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Chapter Text

Hermione thanked the waiter as he showed her to the table, willing the butterflies in her stomach to calm down. Normally she wasn’t the type to get nervous about dates, but well… it had been a while. First she had been at school, then she had been with Ron, and then for the longest time she simply got used to automatically rejecting anyone who asked to get a drink- not that there had really been all that many. So here she was, sitting in an intimate little Italian place in Diagon Alley wearing her highest heels, her boobiest bra and enough Sleekeezys in her hair to drown a medium sized child. All of this would be fine, but somehow she had allowed herself to be bullied by Ginny and Luna into participating in her most hated of all social customs; the blind date.

She tapped her fingernails absentmindedly on the empty wineglass in front of her, trying to distract herself by watching the other patrons. The restaurant was small, and there can’t have been more than twelve tables, but it was very busy. There was a big family party in the middle of the room, evidently someone was turning seventeen, a few more couples… shit, this wasn’t working. She was more nervous than ever. The family in the middle laughed uproariously suddenly, and a few people who had been standing sat down, revealing the table at the other side of the room.

“Shit…” she muttered under her breath.

Just what she needed. Draco Malfoy. Ugh.

She stared forwards, trying to subtly cover her face with her hair. He never missed an opportunity to make fun of her, whether it was a snarky comment about her hair or a derisive laugh at her contribution to the discussion. At the very least she tended to give as good as she got, but working in the same department as that man was exhausting. The only thing more stressful than Draco Malfoy was-

Oh god… the only thing more stressful than Draco Malfoy was walking through the door.

Bradley Dunn. God, she hated him. He talked over her, even though she was technically his boss (insofar as she higher up in the Ministry hierarchy than him, anyway), he blatantly rolled his eyes whenever he disagreed with her, and more than once she had caught him attempting to rank the women in the office by bra size with his pathetic little friends. He’d never done anything bad enough to warrant actual censure, but she really hated him, and- Oh, oh shit the maitre d’ was pointing at her table. Oh shit.

No, there was no way in hell she was sitting through a whole date with that- that pus-filled blister of a man. Thinking fast, she stood up abruptly, her eyes downcast so that her hair obscured her face as much as possible. Her first plan had been to go straight to the ladies’ room, but a waitress had already started showing Bradley to the table, and she’d run right into him if she went that way. Nothing else for it. She skirted the large family party, keeping her head down until she got to Malfoy’s table. She was vaguely aware of him looking up and making a small, surprised noise, but she ignored him and sat down as quickly as possible, snatching the menu from in front of him and shamelessly hiding behind it.

“Granger,” he drawled, and when she peeked over the top of the menu she saw that he was watching her with mingled annoyance and amusement, one pale brow arched.

“Malfoy,” she muttered.

“What are you doing, Granger?” he asked, infuriatingly calm as if he was speaking to a toddler.

“Just give me a minute, Malfoy, I’m-”

“You know what, I’ve decided that I don’t care. You have ten seconds to move or I will make the scene that you are so obviously trying to avoid.”

“You wouldn’t.” She hissed.

“Wouldn’t I?”

They stared at each other for a moment, cool contempt radiating from him as she tried to subtly angle her face away from the table where Bradley was now sitting alone. She let out a huff of desperate frustration. From one hell to another.

“Come on, Malfoy, this is life or death,” she said, opting for hyperbole instead of the sad truth.

“I choose death.” He said coolly.

“Don’t tempt me…” she muttered, and she thought she saw his lip twitch over the top of the menu. God, he was annoying, but strange though it sounded, she didn’t hate him anymore, not really, which was more than she could say for Bradley. She sighed to herself.

“Fine, fine, I take pity on you,” said Malfoy, now blatantly smirking. He signalled to a waiter, and a few seconds later another menu and a second wine glass materialised on the table in front of him.

“Pity?!” she spluttered, but he ignored her.

“So let me guess,” he said lazily, leaning back in his chair and looking at his menu. “Blind date?”

“Oh for- is it really that obvious?”

“Well, since Bradley fucking Dunn is sitting at your table, and you’re here hiding behind a menu, I think I can put two and two together.”

“Ugh,”

“Quite.”

Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

“Really, Granger? A blind date?”

“Well, why not?” she sniffed, and he let out a small snort of laughter.

“I’d have thought they’d be queueing up to wine and dine the almighty Hermione Granger,”

“Maybe I wasn’t interested in the queue.” She said lightly, “Maybe the sort of person who would queue up to wine and dine me just because of my name isn’t who I want to be having dinner with.”

“You are aware the sort of person you’re having dinner with instead?” he asked dryly.

“Painfully aware.”

“I suppose I can’t deny that I would be the last person to queue up just to see you of all people, Granger.”

“You’re just the lesser evil right now, Malfoy,” she muttered, glancing carefully to her right. Bradley already had a half-finished pint in front of him, and didn’t appear to be bothered in the slightest that his date was so late.

“I wouldn’t worry about him, Granger,” said Malfoy, following her gaze, “He’ll just keep groping passing waitresses until one of them doesn’t punch him.”

“Charming.”

“Indeed.”

“Even so though, I really shouldn’t just stand him up… right?”

“Granger I’m sure you’ll agree that I am the last person to be giving advice to you; one third of the wizarding world’s great moral compass.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, swatting half-heartedly at him with her menu. His lip curled.

Another few minutes of silence, eventually broken by the waiter coming to take their orders.

“What are you doing here then?” asked Hermione as the waiter sped off.

“Er, having dinner?” he said, gesturing pointedly at the cutlery laid out in front of them.

“Don’t be dense, Malfoy, I know that much. I just mean- I didn’t ruin your date, did I?”

“I’m not here on a date, Granger. I don’t know why people get so weird about having dinner alone, is it a muggle thing?”

“I- I’m not sure,” she said, nodding in thanks to the waiter as he returned to fill her wine glass.

“Well, in any case, I daresay there are worse ways to spend an evening than having dinner with an old enemy.”

“I’m flattered.” She said flatly, taking a large gulp of wine.

He snorted, then sat up in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him.

“So,” he said brightly, giving her a toothy smile, “What are your bullet points?”

“My- what?”

“Please, Granger, I’d be surprised if you didn’t have a detailed to-do list when you take a shower. You’re not seriously telling me that you walked into a blind date with no plan at all?”

Goddamn it, he was right.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he said, smirking. Hermione glared at him, which only appeared to amuse him more.

“I didn’t write it down or anything,” she said haughtily.

“I knew it. Go on then, do share.”

“And why should I-?”

“You’re the one who rudely invited yourself to my table, Granger,” he said, wagging a patronising finger at her, “The least you can do is humour me.”

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, glancing once again to her previous table. Bradley had a second pint now. “Well, I was going to- assuming we didn’t know each other of course- I was going to ask about their family-”

“Well, I’m an only child,” he said, cutting her off, “My parents live in Wiltshire, and-”

“Malfoy, what are you doing?”

“Answering your question,” he said innocently- or at least as close to innocently as he, being Draco Malfoy, could manage.

“Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Why not?”

“Well for one thing, I already know about your family, a little too much, don’t you think?”

“Mhmm, that’s fair. I’ll spare you the family tree then. What else?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh come on, Granger, humour me, where’s the harm?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She felt like she should be able to answer that question immediately, but right at this moment she really couldn’t see the harm. She took another sip of wine.

“Fine. Ok, what are you really good at?”

“Everything. Next question.”

“Including modesty, clearly,”

“Clearly.”

She smiled, and for a moment it felt as if the air between them was electric. She frowned slightly. What the-

“Come on Granger, next question.”

He was smiling at her like a Cheshire cat, and for some infuriating reason it was making her cheeks flush. God, she hated it when he put her on the spot like this. Yes, that would be it.

“Ok,” she said carefully, though she was having an unexpectedly difficult time keeping her train of thought. Must be the wine. “Um, what was the last book you read?”

“You’d have had a hard time with Bradley with that one,” scoffed Malfoy, shaking his head incredulously and taking a large gulp of wine, “I assume the last book he read had big letters and pictures. Probably dirty pictures.”

“Don’t be an arsehole, Malfoy,” she said vaguely.

“Why on earth not?” he chuckled, “Does your good opinion of me hang in the balance? Oh, how I’d hate for you to think badly of me. Woe is me.”

“You are so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I-” she started speaking, but stopped abruptly. She was still here. Why was she still here? Bradley had clearly given up on waiting for her, and as Malfoy had said, he didn’t seem too bothered. She should go. “Malfoy,” she said, clutching her handbag on her lap, “I should-”

And it was then that the waiter returned with their food.

“Good timing,” said Malfoy quietly, as if he had read her mind.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

Well…

One dinner, what was the harm?

Chapter Text

“Well, this was-”

“Yeah, it was really-”

“Really… nice,”

“Nice?”

“I- yeah,”

“Ouch.”

Hermione sighed and gave him a small apologetic smile.

“Sorry, it’s just that-”

“Oh god, don’t apologize, that’s even worse,” he chuckled, “It’s fine, Hermione, really,”

She sighed again and drained her glass. They exchanged amiable goodbyes, empty promises to keep in touch, and then she watched this handsome, pleasant man whom she inexplicably felt absolutely nothing for, walk out of the restaurant and out of her life. She lingered at the bar for a few more minutes, ordered another glass of wine and nearly jumped out of her skin when someone appeared at her shoulder with a long-suffering sigh and a waft of expensive cologne.

“What was wrong with this one then?” came a familiar voice. Once upon a time it had been an unpleasantly familiar voice, but now she couldn’t help but smile as Malfoy hopped onto the barstool next to her, setting down his own wineglass next to hers. It was nearly empty already, but there wasn’t so much as a fingerprint marring the pristine glass, not even a smudge on the rim where he’d drunk from it. No doubt it was some trick taught to young aristocrats from birth, along with the ability to be smug and superior even when one was technically a convicted criminal, and how to choose the right tie for any occasion.

“None of your business,” she said curtly, sipping her wine.

“I would argue that if you didn’t want me critiquing your dates and your date outfits, you wouldn’t keep  arranging dates with these poor, doomed men six feet away from my standing reservation. You bring this on yourself, Granger.”

“Or you could just- you know- not be a complete and utter arsehole.”

“That’ll be the day,” he snorted.

“You’re right. I do bring this on myself.”

“I’m so very glad you can admit it.”

“Arsehole.”

“Yes, we’ve established that. You are aware that high heels are much less sexy when you totter around like a baby giraffe trying to stand up for the first time?”

“I- fuck you, Malfoy.”

His lip curled, and he titled his glass in her direction in a sardonic approximation of a toast. She rolled her eyes and neither of them said anything for a few minutes, during which a an extremely troublesome  thought occurred to Hermione; ‘much less sexy’ was not the same as not sexy. This thought caused an extremely unwelcome surge of butterflies in her stomach. Now why, oh why did she like the idea that he thought she was sexy?

“So what was wrong with him?” asked Malfoy, looking into his wine.

“Nothing at all,” she said dryly, “He’s coming over to my place tomorrow to ravish me.” She couldn’t help but smirk to herself when he let out the smallest, almost imperceptible splutter. He recovered almost immediately, but she saw it, and god, she enjoyed it.

“Oh he is, is he?” he said, shooting her a sideways grin. “Oh come on, Granger, indulge me. What was it? Had he never read Hogwarts: A History?”

“You know, I didn’t ask.”

“Wasn’t on your list of first date talking points?”

“Funnily enough, it wasn’t.”

“Ooh, let me guess,” he chuckled, draining his glass and swiveling on his stool to face her, looking like the cat that got the cream, “Was it… was it the beard?”

“No. I quite liked the beard actually.”

“Hmm, no accounting for taste I suppose.” He sniffed.

“Can you even grow a beard, Malfoy? I bet you can barely manage a little wispy puberty tash. I bet it’s ginger.”

“This isn’t about me. Was it that stupid waistcoat?”

“No, Malfoy, it wasn’t the waistcoat.” She sighed, taking a sip of the new glass of wine that had materialized in front of her,  “Have you actually spent the last hour hiding behind your menu, staring at us and judging our outfits?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Granger-”

“Was it the waistcoat- Honestly, do you really think I’m that shallow?”

“Well, as I recall you gave the last one the boot because he pronounced it ‘liberry’,”

“Ugh, that made my skin crawl…”

“You really are a strange one, aren’t you?”

“Just because I want more than a short skirt and an even shorter attention span-”

“Who said I wanted that?”

“I- oh, um-”

“I mean, not the short skirt part, you’ve got me dead to rights there,” he said dryly, raising an eyebrow, and despite herself, Hermione squirmed sightly in her seat, suddenly very aware that her skirt had ridden up to her mid-thigh. He smirked, his eyes flicking for the merest fraction of a second down to her lap. “But I’m not a complete degenerate you know,”

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from saying ‘you could’ve fooled me’, and resisted the urge to tug her skirt to a more respectable length.

“Ok, fine. Don’t think I can’t see that look,” he said after a beat, sounding amused, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you think I’m a complete degenerate.”

“I never said that,” said Hermione quickly.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I- Malfoy, I-”

“Oh, don’t start apologizing, I beg you,” he said smoothly, swirling the wine around his glass. “It makes this all terribly awkward.”

“Oh for- why do you always have to act like being a normal, polite person is some sort of hideous failing? Just because my instinct is to apologise when I think I might have insulted you doesn’t mean that I actually feel like I owe you anything.”

“Well well, thank you so very much for clearing that up, Granger,” he said sourly. “You think I like you coming in here and shoving your disastrous first dates in my face? I was here first, and I’m not going to leave just because you don’t like an audience?”

“I- what on earth are you on about?” she managed, staring at him in shock. They bickered, sure, it was common knowledge that they didn’t like each other, but she hadn’t heard that spiteful, bitter edge to his voice for a very long time. It had been a long time since they’d had anything real to argue about, if only she knew what they were arguing about now.

“You are infuriating.” He snapped, downing his wine and wrinkling his nose. “I swear, I wouldn’t even care about the fucking heels and the fucking short skirts, but you- I don’t know why it’s so fucking annoying- I don’t know why I even care, I-”

“Malfoy, what the-” she began, not quite realising how this had spun out of control so quickly, but he just shook his head and set his glass down on the bar with a cold, hard clink.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Granger.” He said quietly, standing up.

“Wait, Malfoy, don’t- what’s wrong?” She hated the pathetic plea in her voice, hated how she had started the night confident and excited and poised, and now she felt like a tottering baby giraffe, clumsy and unsure of herself. Trust fucking Malfoy to ruin it, and just when she had been feeling like they were almost… well, not friends, but not enemies, certainly. He gave her a long, searching look, but then he smiled a wry half smile, and gave her a curt nod, as if he had just made a decision she wasn’t privy to.

“See you on Monday,” he repeated, and with that he turned on his heel and marched out of the restaurant, leaving Hermione confused and hurt, and for once in her life, lost for words. 

Chapter Text

Malfoy was different at work after that. More polite, and yet somehow less friendly. It made no sense.

He’d told her that he was there first, and while the thought that he could somehow claim a public restaurant as his own infuriated her, something stopped her from going back. She told herself it was because she’d had one too many failed dates recently anyway, but the truth was that she’d got used to him being there, rolling his eyes and smirking at her. It was strange, once upon a time she would have honestly hated it, but now it felt almost like a private joke, as if they were…

As if they were sharing a laugh over the silly things they put themselves through, even when they both knew how they would end up.

Hermione slammed down her parchment and sat up straight at her desk.

Shit.

How had she not noticed until now?

Shit.

Had he noticed? He must have done… his outburst last time made perfect sense if she thought of it like that. Could it- could he-? About her ?

Well... The world wasn’t what it once was, and neither was he. Neither was she for that matter.

Plus, she really did like that restaurant. Screw it.

Hermione sat at what had become her usual table, with a glass of what had become her favorite red. She was wearing her favorite little black dress, comfortable but flattering heels and yes, her boobiest bra. She had wrangled her hair into a messy bun she hoped looked casual and chic, rather than like she’d just rolled out of bed, and she was nervous .

At least he didn’t keep her waiting for long, but her stomach flipped uncomfortably when he stepped into the busy restaurant. Why she should feel so anxious was a mystery, she’d seen him every day this week after all, but inexplicably, something was different tonight. Instead of the immaculate professional she saw at the Ministry, or the sharp, spiteful teenager she remembered from school, the man who walked into that restaurant was still sharp, but handsome, still immaculately dressed, but more casual and comfortable. The man that walked into the restaurant was a genuine romantic possibility, and the realisation hit Hermione like a truck.

He frowned when he saw her, which wasn’t ideal, but she forced herself to smile back, waving him over before he got seated elsewhere. His eyes flicked to the empty chair opposite her and his frown deepened, but he made his way over anyway.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He said flatly.

“Indeed. Would you like to sit?”

His eyes flicked to the seat and back to her, then he crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.

“I’m not sure whatever poor, doomed sap you’re meeting here would appreciate that.” He drawled.

“You know what, I actually have a feeling he’ll be fine with it.” She said, trying not to smile at his words.

“Is that so?”

“Just sit down, Malfoy, it’ll be fine.”

She allowed him a few seconds of disgruntled consideration before pushing the chair out from under the table with her foot. He stared at the chair as if it had moved by itself, or rather as if this occurrence would be unusual in their world, but finally, he rolled his eyes and sat down.

“Bossy,” he murmured with a small smile.

“Stubborn.” She retorted, her stomach flipping again when his smile widened slightly in response.

“So,” he said briskly, steepling his fingers as if they were in a meeting, “What can I do for you, Granger?”

“Well-”

“Can I get you something to drink?” said a waiter who had practically appeared out of nowhere.

“Oh, no, I’m not staying-” Malfoy began, but Hermione cut him off quickly.

“Actually, could we get a bottle of this?” she asked, indicating her half finished wine.

“Of course,” nodded the waiter, making a note.

“And another glass, please,”

“Absolutely, I’ll bring another menu, too,” said the waiter.

“Thank you,”

“I’ll be right back.”

Hermione nodded and smiled, but when she turned back to Malfoy she almost balked at the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“What are you up to, Granger?” he asked in a sing-song voice.

“Just taking the initiative.”

“Taking the initiative to do what?”

“To get some more wine.”

He shook his head, smirking.

“Obfuscation isn’t your strong suit, Granger, so kindly quit it. It’s painful to watch.”

“Charming,” she muttered, unreasonably annoyed despite her nerves.

“Seriously though, this isn’t some sort of jealousy thing, is it? You know, the guy turns up and sees you with someone else and that makes him want you more or something?” he asked, leaning back and raising an eyebrow, “Because apart from the fact that it’s the worst idea in the universe, I have to say I thought you were better than those kind of games.”

“No, it’s not some sort of jealousy thing,” she snapped, a little insulted he’d even think of it.

“Then what-”

Once again, the waiter demonstrated his uncanny timing and appeared at the table, setting down a fresh wine glass and a menu on Malfoy’s side before holding the bottle up.

“A bottle of the Malbec for you,” said the waiter, beaming, oblivious to the mess he’d interrupted, “Would you like to taste it first, sir?”

Malfoy shook his head, not taking his eyes off her.

“I- no, we’re fine, thank you,” said Hermione, her cheeks heating.

“No problem,” said the waiter, setting the bottle down, “I’ll be back in a little while to take your order.”

And he swept off, leaving Hermione to face the music. There were a few moments of awkward silence, but when Malfoy spoke, it was in cold, clipped tones.

“Granger, I don’t appreciate being used, so just tell me what you want, ok?”

She couldn’t look away, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to speak either.

Ugh. Why was this so bloody difficult? God, she’d been on so many dates over the past few months you’d think she might have got over the crippling fear of expressing actual attraction. Of course, the fact that it was Malfoy made things slightly more complicated, but surely she was better than this stuttering teenager that she’d apparently devolved to?

Just do it .

“I want you to have dinner with me.” She said, making sure to hold eye contact.

“You- what ?”

Malfoy looking genuinely surprised was a treat she so rarely got to experience. Perhaps if she pushed her luck she might even get to see shock .

“I’m not waiting for someone else,” she murmured, shrugging one shoulder and watching him beneath her eyelashes, “Would you like to have dinner with me, Malfoy?”

He didn’t say anything for the longest time. It was excruciating. She was almost considering laughing and saying it was all a joke or some other absurd excuse, when he blinked, shook his head as if waking from a particularly diverting daydream, and picked up his menu. Having apparently used up her store of Gryffindor bravery for the night, Hermione said nothing and did the same.

“Poor, doomed sap indeed.” He muttered after a few more minutes of near painful silence, and when Hermione looked up she saw him watching her over his menu, his lip curling. She couldn’t help but smile back, shrugging one shoulder.

“Your words, not mine,”

“The doomed part might yet be accurate.”

“Oh?”

“Well,” he took a long sip of wine, apparently relishing keeping her on tenterhooks, “I’ve been thinking about this for longer than I care to admit, Granger, and I had almost come to the conclusion that it was very much for the best that this-” He made a vague gesture at the two of them, “Never happen.”

“Well it doesn’t have to if you’re so against it,” she said coldly, to which he rolled his eyes .

“‘Almost’, I said. I had almost come to that conclusion, and the reason I thought it was for the best was because I had a feeling that you- that this would just wreck me Don’t get me wrong I still think that, I just don’t care anymore. Hence; doomed.”

“Ah,”

“Yes.”

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, but Hermione soon realised she was smiling like a moron, and quickly looked away.

“So,”

“Hmm?” she looked up to find him smirking smugly and brandishing a menu at her. She strongly disliked how attractive she suddenly found that smirk, but despite her pounding heart and the vague sense that she was about to bite into some dangerous, forbidden fruit, deep down she knew that actually, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, taking a menu and smiling back.

Pasta followed, along with more wine, then dessert and yet more wine, and Hermione was feeling pleasantly fuzzy, as if the complications and frustrations of her daily life had simply faded into the background, if only for a little while. Had she felt like this with any of the others? She couldn’t remember, but she was sure it wasn’t all down to the wine.

She watched as Malfoy ranted about something at work, only half paying attention to his words as she became strangely transfixed by the slight stain of red wine on his lower lip. He trailed off, and she wrenched her gaze back up to his eyes.

“What?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

“If you say so,”

“I do. Say so.”

“Stubborn.”

“You knew this about me.”

“Merlin help me, I did.”

He was smiling too now, and she became aware that both of them were resting their hands on the table, fingers mere inches apart. She itched to move her hand, feel the shape of his, run her fingers over each knuckle and trace the lines on his palm.

She blinked suddenly and cleared her throat. She really needed to stop fixating on random body parts. At least the really problematic parts were hidden under the table. For now, anyway.

He got up to use the facilities and she forced herself to become extremely interested in the tablecloth.

When he got back he revealed that he’d already stealth paid, and Hermione put up a token resistance, pretending to be annoyed at him even though right now she couldn’t quite bring herself to be annoyed at anything.

They lingered outside the restaurant, the wet weather providing a perfect excuse to huddle underneath the awning. A little too close for comfort. A little too still, too quiet a moment between two such normally loquacious people.

“Tell me,” he murmured, craning his neck down to he could meet her eyes in the cramped space. “And do feel free to tell me it’s none of my business,”

“Go on,” she said warily.

“The other dates, as far as I remember none of them got a second date?”

“That’s right.”

“Ah,”

“Why?”

“Did any of them get a goodnight kiss?” he asked softly.

Hermione felt an instant spike of something halfway between giddiness and terror at his words. God, it was like being a teenager again, how ridiculous.

“Why?” she asked again, trying to seem aloof yet still slightly flirty, instead of what she was, which was absolutely desperate to see if she could taste the wine that still clung to his bottom lip.

“What can I say?” he hummed, smirking as if he could see exactly what was going through her mind, “I’m competitive.”

She let out a little huff of a laugh at that, despite the nail-biting, heart-wrenching tension in the air between them.

“You don’t say?”

“I do say,”

Some distant, half-forgotten part of her brain reached for the next snarky retort, but the tumult of information from her senses overwhelmed it, and all she could do was experience the moment.

She saw him lean closer, and she unconsciously mirrored him. She felt his breath on her cheek and felt his warmth against her, and before she could even parse the fact that she was seriously thinking of kissing Draco Malfoy-

She was kissing Draco Malfoy.

And she could taste the wine.

His lower lip slipped between hers, and his hand came up to cup her jaw, and she was powerless to stop herself from pressing her body closer and deepening the kiss.

There was a deep, satisfied rumble from the vicinity of his chest, and Hermione wanted to live in this moment. Tangled together, tasting each other, learning what it was like to experience each other like this, every second a new revelation.

But he was pulling away, and she let out an embarrassing mewl of disappointment. When she opened her eyes he was smirking, because of course he was. Smirking was Malfoy’s default expression.

God damn it. It really was intolerably annoying that that thought made her smile now.

His chest was heaving, their faces still close enough to feel each other’s breath. She could get used to seeing him from this angle.

“Still a first date though, right?” he murmured.

“Technically.” She said breathlessly. She could see where his mind was going, and it was going right back to his house with a desperate, tipsy and extremely handsy Hermione in tow. And as lovely as that sounded, she knew they had got through two bottles over dinner, and if they were doing this, they would have to do it properly. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said reluctantly, and took half a step back, so she (theoretically) would be less tempted to continue learning more crucial information about exactly how he kissed.

“Right. Ok, right.”

“Right.”

“So… same time next week?”

“Wouldn’t want to waste the standing reservation,”

“Definitely not,”

“Although…”

“Although?”

“I’m free tomorrow.” She said in one frantic breath.

“Me too.”

“Convenient.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stepped away and she told herself that it was for the best.

“My place? I’ll cook.”

“Malfoy, you cook ?”

“I contain multitudes,” he growled.

“Clearly.”

“Granger,” he sighed, voice tight as he briefly closed his eyes in frustration, “Can I please recommend that you go home now before my already fraying self-control disappears and I just tear your clothes off right here in the street?”

“I- yes. That would be bad.” She said unconvincingly.

“Granger,” he said, a warning note in his voice now.

“No, yes. You’re right.”

“I know.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“We have that in common.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled, and he smiled back, and she knew then that while this was exactly where she wanted to be right now, what she really wanted more than anything was for it to be tomorrow.

He reached out to push her hair over her shoulder, pinning her to the spot with the intensity of his gaze.

“See you tomorrow, Granger.”

“Tomorrow.”

And they turned and went their separate ways, but only for now.

And back in the restaurant, the sous-chef crowed over his winnings. The betting pool on those two had been going to weeks now, and he took a moment to tell the head chef how ridiculous it was that she had seriously thought they wouldn’t get together. Giddy with victory, the sous-chef fanned himself with a few £20 notes, before promptly dropping them into a vat of pork chops marinating for tomorrow.

The head chef scolded him as he fished his money out, and cowed, he went back to his station to prepare a new marinade, but not before he quietly started planning the next pool. People often proposed at the same place they had their first date, after all.