A while back, someone suggested that I re-tell this story from Draco's perspective. So, I did.

Hope you all enjoy it! It was fun revisiting this little world.

I have a Beta (the magical and wonderful Bella Luna 92), but I haven't sent this to her yet. She's busy. I'm busy. So, I post when I can!

If you like it, please leave a review! And as always, JK Rowling owns this world, I just like to play in it.

Draco Malfoy was not a patient man. If anything, he was the least patient person in the whole Auror department. It was one reason why it had been suggested that he work in as an analyst, as opposed to in the field. In the field, being impatient meant getting killed. If he became impatient while he looked at the evidence, he could take a walk, grab a coffee, or do any number of things to help relieve that antsy quality he'd always seemed to have.

This quality was not exclusive to his work life, either. I affected his personal life as well. In school, whenever he'd fancied a girl, he'd formulated a plan - quickly - and gone after her. And nine times out of then, he got her. However, with the girls he fancied, because he rushed into his decisions, he quickly got bored with them as well.

But he was an adult now, which meant he was doing his best to be patient, especially when his impatience might affect another person. Lately, though, it had been especially difficult to be patient. Now that he was considering the feelings of another person, he couldn't just rush headlong into what he wanted - even though he knew very clearly what, or rather who - he wanted. He had to consider what she wanted, what she needed. And it was driving him positively mad.

He looked at the clock. 1:53. He had seven minutes. Seven long minutes to wait before he could cross the hall with his stack of documents and spend some time with her. It was even more painful to wait, because he knew tonight, finally, after months of deliberating, observing, and just waiting to make sure this wasn't a phase, he was going to make a move. And he was fairly certain, after talking with Potter - a huge feat in and of itself, to ask someone else for help - that the object of his affection would, hopefully, reciprocate his affections.

He looked at the clock again. 1:54. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Before he met with her, he needed to be calm. Now was not the time to go in and act awkwardly and give himself away. His heart thumped almost painfully in his chest, as it always did before he met with her, and he knew he needed to calm down before he met her at precisely two o'clock.

From his top desk drawer, he retrieved a small, dark brown bottle with a rollerball on the top. When he'd first gotten it from a wholistic muggle shop, it had been a last ditch effort, but now he found that he couldn't calm down without it. He unscrewed the black lid from the small bottle and rolled a bit of the oil - lemongrass oil mixed with almond oil - on his wrist. He took a deep whiff and frowned. Hardly any scent at all. He had become dependent on the smell to be calm.

With an angry huff, he pried the roller ball from the bottle. He was so aggressive, the bottle almost fell from his hands and he scrambled to catch it only spill the remainder of the oil over the front of his shirt.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. He took a deep breath and let the lovely lemongrass scent overwhelm his senses before he picked up his wand and scourgified his shirt. The oil came off - thank goodness, as it was a very expensive shirt - but the scent remained. It was strong, and he considered changing shirts, but a quick look at the clock - 1:59 - let him know he didn't have the time.

Pushing his hair back once more, he grabbed his stack of papers and stepped out of his office before crossing the hall and knocking on her door.

Tap, tap, tap-tap. He took a deep, cleansing breath and nearly drank the lemongrass scent rolling off him in waves.

"Come in." She sounded irritated, which wasn't ideal, but it wasn't uncommon either. She was always a bit surly with him, but he chose to read into it and assume it was because he made her uncomfortable. In a good way.

With another breath, he pushed the door open, then used his foot to latch the door behind him. As this was their last meeting before he finally took the plunge and tried to win her over, he decided to try and wind her up a little. He so enjoyed when her cheeks turned pink and her eyes went wide with barely suppressed irritation. With a barely suppressed laugh, he dumped his stack of papers on her deck. She scowled and he couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face.

"Afternoon, Granger," he said, smirking more broadly. She took a deep breath and her scowl turned into a full fledged angry frown.

"I had a system so we could review these files," she huffed. He so enjoyed the pink tinge to her cheeks, but when she went to correct his mess, he felt a surge of regret. He flicked his wand to right the stacks before she could do anything.

"You think after all these months I wouldn't know your systems?" he asked before basically flopping into one of her guest chairs. He fought a grimace. Her chairs were desperately uncomfortable and he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch with a smile. "You wound me."

She rolled her eyes, her scowl gone, and he fought the urge to smile. When she saw forward and motioned toward the stacks of paperwork, he sat forward as well. He was suddenly irrationally angry that all he could smell was the stupid lemongrass oil on his person. Normally, at this point, he was treated to her scent - something light and sweet, like melon - but not today. Today he only smelled himself.

"We've almost got this one licked," she said, pointing to the piles. "I think we can get it finished before 5:00."

He felt his heart plummet. But then he remembered. "And then, it's off to Potter's birthday party, yeah?" He smirked to hide his nerves.

"Yes. I heard you were attending." She cleared her throat and her utter lack of expression made his stomach cramp. Potter had told him he was fairly certain that she'd be receptive to the idea of dating him, but this reaction did not inspire faith in that certainty.

"Don't sound so excited," he said, unable to keep the smirk on his face. He leaned forward, hoping to distract himself with work.

He heard her sigh and chanced a discreet look up. "I'm sure we'll have a great time." She smiled and he couldn't help but look at her fully now, his smirk reappearing on his face and the uncertain dread in his stomach dissipating. He thought he saw her cheeks grow pink again.

"Let's just get finished," she said, her voice trembling slightly even as she scowled and tapped the photos.

With new confidence, he gave her a mock salute and nodded his head. "Yes, ma'am."

At 4:45 PM, before 5:00 o'clock as she'd predicted, they wrapped up their current case. He wanted to find a reason to say until 5:00, but he had none.

"I'll leave the evidence with you, then," he said as he stood, stretched slightly to crack his back.

"That's quite alright," she said, looking down at her desk and shuffling papers.

"Well. See you this evening." He immediately regretted his words. Normally, he would just leave. He was getting sloppy. Emotional, even.

"Oh. Yes. Right. This evening." She glanced up at him and then instantly back to her desk, clearly anxious for him to leave.

With a barely audible sigh, he stood and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

He escaped to his own office, and a moment later, heard her office door close and her footsteps as she left the Ministry. He sank into his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. Maybe Potter was wrong. She hadn't seemed too keen on the fact that they'd be spending time after work together. He was a moment from writing Potter to tell him he wouldn't be joining them that evening, when he appeared at Draco's door, as if by magic.

"I just saw Hermione," he said, closing the door behind him and sitting in one of Draco's spare chairs with a grimace. "You can't cancel."

Draco scowled. "What makes you think I would?" he asked irritably.

"She looked irritable. And I know you had a meeting this evening," he said, crossing his ankle over his knee. "But trust me, if you go tonight, and you're actually nice to her, you have a shot, mate."

Draco scowl deepened and Potter laughed.

"This was your plan. Remember? My only jobs were to make sure she was there, and to make sure you didn't chicken out." He let his foot fall to the floor and he stood. "Three Broomsticks. Seven o'clock. She'll probably be late, as usual."

"She's never late," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"To work? No. But to social gatherings? Always. She's always late." Potter laughed and Draco felt a surge of jealousy that Potter knew the witch so much better than him. "

"See you at seven, Potter," Draco said with a resigned sigh.

"Brilliant." And with a smile and a wave, Potter left, and Draco was left to clear his head and hopefully build the courage to actually go and give this a shot.

Draco was not a patient man. It was 5:02 now. He had nearly two hours to wait before he would know if all this waiting had been worth it, or if it had been for naught.

"You're early," Potter said as he stepped out of the floo. Draco was pacing nervously, something he never did.

"This was a mistake," he said, running his hands through his hair.

Behind Potter, Ginny stepped through the floo, and after one look at him, she laughed.

"You have it bad," she said as she looped her arm through Potter's. "Oh, tonight is going to be so much fun."

"Listen, Red," he said, holding a threatening finger up, "tonight isn't for your enjoyment. It's for Potter's birthday." He cleared his throat and looked back at Potter. "This was a mistake," he repeated, swallowing hard.

"It's going to be fine," Potter said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go get a table."

Draco sighed and Ginny stepped in front of him. "You really fancy her, huh?"

He stared down at the short, feisty ginger. "I really do," he admitted, hoping his expression came across as genuine as he meant for it to.

She stared at him for a long moment, as if she were sizing him up, calculating. "Harry's right," she said with a nod. "It's going to be fine. I didn't see it before, but I do now. I think you're going to sweep her right off her feet."

Draco groaned and scrubbed his face and followed the Potters into the pub.

As the rest of their group arrived, Draco grew more and more antsy. When everyone was seated, but Hermione's seat was empty, he stood.

"Where are you going?" Potter asked quietly but sternly.

"To refill my drink," he said, his voice gruff. He turned then and walked away, his heart in his throat. Draco Malfoy was not a patient man. He looked up at the clock. 7:03. He'd gotten here nearly 15 minutes early, but it felt like so much longer.

When he turned back toward the table after ordering a firewhiskey from the new barmaid - who was showing entirely too much skin, in his opinion - his heart leaped painfully into his throat. There she was, smiling, wearing nothing more than skin-tight jeans and a tank top. He took a deep, steadying breath.

"I need a butterbeer as well, please," he said to the barmaid without looking at her.

"For your tab?" the witch asked, her voice far too close to his ear. He turned slowly and leaned away from her, anxious to get back to his table.

"Please." He gave her a nod and swiftly made his way back through the crowd. He saw Hermione shake Daphne's hand, saw her whisper something to her, and heard Daphne say, Draco said I was going to like you, as if it had been scripted from above.

He plastered his signature smirk on his face as he slid the ice-cold butterbeer in front of her and sat. "Evening, Granger."

He tried not to react when she scowled and said, "Malfoy." But then, she glanced at Harry, sighed, and thanked him for the drink. She thanked him.

He couldn't trust himself to speak, so he simply tipped his glass toward her and nodded.

It might have gotten awkward then if it weren't for the timely arrival of the waiter.

Dinner moved along swiftly. Draco found it easiest to avoid looking at, or talking to, the object of his affection and instead focused on the conversation in the group. Potter's advice had been to be himself, to let her see the version of him he'd let the rest of them see. But he didn't know how to do that to her, so he laughed and talked with the others, all the while, watching her reactions from the corner of his eye.

After dinner was over, he felt her eyes on him and he looked. She was staring at his arm with the strangest look and it was as if someone had dumped cold, icy water all over him. He pulled his arms beneath the table, suddenly self-conscious and a little sick to his stomach. How could he have ever thought she would consider him, when she knew what he was branded with?

He cleared his throat and stood. "Anyone need another drink?" he asked, needing to get away from the table. Everyone nodded and he went to step away when she stood as well, her cheeks red and her expression almost sad.

"I'll help you carry."

He paused for a micro-moment. They both knew he didn't need help. She was coming with him of her own volition. He felt himself smirk and nodded before turning and walking to the bar, feeling the heat of her body behind him as if he were being chased by the sun.

As she joined him, he ordered. "Three butterbeers, three firewhiskeys, and two glasses of red," he said to the witch behind the bar. The barmaid smiled at him, and he immediately turned to Hermione, only to discover that she was watching the younger witch with a scowl on her lovely face. He grinned as he watched her.

"Granger, I had no idea you played for the other team," he said with a slight lilt to his voice.

She sput to him, her cheeks crimson, and he had to fight back the urge to smooth his thumb along her cheek.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"The bartender. You were checking her out." He smirked as he pulled a mint from a bowl on the bar, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth, just to have something to do with his hands.

"What? I was doing no such thing," she said, her cheeks growing even redder.

He laughed then, seeing that she wasn't angered by his comment. He watched her expression morph from embarrassment to mischievousness. "Besides," she said, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, "if I were attracted to women, she really wouldn't be my type."

With the implication of what she'd just said, Draco felt himself blush deeply. That seemed to make her happy as she ducked her gaze then looked back up into his eyes in a way she never had before. "Anyway," she said, her voice soft, "she was quite obviously flirting with you." She shrugged her bare shoulder and he felt his stomach clench.

Draco could feel Hermione's gaze on him, and he purposefully turned away from the barmaid. Leaning against the bar instead, he held her gaze as he said, "I hadn't noticed."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, looked like she might say something, but then the barmaid interrupted. "Drinks up." He took the drinks, but kept his eyes on Hermione.

"Put them on my tab, please," he said. He saw her cheeks grow pink and her eyes grow wide, and that sight alone set his heart to racing. With his wand, he levitated four of the drinks, letting Hermione get the others, since she'd only come to the bar to help him.

Hermione put the drinks down and Draco passed them out with his wand, making sure the two reds landed carefully in front of his seat and Granger's.

She looked at him again, her warm eyes holding a question and he felt his hand tremble slightly. "You always switched to wine after butterbeer at work functions," he said, then looked away, suddenly more nervous than he'd ever been with a witch. He was playing his cards. He was letting her see how he felt. And as impatient as he was to know if she felt the same way, he was also terrified. He sipped his wine and saw her do the same out of his peripheral vision with a smile on her face.

They drank and, as a group, made small talk. When Potter opened his gifts, Draco watched Hermione's reactions. She smiled and made all the appropriate sounds. But when Ginny would lean over to kiss Potter's cheek, or Weasley would whisper something in Daphne's ear, or Longbottom would lean his head on Lovegood's shoulder, he saw her face fall and saw some of the light leave her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and take her hand, to offer her comfort, because he knew that look. She was lonely. Just like him.

He'd almost worked up the courage to sit a little closer, to let his arm brush hers, when the Weaslette came back with all the waiters and barmaids in tow. He could feel the barmaid who'd given them their drinks staring at him - her gaze heated and unwavering - and he pointedly kept his own eyes on his nearly empty wine glass.

As the evening wound toward a close, Draco watched Hermione withdraw into herself. The others were sitting closer than before, whispering, very much being the couples that they were. Draco wanted nothing more than to lean into Hermione, to take her hand, to kiss her cheek and brush those wild curls that had come loose from her bun away from her cheek. But he didn't know when he could, or how, or how he'd even go about it. He looked up at Potter was staring at him, but Draco shook his head quickly.

Daphne and Weasley were the first to leave, and Draco felt his heart plummet. If everyone left, his chance would be over.

Daphne gave Draco a brief hug, and whispered in his ear before she pulled away, "I think she'll be good for you." He didn't have time to answer before she pulled away.

Lovegood was on her feet, pulling a very intoxicated Longbottom up with her. "I need to get him home," she said in her strange, airy way.

"I'm ffgood," he said, nearly falling over.

Lovegood only smiled. "Of course you are." She kissed his overly red cheek and he smiled broadly. "Hermione, could you help me get him to the floo? He's rather heavy."

Draco felt cold settle in his stomach. What if she left? What if Lovegood wanted to set her up with someone? What if -

"Oh, of course!" Hermione shot out of her seat as if she couldn't wait to get away from the table. She slipped beneath Longbottom's other arm and slowly. Luna waved at the others as they half-dragged Longbottom away.

Daphne and Ron were close behind, heading for the door rather than the floo, and then it was just the Potters and Draco.

"How's it going?" Potter asked, hands in his pockets.

"I'm not sure," Draco said, surprising himself with his honestly. He scrubbed his face with his hand. "At the bar, earlier, I thought there was an opening, but since - " he ran his fingers through his hair. "The night's over now, isn't it? I missed my chance."

"Just because we're leaving, doesn't mean you lot have to," Ginny said, moving to lean against Harry's side. "As a matter of fact, I'm fairly certain that if we leave, you'll have a very good shot."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, facing the compact ginger. "Why's that?"

"She's not looking at you," Ginny said with a shrug.

"And that's good?" Draco ask, running his fingers through his hair again.

"She's looking at everyone else," Ginny said as if it were obvious. "But not you. In school, I used to not look at Harry all the time." She smirked as she leaned her temple against his shoulder. "When she comes back, ask her stay until you finish your drink."

"My drink is gone," he said. Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes as if he were daft. With a flick of her wand, a bit of wine returned. "Oh," he said, heart suddenly racing.

"Just be honest, mate," Potter said, slipping his arm around Ginny's waist. "It's how you won me over." Potter smirked at him and Draco couldn't help the matching smirk on his own face, but he punched Potter in the arm, anyway.

"Believe it or not, my hope is not that Hermione and I would have the same relationship as you and I."

Potter laughed and glanced over Draco's shoulder.

"You've got this, mate," he said just before Hermione rejoined them.

She picked up her glass of wine. "Well, it was good to see everyone," she said as she drank the last bit.

Draco's heart pounded. "Heading out, Granger?" he asked, hoping she couldn't see his hands tremble.

"Isn't everyone?" her eyes were locked on his and he took a small, steadying breath.

"Well, we are," Ginny said, hugging Harry. When Hermione looked to Harry, Ginny gave Draco a pointed stare.

"Want to sit with me while I finish up this last glass, Granger?" He made sure to smirk, though he thought his heart may burst through his chest, it was beating so hard.

She watched him shrewdly, but after just a moment, she did the one thing he never expected. She nodded.

"All right then." Her eyes were narrowed, but her cheeks were also a little pink.

She was going to stay. With him. Alone.

"Thanks for coming tonight, 'Mione," Potter said. His cheeks were bright red and Draco rolled his eyes. If anyone was going to ruin this, it was Potter. He hugged her and grinned at Draco over her shoulder. "I'll see you Monday at work, yeah?"

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione said.

Draco watched her hug Ginny, his stomach roiling with anxiety and his hands shaking. Since when did his hands shake? He'd played Quidditch with lightning all around, bludgers flying at his face, and his hands hadn't shaken. But now? They were trembling like a leaf.

When Harry and Ginny finally walked away, Hermione turned to him, her expression expectant, and he felt his heart leap into his throat.

"Let's find a smaller table. Open this one up for larger groups," he said, grateful that his voice sounded calm. He took his glass and together they walked toward the smaller tables filled with couples.

They sat and Hermione fiddled with the stem of her empty wine glass. Potter had told him to be honest.

"You seem nervous," he heard himself say, sipping his wine. He almost gagged, because Ginny had put something in the cup, but it wasn't wine, but he kept his expression neutral.

"Yes. Well, we've never really spent time together, I suppose." She licked her bottom lip, and he felt his stomach tighten. "Outside of work, I mean."

He smiled to hide his nervousness and sipped his wine-that-wasn't-wine again.

"Not so terrible, eh?" He wanted to be honest, so he didn't try to mask his feelings. He looked at her, no smirk, no mask, and when she laughed he felt a smile stretch across his face. He didn't think he'd ever made her laugh before.

"No. Not so terrible." She grinned down at the table and twirled her empty wine glass.

"Care for another drink?" he asked and she looked up at him, an almost-smile on her face as if she were trying to figure him out. She nodded and he smiled. Another drink meant she was willing to stay longer. With him. Alone. He hopped up, not caring if he seemed overly eager. "Be right back."

He walked toward the bar, Hermione's gaze burning into his back, and took a deep breath.

"Hello again," the barmaid said as he approached, and he gave her a small smile.

"Hello," he said, nodding once. "Two more glasses of red, please," he said. "For my tab."

"I get off work in just a few hours," she said as she removed the cork from a fresh bottle of red wine and slowly filled two new glasses. She sat one glass down, clearly thrusting her chest out for his viewing pleasure.

Draco turned away and was both shocked and pleased to see Hermione watching them, angry spots of red standing out on her cheeks. He smiled at her without meaning to and her cheeks flamed brighter, but she smiled in return. She'd been watching him. She didn't like the barmaid's flirting. He heard the second glass touch down on the bar, and without a word, he took both glasses and walked back to Hermione as quickly as he could.

He put the glasses down and she nodded, sipping her wine, her cheeks still red. How he wanted to reach over and just feel the skin of her shoulder, to tuck her unruly curls behind her ear, but he couldn't do that, and he wasn't sure how to break the suddenly awkward quiet.

"Daphne's nice," she said before sipping her wine. He fought the urge to tap his foot.

"Weasley just better treat her well," he said with a smile. "She's one of my oldest friends, you know. She and her sister, Astoria. I've known them since we were all small." He fought the urge to grimace. Why had he mentioned Astoria? What a daft move.

"Is Astoria older? I don't remember her."

He thought her voice sounded strained, though he couldn't be sure. He took a breath before answering. "Younger," he said, taking a large drink of his new glass of wine. "She and I don't really talk anymore." Why had he mentioned Astoria?

"Why not?" Hermione sipped her wine again, her cheeks no longer bloodred. She seemed genuinely interested, and since this can of worms was already opened, he figured he better do as Potter suggested and be honest.

"She wasn't very happy when, after the war - " he cleared his throat. "Well, we were supposed to marry." He felt his cheeks heat. "Arranged, you know." He sipped his wine, keeping his eyes from hers, lest she see too much truth in his eyes. "I broke it off."

"You did?" Her voice was soft and he couldn't help but look up at her. "Why?" She was leaning toward him and he couldn't stop himself from leaning forward, too.

"I didn't love her." There it was - half of the truth, anyway. He shrugged and willed his nerves to settle. "After the war, the world had changed. I figured that was as good a time as any to change with it." He sipped his wine, not yet willing to tell her what part she'd played in that choice.

Hermione watched him. Her eyes landed on his mouth and he saw her delicately wet her lips. His stomach clenched again.

"Hmmm," she said, then looked in his eyes. She seemed to be looking for something there, and he felt his palms grow sweaty. "Well, good for you, Malfoy," she said with a nod.

"Draco," he said without meaning to. He couldn't keep his eyes off hers.

"Draco," she said, and he felt his breath catch. He'd never heard her say his name before. It was a sound he could get used to.

"Thanks," he said, heart racing. "Hermione." He sipped his wine to hide how rapid his breaths had become, and he was overjoyed to see her blush in response.

After that, the conversation seemed to flow more smoothly. He lost count of the number of times he made her laugh. He was sure it couldn't get any better - her laughing, sharing stories with him, eyes sparkling - and then she reached over and squeezed his arm.

Such a simple act, something he was sure she'd done with Potter and Weasley hundreds of time, and yet it made his heart pound as if she'd just kissed him full on the lips. Feeling brave, he slid his hand beneath hers and wrapped his longer fingers around her small ones. She blushed, she looked away from a moment, but she didn't pull her hand away.

He was soaring.

As they talked, he fought the urge to rub his thumb over her knuckles, to stroke the soft skin of her hand. The wine was long gone, and yet, she was still here. He was getting ready to ask her if she'd see him again, if maybe she'd consider going to lunch with him sometime, when she shocked him, yet again.

"Why aren't you seeing anyone?" Hermione blurted out, her cheeks flaming red. He smiled to hide his nerves and rubbed his thumb over the back of her fingers without meaning to.

"Just waiting for the right witch, I suppose." He swallowed heavily and bit back the words he wanted to say. Just waiting for you to see me for who I am.

Hermione ducked her head and tucked piece of hair that had come loose from her messy bun behind her ear - something he'd wanted to do all night. When she didn't say anything else, he let the question he most wanted the answer to fall from his lips.

"What about you?" he asked, wincing at how desperate he sounded. "Why aren't you?" To distract himself from her answer - he was so anxious - he traced circles with his thumb against the back of her hand.

He felt, rather than saw, her shrug, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "I work a lot. You know that." He thought she maybe sounded a little breathless. He hoped. "And, I don't know. I just haven't had the chance to meet anyone new."

Draco's heart leaped and he looked up at her before leaning in. Her eyes went wide. "Who says it has to be someone new?" He wanted to let the full weight of his intention be known. She met his gaze, her eyes wide, her breaths short. His stomach clenched and for the briefest of moments he wondered what the skin of her shoulder would feel like against his lips.

When she leaned forward he thought his heart may burst. He leaned forward, heart pounding, his breath erratic.

And then, suddenly, she was pulling away, her eyes wide, her lips parted. She almost fell as she slipped from the stool. He couldn't help his shocked expression as he watched her, wanting nothing more than to freeze time and think.

"I should go," she gasped. "It's late." She looked at the band on her wrist.

"Hermione," he said, his voice desperate, his eyebrows knitted together.

"I'll see you Monday!" Her voice was falsely bright and it made him feel cold inside. "Thanks for the drinks," she said, her smile stretching across her face and not meeting her eyes. He watched her, stunned, as she darted away.

It took a moment for the shock to wear off, but once it did, he gripped the hair on top of his head, indecision running rampant. And then he was up, pushing through the crowd toward the floo where he'd seen her go.

"Hermione!" he called. He watched her stiffen as she grabbed her jacket and threw it on. She didn't head for the floo, as he'd expected, but for the doors, and he shoved through people to follow her.

It was warm out and he had to look both ways before he spotted her, moving at an incredible speed, away from him. He took off at a run, and when he was close enough, he grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. Her eyes were wide, but she didn't pull away.

"Just talk to me," he said, wishing for the comfort and ease of the last few hours to flow between them again. He'd moved too fast, back at the pub. He would fix it, though. He had to.

She groaned and the sound sent a surge of desire.

"I can't," she said, tugging her arm from his grasp. She went to walk away, and he couldn't stop himself from stepping in her way. His hands went into his hair again to keep himself from grabbing her hand, her arm, her waist.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice desperate. "We were having a nice time!" He hated that he sounded so needy, so pitiful. "Weren't we?" He dreaded her answer.

"Yes," she whispered. "But - "

"But what?" he asked, stepping toward her so that they were only inches apart.

"But, we, you and I, cannot do this!" she shrieked. She tried to step around him again, but again he blocked her with his body. The night was warm, but he swore he could feel her body heat radiating against him.

"Do what?" he asked. He cocked an eyebrow at her, wanting her to say it. He needed to know he hadn't imagined what was happening between them, hadn't imagined the spark.

"This!" she said, motioning between them with her tiny hands. "Flirt, and drink, and hold hands, and almost - " she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her lips part. "All of this. We just can't."

Draco felt his heart in his throat. He hadn't imagined it, but she didn't want it. All of that - the flirting, the gentle touching - had been real. It had been a taste of what he'd wanted for so long. But she didn't want it. He stared at her until she opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Why not?" He was glad his voice didn't crack with the pain he was currently feeling.

"Because." Her voice came out as a squeak, and suddenly the warm night air wasn't enough to keep a cold chill from seeping into him.

"Is it because of this?" With disgust, he pushed his sleeve up and exposed where he knew his Dark Mark was. He'd expected her step back, to shy away, to look revolted, but she didn't. Instead, she just looked up at him as if she was disappointed he'd think that.

"Of course not," she said.

"Then tell me why." He tugged his sleeve back down. Hermione Granger always had a reason for the things she did. Always. "Tell me why, give me a good reason, and I'll move out of your way and never bring this up again." He set his jaw, promising himself that he would keep his word.

"Because." She seemed to struggle for a moment and a new hope sparked in his chest. She didn't have a good reason. "Because you're you, and I'm me!" she said after a moment, her voice barely a whisper. Her big, chocolate eyes met his and that spark of hope blazed forth.

He took a step closer, and when she didn't move, he took another. He could kiss her, if he wanted, with barely any trouble at all.

"You're you," he breathed, finally giving in to his desire and brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. "And I'm me." He took her other hand in his and rubbed his calloused fingers over her smooth knuckles. He couldn't help but laugh a little. "That's a terrible reason, Granger."

"Hermione," she reminded him, breathless.

"Hermione," he repeated with a smile.

She was looking up at him, no longer running, letting him hold her hand and share the same air. He met her gaze for a long moment, and when she didn't pull back, he decided that this was it. This was his moment.

Slowly - so slowly it hurt - he leaned forward. He would let his lips brush against hers, just the smallest of touches, to see how she would react. He would keep himself from doing anything else. Even though it would take more patience than he'd ever had to practice in his life.

His lips touched hers and time stopped. Warmth spread from the small bit of her skin that touched his and filled him up.

He was a fraction of a second from pulling away when he heard her gasp, felt her press her lips more solidly into his, making him stumble back slightly. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her rips and pulled her against him. She whimpered into his mouth, sending a lightning bolt of desire directly into his groin. Her arms were around his neck and she opened her mouth to him. She deepened the kiss, and he went along for the ride, letting himself ride this current of complete contentment. Every swipe of her tongue sent heat through his limbs. His hands developed a mind of their own as they rubbed up and down her sides and across her back, trying to memorize every inch of her she'd let him touch.

When her shirt lifted from the hem of her jeans, he couldn't resist letting his fingertips linger there. She was so warm.

He wanted to feel her hands on him, but she kept her arms around his neck. When her hands went into his hair, and her nails raked against his scalp, he was nearly undone. He growled into her mouth and she pressed her body against his more firmly. It was all he could do not to apparate them both to somewhere more private then and there.

Instead, knowing he had to play this right if it were to have a chance at being real, he slowly gentled their kiss. After a bit, he cupped her cheeks and kept each kiss slow and deep. Less desperate than before, but no less passionate. He pulled away only to kiss her lips, and again, and again. His chest was heaving and he couldn't let her go - not that he wanted to. He was pleased to see that she was in a similar state.

"I like you," he said, feeling foolish as soon as the words left his mouth. But then she laughed and his insecurities left.

"I picked up on that." She clutched his shirt as if he were afraid he would pull away. She leaned back and looked up at his face. Her lips were swollen and pink and he couldn't stop the soft expression on his face. How many times had he dreamed of this? "I think I like you, too," she said, and he smirked to hide how deeply that touched him. It wouldn't do to scare her off now

"Prove it," he said. Her eyes went wide and inwardly, he panicked. That sounded wrong. No, not wrong, just too soon. "Come out with me again tomorrow," he clarified. "Just you and me. A proper date." He could feel his heartbeat in his hands and feet as he wanted for her to break his heart.

The most beautiful smile stretched across her face, and she uttered the three best words he'd ever heard. "That sounds brilliant," she said, breathless.

He kissed her again, feeling her laugh against his lips, and then she was kissing him for real. He couldn't imagine not having her pressed against him, not being wrapped around her.

Suddenly, she'd pulled back again, a strange expression on her face.

"Did Harry set us up?" she asked, her brows knitted angrily.

Draco couldn't help it. His head fell back and he laughed. He tightened his grip on her waist to keep her from pulling away. He looked at her again, a genuine smile on his face. "No." He couldn't help but kiss her softly again. "I did." He watched her expression - stunned, was the word he'd use - and laughed lightly.

"What?" She clutched at the fabric on his shoulders and he briefly imagined this same scenario with no fabric in the way. "Why?"

He brushed his lips against hers again, pushing those other thoughts away. Too soon. Instead, he sighed and tucked another curl behind her ear. "Like I said, I like you." He shrugged again, not sure what else to say. Potter had told him to be honest, and this was just about as honest as it got without admitting how much he liked her, or for how long.

Her grip on his shoulders released and her hands slipped down to his chest. He knew she could feel his rapidly pounding heart.

"You could make a career of it, you know," she said calmly.

He quirked an eyebrow, thoroughly confused. "Of what?"

She smirked up at him. "Setting people up on dates, because so far, your success rate is 100%." Her smirk transitioned into a smile as he pulled her close again.

It felt like flying as he kissed her, pulling her swollen bottom lip into his mouth, feeling her reciprocate. She sighed into his mouth and he thought he might literally burst with joy.

When he finally pulled away, he couldn't help the silly grin on his face. He wanted to tell her to stay out all night with him. He wanted to tell her to come home with him - just to talk, to drink tea or coffee or nothing, to just be near him - but that was too fast. He couldn't be impatient with this. Not with her.

With every bit of resolve he had, he finally moved away from her and quickly laced his fingers between hers. He saw her shy smile and again, felt like he was flying.

With reluctance, he guided her back toward The Three Broomsticks so that she could use the floo. As they approached the floo, her fingers in his tightened as if she didn't want to let go.

Come home with me, is what he wanted to say. But instead, his lips formed the words, "I'll pick you up tomorrow. For our date." He kissed the back of her hand, relishing in the feel of her soft skin against his lips.

Her expression fell, and he let himself imagine it was because she, like him, didn't want this night to end.

"How about lunch?" he asked, and he was rewarded with a smile that lit up her eyes like a lumos.

"Brillant," she breathed. She looked over his shoulder and her expression turned mischievous. "Your bartender is watching," she whispered, looking back at him and wiggling her eyebrows.

So, she had been jealous. How about that.

"You mean, your bartender is watching," he whispered back. Her cheeks bloomed crimson and he realized he would never tire of watching her blush, of watching her smile, of hearing her laugh.

"Whoever she's watching," she said, glancing over his shoulder again, "she seems fairly put out to see us standing so closely." She bit her bottom lip.

Draco's eyes lit up as he put his lips beside her ear, hoping his voice wouldn't tremble. "Then she really won't like this."

This was riskier, he knew, because people were here, and she might be uncomfortable with it, but he'd already committed. Besides, the thought of not kissing her once more before he sent her through the floo was physically painful. He released her hand to cup her face and immediately captured her lips again. Her hands landed on his hips and he fought back a groan. He kissed her swiftly, softly, and then pulled away. Hermione looked over his shoulder, but he couldn't keep his eyes off of her face. When she looked back up at him, she was smiling. He stared down her, wanting to tell her everything. Wanting to tell her that this was why he left Astoria. That this was why, after the war, after all of his terrible choices, he'd decided to change. That this, that she, was everything.

To keep from saying all of that - too soon, too soon - he let his lips caress her once more. She sighed against his mouth and his heart skipped.

"Tomorrow, then?" she asked, and he smiled.

"Tomorrow." Was any of this real? "See you, Hermione." He stepped away and his hands went into his pockets to keep from grabbing her again. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watched her walk toward the floo. She looked back at him once, a look that sent waves of desire through him, and then she smiled, called out her address, dropped floo powder into the fire, and was gone in a swirl of green flames.

With a bounce in his step, he went over to the bar and paid the tab. The place was emptying out, and the barmaid was standing there, waiting.

"My shift is over," she said, staring at him with obvious intent.

"Well," he said, glancing back at the floo again as he left enough galleons for their drinks and a heft tip, "Get home safe." He gave her a tight-lipped smile and left, heading straight to the floo to get home.

Without really thinking about it, he went straight to his desk and started to write. He knew he should probably wait, but he was not a patient man. He needed her to know that tonight was important. That tonight was the start of something for him. Something real.

With a quill and a sheet of parchment, he began to write.

Hermione,
You should be home by now. My flat isn't too far from yours, actually.
Wait, that sounded creepy. Let's move along, shall well?

Should he start over? No, he'd just keep writing. He needed to send it before she fell asleep.

I wanted to tell you, even though it's only been minutes since I saw you last, that I had a wonderful time with you tonight.
I enjoyed getting to know you, outside of work. I enjoyed holding your hand. And I enjoyed kissing you. Very, very much.

Was that too much? Too soon? No. She'd kissed him back. He wouldn't overthink it.

I honestly don't know why I'm sending this so late. Lunch seems like a long time to wait to see you again. But I'm counting the minutes until then.
Yours,
Draco

With a sigh, he tied the parchment scroll to his owl's leg and told him where to go. He told himself he should go ready for bed. Told himself it was late. But he couldn't seem to move as he sat and waited for his owl to return - response or no.

He didn't have to wait long.

When the owl returned, Draco hastily removed the scrolled parchment and summoned a bowl of owl treats to appease his faithful bird. He read her return missive with shaking hands.

Draco,

Tonight was surprisingly wonderful. Thank you for setting me up with such a catch! I'll have to owe you one.

As lunch is a very long time from now, I would like to invite you to come and fetch me for brunch instead. 9:30 is so very much closer to now than noon.

I'll see you then.

Counting the minutes along with you,

Hermione

P.S. I very much enjoy all of those things as well. The talking. The hand-holding. The kissing. You surprised me tonight, and I'm looking forward to being surprised again tomorrow.

The smile that stretched across his face was so broad, so genuine, it probably should have been a criminal act. He carefully folded the note and transfigured an empty ink well into a small, wooden box. He laid the letter inside, closing the lid, hoping to have more such letters to add to it in the near future.

Draco was an impatient man, but he was also painfully sentimental.

He fell asleep that night with the memory of her lips on his and her hands in his hair.

He was to meet her at 9:30, so naturally, he was awake at 6 - not even 5 hours of sleep - and as anxious as ever to go.

To settle his nerves, he went for a run. 6:45. Energy still coursed through his veins, so he decided to eat a small breakfast. 7:00. A shower. He was sweaty, so he needed to shower. He showered quickly, using the lemongrass soap he'd purchased once he realized how calming the oil was. He breathed deeply to try and get his heart to quit trying to break through his ribcage.

He left the shower, dressed slowly, brushed his teeth, and looked in the mirror. The clock beside the mirror said 7:30. He still had two hours. Two hours. Draco was not a patient man. He would go for a walk and kill some time because staying here and waiting surely meant he would go there early.

He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, and realized belatedly that he hadn't even taken the time to let his hair dry.

He walked without thinking. Two hours was a lot of time to kill. It was only after he'd reached her building that he realized his feet had brought him to her flat without his brain telling them to.

A clock on the corner read 7:55.

He was too early. This would scare her off. He should just go home and wait, then come back. But for some reason, he couldn't get his feet to move.

With a sigh of resignation, he walked into her building, walking right up to her flat. If this scared her away, it scared her away. Now that he knew what it was like to hold her, to kiss her, to share his thoughts and feelings with her, he wouldn't be able to stop, and part of that would include letting her know how much he liked her. How close he was, already, to loving her.

At almost 8:00 on the dot, his hands moved of their own volition and knocked on her door. Tap, tap, tap-tap. He took a deep, steadying breath.

The door opened in a moment and he smiled, embarrassed, hands shoved into his pocket. She looked beautiful.

"You're early," she breathed.

He nodded, keeping his hands in his pockets to hide their tremble. "I got tired of counting minutes."

Before he could overthink his admission, she'd thrown herself at him, her arms around his neck, his around her waist, breathing in one another as if they'd been without air for too long. Because he hadn't used the lemon oil, he could smell that scent that belonged to only her - melon and sweetness. It made him lightheaded, which was only compounded by her next words.

"So did I," she breathed against his lips.

He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth as her own lips smiled back. He kissed her cheeks - they were warm and pink. "How does breakfast sound, then?" he asked, stepping back and offering her his hand.

"Perfect." She took his hand and he felt something settle inside him. With sudden confidence, he pulled her toward him and kissed her - barely brushing his lips against hers. That alone was the best feeling he'd ever experienced and he held himself back from kissing her more deeply.

He released her but kept his fingers tangled with hers. She closed her door and let him lead her away from the flat, into the bright morning sun, and for the first time in his life, Draco felt truly and completely happy. He wasn't a patient man and probably never would be, but for her, for this, he would wait indefinitely.

I've never written the same scene from a different POV, so I hope this wasn't TOO similar to chapter one. I'd love to hear what you think!