Birthday Request!
Title: Lost and Found
Rating: PG-13-ish
Word Count: 4513
Notes: A birthday one-shot for Shug, who requested Draco/Hermione. I hope you like it! Thanks to M for the beta and A for the read!
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Lost and Found
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It was Friday night and he was exactly where he wanted to be.
Low flames cracked in the fireplace, sending soft, warm light through the room. Shadows bounced on the wall with every move of the fire. Draco sat slouched on a Chesterfield sofa, an empty glass of wine in one hand. He stared into the flames of the fire, waiting.
He could predict the way her dates went by the time she came to his place. Eight o’clock meant that the date had been so bad she hadn’t bothered to stick it out. That had only happened once. Ten o’clock signified she had managed to get through dinner, but didn’t want to extend the evening any further. Eleven indicated that she had a good time and couldn’t wait to rush to Draco’s to tell him about it. Midnight meant the date had gone poorly and she’d needed some time to think afterwards. Later than midnight showed she’d had a bloody fantastic time.
She never slept with a bloke on the first date. Never. That was just her way, and he appreciated it about her. He respected her, admired her. In fact, he lo-
“Bollocks,” he whispered, leaning forward to grab the bottle of wine from the coffee table. He filled his glass and sank back into a slouch.
On Friday nights, he made it a habit to sit on his sofa and wait for her to come over and tell him about her dates. He was her friend, first and foremost, and that’s what friends do, right? They wait around for the girl they fancy to describe in painstaking detail the guy she’d just snogged or the tosser who’d tried to go too far. It never failed that he wanted to cause serious harm to every man, and spent his time waiting by imagining curses to inflict on the poor sods who just happened to think Hermione was an attractive, fanciable witch.
Ten was his favorite time for Hermione to step through his fireplace, not to mention the most common. True, it didn’t give him as much time with her as an eight o’clock appearance, but it provided material for discussion and dissection, and Draco never hesitated to point out the men’s flaws.
He was always the most nervous right before eleven, and he often pictured her with her date, laughing and walking hand in hand, the bloke leaning down to kiss her lightly …. Nearing eleven he would inevitably ask himself why he sat there, torturing himself every week by imagining her with other men, but then she’d appear in green flames and he would have his answer.
No matter how well the date went, she always came straight to him, and he thought it had to count for something.
Typically Draco didn’t slump on the sofa and drink a bottle of wine while he waited. Usually he just made sure he was by the fireplace when the hour marks approached.
Today had been brutal, however, so he’d taken dinner by the fire, and afterwards alternated between reading and staring blankly. Every now and then, he’d glance at the clock and sink further into melancholy. It was now ten ‘til midnight.
He tried to recall just when his feelings for Hermione had turned from friendship to more, but there hadn’t been one incident that had done it. He’d just realized one day that he was in love with her and that he had been for quite some time.
The friendship had started when they were forced to work together on a Ministry project. He worked for the Department of International Cooperation, she for the Department of Mysteries. Spain had begun developing a Time Turner, and they had been assigned to provide false information to their Spanish equivalents so that the attempt would be unsuccessful. They’d ended up spending three months in Barcelona in a rented flat while they worked to sabotage the Time Turner.
In such an idyllic setting, it was hard to maintain the childhood animosity between them. They’d only known each other, and even though their history was dark, eventually they’d started talking. Very quickly, they’d discovered things they had in common, and by the end of the trip, they were friends.
A year had passed since Barcelona, and their friendship had only grown. Hermione had even managed to get her two friends to accept Draco, albeit grudgingly. The only problem was that he’d fallen for her, and she seemed completely oblivious to his existence in that realm.
A flash of green interrupted his thoughts, and Draco jumped up from the sofa to greet a pajama-clad Hermione. She was crying, and went immediately into his outstretched arms.
He felt horrible for being so relieved that her date had been bad. He wanted to see her happy, but more than anything, he wanted her to look his way for that happiness.
After a few minutes, her tears subsided, and she gently removed herself from his embrace. He loathed letting her go, but he had no choice. She sniffed and disappeared into the back of his flat, returning with a box of tissues; she hadn’t noticed the box he’d set on the coffee table at half past eleven for the occasion.
Hermione sat beside him and pulled her knees to her chest.
Draco knew better than to ask questions until she was ready to talk, so they sat in silence for another few minutes. He stared at the flames, nervous and worried and going over wand movement in his mind. If the wanker had hurt her or crossed a line she didn’t want crossed … well, he liked to think he would make the sod pay. But Hermione probably wouldn’t let him, so he’d be stuck running the scenario through his mind instead. Though enjoyable, it wouldn’t be nearly as fulfilling.
“What’s wrong with me?” she started in a whisper.
The question completely threw Draco. “What do you mean?”
“How long have I been putting myself through this?” she lamented. “Sixteen weeks, sixteen dates. Don’t my friends know me at all?”
Six months ago, Hermione had accepted her friends’ pleas to set her up, knowing it would shut them up and at the same time, she might just meet someone. Before that, she’d dated occasionally, but nothing serious had developed-to Draco’s relief. Then he’d been forced to endure weekly torments, and though some dates had led to seconds, none had progressed any farther.
“I … I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “Tonight wasn’t good, I take it?”
“No!” she exclaimed, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “It was someone on Ron’s Quidditch team, and I really should have known better than to expect an intelligent conversation, but I don’t know!” She sniffed. “I just finished this book, and even though I knew the bloke wouldn’t have read it, we still could have discussed the theme. I was so hoping-After five minutes, I realized I’d rather be here, so you and I could talk about it.”
Draco’s heart leapt erratically, and he had no idea how to respond. “You’re always welcome.” He wanted to pound his head against the nearest wall; what a lame thing to say.
She smiled at him though. “I know. I considered just ditching him and coming over, but I didn’t know if you had plans. I didn’t want to interrupt anything or impose.”
There was no way he could admit that he’d been sitting on his sofa all night, waiting for her. “I wasn’t feeling up to doing anything.” Then, for pride’s sake, he added, “I would block my Floo if I didn’t want anyone coming through.”
Hermione nodded, not looking at him. They passed a few minutes without conversation, until she was ready to talk again.
“I made it through dinner,” she continued. “But I was so discouraged that I ended the date immediately after and went to the lake.”
Hermione’s favorite place to think was a spot by the lake beside Hogwarts, halfway between the castle and Hogsmeade.
“I truly thought that at least one of my friends would suggest someone I was at least halfway compatible with.” She wiped a tear off her cheek in frustration. “I mean, Harry and Ron have known me for twelve years! Surely by now they’d have some idea of the type of man who would complement me.”
“They’re idiots, though,” Draco observed.
“Yes, but … I expected too much, I suppose,” she conceded.
“What about the others?” he asked after she was quiet for a few moments.
“You know, to Harry’s credit, he tried the hardest. He just picked men who were exactly like me. It was all right, but we didn’t have much to talk about, as we tended to either agree on a subject or know nothing about what the other brought up.”
“So you want someone who disagrees with you?” Draco wasn’t sure if he was asking the right questions.
“Well, on some thing, yes!” She hit the cushion beside her for emphasis. “At least someone who’s not so closed-minded that he won’t even consider another person’s point of view. Like when you and I discussed the Ministry’s new law a few weeks ago. We both started with our own opinions, but I think through our discussion-loud and heated though it was at times-we both learned something from it.”
Draco nodded, fondly remembering this and dozens, if not hundred, of other intense conversations they’d shared.
“And Ron!” she cried, exasperated. “He derived all his inspiration from Viktor and himself, thinking I would be best suited for a Quidditch player! He entirely misunderstood the point of Viktor.”
Krum was not Draco’s favorite topic of conversation.
“Viktor was different than all the other Quidditch players. He was smart and interesting, and he didn’t let the fame to go his head. And Ron! The basis of my affection for him certainly wasn’t based on Quidditch.”
“He’s an idiot,” Draco grumbled. If she kept talking about how great Krum had been, he feared she might talk herself into going out with him again, so he wanted to keep the attention on Ron. “Remember that book his brothers gave him?”
Hermione laughed though the tears glinting in her eyes. “I do! Oh, Fred.”
“It’s a wonder George ever married,” Draco mused.
“I think that book was a prank,” Hermione confessed.
Draco chuckled at that. “Agreed.”
“And Ginny!” she exclaimed amusedly. “I think she just wants me to get shagged. She seems to think that would solve everything. It’s no wonder she and Harry didn’t work and that she’s still single.”
Draco disliked this topic even more than Krum, and couldn’t think of anything nice to say. He hated Ginny Weasley at that moment.
“She sets me up with these really attractive men. I swear, I think she just finds them on the street and asks them to go out with her friend. They could be dumb as a post, and she wouldn’t care!” Hermione shook her head. “Most of them are, too. It’s a shame, really. Why can’t blokes be good-looking and smart?”
Draco fought the urge to retort. He’d never been accused of being ugly, and she knew he was smart. Part of him wanted to shake her until she looked at him, but now wasn’t the time. Hermione never discussed the appearances of the men she’d dated; she shared a few anecdotes from each date, and they had a good laugh. This was … different. She was feeling more down than usual.
“And Luna! I think she and Harry got together and decided to be completely opposite. Harry set me up with people just like me, while Luna picked men who are nothing like me.” Hermione reached over without a word and snagged Draco’s wine glass, then filled it and took a drink. “Talk about having nothing to talk about. Half of them were into surfing.”
“What’s that?” he asked, glad the conversation had moved in another direction-away from men she found attractive.
“A muggle water sport,” she said dismissively. “Imagine riding a broom that couldn’t fly, but floated on the water.”
He tried, but the pictures in his head looked ridiculous.
Hermione laughed. “I’ll have to show you pictures sometime. Or if we ever go to a beach where people surf.”
Draco liked the sound of going somewhere with her. “What about Pansy?”
At that, she scoffed. “I think Pansy is with Ginny and only cares about sex. Only she thinks that the man should be able to put us up in a four-star hotel in Rome or something.”
He winced; they were back to this.
“So she sends the rich men my way.” She refilled the wine glass and took two sips.
Draco motioned for her to hand him the glass, and he polished off the drink.
“They go all out on expensive, fancy restaurants, bring me flowers,” she said, punctuating her words with hand gestures. “But they don’t say anything real, only what they think I want to hear. It’s bloody annoying. Contrary to popular belief, girls don’t just want men to buy them things. We want a relationship of shared ideas, hopes, dreams, passions.”
Hermione took the glass back and refilled it. “Is that asking too much?”
Draco’s thoughts were in turmoil. He was perfect for her, why couldn’t she see that? Everything she wanted, he wanted to give her. And Merlin, he wanted her.
“No.” He checked the wine bottle to see that only a few swallows remained, then tilted it back and relished the sweet liquid as it burned down his throat.
“I don’t know what’s worse.” Her tone was dejected once again, the vehemence gone. “The fact that in sixteen weeks I haven’t found someone I’ve wanted to see beyond two dates, or the fact that apparently none of my friends know me well enough to find someone I can stand for more than a week.”
The last thing he wanted was Hermione upset, so he was inclined to despise her friends-his friends, too-for being a group of blockheads, completely insensitive to Hermione’s deepest needs and wants.
He was busy scowling at the floor when she interrupted his thoughts.
“What about you?”
Draco looked at her, startled. “What do you mean?”
“How come you haven’t tried to set me up like they have?” She set the glass on the coffee table and clasped her hands around her knees. “I know you’ve been there for the hundreds of conversations about it.”
“I … well … It’s none of my business.” He mentally slapped himself.
“I asked my friends for help,” she said softly. “And you’re my friend.”
That’s just the problem! he wanted to shout. I want to be more!
There was nothing he could say without giving himself away, so he sat gaping at the sofa cushions, his face turning red.
“Would you … tell me who you’d set me up with?” she asked. “If, you know, you thought about it. I think you know me better than any of them, to be honest. I’m curious. Please?”
His heart was pounding, thudding against his chest. He was at a cross-roads; he could either tell her the truth, or make up some lame excuse about not knowing anyone to set her up with or something. If he went with the latter, she would needle him more, causing him further duress. If the former … what? What was he afraid of? Losing her, for sure, though he didn’t know how long he could continue hoping she’d suddenly realize they were perfect for each other.
“Draco, please?” She smiled his favorite smile.
“All right.” He straightened in his seat and rubbed his palms on his trousers. “That’s easy enough. I’d set you up with me.”
It was out of his mouth in seconds, but it seemed to take an eternity to reach her brain. While he waited, he dreaded her reaction, hoping she would at least not laugh at him.
“Well, no surprise there,” she teased. “You think you’re God’s gift to women.”
He whipped his head up to look at her, astonished. “I certainly do not! What makes you say that?”
“I … I thought ….” She trailed off, her expression uncertain. “When we were in Barcelona, you slept away quite a bit. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“That was a long time ago!” he cried. “And-and some of those nights, I just didn’t want to stay in the same flat as you. We didn’t get along right away, if you’ll recall.”
Now her face pinked and she averted her gaze. “I know, but even since we returned. It seems you’re always seeing someone new.”
He shook his head slowly, simply flabbergasted. Could she really not see that all he wanted, all he’d wanted for almost a year, was her? “I think you believe the rumors a little too easily.”
Draco suddenly wanted her gone, and he felt very uncomfortable being so close, even though there was an entire seat cushion between them. He thought she knew him just as well as he knew her, but it turned out that not only did she not realize how he felt for her, but she thought he spent his nights gallivanting.
She put a hand on his arm, and he jumped, startled. “Draco, I’m sorry if I’ve said something wrong. You’re right, I listen to Pansy too much, and I know how she exaggerates.”
He wanted to shout, to tell her that he hadn’t been with anyone for eight months because he was crazy about her, but he also wanted to shake her for thinking about him so flippantly.
Hermione withdrew her hand when he made no response. “I am sorry. I’ve hurt you. Oh, Merlin, that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. Talk to me.”
“It’s fine. I just thought you knew me better.”
“Look at me.”
He did, reluctantly, to find fresh tears brimming in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. That was just awful of me. Please, I can’t have you upset at me on top of everything else.” In a whisper, she added, “Please.”
Draco groaned inwardly. “I’m not upset. Just … disappointed.”
Again silence passed between them for a few long minutes. Draco expected her to leave at any moment, but she just sat with her chin resting on her knees, a slight frown on her face.
“All right,” she said finally. “Tell me why you’d set me up with you.”
The question surprised him. He’d hoped she’d completely forget what he’d said. The opportunity to pass off what he might say as anything other than abject truth was gone. He would have to answer or ignore her, and he didn’t want to do either.
She smiled at him proddingly, and he let out a long breath.
“I’m rich,” he began.
Hermione chuckled. “That’s never been an issue for debate. However, you know that doesn’t matter to me. But continue.”
“I’ve been told that I’m not unpleasant to look at.” He dared not meet her gaze for fear of the laughter he might see in her eyes.
“A few too many times, I might add.”
Draco could hear the smile in her voice, but it wasn’t unkind. Still, he’d hoped to hear her opinion on the issue.
“You and I … we’re a lot alike,” he continued, throwing all caution to the wind. “We have a lot in common, but we also have a healthy dose of disagreements. We never run out of things to talk about, we never get tired of each other. There’s no one else I’d rather spend a Friday evening with than you.”
When he looked at her, she had a slightly smile on her face and her eyes were shining. Her expression was unlike any he’d seen her direct toward him before.
“And I played Quidditch,” he added nervously.
Hermione threw her head back and laughed, then fixed a sweet gaze on him. “As though that seals the deal.”
Draco turned away. She wasn’t laughing at him, or rather at his expression of feelings, and she didn’t look at him with the kind of pity that accompanies an I-don’t-feel-the-same-way response. Still, he couldn’t leave himself open to her like that.
He felt her move toward him, and he worried his heart might explode. Hermione put her hand in his. “Draco.”
Though terrified of what she would say or do, he eventually looked at her. Tender eyes gazed affectionately at him. With her free hand, she tentatively touched his face, then kissed him lightly. He responded instantly, turning toward her and returning the kiss with slightly more fervor than she’d initiated. She raised her other hand to cup his face and brought her body flush with his.
It was almost too much; he was completely lost in the sensation, in the torrent of nerves firing everywhere she touched him. He hesitantly sought to deepen the kiss, and she welcomed it, threading her fingers through his hair as she moved even closer.
A stray niggling reminded Draco that things could get out of hand rather quickly, and he started to pull away, despite Hermione’s objections and the screaming voice in his own head. He’d imagined kissing her for so long that to willingly stop was almost painful.
“What is it?” Hermione breathed, searching his eyes.
“I … I don’t want to do anything we might regret.” He couldn’t stop looking at her; she was more beautiful than he remembered, her cheeks flushed and her lips freshly kissed. “We’re really good at being friends, and I don’t want to lose that.”
“I think our relationship has changed either way,” Hermione murmured, tracing the line of Draco’s jaw.
Her attentions were entirely too distracting, so he took her hand in his. “We should at least go on a date first.”
“You know I don’t sleep around on the first date.” She smirked playfully.
He rolled his eyes. “Good thing I’m not just in it for the sex.”
“Two dates then,” she teased.
Draco sighed and sat up, putting some space between them so he could think clearly. “I’m serious,” he said seriously, running his hands through his hair. “This isn’t a joke.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “I know. I want to go out with you, Draco.”
Questions fired through his mind, chief of which was Since when? But he realized that maybe love and attraction weren’t black and white, hard and fast rules, and he shouldn’t dwell on the fact that merely minutes before, she hadn’t given the slightest indication she wanted to go out with him.
“Part of me has wanted to go out with you since Barcelona,” she assured him, taking his hand once more and threading her fingers through his. She laughed lightly. “I never thought you could look at me this way.”
“How could I not?” he asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned toward her and gently kissed her again. “How about tomorrow night?”
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Draco was almost bursting with pride as he escorted Hermione into the pub, where they were to meet up with Harry, Luna, Ron, Pansy, and Ginny for their weekly dinner and drinks. He felt conspicuous, thought that everyone who saw his ridiculous grin would know that the witch beside him was his, that he had snagged the woman of his dreams.
They were the last to get there, and were greeted as usual; it wasn’t uncommon for them to arrive together.
After a while, Pansy got Hermione’s attention. “So tomorrow night I’ve got a really great bloke for you. His name is Thomas, and he works in advertising.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, and Draco cleared his throat. “Actually, Hermione won’t be needing your … help anymore.”
All conversation at the table stopped, and all eyes were on him.
“Oh?” Pansy challenged, one sculpted eyebrow raised. “Why do say that?”
“Because. She’s with me.”
No one spoke for a full second, then everyone started at once.
“Finally!” cried Harry.
“About bloody time,” Pansy remarked.
“How-when did it happen?” Luna rejoiced.
“Who had sixteen?” Ron shouted over the rest.
Draco frowned and glanced at Hermione, who looked equally lost. As everyone looked to Ginny, Draco did too. She was scrounging in her purse and soon retrieved a slip of parchment.
“Luna had fifteen, Ron eighteen,” she read.
Luna beamed and held out her hands. Ron, Harry, Pansy, and Ginny all groaned and passed a handful of Galleons each to the blonde. Luna thanked them and stowed her winnings in her bag.
Hermione was aghast. “Wait, you … you bet on this? On us?”
Ginny nodded, grinning. “After we pestered you about dating, and you agreed to let us set you up, we figured it was only a matter of time.”
Hermione rounded on him. “Did you know about this?” she asked, her tone accusing.
“No!” he cried vehemently. “This is the first I’ve heard of it, I swear!”
“Draco had no idea,” said Pansy.
“You said you figured ‘it’ was only a matter of time. What was ‘it’?” Draco asked.
Ron chuckled. “Until one of you cracked. Either Hermione would get sick of the blokes we sent her way and realize she wanted you, or you’d get frustrated watching her go out every week while you sat at home.”
“We all knew you two belonged together,” chimed Harry.
“But you didn’t know it, Hermione,” added Luna.
“Malfoy did.” Ron snorted.
Draco stiffened and tried to act unaffected. “I wonder how,” he muttered, glaring at Pansy.
“Hey, they guessed.” Pansy pointed to Luna and Harry. “I just didn’t dissuade them of the notion.”
“Anyway, we needed a way to get you to see it,” Ginny explained. “Since you said we could set you up, we decided to find men who might make you think of Draco.”
“And realize it was him you wanted,” Pansy finished.
Draco wasn’t sure what to do or what to expect. Hermione looked as though she was very calmly seething.
“Hermione, we love you, but you can be quite thick-headed when you want to be,” Harry said kindly.
“We knew you cared deeply for Draco, knew that you two would be great together,” Ginny continued. “But we all agreed that you had to figure it out for yourself.”
After a few moments of tense silence, Hermione sighed. “I cannot believe you! You set me up with some of the most wretched men!”
“We are sorry about that,” Pansy conceded.
“I wasted four months-four months!-on this charade!” she exclaimed. Then she smiled, found Draco’s hand under the table, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re right about me, though. I can be a bit stubborn when I want to be.”
Draco relaxed and for the thousandth time that night, smiled. Hermione easily joined in a new conversation, and when he put his arm around her, she scooted closer. Having her beside him was the most natural feeling in the world, and he was exactly where he wanted to be.
THE END
Rating: PG-13-ish
Word Count: 4513
Notes: A birthday one-shot for Shug, who requested Draco/Hermione. I hope you like it! Thanks to M for the beta and A for the read!
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Lost and Found
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It was Friday night and he was exactly where he wanted to be.
Low flames cracked in the fireplace, sending soft, warm light through the room. Shadows bounced on the wall with every move of the fire. Draco sat slouched on a Chesterfield sofa, an empty glass of wine in one hand. He stared into the flames of the fire, waiting.
He could predict the way her dates went by the time she came to his place. Eight o’clock meant that the date had been so bad she hadn’t bothered to stick it out. That had only happened once. Ten o’clock signified she had managed to get through dinner, but didn’t want to extend the evening any further. Eleven indicated that she had a good time and couldn’t wait to rush to Draco’s to tell him about it. Midnight meant the date had gone poorly and she’d needed some time to think afterwards. Later than midnight showed she’d had a bloody fantastic time.
She never slept with a bloke on the first date. Never. That was just her way, and he appreciated it about her. He respected her, admired her. In fact, he lo-
“Bollocks,” he whispered, leaning forward to grab the bottle of wine from the coffee table. He filled his glass and sank back into a slouch.
On Friday nights, he made it a habit to sit on his sofa and wait for her to come over and tell him about her dates. He was her friend, first and foremost, and that’s what friends do, right? They wait around for the girl they fancy to describe in painstaking detail the guy she’d just snogged or the tosser who’d tried to go too far. It never failed that he wanted to cause serious harm to every man, and spent his time waiting by imagining curses to inflict on the poor sods who just happened to think Hermione was an attractive, fanciable witch.
Ten was his favorite time for Hermione to step through his fireplace, not to mention the most common. True, it didn’t give him as much time with her as an eight o’clock appearance, but it provided material for discussion and dissection, and Draco never hesitated to point out the men’s flaws.
He was always the most nervous right before eleven, and he often pictured her with her date, laughing and walking hand in hand, the bloke leaning down to kiss her lightly …. Nearing eleven he would inevitably ask himself why he sat there, torturing himself every week by imagining her with other men, but then she’d appear in green flames and he would have his answer.
No matter how well the date went, she always came straight to him, and he thought it had to count for something.
Typically Draco didn’t slump on the sofa and drink a bottle of wine while he waited. Usually he just made sure he was by the fireplace when the hour marks approached.
Today had been brutal, however, so he’d taken dinner by the fire, and afterwards alternated between reading and staring blankly. Every now and then, he’d glance at the clock and sink further into melancholy. It was now ten ‘til midnight.
He tried to recall just when his feelings for Hermione had turned from friendship to more, but there hadn’t been one incident that had done it. He’d just realized one day that he was in love with her and that he had been for quite some time.
The friendship had started when they were forced to work together on a Ministry project. He worked for the Department of International Cooperation, she for the Department of Mysteries. Spain had begun developing a Time Turner, and they had been assigned to provide false information to their Spanish equivalents so that the attempt would be unsuccessful. They’d ended up spending three months in Barcelona in a rented flat while they worked to sabotage the Time Turner.
In such an idyllic setting, it was hard to maintain the childhood animosity between them. They’d only known each other, and even though their history was dark, eventually they’d started talking. Very quickly, they’d discovered things they had in common, and by the end of the trip, they were friends.
A year had passed since Barcelona, and their friendship had only grown. Hermione had even managed to get her two friends to accept Draco, albeit grudgingly. The only problem was that he’d fallen for her, and she seemed completely oblivious to his existence in that realm.
A flash of green interrupted his thoughts, and Draco jumped up from the sofa to greet a pajama-clad Hermione. She was crying, and went immediately into his outstretched arms.
He felt horrible for being so relieved that her date had been bad. He wanted to see her happy, but more than anything, he wanted her to look his way for that happiness.
After a few minutes, her tears subsided, and she gently removed herself from his embrace. He loathed letting her go, but he had no choice. She sniffed and disappeared into the back of his flat, returning with a box of tissues; she hadn’t noticed the box he’d set on the coffee table at half past eleven for the occasion.
Hermione sat beside him and pulled her knees to her chest.
Draco knew better than to ask questions until she was ready to talk, so they sat in silence for another few minutes. He stared at the flames, nervous and worried and going over wand movement in his mind. If the wanker had hurt her or crossed a line she didn’t want crossed … well, he liked to think he would make the sod pay. But Hermione probably wouldn’t let him, so he’d be stuck running the scenario through his mind instead. Though enjoyable, it wouldn’t be nearly as fulfilling.
“What’s wrong with me?” she started in a whisper.
The question completely threw Draco. “What do you mean?”
“How long have I been putting myself through this?” she lamented. “Sixteen weeks, sixteen dates. Don’t my friends know me at all?”
Six months ago, Hermione had accepted her friends’ pleas to set her up, knowing it would shut them up and at the same time, she might just meet someone. Before that, she’d dated occasionally, but nothing serious had developed-to Draco’s relief. Then he’d been forced to endure weekly torments, and though some dates had led to seconds, none had progressed any farther.
“I … I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “Tonight wasn’t good, I take it?”
“No!” she exclaimed, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “It was someone on Ron’s Quidditch team, and I really should have known better than to expect an intelligent conversation, but I don’t know!” She sniffed. “I just finished this book, and even though I knew the bloke wouldn’t have read it, we still could have discussed the theme. I was so hoping-After five minutes, I realized I’d rather be here, so you and I could talk about it.”
Draco’s heart leapt erratically, and he had no idea how to respond. “You’re always welcome.” He wanted to pound his head against the nearest wall; what a lame thing to say.
She smiled at him though. “I know. I considered just ditching him and coming over, but I didn’t know if you had plans. I didn’t want to interrupt anything or impose.”
There was no way he could admit that he’d been sitting on his sofa all night, waiting for her. “I wasn’t feeling up to doing anything.” Then, for pride’s sake, he added, “I would block my Floo if I didn’t want anyone coming through.”
Hermione nodded, not looking at him. They passed a few minutes without conversation, until she was ready to talk again.
“I made it through dinner,” she continued. “But I was so discouraged that I ended the date immediately after and went to the lake.”
Hermione’s favorite place to think was a spot by the lake beside Hogwarts, halfway between the castle and Hogsmeade.
“I truly thought that at least one of my friends would suggest someone I was at least halfway compatible with.” She wiped a tear off her cheek in frustration. “I mean, Harry and Ron have known me for twelve years! Surely by now they’d have some idea of the type of man who would complement me.”
“They’re idiots, though,” Draco observed.
“Yes, but … I expected too much, I suppose,” she conceded.
“What about the others?” he asked after she was quiet for a few moments.
“You know, to Harry’s credit, he tried the hardest. He just picked men who were exactly like me. It was all right, but we didn’t have much to talk about, as we tended to either agree on a subject or know nothing about what the other brought up.”
“So you want someone who disagrees with you?” Draco wasn’t sure if he was asking the right questions.
“Well, on some thing, yes!” She hit the cushion beside her for emphasis. “At least someone who’s not so closed-minded that he won’t even consider another person’s point of view. Like when you and I discussed the Ministry’s new law a few weeks ago. We both started with our own opinions, but I think through our discussion-loud and heated though it was at times-we both learned something from it.”
Draco nodded, fondly remembering this and dozens, if not hundred, of other intense conversations they’d shared.
“And Ron!” she cried, exasperated. “He derived all his inspiration from Viktor and himself, thinking I would be best suited for a Quidditch player! He entirely misunderstood the point of Viktor.”
Krum was not Draco’s favorite topic of conversation.
“Viktor was different than all the other Quidditch players. He was smart and interesting, and he didn’t let the fame to go his head. And Ron! The basis of my affection for him certainly wasn’t based on Quidditch.”
“He’s an idiot,” Draco grumbled. If she kept talking about how great Krum had been, he feared she might talk herself into going out with him again, so he wanted to keep the attention on Ron. “Remember that book his brothers gave him?”
Hermione laughed though the tears glinting in her eyes. “I do! Oh, Fred.”
“It’s a wonder George ever married,” Draco mused.
“I think that book was a prank,” Hermione confessed.
Draco chuckled at that. “Agreed.”
“And Ginny!” she exclaimed amusedly. “I think she just wants me to get shagged. She seems to think that would solve everything. It’s no wonder she and Harry didn’t work and that she’s still single.”
Draco disliked this topic even more than Krum, and couldn’t think of anything nice to say. He hated Ginny Weasley at that moment.
“She sets me up with these really attractive men. I swear, I think she just finds them on the street and asks them to go out with her friend. They could be dumb as a post, and she wouldn’t care!” Hermione shook her head. “Most of them are, too. It’s a shame, really. Why can’t blokes be good-looking and smart?”
Draco fought the urge to retort. He’d never been accused of being ugly, and she knew he was smart. Part of him wanted to shake her until she looked at him, but now wasn’t the time. Hermione never discussed the appearances of the men she’d dated; she shared a few anecdotes from each date, and they had a good laugh. This was … different. She was feeling more down than usual.
“And Luna! I think she and Harry got together and decided to be completely opposite. Harry set me up with people just like me, while Luna picked men who are nothing like me.” Hermione reached over without a word and snagged Draco’s wine glass, then filled it and took a drink. “Talk about having nothing to talk about. Half of them were into surfing.”
“What’s that?” he asked, glad the conversation had moved in another direction-away from men she found attractive.
“A muggle water sport,” she said dismissively. “Imagine riding a broom that couldn’t fly, but floated on the water.”
He tried, but the pictures in his head looked ridiculous.
Hermione laughed. “I’ll have to show you pictures sometime. Or if we ever go to a beach where people surf.”
Draco liked the sound of going somewhere with her. “What about Pansy?”
At that, she scoffed. “I think Pansy is with Ginny and only cares about sex. Only she thinks that the man should be able to put us up in a four-star hotel in Rome or something.”
He winced; they were back to this.
“So she sends the rich men my way.” She refilled the wine glass and took two sips.
Draco motioned for her to hand him the glass, and he polished off the drink.
“They go all out on expensive, fancy restaurants, bring me flowers,” she said, punctuating her words with hand gestures. “But they don’t say anything real, only what they think I want to hear. It’s bloody annoying. Contrary to popular belief, girls don’t just want men to buy them things. We want a relationship of shared ideas, hopes, dreams, passions.”
Hermione took the glass back and refilled it. “Is that asking too much?”
Draco’s thoughts were in turmoil. He was perfect for her, why couldn’t she see that? Everything she wanted, he wanted to give her. And Merlin, he wanted her.
“No.” He checked the wine bottle to see that only a few swallows remained, then tilted it back and relished the sweet liquid as it burned down his throat.
“I don’t know what’s worse.” Her tone was dejected once again, the vehemence gone. “The fact that in sixteen weeks I haven’t found someone I’ve wanted to see beyond two dates, or the fact that apparently none of my friends know me well enough to find someone I can stand for more than a week.”
The last thing he wanted was Hermione upset, so he was inclined to despise her friends-his friends, too-for being a group of blockheads, completely insensitive to Hermione’s deepest needs and wants.
He was busy scowling at the floor when she interrupted his thoughts.
“What about you?”
Draco looked at her, startled. “What do you mean?”
“How come you haven’t tried to set me up like they have?” She set the glass on the coffee table and clasped her hands around her knees. “I know you’ve been there for the hundreds of conversations about it.”
“I … well … It’s none of my business.” He mentally slapped himself.
“I asked my friends for help,” she said softly. “And you’re my friend.”
That’s just the problem! he wanted to shout. I want to be more!
There was nothing he could say without giving himself away, so he sat gaping at the sofa cushions, his face turning red.
“Would you … tell me who you’d set me up with?” she asked. “If, you know, you thought about it. I think you know me better than any of them, to be honest. I’m curious. Please?”
His heart was pounding, thudding against his chest. He was at a cross-roads; he could either tell her the truth, or make up some lame excuse about not knowing anyone to set her up with or something. If he went with the latter, she would needle him more, causing him further duress. If the former … what? What was he afraid of? Losing her, for sure, though he didn’t know how long he could continue hoping she’d suddenly realize they were perfect for each other.
“Draco, please?” She smiled his favorite smile.
“All right.” He straightened in his seat and rubbed his palms on his trousers. “That’s easy enough. I’d set you up with me.”
It was out of his mouth in seconds, but it seemed to take an eternity to reach her brain. While he waited, he dreaded her reaction, hoping she would at least not laugh at him.
“Well, no surprise there,” she teased. “You think you’re God’s gift to women.”
He whipped his head up to look at her, astonished. “I certainly do not! What makes you say that?”
“I … I thought ….” She trailed off, her expression uncertain. “When we were in Barcelona, you slept away quite a bit. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“That was a long time ago!” he cried. “And-and some of those nights, I just didn’t want to stay in the same flat as you. We didn’t get along right away, if you’ll recall.”
Now her face pinked and she averted her gaze. “I know, but even since we returned. It seems you’re always seeing someone new.”
He shook his head slowly, simply flabbergasted. Could she really not see that all he wanted, all he’d wanted for almost a year, was her? “I think you believe the rumors a little too easily.”
Draco suddenly wanted her gone, and he felt very uncomfortable being so close, even though there was an entire seat cushion between them. He thought she knew him just as well as he knew her, but it turned out that not only did she not realize how he felt for her, but she thought he spent his nights gallivanting.
She put a hand on his arm, and he jumped, startled. “Draco, I’m sorry if I’ve said something wrong. You’re right, I listen to Pansy too much, and I know how she exaggerates.”
He wanted to shout, to tell her that he hadn’t been with anyone for eight months because he was crazy about her, but he also wanted to shake her for thinking about him so flippantly.
Hermione withdrew her hand when he made no response. “I am sorry. I’ve hurt you. Oh, Merlin, that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. Talk to me.”
“It’s fine. I just thought you knew me better.”
“Look at me.”
He did, reluctantly, to find fresh tears brimming in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. That was just awful of me. Please, I can’t have you upset at me on top of everything else.” In a whisper, she added, “Please.”
Draco groaned inwardly. “I’m not upset. Just … disappointed.”
Again silence passed between them for a few long minutes. Draco expected her to leave at any moment, but she just sat with her chin resting on her knees, a slight frown on her face.
“All right,” she said finally. “Tell me why you’d set me up with you.”
The question surprised him. He’d hoped she’d completely forget what he’d said. The opportunity to pass off what he might say as anything other than abject truth was gone. He would have to answer or ignore her, and he didn’t want to do either.
She smiled at him proddingly, and he let out a long breath.
“I’m rich,” he began.
Hermione chuckled. “That’s never been an issue for debate. However, you know that doesn’t matter to me. But continue.”
“I’ve been told that I’m not unpleasant to look at.” He dared not meet her gaze for fear of the laughter he might see in her eyes.
“A few too many times, I might add.”
Draco could hear the smile in her voice, but it wasn’t unkind. Still, he’d hoped to hear her opinion on the issue.
“You and I … we’re a lot alike,” he continued, throwing all caution to the wind. “We have a lot in common, but we also have a healthy dose of disagreements. We never run out of things to talk about, we never get tired of each other. There’s no one else I’d rather spend a Friday evening with than you.”
When he looked at her, she had a slightly smile on her face and her eyes were shining. Her expression was unlike any he’d seen her direct toward him before.
“And I played Quidditch,” he added nervously.
Hermione threw her head back and laughed, then fixed a sweet gaze on him. “As though that seals the deal.”
Draco turned away. She wasn’t laughing at him, or rather at his expression of feelings, and she didn’t look at him with the kind of pity that accompanies an I-don’t-feel-the-same-way response. Still, he couldn’t leave himself open to her like that.
He felt her move toward him, and he worried his heart might explode. Hermione put her hand in his. “Draco.”
Though terrified of what she would say or do, he eventually looked at her. Tender eyes gazed affectionately at him. With her free hand, she tentatively touched his face, then kissed him lightly. He responded instantly, turning toward her and returning the kiss with slightly more fervor than she’d initiated. She raised her other hand to cup his face and brought her body flush with his.
It was almost too much; he was completely lost in the sensation, in the torrent of nerves firing everywhere she touched him. He hesitantly sought to deepen the kiss, and she welcomed it, threading her fingers through his hair as she moved even closer.
A stray niggling reminded Draco that things could get out of hand rather quickly, and he started to pull away, despite Hermione’s objections and the screaming voice in his own head. He’d imagined kissing her for so long that to willingly stop was almost painful.
“What is it?” Hermione breathed, searching his eyes.
“I … I don’t want to do anything we might regret.” He couldn’t stop looking at her; she was more beautiful than he remembered, her cheeks flushed and her lips freshly kissed. “We’re really good at being friends, and I don’t want to lose that.”
“I think our relationship has changed either way,” Hermione murmured, tracing the line of Draco’s jaw.
Her attentions were entirely too distracting, so he took her hand in his. “We should at least go on a date first.”
“You know I don’t sleep around on the first date.” She smirked playfully.
He rolled his eyes. “Good thing I’m not just in it for the sex.”
“Two dates then,” she teased.
Draco sighed and sat up, putting some space between them so he could think clearly. “I’m serious,” he said seriously, running his hands through his hair. “This isn’t a joke.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “I know. I want to go out with you, Draco.”
Questions fired through his mind, chief of which was Since when? But he realized that maybe love and attraction weren’t black and white, hard and fast rules, and he shouldn’t dwell on the fact that merely minutes before, she hadn’t given the slightest indication she wanted to go out with him.
“Part of me has wanted to go out with you since Barcelona,” she assured him, taking his hand once more and threading her fingers through his. She laughed lightly. “I never thought you could look at me this way.”
“How could I not?” he asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned toward her and gently kissed her again. “How about tomorrow night?”
&&&
Draco was almost bursting with pride as he escorted Hermione into the pub, where they were to meet up with Harry, Luna, Ron, Pansy, and Ginny for their weekly dinner and drinks. He felt conspicuous, thought that everyone who saw his ridiculous grin would know that the witch beside him was his, that he had snagged the woman of his dreams.
They were the last to get there, and were greeted as usual; it wasn’t uncommon for them to arrive together.
After a while, Pansy got Hermione’s attention. “So tomorrow night I’ve got a really great bloke for you. His name is Thomas, and he works in advertising.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, and Draco cleared his throat. “Actually, Hermione won’t be needing your … help anymore.”
All conversation at the table stopped, and all eyes were on him.
“Oh?” Pansy challenged, one sculpted eyebrow raised. “Why do say that?”
“Because. She’s with me.”
No one spoke for a full second, then everyone started at once.
“Finally!” cried Harry.
“About bloody time,” Pansy remarked.
“How-when did it happen?” Luna rejoiced.
“Who had sixteen?” Ron shouted over the rest.
Draco frowned and glanced at Hermione, who looked equally lost. As everyone looked to Ginny, Draco did too. She was scrounging in her purse and soon retrieved a slip of parchment.
“Luna had fifteen, Ron eighteen,” she read.
Luna beamed and held out her hands. Ron, Harry, Pansy, and Ginny all groaned and passed a handful of Galleons each to the blonde. Luna thanked them and stowed her winnings in her bag.
Hermione was aghast. “Wait, you … you bet on this? On us?”
Ginny nodded, grinning. “After we pestered you about dating, and you agreed to let us set you up, we figured it was only a matter of time.”
Hermione rounded on him. “Did you know about this?” she asked, her tone accusing.
“No!” he cried vehemently. “This is the first I’ve heard of it, I swear!”
“Draco had no idea,” said Pansy.
“You said you figured ‘it’ was only a matter of time. What was ‘it’?” Draco asked.
Ron chuckled. “Until one of you cracked. Either Hermione would get sick of the blokes we sent her way and realize she wanted you, or you’d get frustrated watching her go out every week while you sat at home.”
“We all knew you two belonged together,” chimed Harry.
“But you didn’t know it, Hermione,” added Luna.
“Malfoy did.” Ron snorted.
Draco stiffened and tried to act unaffected. “I wonder how,” he muttered, glaring at Pansy.
“Hey, they guessed.” Pansy pointed to Luna and Harry. “I just didn’t dissuade them of the notion.”
“Anyway, we needed a way to get you to see it,” Ginny explained. “Since you said we could set you up, we decided to find men who might make you think of Draco.”
“And realize it was him you wanted,” Pansy finished.
Draco wasn’t sure what to do or what to expect. Hermione looked as though she was very calmly seething.
“Hermione, we love you, but you can be quite thick-headed when you want to be,” Harry said kindly.
“We knew you cared deeply for Draco, knew that you two would be great together,” Ginny continued. “But we all agreed that you had to figure it out for yourself.”
After a few moments of tense silence, Hermione sighed. “I cannot believe you! You set me up with some of the most wretched men!”
“We are sorry about that,” Pansy conceded.
“I wasted four months-four months!-on this charade!” she exclaimed. Then she smiled, found Draco’s hand under the table, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re right about me, though. I can be a bit stubborn when I want to be.”
Draco relaxed and for the thousandth time that night, smiled. Hermione easily joined in a new conversation, and when he put his arm around her, she scooted closer. Having her beside him was the most natural feeling in the world, and he was exactly where he wanted to be.
THE END