows he thinks she’s being ridiculous. She kind of is. He walked until he was six feet away from her and put his drink down on the vintage side table. He stared at her, grey eyes still twinkling with amusement, and lifted one brow before he reached down to pull his buttery soft black cashmere jumper up, and off, over his head.

“Holy Merlin,” Hermione gasps, despite herself. 

He looked like a Renaissance statue, all smooth skin and lean lines. Even the faded scar that bisects his torso can’t distract from the defined six-pack. She glanced at his arms, which has no right to be that defined and then back up at his face. He’s grinning and she’s blushing. 

“Now you.”

“Nu-uh, no way, not after that.”

“Granger,” He laughed, “can I put my jumper back on.”

“Nope,” she shook her head, curls billowing everywhere, she picked up her drink and took another large gulp. “Bloody hell,” she muttered. 

“We don’t have to do anything you know,” he said kindly, softly.

“I know.” And she did. But that’s not why she was there. She didn’t kiss Draco in the bar because she wanted a new friend, she kissed him because she’d kinda always wanted to.

“Can I put my jumper back on?” he asked again.

“Nope.” Hermione set her glass down slowly and stepped forward, her hands reaching for his torso. “Can I?” She asked softly before her hands settled on him.

“Yep.”

“Circe, it’s like you’ve been sculpted,” she grumbled.

Draco laughed but took a sharp inhale, “Your hands are cold, witch.”

“How are your levitating charms?” Hermione moved her hands off him but she hadn’t moved back, she’s still in his space, not looking at him but not leaving either. Before he had time to answer she continued, “Because mine are excellent obviously,”

“Obviously,” he agreed with a smile.

“But I’ve never cast one on myself. Never thought to. In fact why have I never done that--”

“Granger, my levitating charms are outstanding,” he interrupted certain that if he didn’t stop her she’d go down a theoretical path, and adorable though it is, he’d quite like her focussed on him right now, “and even if they weren’t, which they are, I could lift you.”

“I don’t know, I’ve seen some of those waifs you date,” she mumbled quietly, but not quietly enough.

Draco stepped back and put a finger under her chin to lift her face until she was looking at him, “Granger, I’ve got you.”

There’s something about the way he said it, low, deep and sincere, not losing eye contact but not demanding anything of her that makes her decide to trust him.

“OK Malfoy,” Hermione said, as she took a step back from him and gave him her best version of his smirk, “show me your big move.”

*

Draco had a system, a guideline if you will, of how to behave once he’d had a woman in his bed. If they fell asleep that couldn’t be helped, but he didn’t cuddle. Ever. There was no post coital chat. No whispered secrets in the hazy post-orgasm glow. He wasn’t rude. He never kicked the woman out, but he made it very clear – mostly through a well-honed combination of arrogance and indifference – that it was a one time only deal and the quicker the witch departed the happier they’d all be. 

Not with Granger.

Somehow he found himself with her curled on his chest, his hand lazily working through her curls as she traced patterns slowly up and down his torso. And not only did he have no intention of moving her but a brief feeling of rightness settled in his bones as he pulled her tighter and he finally understood why people shared secrets in the moonlight.

“I know you and Harry aren’t doing charity work by the way.” 

“We’re naked in my bed and you want to talk Potter,” Draco sighed dramatically, “why is my life so unfair.”

“Oh hush you,” Hermione soothed, leaning her folded arms on his chest and looking straight at Draco, “I’m just saying I know you’re up to something and he’s fragile right now. He’s not as strong as people think he is.”

“Who is?” Draco shrugged.

Hermione tilted her head, her long curls tickling his chest as she considered him.

“I promise, Granger. I am not corrupting Potter in any irreversible way.”

“Good.” She smiled and leaned up for a soft kiss. Draco tried to deepen it but before he could she’d pulled away and scooted to the edge of the bed.

“I suppose I should be going. I’m not sure of the etiquette for these things but I can’t imagine you like your witches to linger.”

Draco’s mind was briefly stuck on the idea of her as his witch, as well as the alluring sight of her hair pulled over one shoulder, with her lightly freckled back on display to him, and so it took him a moment to answer.

“Granger, I don’t have a rule book.”

Hermione turned back and frowned at him, a small glint in her eyes matching the slight smirk on her lips.

“Well fine, I don’t have written rules,” she laughed but he continued, “and even if I did. I’ve already broken the big one.”

“Which is?”

“Never sleep with someone you think you could actually fall for,” he answered softly.

“That’s a terrible rule,” Hermione began before what he said actually registered in her mind.

“You think you could fall for me?” She asked softly.

“I think you might be incredibly dangerous to my reputation as a serial womaniser.” 

“Oh,” Hermione ducked her head and drew circles on the soft cotton sheet she had wrapped around her.

“If you want this to be a one night thing that we never mention again, I can do that.” Draco said, sitting up and leaning back against his headboard, the sheet covering his lower half, “but if you’ll let me I’d like to see you again. Maybe take you out properly instead of kissing you in a bar.”

“I kissed you,” she corrected automatically.

“Granger,” Draco laughed.

“Well I did. But yes, ok, I’d like that. A date maybe, somewhere non-magical so the gossips over at Weekly don’t marry us off before we’ve slept together more than once.”

“Deal,” he held his hand out to shake.

Hermione laughed and took his outstretched hand pumping it up and down once. “Deal.”

“Now come here,” he said tugging her hand and pulling her back on the bed, “let’s make sure to get our numbers up.” 

Hermione giggled, a sound she rarely made, and was about to say she hadn’t been serious about the amount of mind-blowing sex needed, but then Draco started slowly kissing his way down her neck and all thoughts of the gossips at Witch Weekly went out of her head.

*

By the time he had managed to take Hermione out on a real date, Draco had lost count of the amount of unwritten rules he’d broken. 

She’d stayed at his flat all weekend, only leaving mid-afternoon Sunday when she protested she had a deadline and even then Draco had – in very un-Malfoy behaviour – lingered at the doorway, kissing her until she eventually shimmied out of his arms.

He’d planned on playing it cool, waiting for her to owl first. Or at the very least wait a few days to ask her out. He only made it to Monday evening. He had finally pried Pansy away from the new man who she refused to name and he was having a drink with her and Blaise at the Leaky Cauldron, when he saw Granger drinking with Potter and Weasley. She was in yet another uninspiring wrap dress, but Draco couldn’t take his eyes off her. He owled her when he got home.

He turned up at the Prophet unannounced more than once ostensibly to visit Blaise but conveniently at moments he knew she’d be around.

(“Flirting with my best reporter won’t make her ignore you. She’s going to work out what you’re up to,” was Blaise’s take. But Draco found not only did he not care he actually wanted to tell Hermione. He wanted to involve her in his life. It was an unknown feeling.)

“You know it’s bad to eat at your desk,” Draco said leaning against Hermione’s cubicle.

“You know it’s annoying to offer unsolicited opinions,” Hermione retorted, taking a huge bite of her sandwich.

“You’d know Granger,” Draco drawled, as he scribbled a note on Hermione’s pad.

Come to lunch with me

Hermione pointed to her sandwich and rolled her eyes.

Dinner then? He scribbled.

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me? You know at my actual job, the thing that people do for work. Hmm, work is when someone-”

Yes. She scribbled, as she pitched her voice to its most annoying.

“I know what work is Granger. I’ve even been known to do it.”

I’ll pick you up at eight. 

“I highly doubt that. Now if you said you pay people to work for you that I’d believe.”

I’ll meet you at the restaurant. 

“What can I say, my people pay people to do things.”

It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes, as he scribbled, I’ll owl you.

“Go away Malfoy before I decide to look into just how it is that your people have the funds to pay people.”

“I keep telling you Granger, I’m as innocent as they come.”

Hermione laughed, “yeah, yeah.” She waved him away. Draco glanced quickly around and winked at her, gracing her with one of his genuine smiles when he knew no one was looking.

*

Malfoy – Usual muggle bar tonight? HP

*

Draco took Hermione to dinner, which she insisted trying to pay for.

“Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can flash the cash.”

“For Merlin’s sake woman, I’m trying to buy you dinner like a proper date.”

“It is a proper date. We’re in a nice restaurant,” she lowered her voice, “in Muggle London. Where you’ve been charm personified and only insulted me once.”

“I did not insult you!” Draco huffed indignantly.

“You asked if I came straight from work.”

“Granger, your hair was being held up with a pencil,” he laughed, and it was Hermione’s turn to huff. 

“And it wasn’t an insult, I liked it. I like it,” he nodded to the pencil that was still in place, “It made me think very non first-date-appropriate thoughts about taking your hair down, running my hands through it and…” He raised one eyebrow and smirked.

“Is that so?” She smiled, eyes twinkling, “Then you probably don’t want to know that the reason my hair is held up with a pencil is because I spent too long deciding what to wear under my dress.”

Draco’s eyes darkened, “You’re right this is the modern age. You can pay, come on let's go.”

Hermione’s laugh filled the restaurant and she walked out behind him.

*

Didn’t see you the other night, ended up going home with a smoking hot, fully crazy muggle chick. Might stop by the Leaky tonight before I hook up with that witch I still haven’t told you about. -HP

*

Draco would never be accused of being Mr Relationship. His longest ones had been Pansy, on and off for years in school, which didn’t count because they were kids and it was more a proximity thing, and Astoria for six months after the war. But none of them compared to the past six weeks with Hermione.

He willingly spent time with her. Not just willingly but above and beyond anything, and anyone else. The only plans he didn’t cancel were with his mother – and that was purely because he was in no rush to give her a reason to pry – but everyone else fell to the side when Granger owled. He was becoming that man he hated. The man he swore he’d never be. The one that put a woman over everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He made space for her in his life, and not just figuratively.

“Granger, while you do have a lovely neck and the sound of a quill scratching is rather nostalgic, I am vaguely concerned that you’re going to contort yourself into a shape you can’t get out of,” Draco laughed when he let himself into her place and saw her bent almost double on her sofa writing furiously.

“Oh, sorry! We had plans didn’t we?” She exclaimed, barely hiding a wince as she looked up, “I lost track of time on the research for this new story I’m working on.”

“It’s fine. We can rearrange,” he smiled softly at her, knowing that while he wanted to see her with a greed that was unbecoming, no-one and nothing could come between Hermione Granger and a story.

“I don’t want to,” she whined and motioned him over for a kiss, which he happily obliged.

“I can hear you thinking, witch,” he chuckled as he pulled away. 

“Sorry,” she blushed, “I do want to see you though.”

“Ok, how about you keep working and I make us dinner. I’ll make something complicated so you’ll have a few hours more to work.”

“Really,” she beamed.

“Yes, but you have to come to my place. Your kitchen makes me want to cry.”

“It’s not that bad,” huffed Hermione.

“I can stand in the doorway and touch both sides of the room and don’t get me started on the fact that no knife stays sharp. If I knew you never cut this mane you call hair I’d think you were using your knives for regular trims.”

Hermione glared at him, but Draco was undeterred, “besides I want to show you something.”

Draco pulled her up and, once all necessary notes were safely ensconced in her bag, he apparated them to his flat. He let her drop her bag and then maneuvered her into his sitting room as he said, “you don’t have to use it but I know you’re onto something with this story and I do quite like being able to see you and knowing that you’re not turning into a hunchback.”

“So shallow,” Hermione laughed.

“Guilty,” Draco replied, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he directed her attention to the corner of his sitting room that used to contain his bookshelf and reading chair she’d come to love. It still contained those things, but now it also had an antique ladies desk with a sturdy looking chair.

“I know you prefer to be at home and contort yourself into unhealthy shapes when you’re researching but for the occasions when I selfishly want to see you, you can work here.”

Hermione was silent for a long moment and Draco, who had know way of knowing that she was thinking how gracious this was, how it was the opposite of Cormac’s attitude to her work and how she was in danger of falling head over heels for him, began to worry. Until she turned back to him and threw herself into his arms with a kiss that reminded him of their first ever kiss in the bar. 

“You like it?”

Hermione didn’t respond verbally. They didn’t eat for a few hours but it had nothing to do with elaborate meal plans or Hermione’s research.

*

Have you died? I feel like that would be in the paper but honestly it’s been so long since I’ve seen you I’m beginning to wonder if you did die… of jealousy because my game is so good.  But seriously, are you dead? Because I think I would feel bad if you were…

*

“You think you’d feel bad if I died. Merlin, Potter, that’s dark,” Draco said as his head appeared in Harry’s Floo, “I thought I was meant to be the bad guy.”

Harry laughed, “are you coming through?”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got plans.”

“Of course you have,” Harry grumbled, bending down so he was face to face with Draco, “Seriously, Malfoy, did you join a chess club?”

“A chess club?”

“I was going to go with sex club but assumed you’d tell me if that was the case,” Harry shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s a fair assumption but no, to both.”

“Then where have you been?” Draco did not want to answer that but luckily Harry was on a roll and he didn’t need to, “Turns out I don’t need you to wingman me any more, but Romilda Vane was asking about our charity work.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think we might actually need to come up with something,” frowned Draco. 

“I’ll ask Hermione, she’s always down for getting her hands dirty with a lost cause.”

Draco choked on nothing, and ended up with a mouthful of ash from the fire, “you alright?”

“Yep just floo calls you know,” Draco spluttered.

“I do know. You once told me only poor people and staff made floo calls.”

Draco did remember saying that, he just hadn’t thought Harry would, “well needs must. Tell me about this witch of yours.”

“Not much to tell, she’s someone I know from another life. We meet up, have sex, I don’t think about Gin for a few hours, and everyone goes home happy.”

Draco frowned at the wizard in front of him and wondered if he’d created a monster.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. For the time when I’m with her at least. When I’m not, well that’s when I wonder if you’ve died,” Harry joked, but Draco could see he still wasn’t quite whole.

“I haven’t died, clearly.”

“Clearly.”

“If you must know, I met someone.”

“Who?”

“A woman. She’s who I’ve been spending my time with.”

“Voluntarily.”

“Yes, Potter voluntarily,” Draco rolled his eyes, “She’s different. She’s a game changer.”

“Godric, I feel like when Hagrid told me magic was real.”

“They send Hagrid to pick up first years?!”

“Not the time Malfoy,” Harry said, “Tell me more about this mystery woman.”

“I really like her,” Draco admitted reluctantly, “and I think I’m out of my depth. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Oh you almost certainly will,” Harry said airily but when he saw the look on Draco’s face he hurried on, “Not because of you, but that’s what relationships are. Trusting someone to fuck it up and stay around after. She’ll probably do something annoying. You definitely will but if it’s worth it, you’ll make it work.”

Draco didn’t know what to say, but suddenly he felt bad for leaving Harry to fend for himself for the past few months.

“I guess we could go for one drink," He paused and eyed Potter, "you actually look pretty good, I don’t remember putting that on the approved combos list but it works.”

“Yes thank you, as I told you I do know how to dress myself,” Harry rolled his eyes, “And thanks for the pity offer but there is nothing worse than a loved up wingman. You go off and play romance with your woman, I’m big enough and ugly enough to fend for myself.”

“That you are Potter,” Draco laughed.

“We’ve got that charity quidditch thing in a few weeks, so if you haven’t fucked it up by then you can tell me all about it.” 

“Uh right,” Draco half-smiled, “Oh shit, I think that was my wards, I’ve got to go.”

“Hang on, why are you being cagey. Are you dating a Muggle?”

“At my wards? Honestly Potter, don’t be daft.”

“Wait, Malfoy. Who is she?” Harry called but the grate was already empty.

*

“That’s a nice dress,” Draco said looking at the black halter neck hanging on the back of Hermione’s door.

“It’s actually a jumpsuit. Mattie chose it obviously.”

“Obviously,” Draco agreed with a grin.

“She said that wearing it with my robes would create the illusion of traditional magical clothing while showing I was a ‘bad bitch’ to anyone who was in the know,” she told him, making air quotes over the phrase bad bitch, “I’d blame Paris but she’s always been a bit like this.”

“She has and she’s not wrong. Blending Muggle and magical is all the rage now. Mattie’s last few columns were about it, although with a softer approach, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, raising a brow.

“What was that tone?”

“There was no tone,” she replied, “I probably should’ve asked Mattie to get something for Harry too. I think he last wore formalwear back at his wedding and he won’t want to recycle that.”

“Why do you care what Potter wears?” Draco asked absently from where he was putting the plates on Hermione’s poor excuse for a dining table.

“Well he’s taking me to the Postlethwaites and I don’t want us to look mismatched,” she shrugged, as she went into her kitchen, “Red or white? Is the chicken spicy? Hmm, let’s have white.” 

“You’re going to the Postlethwaites with Potter?” Draco asked carefully.

“Yes.”

“As a date?”

She rolled her eyes as she came out of the kitchen, “Definitely not. You know I don’t think of Harry like that, and he doesn’t think of me like that.”

“But he is escorting you.”

“Yes, because I don’t want to go alone and he said he’d go with me,” Hermione answered as she put the wine and glasses on the table and sat down.

“I could’ve gone with you,” he said quietly.

“Could you?”

“Of course. I make a wonderful escort.”

Hermione smirked.

“Yes. I heard it as I said it. What I meant was I would’ve been happy to go as your date.”

“Really?” Hermione questioned.

“You still think I’m not serious, that I’m just out for a bit of fun?” He asked, hurt.

“I-“

“Trust me, Granger, if fun was what I was after, it wouldn’t be with you,” Draco snapped before Hermione could answer.

She folded her arms and fixed him with a glare and Draco had the very real sense that this argument was going in a direction he hadn’t been expecting.

“No, I don’t think that. Actually I thought that you probably wouldn’t want to go to a work event with me considering you’d have to decide whether you were there as my boyfriend or my boss,” she replied archly.

Draco had a split second of being excited that she’d used the word boyfriend before he registered the rest of her sentence.

“Did you think I wouldn’t work it out? For Godric’s sake, I’ve known for years,” Hermione huffed.

“Years?”

“Yes, since before the Troll scandal. You keep telling me I’m the best reporter the Prophet has ever seen. Did you really, truly believe that I wouldn’t know who I work for? Thuban 48? It’s not even subtle; the largest star in Draco, which is one of the 48 constellations discovered by Muggle astronomer Ptolemy.”

“Most wizards and witches have never heard of Ptolemy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I’m not most witches. Granted, the multiple shell companies and the odd rerouting of money through Magical Ottawa threw me for half a day, but it was hardly difficult,”

Draco could barely nod. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was fun winding you up,” Hermione shrugged. “And then when this started I wanted to see if you’d tell me, I wanted you to be honest with me, which you weren’t.”

He frowned, “Not sure you’ve got a point about honesty here Granger. You didn’t tell me you knew about my company.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she interrupted.

But Draco continued, “And you’re dating me but going to a high profile party with another man. One who is famously vulnerable right now.”

“It’s hardly his fault his marriage has broken down.”

“It hasn’t broken down, it’s paused. And I never said it was his fault. Merlin, you can hardly blame him for his wife shacking up with some woman on her team.”

“I wasn’t blaming him- wait. How do you know about Ginny?”

Draco realised his mistake, “I-”

“In fact, how do you know so much about Harry’s marriage?”

“I hear things,” Draco evaded.

“Not this.” She shook her head, her curls flying around her. “Only a handful of privileged people know, and you’re not one of them.”

“Clearly I am.”

“How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“To me it does.”

They stared at each other. Hermione stood up with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed, Draco a study in faux nonchalance, leaning on the table with only his eyes giving away the tension.

“Won’t.”

Hermione threw her hands in the air, “you claim you’re in this, that you want a relationship but you have no experience of what it is to let someone in. You accuse me of being dishonest but you won’t tell me how you know privileged information about my best friend and you didn’t tell me that you owned the very same newspaper I work for. What else are you hiding?”

“Oh no, you’re the one who doesn’t want to be seen together in our world,” Draco stood frustrated, and stepped towards her, “who keeps all our dates Muggle. You’re the one that is getting bloody Potter to escort you to the most prestigious event of your career.”

“Yes, because you’re my boss,” she exclaimed exasperated.

“I’m the owner and publisher Granger. I’m no more your boss than you are mine.”

“Well that’s not quite true,” she rolled her eyes.

Draco sighed, “admit it, you don’t believe in me. In this.”

“How dare you say that!” Hermione fumed.

“For all your talk of me not understanding relationships, you’re hardly making a case for trust here.”

“Do you blame me? Last weekend we ran into two different women you’d slept with. Two! On the same day.”

“That’s-”

“How do you think that makes me feel? Like I’m just another notch on your oversized bedpost.”

“You know you’re not. Those women meant nothing,”

“Charming,” she sniffed.

“How do you think I feel knowing that you’re, ‘little miss relationship’, but refuse to be seen in public with me despite the fact that we have been dating for months now. The only person I see more than you is my own damn reflection. So please, tell me again how clearly this means nothing to me.”

“That’s not what I-” Hermione started, but stopped so abruptly that Draco who had slumped down on her old, uncomfortable sofa with his head in his hands looked up.

“Draco, what are we fighting about?” she asked softly, tilting her head to look at him.

“You, not wanting to be seen with me,” he grumbled.

“But I do. I just was scared that it didn’t mean the same thing to you as it did to me, that’s why I was cautious,” she explained, before adding, “and there’s the fact I’d not long broken up with McLaggen.”

“Bloody McLaggen,” Draco groused. “Wait, if you want to be seen in public with me why are you going to the Postlethwaites with Potter.”

“Well, one- you didn’t ask,” Hermione smiled, moving to sit next to him on the sofa, “and two- you are technically my boss-”

He opened his mouth to speak but she put her hand over his lips, “whether you think you are or not. It would definitely cause a stir.”

Draco pursed his lips and kissed her palm before taking her wrist and moving her hand off his face and wrapping it in his.

“I didn’t ask to escort you to the Postlethwaites because I thought you were going without a date-”

“It’s not a date it’s Harry!” Hermione whined. Draco put his palm over her mouth this time, but pulled it away quickly when she licked him, “were you raised by wolves woman.”

“No just muggles,” she trilled.

“Funny,” He deadpanned, wiping his hand on his leg. “For what it’s worth I didn’t offer to escort you because this is a huge thing for your career and I didn’t want it overshadowed by everyone wondering if you needed to be checked into St Mungo’s because you’d turned up with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, you daft witch. You’re not a notch on my bedpost. Believe it or not I like you too much to steal this night away from you, because if we turn up together all anyone will want to talk about are the sordid details of our relationship.”

She leaned in to kiss him softly, “they would definitely want the sordid details.”

“Oh, they definitely would,” he chuckled against her lips, before pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. 

“Sorry I was insecure,” she said quietly when she broke the kiss. Her eyes were closed as she rested her forehead on his.

“Granger, you have no need to be insecure about anything, ever. I’d take out a full page ad on the front of the Prophet if it meant I could have you publicly in my life, as my girlfriend, for as long as you’d put up with me.”

“If only you knew some newspaper men,” she teased.

“Well,” Draco started, eyes glinting.

“I was kidding, don’t you dare!” She laughed.

“So you’re ok if I go with Harry? I think it would be good for him after everything he’s been through,” Hermione said, curling up against Draco, “which apparently you know about. Because you found out from…”

“Nice try. Those big brown eyes won’t work on me,” Draco laughed, as Hermione huffed, “don’t you always tell me I’m a step away from the criminal underworld, maybe one of my dastardly contacts told me.”

“Yes, well I know that’s not actually true,” she grumbled. “It was just fun to wind you up when you thought I was dumb enough not to know you owned the Prophet.”

“I’ve never thought you were dumb Granger,” he kissed her temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I own the Prophet. And Witch Weekly. And a few overseas papers.”

Hermione laughed, “I forgive you. I’ll work out who told you about Harry, you know.”

“I don’t doubt you will love, but it won’t be because I told you. It was told to me in confidence by a-” Draco paused and pulled a face, “by a friend. And I might not have many things going for me, but I am loyal.”

“Oh I can think of a few other things,” Hermione smiled and pulled herself up to straddle him, “you’re not so nefarious.”

“So I keep saying,” Draco grinned as Hermione cut him off with a kiss.

*

“Darling, you look gorgeous.”

“Mattie, you picked out my outfit,” Hermione laughed,“and told me how to wear my hair,” she added before giving her friend a hug.

Even in the elaborate ballroom that was hosting the event, Matilda stood out. Of course it was Hermione that was the star, or the target, of the night, depending what paper you worked for.

“Exactly, that’s why I’m qualified to comment.”

“Matilda, you know Harry don’t you?” Hermione asked turning to pull Harry into the conversation.

“I don’t think we’ve actually ever met, your reputation of course precedes you,” Matilda smiled coquettishly.

“I’d say likewise but she’s been keeping you hidden,” Harry charmed. “Quite unforgivable.”

“Oh don’t blame her, I’ve been in Paris,” Matilda flirted.

“Well, then we must do as the French do,” Harry smirked leaning in to plant a kiss on each of Matilda’s cheeks.

Hermione gaped. Who was this suave man, and what had he done with Harry Potter?

“I must say these robes are fabulous. The combination of muggle suit with dress robes is incredibly hard to pull off but these look like they’ve been made for you Mr Potter,” Matilda eyed him with her fashion gaze.

“They have. And it’s Harry, please.”

“Well you must give me the name of your tailor, this is exquisite.” 

“It’s a muggleborn chap who operates out of a tiny atelier in Soho and that’s all I can tell you otherwise the friend who introduced me to him might actually murder me,” Harry laughed.

“I’m sure he’d make allowances for me,” Matilda teased.

“Oh I’m sure many people do,” Harry flirted, “I think we’re all on the same table, may I escort you ladies.”

Harry held out his arm but Hermione was slow to take it. She was too busy wondering if the Weasley’s had created a new charm potion that Harry was trying out. She briefly wondered if it was Draco polyjuiced as Harry, but she instantly batted the thought away, only because Draco would rather die than pretend to be Harry Potter – and would never wear those shoes, which is something she was surprised she knew. 

“Mione?” Harry questioned, arm outstretched.

“Sorry, miles away,” she replied. There was something niggling at her, something other than the way Harry was behaving. Give her five quiet minutes and she’d have it. Of course she didn’t have five quiet minutes.

“Are you thinking about the award? You’re a sure thing to win it,” Harry told her.

“Blaise said that if you don’t win he’s going to write an editor's letter about the state of British publishing and run it on every page,” Matilda laughed.

“That’s a flagrant abuse of power and highly unnecessary,” Hermione laughed.

“Well thankfully we do actually have a boss above him, so he’s not the final say in all things Hermione Granger.”

“Hmm,” Hermione replied distractedly knowing just who Blaise’s boss was and how Draco would absolutely publish an editorial in support of her if he thought it would win him points. Scrupulous he was not.

“Oh our table is right at the front, that’s usually a good sign. They’re not going to make you walk miles to get your award,” Matilda said as they approached the table, which was indeed right at the front of the ballroom.

“Will you stop, it’s enough to be nominated.”

“No, it bloody isn’t. You deserve that award Granger, and if it goes to those bastards over at the Ghost, I’ll revolt.”

“I see you’re taking this all in your stride Blaise,” Hermione smiled.

“What would be worse darling? Doyle at the Ghost beats Hermione for journalist of the year or L’Etoile wins paper of the year for the third year running?” Mattie mused idly, enjoying the way Blaise grimaced.

“Mattie, don’t you know Blaise wants to win all of the things,” Draco drawled coming over to greet Matilda, “he’s selfish like that.” 

“Says you Malfoy, you’re not exactly known for your tendency to share,” Hermione interrupted.

Draco turned from where he was greeting Blaise, “nothing gets past you Granger. When I want something I make it mine.”

Hermione bit her lip and fought a smile as she rolled her eyes. They had agreed to keep things normal between them for the night and then go public in the coming weeks but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t have some fun.

“I should probably compliment you on your outfit since all of our conversations end up about your clothes anyway,” she sighed lazily.

“Why thank you Granger, you scrub up alright yourself.”

“Thank Mattie,” she shrugged as they moved towards their seats.

“Oh I shall,” Draco whispered in Hermione’s ear as he moved past her.

Hermione was chatting to Blaise who was sitting on her left between her and Matilda when suddenly Harry, on her right, hissed in her ear, “What’s she doing here?”

Hermione followed Harry’s line of sight and saw Ginny with the rest of the Harpies.

“Harry I didn’t know, I swear,” she told him.

“Who pissed in your crumble Potter?” McLaggen said as he took his seat opposite Hermione, a willowy blonde on his arm.

“Oh good, just what tonight needed.”

“Sorry I tried to get him moved, but his reporting on the magical history of cricket, boring though it was, was shortlisted,” Blaise whispered, “and as you wouldn’t let me fire him...”

Hermione smiled, “It’s fine, we’re all adults.” 

She wondered if that was entirely true when she looked up and saw Harry still frowning over at Ginny’s table, Cormac frowning at Harry and Draco frowning at Cormac.

Draco was severely regretting not throwing caution to the wind and convincing Hermione to be his date tonight. For one thing, she looked absolutely stunning and he was not happy that all he could do was look, and for another he did not like the way McLaggen kept glancing over at her and Potter. If he wanted her back he’d have a fight on his hands, Draco thought as he prodded at the overcooked steak.

What she’d seen in him he didn’t know. Sure he was tall and blonde and wealthy but Draco was all of those things, wealthier and blonder in fact, so clearly he was the upgrade. At least Potter wasn’t showing Hermione up. He had to admit they looked good together in a purely visual way, Draco was actually quite impressed at the suit, though he had caught sight of Harry’s shoes and would be having words with him about wearing a single monkstrap to a gala event. But he supposed if he was being gracious, then Potter was a decent platonic date for Hermione. Ok, sure, Potter was looking over at his ex every two seconds but that was to be expected, and at least he was making some attempts at conversation, unlike Cormac’s date. She was so dull she made Draco’s great aunt Florrie look exciting, and Florrie had been in a coma since before he was born.

One of the only good things about this terribly frustrating evening was that Hermione’s category was up first. And hopefully, when that was done he could sneak her into a broom cupboard for a quick congratulations, or commiserations. She won, as he’d known she would and he was only marginally jealous that it was Potter who got to wrap her in a huge hug. And that even Blaise and Matilda got to join in.

“Well done, Granger,” he drawled and was nearly knocked backwards by the force of her smile.

Draco was too in awe of his brilliant witch to notice the looks that Blaise and Matilda shared, or the narrowed gaze that Harry Potter sent his way. All he could see was Hermione, graciously accepting her award and making an impassioned plea for free press, the power of reporting, and editors, and publishers that trusted their staff.

Damn it, he was going to snog her senseless in front of the entire magical press. Decorum be damned, she could hex him later. 

But before he had a chance, she was whisked away to do press with press.

“I’m going to the bar,” Draco grumbled.

One thing Draco would commend journalists, and the wider media, on was their desire to get royally sozzled. The steak may have been dry but the bar wouldn’t be. In fact there were two bars, one in the ballroom and one outside. 

Draco made his way outside. His peace and quiet lasted roughly five minutes before Harry sidled up next to him.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Harry told the barman before turning to look at Draco, “I know why I’m escaping to the bar, why are you?”

For a second Draco considered telling him, saying that he was in a secret relationship with Harry’s best friend but the second passed. “Monkstraps Potter, really. Do you live to drive me to drink? The rest of you is practically perfect and then you ruin it with a monkstrap shoe, a single at that.”

“I thought it added panache.”

“You’re in formal wear Potter, that is the panache,” Draco grumbled, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “Why are you drinking if it’s not to repress your poor footwear choices? Tell me it’s not because of the former, possibly still, Mrs Potter.”

“I just can’t believe they’re hanging out, does she have no shame?” Harry muttered.

“She can’t exactly ignore her teammates, no matter what did or didn’t happen,” Draco pointed out reasonably, looking over to where Ginny was sitting with her teammates including Cho Chang who Draco remembered from school. 

“Not Ginny, Cho.” 

“Cho? Why would that?” Draco trailed off and looked at the other man’s face, “Potter, tell me the witch from your former life who you’re having mindless sex with is not Cho Chang who happens to be colleagues with your ex-wife.”

Harry had the grace to look sheepish, but before Draco could berate him further they were interrupted.

“You’re sleeping with Cho?” Hermione asked, “Oh Harry, that doesn’t seem like a good plan.”

“Lay off ‘Mione.”

“Hey!” She snapped at the same time as Draco.

“Leave off. She’s only being a friend, Potter.”

“Since when have you-” Harry started but Hermione cut him off.

“A friend?” She said quietly, pointing between the two of them, “New clothes. A mysterious charity.”

“What?” Draco asked.

“She’s not talking to us, she’s working something out,” Harry shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, just glad Hermione wasn’t berating him further for his hook up choices.

“The makeover, it was you,” Hermione said to Draco, “You were the one who told him to stop dressing like a man child.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she carried on, “which means you spent time together. Time when he might tell you things in confidence, the way a friend would.” 

“The teammate… CeCe.” Hermione muttered to herself.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Harry asked, concerned now.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” she shouted, turning towards Ginny’s table.

“Granger?”

Before Draco and Harry had time to do more than share a confused look, Hermione was stalking across the grass to where the Harpies were sitting.

“Both of them! How could you?” Hermione fumed at Cho.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Oh no, do not try and lie your way out of this one, I know exactly what you did. What is it, some kind of game to you?” Hermione seethed.

Ginny was looking on in concern as Harry and Draco caught up with the group.

Cho had a moment of looking contrite but realised that it wasn’t going to wash, “I don’t see why you’re blaming me, clearly the Potter marriage was on it’s knees if they’d both rather have me on mine.”

“You absolute-”

No one found out what absolute anything Hermione thought Cho was because instead of finishing her sentence she slapped the other woman clean on the cheek.

“Hermione!” Ginny spluttered.

“Granger!”

“Easy there ‘Mione,” Harry said, jumping forward first and grabbing Hermione around the waist, pulling her back into him so she couldn’t take another swipe at Cho.

“Well well well, that didn’t take long did it,” the unwelcome voice of Cormac cut in, “I knew you two were always too cosy to be just friends. Suppose that’s why you left him, isn’t it, Red?”

“I-, what?” Ginny spluttered.

“All those times you were working late, what were you doing? Spreading your legs for him.”

“Now hang on-” Harry started, but Hermione only laughed. 

“Do I need to take out an ad in the Prophet? Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, the most platonic of pals,” she laughed. “You can let me go now Harry.”

Harry shot Cho a quick glance whose cheek was red but she looked fine, then he looked at Draco who glanced at Cormac then back at Harry and shook his head minutely. 

Harry held on tighter to Hermione.

“Can’t even let her go in front of your ex can you,” Cormac spat.

“In an unsurprising turn of events you have spectacularly missed the point,” Draco drawled.

“Shut up Malfoy. Though I will say you were right at school, it always comes back to Harry-bloody-Potter. I mean look at him now, his wife leaves him and so goes crying to steal my girl.”

“Woman actually and not yours. Oh, and for the millionth time Harry and I aren’t dating,” Hermione snapped, she looked at Draco as if to say a little help here, but he simply shrugged.

“I know you’re meant to be the brightest witch of your age and all that, but look at you. All it took was a sob story from Potter and him getting gussied up in some new clothes and you dropped your knickers.”

“Gussied?”

“Now hang on-” Draco started.

“Harry, if you let my hands go, I promise I’ll leave Cho alone and only use them to curse the idiot out of Cormac,” Hermione fidgeted against Harry who increased his hold, “because surely that is the only way he will understand that you and I are not together.”

“I know you think everyone is stupid compared to you but you can’t logic out of this one. I hope you and your giant brain are happy with poor Potter and his shiny suit.”

Harry loosened his hold slightly to look down at his suit, but Hermione had not even started to reach for her wand when Draco stalked past her.

“Hold this,” Draco said, passing his family ring to Hermione.

Before Hermione could do anything more than look down at the ring in her hand, Draco had pulled his fist back and punched Cormac full in the face. 

“That suit is not shiny, it’s custom.” Draco snarled at Cormac, who was dazedly holding his face. “And yes, he might be a bit pathetic, and obviously the shoes are a nightmare, but you don’t get the right to say that. He had his heart broken. You should understand something about that since you were dumb enough to let Granger go.”

“I’m not pathetic,” Harry exclaimed.

“Shh Potter, I’m trying to be a friend.” 

“I knew he was your friend!” Hermione triumphed. 

Hermione had no time for any further exclamations as she was roughly pulled out of the way by Ginny as Cormac launched himself at Harry.

“What are you doing?” Harry mumbled as he was tackled to the ground.

“You have truly misunderstood,” Draco began but seeing Cormac push Harry to the ground he decided that as he’d already taken his ring off he might as well join in.

“There’s no way this is not ending up on the front page of every paper in the magical world,” Hermione sighed, looking at the three men brawling inelegantly on the ground.

“Well, hopefully if it’s them it’s not the state of my marriage,” Ginny said quietly.

“You did a crappy thing, and she’s not worth it,” Hermione added, looking around for Cho who had wisely made an exit under the cover of the brawl, “But you can’t beat yourself up over it forever. Talk to him. Or don’t. But torturing yourself won’t change the past.”

Ginny smiled softly, “you’re alright, Hermione Granger.”

“So are you when you’re thinking with your head and not your hormones,” Hermione teased, putting an arm around Ginny’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

“So you and Draco, hey?”

“What makes you say that?” 

“You were at pains to say you and Harry were not, are not, and have never been a thing. It wasn’t for my benefit as I already knew all that and I doubt you care what Cho thinks.”

“I very much do not,” huffed Hermione. “Yes, we’re together. It’s new-ish but I think it could be something.”

“Well, we should probably stop them from killing each other then.” Ginny pointed out, “Together?”

“Sure.” 

The witches raised their wands and pulled the three men apart. Magic was really wonderful, Hermione mused.

“Does somebody want to tell me why my Sports desk is fighting the Chosen One?” Blaise demanded walking over to the now three separate men, with Matilda behind him grinning at the scene.

“Don’t you mean your Sports desk, your Publisher and the Chosen One?’ Hermione smirked.

“You know?” Blaise gaped, shocked.

“So much for subtle Granger,” Draco grumbled.

“She’s the one isn’t she, the game changer?” Harry asked, using the brains he often forgot he had.

Draco nodded.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping with my best friend,” huffed Harry.

“I’m not sleeping with her,” Everyone stared at Draco. “Well I am, but it’s more than that. We’re dating, we’re together.”

“No, ridiculous. I do not give you my blessing.”  

“Harry!” Hermione said.

“He’s a womaniser. He has rules, Hermione. He’s only after one thing. I should know.”

“You slept with Malfoy?” Ginny asked, not quite following.

“No!” Harry and Draco chorused.

“I think they were each other's wingmen. The makeover, that’s courtesy of Draco,” Hermione explained.

“My head hurts,” Cormac grumbled from the floor where he was coming round. Hermione may have been a little zealous with him when she tried to separate the boys. She wasn’t sorry.

“Mattie, Blaise? Will you deal with that?”

“Come with us, McLaggen,” Matilda said, helping him up, “I want a full update from you tomorrow,” she added pointing to Hermione.

“I don’t want to know anything that might get me sued,” Blaise said, taking McLaggen’s other side.

When they were gone Hermione went and stood in front of the two chairs Harry and Draco were sitting on.

“So he can insult me and Harry and you stand by, but the suit is off limits?” Hermione asked wryly, tilting Draco’s hand to inspect the damage.

“You and Potter can stand up for yourselves, but who stands up for the fashion Granger.”

“See? He only cares about clothes, not people,” Harry whined.

“Oh, do one, Potter.”  

“Enough,” Hermione stomped. “Harry, you’re my best friend and I love you but you do not get to tell me who I can or can’t date.”

“You got to hit Cho,” he grumbled.

“Technically I shouldn’t have done that, but anyway that was different. Draco and I are able to make our own choices and being together is what we choose.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well that’s tough, it’s happening,” She leant forward and kissed Harry on the cheek, “I’ve always trusted you, even when I thought you were crazy, it’s about time you do the same for me.”

“Come on,” she said to Draco, waving her wand to release him from the sticking charm on his chair.

He stood and put his arm around her.

“I’m not happy,” Harry said.

“So you’ve said,” Hermione acknowledged, “If you want something to be really annoyed about, Ron and Pansy are dating.”

“What!” Shouted Harry and Draco.

*

“I can’t believe Pansy and Weasley,” Draco muttered for the umpteenth time, as they lay in her bed.

“I can’t believe you and Harry pretended you were doing charity work when you were actually becoming friends,” Hermione giggled, before sobering, “You do actually have to find a cause to support now.”

“Yes, I know. We will, if he ever deigns to talk to me again.” He grumped, drawing lazy patterns on her bare arm.

“He’ll be fine. Of course, if you really miss him, you can ditch me and choose him.”

“Never, you crazy witch.”

“Game changer, huh?”

“Yeah, well, love makes you say stupid things.”

“Love?” Hermione asked softly.

“Yeah, turns out I kinda love you, Hermione Granger.” 

“Turns out I kinda love you too.”
 

Fin