Draco Malfoy was, indeed, a romantic. He found his thoughts consumed by Hermione Granger, wondering at any given moment what she was doing, or how she was feeling. The best part of his day remained the moment he received her nightly owl—sometimes prompted by his own, but more often now, arriving of their own accord, asking about his day and his mother.
So, it seemed that she was thinking about him, too. The very thought made his heart soar, like wind over treetops.
Last night's owl had been an adorable Hi, I miss you -H which had sent his heart aflutter and had led him to his present situation—standing in front of Elixir, holding a bag of takeway from a popular Diagon Alley restaurant. It had been a spontaneous decision, but her letter had made it imperative for Draco to see her as soon as possible.
Bag in hand, Draco pushed the door open and stepped inside, calling for her, "Granger, I'm sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I figured you'd be starving yourself—" He cut off when he took in the scene in front of him: The Weasel and Hermione sat across from each other at the coffee table in the middle of the shop. Both sat on the floor, eerily reminiscent of Draco and Hermione's lunch not so long ago.
Hermione jumped from her spot on the floor immediately. "Draco," she said, with a bit of surprise. "What are you—?"
"Malfoy?" spat Weasley from behind her.
"I—" Draco began, unable to look her in the eye properly.
"Prat's probably trying to hex you, 'Mione."
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione ordered. "Draco, I—"
"It's fine," he said cutting her off. "It was impolite of me to drop by without telling you."
"It was," said the Weasel, his mouth full of sandwich.
Draco lowered the bag of food that he realized he was still holding out, proffering it, and made to back away and turn to leave. His hand was on the doorknob, and then her hand was wrapped around his forearm, pulling him back. "Wait," she said quietly, so low that there was no way Weasley could hear her. "Just wait."
He turned to face her, still unable to look her in the eyes. "It's fine, Granger. I'll stop by another day."
"But you're already here, and it's in my office. Come on, I'm sure Ronald won't mind—it'll only take a second," Hermione said, gently tugging his forearm once more.
"'Mione, we're eating lunch and he's interrupting. Get rid of him already!"
"Ronald!"
"Fine, Granger," Draco said, following her as she trotted back towards her office.
"Hurry up," Ron ordered lowly.
Draco fought the urge to throttle him as he made his way through the shop.
Once there, Hermione closed to door behind her quietly. "What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.
Draco huffed and dropped the food on her desk. "Truthfully, I'm not sure now."
Hermione's eyes flickered to the bag, which she had obviously not noticed previously. "You brought me lunch?"
"I was trying to."
"Draco—"
"It's fine, Granger, I get it. Now do you want to give me a book or something so we can complete this little ruse and I can get out of here?" Draco replied, eyes flickering to the door of her office, where he could just see Weasley's back, his full attention on the sandwich in his freckled hands.
"It's not what it looks like—" Hermione began.
"Not my business," Draco interrupted, making for the door.
She grabbed his arm again and pulled him closer to her. "Would you just listen to me for a second, you insufferable man?"
Draco groaned and turned fully to face her. "Fine. What?" he asked gruffly.
"Ronald and I are making an inventory of everything we shared and trying to divide it, figuring out who gets what."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. Purely business, Draco," she reassured, testing his fingertips with her own. When he didn't pull back, she entwined their fingers together.
"It just—it looked—"
"You are so cute when you're jealous," Hermione interrupted his stuttering and wrapped her arms around him. "I missed you, you prat."
Allowing the rest of his tension to leave his body, he pulled her closer and wrapped his own arms around her. "Sorry, Granger," he said softly.
Hermione let out a chortle of a laugh and pulled away, playfully smacking him across the chest. "I really do have to get back to it though, Draco. I only scheduled an hour for this. But actually, I could use your help with something later?"
Draco nodded. "What is it?"
After I close up shop today, I've scheduled to look at a few flats. Would you like to come with me? We could do dinner, or drinks afterward?" she asked hopefully.
Draco felt himself smile again. "Yeah, all right, Granger. I'll meet you here after you close?"
"Sounds good," Hermione replied with a smile, before standing on the tips of her toes and pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Pulling away, she grabbed a thick tome from the bookshelf and shoved it into his hands. "Here, you ginormous git."
Hermione walked around him to open the door. "Until next time, Granger," he called loudly from behind her.
"I trust you can see yourself out," she called absently, not turning to look at him, settling back on the floor across from Weasley.
"Certainly, Granger," Draco replied with a look at Weasley.
"Get the fuck out, Malfoy," he spat.
"What did you say to me?" Draco snapped, moving forward.
"Ronald, Draco, stop," Hermione begged.
At her wish, Draco bit his tongue to prevent another practiced insult from leaving his lips, but Weasley did not heed the same advice. "You heard what I said, scum."
"Ronald."
"No, Hermione! I put up with all your charity cases, but this one I will not stand!" Weasley said, rising to his feet, face reddened with rage.
Hermione was back on her feet in an instant, pushing at Weasley's chest, trying to keep him from surging forwards, towards Draco, and she was failing valiantly. Weasley pushed her away easily.
"If you touch her, I will fucking kill you," Draco warned, wanting so badly to put himself between Hermione and Weasley, but also not wanting to make this situation any worse for Hermione.
"Like you killed people as a Death Eater, Malfoy?" Weasley sneered.
"RONALD!" Hermione's voice boomed. "I want you out of my shop, right now."
That seemed to get Weasley's attention. He stopped pushing at Hermione and looked down at her. "You're not serious, 'Mione?" he asked with a slight pout.
"Get out. Now," Hermione repeated, lowly. "I'm serious."
Weasley visibly fumed but seemed to reassess the situation before him before finally, he nodded and stepped away from Hermione and towards the door, and in turn, Draco. Weasley stopped next to Draco and spoke lowly: "I don't know what your game is, Malfoy. But I intend to figure it out so I can see you locked up in Azkaban, where you fucking belong." Weasley gave Draco a swift shoulder check before walking through the door.
Immediately, Draco went to Hermione, who was staring wide-eyed at the door of her shop. "Are you all right?" he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders.
Snapped out of her reverie, her eyes flitted up and locked with his. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "Ronald is just—"
"An arsehole," Draco finished, thinking back to the man's words to him.
"Hot-tempered," she corrected.
"He was man-handling you," Draco argued.
Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Hardly."
"I'm serious, Granger."
"So am I, Draco. Look, I'm fine, ok?"
Draco eased his grip on her shoulders, realizing that this was an argument he was not going to win. "All right," he said quietly.
Hermione let out a heavy sigh. "That was not quite the lunch I had planned."
"I'm sorry, Granger. If I hadn't stopped by—"
"Don't, Draco. You're not the one who flew off the handle—"
"I've never heard that saying before, but I think I understand it—"
"—and caused a scene. You're surprisingly level-headed—"
"—I am chock full of surprises—"
Hermione was once more on her toes, her arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips were on his, pressing gently. "Thank you for thinking about me and swinging by, Draco. But I do really have to get back to work now."
Draco nodded. "I'll see you later?"
Hermione smiled and nodded back, before kissing his cheek. "Yes. Now go home, check on your mother."
Draco obliged, leaving her behind to clean up the mess of sandwiches and paperwork that Weasley had left in his wake of destruction. He was only a few steps out of the potion shop before he was roughly pulled into a nearby alleyway. "What the—Weasley?"
"Let me tell you one thing about Hermione, Malfoy—"
"I'd prefer if you kept your mouth shut about Hermione," Draco spat back.
"—she loves a charity case, a good lost cause. Loves them. A wounded animal in the road? She has to nurse it back to health. A magical creature being abused? She has to step in. A sad-looking Death Eater? She'll want to cheer the scum up. It's pathological. She can't help herself. But at the end of the day, that's all that you are, and you'd best remember that," Weasley said harshly.
"What are you getting at, Weasel?"
"You are just a charity case to her, Malfoy. That's all. When she remembers who and what you are, she'll drop you so fast you'll have whiplash."
"You haven't the slightest inkling of who I am, Weasel—"
"Stay the fuck away from her," Weasley ordered.
"Or what, Weasel?" Draco scoffed. "I'm not afraid of you."
"I can make your life very difficult, Malfoy."
"Oh, sod off, Weasley, and spare me the dramatics. I'll not be accosted in an alleyway while you spout this melodramatic nonsense about things you do not understand. Now get out of my way," Draco said, trying to move around Weasley.
"Stay away from her, Malfoy," Weasley ordered once more, his face flushed with anger.
Draco chuckled and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, resisting the urge to punch the other man in his nose, and shrugged. "I don't take orders from you, Weasley. Now if you'll excuse me." Refusing to fall to Weasley's level and act on his desire to commit violence, Draco stepped around the man, giving himself a wide berth. Draco half-expected for Weasley to follow him and continue to assault him with his empty threats, but it appeared that the Weasel had said everything he thought he had needed to say.
Sighing, Draco apparated home; he had been gone long enough and he did need to check on his mother before he met Hermione later.
He needed no assistance in finding her, as she was in the front parlor, sitting in a straight-backed chair that she had turned around so she could peer out the window. "Draco, darling," she greeted him as he came up behind her. "I didn't see you coming up the walk just then."
"I just apparated in from Diagon Alley."
"Since when did you know how to apparate?" she asked quizzically, turning to face him. "Oh, did you father already teach you? That is so very like him. He so wants you succeed at Hogwarts and beat that filthy little Mudblood."
Draco's stomach turned at the word.
"Don't worry, I'll keep it our little secret, my darling."
Draco tried to force a smile. "Thank you, Mother. Wouldn't want to get Father in trouble."
A moot point if there ever was one.
"You're such a good boy," Narcissa replied with a wide smile. "Why don't I fetch us Jinxy, and we can have a cup of tea right here in the parlor."
"That sounds lovely, Mother," Draco replied, taking the seat next to her and turning it to face the window as well. "What are we looking at?"
Narcissa called for Jinxy, who immediately popped into sight with a little curtsy for his mother. "Yes, Mistress?"
"Draco and I would like to take tea in the parlor."
Jinxy nodded and disappeared.
"Oh, dear. I'm just looking for the peacocks. I haven't seen neither feather nor flight of them in what feels like days. I'm starting to grow concerned."
Peacocks. It always went back to the damnable peacocks.
As had become the new normal, Draco suffered through an anxiety-inducing tea with his mother, who seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into her longest fugue. He found that they repeated certain conversations with disturbing regularity—especially those regarding his father, the peacocks, and oddly enough, Hermione Granger. Once again, his mother had brought up Hermione's potion shop with an air of disgusted disbelief. Draco merely nodded when expected, smiled when she looked towards to him, and responded appropriately when all he wanted was the tea to be over.
Of course, Hermione had been correct in saying that it would be better for him if his mother was in St. Mungo's where she could be looked after full-time, as opposed to him being her caretaker. She had been right, because for the first time Draco realized just how much of a toll his mother's mental state took on him. Of course, these teas had been happening for years now, but for the first time Draco was aware of just how many times his fingertips sought to grab the bottom of his chair to stabilize himself, just how many times he had to bite his tongue in a deign to correct her in her timeline, just how many times he felt his stomach drop when he mentioned something incorrect about himself in the timeline she had constructed in her own head.
At the end of the tea, Narcissa rose with her usual nobility and clasped his hands with her own. "Thank you for having tea with me darling, it really was lovely."
"Where are you going, Mother?" he asked, even though he was grateful to be away from her presence, which in its own turn caused a stab of guilt in his belly.
"I thought I'd peruse the library for something new to read. A torrid affair perhaps?" she chuckled to herself.
Draco couldn't help his own chuckle. "Mother!" he jokingly chastised her.
"I'll see you for dinner, Draco?"
"Oh, no, Mother. I'm having dinner with a friend."
"Theodore?" she questioned. "Or perhaps Blaise? Or maybe Astoria?" she waggled her eyebrows at him in a conspiratorial manner.
"Yes, Mother. I'll be having dinner with Theo and Blaise," he lied smoothly.
"All right, darling," Narcissa replied, seemingly satisfied.
Mentally exhausted, Draco dragged himself to the kitchens, where he poured himself a glass of firewhiskey to calm the waves of anxiety now rolling through his body. Draining the glass quickly, Draco reasoned that he had several hours before he was supposed to meet with Hermione and could do with a nap. It had been an extremely long day, after all.
Draco made his way to his bedroom and collapsed on top of his silken comforter and buried his face in the fabric of his pillows, also adorned with silk, and closed his eyes, wishing for sleep.
For a few hours, Draco hovered in the strange space that was between sleep and wakefulness—aware that he was not asleep, but also not aware of time or of space. He awoke fully a few hours later, feeling no more rested than he had when he had laid down, but the glass of firewhiskey made him feel loose and limber and just a bit more relaxed than before.
Glancing at the clock, Draco decided it was time to get ready to see Hermione. Draco chose a charcoal jumper that he thought complemented his eyes well, and a pair of black wool trousers, opting for a more Muggle-friendly look—he would not be surprised if Hermione was looking at real estate in Muggle London—and his favorite pair of leather loafers, well-worn and comfortable if he needed to do any amount of walking.
Grabbing a long overcoat, Draco apparated directly from his bedroom and inside of Elixir—he did not want to risk being accosted in an alleyway once more, and Draco was fairly certain Weasley was banned from the shop for the foreseeable future.
Hermione did not seem surprised to see him suddenly standing in the middle of her shop, and her eyes darted up to meet his with a light smile. In her hands was a large tome entitled The Magical Memory, 8th Edition. Hermione placed the book on the coffee table, marking a specific section with a brightly colored sticky piece of paper that seemed to often litter her office. "Hi," she said, closing the book.
"Hi," he replied with his own smile, as he rounded the shop and came to sit on the couch next to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "A bit of light reading?" Draco gestured to the book on the table.
"Yes," she replied sincerely. "It's really quite interesting. I've just reached a section that might be applicable to your mother's condition."
Draco couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face. She had said she wasn't going to give up, and she wasn't. She was still trying even as the situation seemed to worsen by the day.
"You look tired," Hermione observed with a furrowed brow.
Draco sighed. "It's been a long day, Granger."
Between your ex attempting to assault me and threatening to destroy my life and my mother, anybody would be exhausted.
"Your mother?" she asked softly.
Draco simply nodded.
"Do you still want to come with me? If you're tired, I can go by myself. We can do dinner another night?" Hermione offered.
Draco grabbed her fingers and entwined them with his. "I'd like to spend some time with you, Granger. And as someone who grew up ostentatiously wealthy, I am absolutely titillated to look at real estate. Nothing could possibly excite me more."
"Ha. Ha," Hermione said dryly, playfully swatting at his chest. "You think you're so funny."
"I am funny, Granger," Draco corrected. "So where are we hunting for your bachelorette pad? Muggle London, Magical London?"
Hermione bit her lip and looked away from him. "There are two places in Diagon Alley I have appointments to see."
Draco stilled and tilted his head to look at her fully. "Diagon Alley? You know how expensive it is to live here, right?"
"I own a business here, I am well aware of the real estate prices," Hermione replied defensively, her eyes flashing at him.
"No, Granger, I didn't mean that—I just meant—"
"I'm not as ostentatiously wealthy as you, Draco, but I'll have you know I'm no pauper—"
Draco took a deep breath. "It's just not what I was expecting, Granger. That's all that I meant," he said softly, rubbing her fingers gently. "But most of you isn't what I expected." He shot her a smile, hoping to lighten the bit of tension he felt.
"My parents were fairly well-off, enough that I have a trust fund. The shop is doing okay, and I—" she began.
He kissed her cheek softly. "You don't have to justify it to me, Granger," he murmured in her ear.
She blushed prettily then. "I'm sorry, I always had to justify how I spent my money, when—with—"
"Understood, Granger. But I'm not like that. Buy two flats if you'd like," Draco replied.
Hermione smiled again, and he felt her relax against him. "Now that would be excessive." In a flash, Hermione was up and reaching for his hand, which he dutifully took. "Are you ready? The first appointment is in a few minutes, we can Floo there from here."
Draco stood and nodded, following her over to the cramped fireplace, where she picked up a handful of the green dust. Situating themselves inside the fireplace, their shoulders knocking, Hermione tossed the powder and spoke the address: "1812 Diagon Alley, Flat C." They were spinning quickly, warped through time and space, before they landed soundly on the other side, in a much larger fireplace.
Draco brushed at the nonexistent dust on his shoulders, the result of landing in a clean fireplace, and followed Hermione out, disappointed to note that she had dropped his hand once they had reached their destination.
"Ah, Hermione! Right on time!"
"Hullo, Anthony!" Hermione called in greeting, from slightly in front of him. "I hope you don't mind that I brought a friend with me!"
"Of course—" Draco caught the moment Anthony Goldstein laid eyes on him. Immediately, he faltered and went silent, clearing his throat in an attempt to gather his thoughts. "Really, Hermione?"
Hermione's warm greeting immediately altered into something harder, something more cold. He had seen this swift change once before. She could go from warmth and light to ice and darkness in a fraction of a second. "Yes, really. If you have a problem, Anthony, I can always find a different agent," she threatened.
Goldstein's eyes darted from him and then back to Hermione several times before he cleared his throat once more before a fake smile settled on his face. "Of course. Well, this first option is a two-bedroom, newly constructed with hardwood floors and great natural light…"
Both flats were lovely, Draco had to admit. The first was open and more luxurious and modern, whereas the other was newly remodeled and beautifully understated, with quaint elements of times long past combined with a richness that could only be a product of the current age. Hermione remained stoic through both tours, and Draco was not certain what she was thinking, but he could instantly see her living in the remodeled flat—it seemed so very her. But Draco had been wrong about her before, so he kept his mouth shut, wondering what was going on inside her pretty little head.
An hour-and-a-half later, they settled into a booth in a Muggle pub. At first, Hermione had suggested that they eat at the popular restaurant in Diagon Alley, where Draco had gotten her takeaway earlier in the day, before he shyly admitted that Jinxy had been the one to pick up the food while Draco stowed himself away in a nearby alleyway. Her eyes softened with sadness, but she merely shrugged and suggested a favorite pub of hers nearby. Taking his hand, she apparated them to a secluded part of street near the pub. This time, she didn't drop his hand as they walked the short distance of the pub, where Hermione promptly pulled him to the back, finding a secluded booth.
She stretched in the booth and closed her eyes, resting her head against the back of the booth with a long sigh. "So," she began "what did you think?"
The waitress interrupted, bringing them waters and asking if they'd like any other beverages. Hermione promptly ordered a pint of ale and Draco began to erroneously order a firewhiskey before Hermione cut him off, "Fireball, please. A shot for each of us. A pint for him as well."
The waitress eyed him for a moment before raising her eyebrow. "Someone wears the pants, eh?"
Draco had no idea what that meant, so he simply smiled and nodded. As soon as the waitress had left Draco turned to face Hermione and asked her, "What does that phrase mean? About the pants?"
Hermione grimaced. "She meant I'm clearly in charge."
"Oh," he said dumbly. Well, the waitress was not incorrect, he supposed.
"So what did you think?" she asked again, a little more brightly, her cheeks tinged with pink.
"They were both nice places, Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're an opinionated, insufferable prat on the very best of days. Don't hold back now, when I'm actually asking for it."
Draco sighed and chose his words carefully. "They both were lovely. But, well—can I be completely honest?"
"What did I just say to you?" she countered.
"I just don't want you to hit me if you don't like my opinion."
"There's a table between us, so I think you're safe."
Their drinks arrived and he immediately took his shot, even as Hermione's hand shot out to stop him. "Oh, gods, that's horrible—"
"—you're going to hate that." The words died on her tongue, as she chuckled at him. She took her own shot with a grimace. "Yeah, it's absolute rubbish."
Taking a large sip of ale to get the taste of the drink out of his mouth, Draco began to speak again, "I think they were both nice places, Granger, and I think you'd be happy with either of them—"
"Still unhelpful—"
"I wasn't finished! I liked the first one the best, but not for you."
Hermione tilted her head at him. "Go on."
"It's a place I would buy. Very modern and luxurious. I don't see you in it. I see you in the second one. It's warm and it's cozy, and I think it suits you better."
Hermione took a thoughtful sip of her ale, before nodding. "I agree. The first is a place I want to want. But I fell in love with the second flat as soon as I walked through the door."
"So then it's settled?" he asked, raising his pint to hers, offering a cheers.
"Yes," she replied, clanking her pint with his. "It's settled. I'll owl Anthony in the morning." She took a long sip, and there was a pause. "I'm sorry he was rude to you. I didn't really think about it—"
"It all right, Granger. At least he didn't spit on me."
She flinched. "I forget—"
"That I'm Death Eater scum?"
Hermione frowned. "Don't say that. Don't let him get under your skin."
"I'm sorry. Like I said, long day."
"I'm sorry about Ronald. I've changed my wards so that's he not allowed even during business hours," she said sadly.
"Meanwhile, I can apparate in at any time of the day or night?" he asked, chuckling.
Hermione blushed so brightly he could see it visibly in the darkness of the pub. "I trust you."
"I could rob you blind."
"You could. But you won't," she replied easily.
"How can you be so sure?" he asked.
She smiled at him suggestively. "Because you like me."
Draco grinned at her. "It would be foolish of me to rob the girl I'm interested in snogging, wouldn't it?"
"It would be."
A few sips of ale and suggestive glances later, the waitress came back to take their order: fish and chips for Hermione, and bangers and mash for him.
The food was wonderful, and after several pints later, Draco was feeling lighter and happier than after half a bottle of firewhiskey. Much to his chagrin, Hermione paid the check. Seeing the scowl on his face, she reasoned, "I know you don't have Muggle money on you, Draco. Next one is all yours, and I'll be ordering Champagne."
"Next one?"
"Next one," Hermione confirmed.
They slipped out of the booth, Hermione slightly unsteady on her feet. Draco wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady and led her out of the pub and into the cold night air. Draco adjusted his grip, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into him, placing a kiss on the top of her curls. "I like you, Hermione Granger," he said softly.
"You're not so bad yourself, Draco Malfoy," she murmured back.
"Do you like steak?" he asked.
"Love it. Why?"
"Because for our next date I am taking you to a fancy steakhouse and we're ordering the most expensive items on the menu. I hate that you just paid."
"It's fine, Draco. I would've let you pay if you had Muggle money," she reasoned. "Also, the man having to pay is such an outdated concept."
"Be that as it may, we have yet to have an actual date, and the closest we've come, you've paid," he argued.
"Not true! You took me for ice cream!"
"That wasn't a date."
Hermione burrowed deeper into his chest, pressing her face against his shirt. "Wasn't it, though?"
"You were crying over your boyfriend, so no."
"Ex."
"I ended up yelling at you."
"True."
"See?"
"Is that you asking me on a date, Draco?" she asked, pulling away from him to look in his eyes. "Because you missed a few words."
"Granger, will you go on a real date with me?"
"I'd love to," she replied, rising him to peck him on the lips, but missing slightly and kissing the corner of his mouth instead.
Draco laughed. "You're a little inebriated, Granger. We should get you home."
"Harry and Ginny's," she corrected automatically.
"Not for long," Draco reminded her.
"I'll invite you over, when I move," Hermione replied softly.
"I wasn't so presumptuous as to expect an invitation tonight, Granger," Draco said with a soft chuckle, pulling her closer.
"We can probably apparate back to Diagon Alley, right through here," she said, ducking into an alleyway.
"Let me, Granger, I don't want you splinching yourself."
Draco grabbed her arm and they were twirling, twisting, and then they were landing soundly in the middle of Elixir. Despite being slightly inebriated, Hermione didn't miss a beat before wrapping her arms around his neck once more, and Draco responded by wrapping his arms around her narrow waist, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms. Hermione was staring up at him with hooded eyes, and for the first time, Draco noticed how long and thick her lashes were. "Have I mentioned that I like the beard?" she asked lowly, with just a hint of seduction in her voice.
He laughed throatily. "You hadn't, Granger. It's a new look I've been trying out."
It wasn't necessary for her to know why. Not now—maybe not ever.
"I think it's sexy," she purred, kissing lightly at his neck.
Draco shivered slightly. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed him there, and Merlin, did it feel nice. "Granger, are you trying to seduce me?"
She kissed the corner of his mouth softly. "Maybe a little bit."
He couldn't help the soft groan that escaped his throat. "Granger—"
"Just enough to call me Hermione." She kissed him then, and he could feel her smirking against his lips.
And fuck, he knew for certain that he'd call her anything she asked him to. "Hermione," he murmured against her lips.
Hermione kissed him soundly before pulling away and smiling up at him. "Finally!"
Draco furrowed his brow, confused at the sudden turn of events. "What?"
"If we're going to continue to do—" she broke off, gesticulating wildly "—whatever this is, I think you should call me Hermione."
Draco nodded, supposing she had a point. "I've been calling you 'Hermione' in my head for weeks now," he relented, with a kiss to her cheek.
She beamed up at him. "Good."
They stayed like that for a while, both unwilling to say goodbye—just a few more minutes—her arms thrown around his neck, his tight around her waist, their lips, frenzied as they kissed deeply, hungrily, their tongues dancing for dominance before Draco finally took control and slipped into her mouth, and he was overwhelmed at her taste; even beneath the cloying flavor of that horrible Muggle firewhiskey and stale ale, there was another taste—her—and she was delicious, the most decadent morsel. Draco buried a hand in her hair, grasping at the soft curls at the back of her head.
Only then did she pull away, her lips red and swollen from their kisses. She eventually removed her arms from his shoulders and pressed her face into the fabric of his shirt. "It's late. I should go."
Draco nodded against her, pressing another kiss to her curls. "Okay," he murmured. "Owl me when you're home—"
"—Harry and Ginny's—"
"So I know you're safe."
Her head shot up immediately, her sparkling eyes finding his even in the darkness of the shop. "You really are different, aren't you?" she murmured.
Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he didn't. "Owl me?" he pressed again. It had been a long day, and the last thing he wanted to do was worry about Hermione, even though he realized he was being slightly irrational. It was a Floo—she would be fine. But still.
"I will," she promised. She kissed him again, before she made her way to her little fireplace, fisting a handful of Floo powder and calling out for Harry and Ginny's address, her eyes never leaving him. In a swirling flash of green, she was gone and the fireplace was once again dim and empty.
Draco was alone in the shop, and for a moment he simply stood there in the darkness. His lips tingled, and he could still feel the softness of her full curls against his palm. With a soft smile to himself, Draco buried his hands in his trousers and apparated home, eager to receive Hermione's letter.