Notes: AU, Post-Hogwarts, Oneshot

Disclaimer: The day Harry Potter could be considered mine is the day I possess the body of J.K. Rowling.

Summary: Oneshot. Two moments when Hermione Granger could have realized Draco Malfoy's feelings. Thank Merlin for that third moment when she finally did.

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth".

- Buddha

1/3

"Draco, mate, you're drooling," an all too amused Blaise Zabini notes for my benefit.

"I'm not," I grumble my denial, before reluctantly turning my eyes away from the delectable treat that is my flatmate's bum. Did she really have to strut around our flat wearing those clothes that never fails to drive me utterly insane?

Alright, fine. I suppose I'm being a little bit unfair. After all, she is wearing a perfectly modest ensemble, but Merlin, I still found it way too bloody enticing. Though that might be largely attributed to the fact that I find her to be way too bloody enticing. Seriously, my testosterone levels need some getting looked into because they're acting way too hyperactive lately. It wasn't like Hermione was walking around naked or anything.

Now there's a thought. Mmmm, naked Hermione…

Let's stop right there.

With as much stealth as I could muster, I discreetly bring up a sleeve to my mouth, quickly trying to wipe away the offending thread of saliva without my prat of a best friend from noticing.

"You missed a spot," Blaise grinned triumphantly, his index finger pointing to a spot at the corner of his lips.

Abandoning all pretenses now, I hastily wipe at that area of my mouth as Blaise lets out a booming laugh that echoes around the room.

"Git," I mutter at him darkly but that just makes the slytherin who was seated across the table from me to laugh even louder.

I don't really know why I still try to hide my feelings for Hermione from Blaise, seeing that he practically sussed the truth out from me a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, Blaise had caught me with a (in his words, not mine) "wistfully longing" look aimed at the Gryffindor princess, and ever since then, the prat hasn't passed up a chance to take the piss out of me whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Which, to my utter dismay, happens quite often.

"I still can't believe you fall arse over tits for Granger, of all people," Blaise sniggers.

I don't even realize that a low threatening growl had somehow managed to escape my throat. The possibility of a hidden insinuation in his statement, that Hermione wasn't good enough for me – or for anyone, for that matter – wasn't at all lost to me. I fix a steely glare at the man in front of me, daring him to continue. Unfazed, Blaise fixes his own dark brown eyes at me and unflinchingly stares back.

"You know I don't mean it that way, Draco," Blaise rolls his eyes at my unnecessary hostility and I have the decency to at least look a little abashed. After all, Blaise was among the handful of Slytherins that willingly changed sides during the war. "What I meant was that, well, you weren't exactly the nicest person to her during our days back at Hogwarts and now, it seems like you're just about ready to jump up and duel anyone to a bloody death if they so much as make a joke about her."

My shoulders shrugged themselves in defeat before Blaise whistles, "Man, you're really whipped, aren't you?"

"That is unequivocally the understatement of the century."

I suppose I should consider the fact that I'm pretty much hopelessly in love with Hermione bleeding Granger of all people as karmic retribution of sorts for all of those times I was nasty to her back when we were still attending Hogwarts. But in my defense, not that it excused anything that I did; I was a right idiot and a self-entitled prick back then that thought the world revolved around him. During our first few years at school, I acted the way I did because of the whole pure blood supremacy crap my father constantly fed down my throat throughout my entire childhood. But by the time I realized that that was a whole pile of dragon dung, and that I was hopelessly head over heels for Hermione, it was far too late for me to change anything. So I continued acting like a complete and utter wanker, pulling at the pigtails of the girl I fancied, if only to at least get her to look my way and notice me.

Merlin, I'm pathetic.

It's been a long time since I've first admitted the truth regarding my feelings to myself. I've fancied the bloody girl for ages, and I've more or less pinned down the start of this unrequited crush to that very memorable event in our third year when she punched the hell out of me for making fun of Hagrid. I don't think I'll ever forget that moment. In fact, if I were being truthful to myself, I wouldn't be lying if I said that that memory still doesn't fail to turn me on even to this very day.

Have I mentioned I was pathetic? Oh, and apparently I also have an inclination for masochism.

Lovely.

"Have you told her yet?"

I couldn't help the snort that comes out. Thank goodness my mother isn't around to hear me or I would have had a swift slap to the back of my head for that unrefined behavior. "And tell her what exactly?" I begin to say after making sure Hermione was well out of earshot. "That I'm hopelessly drawn to her like a moth to a flame? That she makes my day just by flashing me a small smile? That I can't ever stop thinking about her? That I've actually stooped so low as to smelling her hair when she doesn't realize it? What should I say, Blaise? That it drives me absolutely barmy knowing that I can't hold her?" I'm taking in huge breaths now, and I vaguely realize that I've gotten so worked up over a simple harmless question. Blaise's eyes are wide, and his jaw is hanging slightly open. If the circumstances were any different, I probably would have laughed at how utterly ridiculous he looked. In any case, I'm pretty sure he finally realized how so far gone I am for this girl. Still, that didn't lessen the sarcasm in my voice before I continue, "Because I'm pretty sure telling her all of that will go over so well."

Blaise opens his mouth, only to shut it again without saying a word, for once completely lost on what to say. He's basically rendered speechless after my little tirade. However, it didn't escape my notice how his eyes were screaming pity at me.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

There's a stretch of silence before Blaise breaks it, "You have to tell her, you know. Or at least do something. Anything."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," Blaise frowns at me. "You owe it to yourself."

"I don't want to make things awkward between us if she doesn't feel the same way."

"But what if she does feel the same way?" Holy Helga, was Blaise ever persistent. Thank Merlin I was just as stubborn.

"And what if she doesn't?" I counter back. "I don't want to take that chance, Blaise," I shake my head, a few blond locks falling over my eyes, which I hastily push back. "I don't want to jeopardize one of the few things that are stable in my life at the moment."

"You're acting like a baby."

"You're acting like a prick," I retort. Ha! Take that.

"But isn't she worth the risk?"

"Of course, she's worth the risk!"

"Then why don't you?"

"I just–ugh," I groan before my forehead hits the table between us in a resounding thud, practically planting my face on the hard wooden surface.

Yes, there's really no doubt about it. I am truly the epitome of all things pathetic.

"What's wrong with him?"

I don't really need to lift my head to know who suddenly decided to enter our conversation.

"Oh, just some girl trouble," Blaise replies to Hermione without missing a beat, and it isn't a long shot to guess that the prat was most likely sporting a rather irritating I-know-something-juicy grin. My head snaps up and I send a steely glare at Blaise's way, daring him to keep talking. But of course, being the slytherin that he is, Blaise takes my wordless warning as permission to continue.

"You see, Draco here is very much taken with this witch, and I'm afraid this girl is… ah, quite oblivious to his rather obvious feelings." I feel my cheeks grow warmer as each word leaves Blaise's lips. "With the amount of lovesick stares Draco sends her way, I'm starting to wonder if the girl needs corrective lenses, to be honest." I retreat back to my former position and plant my face back on table so Hermione wouldn't see the now obvious blush that was coating my face. I wrap my hands around my head as added protection. I hiss at Blaise to shut his trap but he just carries on, pretending not to hear me. "I mean, really. He's literally right in front of her and she doesn't seem to notice at all."

I managed to escape a prison sentence in Azkaban during the war when I switched sides but it looks like I'm going to be heading there regardless when I murder Blaise in his sleep tonight.

"Who is this girl?" I flinch when I hear the honest curiosity laced in Hermione's voice.

"She doesn't exist," I lie flatly before Blaise could answer her. But with my lips still practically kissing the table, I wouldn't doubt that she didn't understand the garble of words that came out. I lift my head a tad to free my lips before continuing, "Seriously, she's not real." I continue my denial, hoping that she would buy it. "This girl is a mere figment of Blaise's imagination." I tell Hermione, before I fully lift my head to glare menacingly at Blaise. "Similar to what our friendship will be like, Blaise, if you decide to continue talking."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hermione roll her eyes at me before she also turns to Blaise.

"She's someone you know very well," Blaise answers her expectant gaze without pause, that is, before he suddenly grunts in pain. I had thrown a rather well aimed kick to the prat under the table, and my foot had satisfyingly connected with Blaise's exposed shin.

I quietly plan the perfect jinx in my mind to send at Blaise's direction before he leaves tonight as the two people in front of me continue to discuss my (depressingly non-existent) love life. I find some comfort on the fact that Hermione doesn't seem to be cottoning on to the truth – that she was the mystery witch Blaise was alluding to.

That is, before the pessimist in me realized that perhaps the only reason she wasn't getting it was because she found any form of idea that would comprise an "us" as ludicrous.

It took a while before Blaise eventually steered the conversation away from my love life and into different waters. However, I'm not sure if I should be thankful, seeing that the prat had moved on to telling a rather long and detailed tale that narrated some of my most embarrassing childhood moments, much to the mirth of Hermione.

I quickly overhaul my plan. Better make those two jinxes I'll send Blaise's way.

2/3

Just like everyone else, I lost a lot during the War. My parents were both killed; the manor was burned to the ground; and the entire Malfoy fortune was pretty much depleted, having been spent in all sorts of illicit purposes. Don't get me wrong – I don't regret for a second that I switched to Harry Potter's side. It's just that trying to restart my life all over again after old Voldie kicked the bucket wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do, seeing that for all intents and purposes, I was technically alone, homeless, and without even a knut to my name.

I don't think Hermione ever truly realized how much she had saved me back then when she had offered to let me stay at the spare guestroom in the flat she was renting out. For free, might I add. She told me that I could move out whenever I was stable enough to get a place of my own. See why I practically worship the ground she walks on? She's a heaven sent. She's like my angel.

… Angel? Angel? Did I just call her Angel? Merlin, I wanted to kick myself. Salazar Slytherin would be turning in his grave. Since when did I turn into such a sodding girl?

The funny thing is, even after I qualified as an Auror (see, I'm manly!), and started to get a steady source of income, I never did get around to moving out. Who would have thought we would get along so well? Certainly, it wasn't our friends – some of whom, by the way, are still wondering to this very day how it was that we haven't killed each other yet, considering our rather antagonistic history back at school. I guess it didn't hurt that upon dropping the elitist bigotry I flaunted back in Hogwarts, Hermione and I found out that we meshed together quite well. She alone would be the only one who has the guts to stand her ground and calm me down when I was in one of my moods, and I gladly return the favor by making her crack a smile through my endless supply of witty sarcasm whenever she feels down. Don't get me wrong, I'm still the same snarky little devil everyone knows and loves (or hates – whatever), but I largely do it without malice these days. If anything, I'm pretty sure Hermione has long realized that it has become my own twisted version of showing affection. It wasn't long before Hermione and I eventually came to the conclusion that living together would be far from being the worst arrangement in the world. In the end, an agreement was made wherein we would share the cost of the monthly rent, utilities, and groceries, and so that was the start of our relationship as flatmates. It was also around the same time I pretty much sealed my fate. Like it or not, with us spending so much time together, my schoolboy crush was inevitably destined to evolve into something even more.

And it did.

It wasn't so bad at first. Sure, I blushed like mad whenever she gave me one of her famous bone crushing hugs or those quick pecks on the cheek, and with my pale alabaster skin (another thing I could thank my dear old father for. Damn genetics. As if old Lucius hasn't done enough damage already…), it meant that the red tinge that would inevitably coat my face was constantly on display for her, and everyone else, to see. Bless her heart though, since she never found the need to tease me about it if she ever noticed.

"I'm about to head out, Draco," A lovely velvety voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn around to see Hermione standing before me, all dressed up with her hair done up in a fancy updo. She's wearing a periwinkle blue gown, the color not unlike the one she donned during the Yule Ball in our fourth year, and she looks so damn beautiful that I momentarily forget how to breathe.

"Oh, Yes. Okay, uhm, what?–"

And think, apparently.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asks, complete worry laced in her voice. She's frowning, with both of her eyebrows furrowed, as she takes a step closer to where I was standing. "There's a pretty bad case of Wizard's flu going around right now. I hope you didn't contract it…" Hermione reaches up to touch my forehead to check my temperature, changing to her professional Healer persona.

Healer. That's right. Being one of the healers employed at St. Mungo's, Hermione was invited to attend a formal dinner banquet celebrating the founding day of the hospital. She had actually invited me to come along with her but a mountain of paperwork (the unglamorous part of being an auror) made me have to regrettably decline her offer. Seeing her right now though, looking so bloody shaggable, I'm starting to wonder if I had made the right decision.

Hermione continues to check my temperature, and I don't bother to tell her that I'm not really sick if only to feel her soft hands on my face for a little while longer. Looking down, I see her biting her bottom lip in concentration, a habit that I've always found way too enticing for my own good, and I wonder briefly what it would feel like if it was I nibbling on her plump pink lips.

"Draco, are you sure you're alright?"

I don't even notice that her hands had stopped touching me and that she was asking me a question since I was too busy being mesmerized by her mouth. Thankfully though, my brain eventually decides to function properly and I realize that she's asked me the same question at least three times already.

"Yes," I finally answer her, and it doesn't escape my notice that my voice is a little hoarse from my rather detailed daydreaming. That just seemed to fuel her belief that I was sick. "Just a little stressed with work, is all," I tell her, gesturing to my pile of paperwork for good measure.

Hermione shakes her head in dismay, the few tendrils of hair framing her face swaying with her movement. My eyes unconsciously follow them, mesmerized. "You should really rest if you're feeling tired," Hermione frowns at me. Reaching forward, she touches my hand and I feel my traitorous heartbeat accelerate. It's a wonder she couldn't hear it pounding inside my ribcage because to my ears, it sounds like a Weird Sisters concert geared into overdrive. She turns her concerned molten chocolate brown eyes towards me before saying, "Promise me you'll take a break soon."

I feel myself nodding at her request. As if I could refuse her anything when she was dressed like that.

Hell, I don't think I could refuse her anything even if she was wearing a potato sack.

"Should I wait up for you? You'll probably be hungry when you get back. We can eat dinner together," I hear myself saying; just to break myself out of the trance her eyes have placed me in. Plus there's a little part of me that's wishing that she'll eat with me before she changes out of her gown. She was dressed up after all. It would be a pity if I couldn't at least enjoy it.

She looks at me oddly before stating, "I'm going to a banquet, Draco."

Oh. Oh.

"Oh," I could only reply dumbly, feeling my neck go all warm before it inevitably spreads upward to my face.

Thankfully, I'm saved from having to explain myself because she interprets my general lack of coherence tonight, as well as my currently tomato red face as a sign that I was in fact in the first stages of getting sick.

"I'm going to send an owl cancelling my attendance. If this is the Wizard's flu, it's only bound to get worse. You obviously need someone to watch over you."

I hold up my hands to stop her, "No, you don't have to do that."

"But–"

"You just told me the other day how you're being considered for that promotion as the new head of the Emergency Ward and it's only to your detriment if you don't show up tonight."

"But I'll just worry about you the whole time I'm there." I fight the urge to smile at her words, because only she can make me feel so special. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," I nod. "I'm a big boy, Hermione. Auror, remember?" I puff out my chest and flex an arm before winking at her.

"You should save those winks for that girl you like," Hermione replies with a small teasing smile.

I already do.

"Oh, yeah… You're right."

I could have sworn I saw Hermione's face suddenly adopt a look of disappointment at my words, but before I could think about it any further, she had rearranged her features and turned her back to walk towards our fireplace. She grabbed some floo powder and threw it into the fire before sticking her head in. She had called Blaise, asking if he could come over to keep watch over me.

"Just in case," Hermione tells me in her no-nonsense voice when I start to protest about how I didn't need a babysitter. She planned to leave for the banquet only when Blaise arrived and it took me few minutes before I eventually convinced her to finally go, lest she risk being late.

Hermione waves off my offer of walking her to the door ("Just sit down and rest!") since she's apparating to the banquet, preferring to avoid using the Floo Network for fear of risking unwanted soot on her gown. As she steps outside our flat where there are no anti-apparating wards, I remember something very important.

"You look very pretty!" I call out, perhaps a little bit too loudly. I realize a second too late that I probably shouldn't have shouted.

Smooth. Nice one, Draco. Real smooth. About as smooth as a venomous tentacula.

But I don't mind my bumbling attempts at complimenting her as much when Hermione flashes me a breathtaking smile and a shout of thanks before turning on the spot and disapparating.

I jump slightly when I hear sniggering coming from the living room.

"We have got to work on your flirting skills, Draco," I turn to my right to see Blaise climbing out of the fireplace, his eyes shining bright with mischief. "I don't recall you being especially this bad when we were still at Hogwarts."

"Shut up, Blaise."

3/3

"Good isn't it?" I hear a female voice that didn't belong to Hermione ask from somewhere in the kitchen as I make my way out of the fireplace and into the living room. I had just flooed back in from a rather stressful day at work where my team had almost cornered Eric Randall, a wanted mass murderer, only for him to somehow escape our grasp yet again at the last moment. Needless to say, the entire Auror department wasn't at all pleased.

I was dusting out the ashes that managed to cling on to my trench coat when my ears caught Hermione's sinful moan of agreement to her friend's question. My back immediately stiffened at the sound – as well as this other part of my lower anatomy.

I quickly readjusted my trousers to relieve some of the, uh, pressure, as well as close my trench coat just to be safe, before I made my way towards the kitchen. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't at least a little bit curious as to what Hermione and her friend were up to.

"Girls night in?" I ask as my way of announcing my presence and both pair of eyes belonging to the witches occupying the kitchen snap to the direction of where I am standing.

"Welcome back, Draco," Hermione greets me with a grin, a plate of strawberry cream tart in front of her. She gestures towards it. "Care to join us? Ginny brought over this wonderful treat from Seamus's pub."

At the mention of her name, Ginny chimes in with her own greeting. "Hello there, Ferret," she smirks at me but I know she's only teasing.

"Weaselette," I nod my head back towards her in acknowledgement. "I'm pretty full, actually, but thanks for the offer. The entire office went out for dinner earlier to get over the fact that Eric Randall got away from us again."

I feel a warmth down the length of my arm, and I look down to see Hermione grasping my hand. She gives it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry too much about it, okay? I'm sure you'll get him next time," she said, encouraging me.

After squeezing back her hand in thanks, I turn around to head back to my room to finish some unfinished paperwork that I had brought home the other day with me.

"You girls enjoy yourselves then."

"Catch you later, Furret!"

"Don't stay up too late, Draco!"

Before I could reach my room, however, I'm stopped by the conversation that resumed between Hermione and Ginny.

"I swear, Ginny. Any man who can make food like this could call me anything he wants," Hermione sighed a little too sinfully.

Detailed mental images flashed in my head and I groaned as I felt my body react to Hermione's words. It's no surprise since I'm a healthy hotblooded male in his prime. So much for quickly finishing that paperwork tonight. It looks like I'm going to need a shower first.

A really cold shower.

As I lay in my bed later that night, having completed next to nothing on the paperwork I was supposed to work on, I realized that Blaise was right – I really needed to get a move on because if not, some other bloke would no doubt snatch Hermione from right under my nose. At first, I hit a dead end, wondering how exactly I was going to woo a girl like Hermione Granger. That is, until I realized that the answer couldn't have been more obvious. She had practically stated a trait she wanted in a bloke. I would cook Hermione a meal so delicious, she would have no choice but to give an encore of those sounds she was making earlier.

An opportunity presented itself exactly two days later when Hermione's owl landed on my desk, telling me that she would be coming home quite late that evening due to an almost twenty hour shift she had at St. Mungo's.

I quickly got to planning; barely paying attention to the staff meeting I had that day, which earned me a sharp rebuke from Joseph Bittergreen, the head auror. The way I see it, Hermione will arrive in our flat stressed out, where a warm and delicious three course meal made by yours truly would be waiting for her. That will be the perfect first step in wooing the Golden Trio's sole golden girl. I have to make her see that I'll be the perfect bloke for her. Girls find guys who can cook sexy, right?

Which brings me to the one miniscule snag in this plan of mine – Namely, the fact that I possess about as much culinary talent as an inept six year old.

Possibly even less.

As much as it pains me to admit any sort of imperfection on my part, I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, most definitely, without a doubt, suck at anything remotely related to the culinary arts.

Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I can make food – just not the kind fit for human consumption. Or, consumption in general since I doubt even starving dogs would go near the stuff I manage to give birth to. Having grown up with a house elf at my constant beck and call twenty four hours a day, I hadn't really felt the need to learn how to function properly inside a kitchen. Knowing this, I suppose I really shouldn't have been so surprised to find out that I don't even have the capability to do something as basic as to properly fry an egg.

I mean, I know I'm not five-wand restaurant chef material but what deity did I piss off in my past life for me to turn out to be this bad?

It goes without saying that a disaster of a cataclysmic magnitude was bound to be waiting just around the corner if I were to even attempt to whip up something in the kitchen. Whether it's mistaking salt for sugar (don't judge me – they're both white!), forgetting that I had placed something on the stove (you honestly can't expect anyone not to doze off while waiting for water to boil), or Merlin's trousers, even managing to somehow coat half the ceiling of our kitchen with pancake batter (I still have no idea how that one happened to be honest), I can safely say I have pretty much have done it all.

And since Hermione was my flatmate, she has had the fortune – or rather, misfortune – of helping me clean up the trail of destruction I inadvertently left behind. Hence, it wasn't really that surprising when she pulled me aside the day after I had almost burned down our flat making toast and absolutely forbade me on ever trying to cook in our kitchen again.

I may have defected to the good side during the war, but I'm still a slytherin deep down at heart, so I'll just pretend we never had that conversation.

Right after getting home from work, I rapidly set my plan into motion. I had borrowed a few very detailed cookbooks (Cooking Even Idiots Can't Mess Up being my favorite) from Blaise to aid me, casted engorgement charms on all of the labels to make sure I didn't confuse any ingredients, and drank down two strong cups of coffee to avoid accidentally dozing off. I even triple checked every step I was doing since I couldn't afford to mess anything up.

Thankfully, it seems my efforts didn't go to waste because a few hours later, I happily realized that it seems I'm finally making something edible for once in my life. The pie baking in the oven was giving off a delightful aroma, and the halibut I picked up from the supermarket seems to be cooked properly. Nothing, not even the side of mixed vegetables, tasted overly seasoned.

So far so good.

That is, until I hear a loud screech from behind me, startling me well enough to jerk my hand, causing me to almost hit the bowl which contained some leftover whipped cream off the kitchen counter. Thankfully, I miss by just a hair's breadth. I quickly turn around to see a shocked Hermione taking in the state of the previously spotless kitchen.

"Care to explain to me the reason as to why I come back to find the kitchen looking like a tornado ripped through it?" She was seething. It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

Crap.

Glancing down at my watch, I see that Hermione is home an hour earlier than the time she said she was arriving. I would only learn later on that Susan Bones had offered to take over the last hour of her shift. I had hoped to clean everything up before she returned but obviously, that wasn't an option anymore.

Looking around me, the mess I made this time around wasn't as bad as before – at least, compared to my previous attempts at cooking. Sure, there were quite a number of broken eggs on the floor. A newly opened bag of flour was thrown haphazardly on one side of the kitchen, and I may have accidentally spilled some of the wine sauce for the entrée I made earlier, but I'm wishing that she would see past that. After all, I haven't set anything ablaze or experienced any miniature explosions from those muggle appliances just yet. That should count as some form of improvement right?

Wrong.

"Merlin help me, Draco," Hermione mutters as she pinches the bridge of her nose. "I distinctly remember owling you, saying how stressed I am at work. So why in heaven's name are you adding to it by demolishing the kitchen?!"

Hermione comes up to me, carefully maneuvering around the broken eggs on the floor, before she pokes a finger into my chest. Her head was tilted up since she was more than a foot shorter than I was but that didn't deter her in the slightest. I look down into her outraged eyes, the chocolate brown having molded into a seductive swirl of dark amber in her fury. The fact that I suddenly had this itch to use my fingers to caress her hair out of the ponytail she had it in didn't help matters at all.

Merlin, I'm getting turned on even when Hermione isn't even trying to be the least bit seductive.

"Draco!" Hermione barked my name when she realized my attention had drifted off elsewhere. There was no doubt about it, I have a pretty weak spot for bossy swots like Hermione. Still, what I'd give to have her moaning my name instead of her shouting it…

"Are you even listening to me?!"

Despite the danger of losing my bollocks, I felt my lips break out into a lopsided grin. By now, Hermione's cheeks had gone red and I could see her slowly going all huffy.

Merlin, she's so hot when she's angry…

"MALFOY!"

That quickly snapped out of my daze.

Shit. Whenever Hermione reverts back to calling people with their last name, it meant that she was nearing the end of her limit. The last time it happened to me was when I had charmed Crookshanks' fur magenta as an April fool's prank a year prior. Everyone found it hilarious – except Hermione that is, especially when I sheepishly told her that I didn't really research well enough to find the counter-spell. Hermione had refused to speak to me for a week after that little fiasco even after I returned the little furball back to his original color. And I know that if I didn't placate the seething witch in front of me soon, that would no doubt throw a monkey wrench into my carefully crafted plan of making her fall for me.

I would have to apologize. Grovel, even. But even more importantly, I would have to tell her the truth. Not that lying would do me any good anyway, seeing that Hermione has this sixth sense that always tips her off whenever I'm lying to her. Of course, I'll just have to edit out the part wherein I'm trying to get her to fall for me – no point in scaring out the girl with mistimed declarations of love.

"Okay, I'm sorry!"

"You better be! Did you just waste an entire carton of eggs on the floor? What in Merlin's name are you doing anyway?!"

"I was just… trying to prepare a nice warm meal for you," I said the last part softly, suddenly feeling embarrassed. My little admission seemed to halt her ranting though so I quickly continued on before she could find her voice again. "Look– hear me out, okay? I was hoping to clean everything up before you came home but well," I pointed to my watch. "You're an hour early. You told me you were stressed and I just wanted you to come home to a relaxing dinner," I mumbled, hoping my explanation would be enough to convince her not to jinx me to oblivion for messing up the kitchen.

I watched transfixed as the firm line her mouth was set in turned into a soft frown, before eventually dissipating altogether. Her face now looked bemused and I resisted with all my might the urge to grin at how cute she looked at that moment.

"Oh, well, that's sweet of you, Draco," I smirked inwardly when I noticed that she'd gone back to calling me with my given name. "but you really didn't need to go through all of this trouble."

Shaking my head at her, I replied to her truthfully, "Just believe me when I say that I really wanted to do it for you, Hermione." I could have sworn that a slight blush spread across cheeks at the moment. "And you don't have to worry about the mess. I promise that I'll clean it up myself."

Hermione had tilted her head down so I couldn't make sure if she was actually blushing. She stepped around me and proceeded to dip a finger into what's left of the whipped cream in the bowl. I didn't need to be a seer to know that she was planning on tasting it, so I quickly looked the opposite way.

The girl I bloody fancy is a few inches from me, licking her whipped cream coated finger.

Talk about torture. I had averted my eyes to avoid pitching a tent in my shorts then and there. Little did I know it was about to get worse.

I heard a soft sound before I realized that Hermione moved on from licking to sucking on her finger and my treacherous mind began playing out a rather stimulating scene that involved her mouth. Unconsciously, my head started to turn back to Hermione's direction (don't judge me – I'm only human!), only for my eyes to quickly widen when I see her lips coming straight at me.

In the fog that inevitably coated my brain in the following seconds, I vaguely realized that Hermione was planning to give me a thank you peck on the cheek for my efforts at cooking her dinner. What she didn't count on was me suddenly turning my head at the exact same time, so instead of kissing me on my cheek, it was my lips she inevitably captured.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

I'll be honest – I've dreamed about kissing her hundreds of times before but actually doing it brought about a whole new symphony of sensations. I didn't think it was possible, but her lips were actually even softer than I thought they were. I suppose the proper thing to do at this moment was to quickly back away but hell, as If I would be daft enough to throw away this chance of a lifetime. I would respect her wishes if and when she decides to break the kiss but until then, I'm going to be enjoying myself.

The sorting hat did place me into slytherin, after all.

To my delight, Hermione made no such attempt at moving away. And with that, the optimist in me came alive. Could she maybe want this as much as I did? However, while I was mustering up the courage to do something more, something that would hopefully sweep her off her feet, the damned oven timer started to ring, startling the both of us. That seemed to snap Hermione to her senses, her eyes suddenly growing wide in panic, before she quickly pushes me away.

I contemplated sending a blasting curse at the oven for ruining what was probably the best moment of my life.

"Draco, I–" Hermione looked like she wanted to burst to tears.

Fuck.

My chest tightened then and there, and I wanted to comfort her but a part of me was also hurting. Rejection hurt like a bitch after all, and it was obvious now that she had thought of what we had just done as a giant mistake. Still, despite all of that, I still wanted to salvage what was left of our relationship. I couldn't bear the thought of losing this girl forever. If being friends was all she was capable of giving me, then hell, I'll take what I can get. I started to open my mouth, intending to plead with her when Hermione beat me to it.

"You must think that was so disgusting. I'm so sorry, Draco!"

Huh? Wasn't that my line? Why is she apologizing? I sure as hell didn't think kissing her was disgusting. Far from it. Before I could clarify anything, Hermione continued, "I h–hope you don't think I'm some freak trying to make a pass at you. I– I was g–going to kiss your cheek but you suddenly t–turned around and it was too late for me to stop so I– I accidentally kissed you on the lips and I feel horrible because I didn't even try to move away! I took advantage of the situation!"

My chest again grew tight at her words, but this time for a different reason. For the second time tonight, I felt hope. The girl actually thought that she was taking advantage of me!

She wanted to take advantage of me.

"I'm really sorry, Draco–" Hermione held her face in her hands, unable to properly look me in the eye. "I can still call you that right? Oh, of course not. You probably don't want to see me anymore. God, I'm so embarrassed."

Feeling bolder at the realization that my feelings might not be as one sided as I initially thought, I decided to override the overly cautious slytherin in me and finally throw some caution into the wind. It was the time for me to be brave – Merlin, Hermione's gryffindor tendencies have been rubbing off on me more than I thought. I just hoped she wouldn't castrate me after all of this was over.

Reaching out, I remove Hermione's hands from her face.

It was now or never. Funny how nothing I've experienced during the war could match the terror I'm feeling from what I'm about to do.

I push Hermione's chin up slightly before lightly kissing her once more. I part my mouth a little, creating friction between our lips, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit smug when I feel her breath hitch on her throat. Bringing my arms around her hips to steady her, I surprise her by suddenly using my teeth to bite her bottom lip, causing her to gasp in surprise. Gently, I use the opportunity to entwine my tongue with hers, and I hear her moan in approval. Hermione's eyes are half-lidded with pleasure and I didn't need a mirror to know that my eyes were likely the same way.

But of course, Hermione wouldn't let herself be outdone. I wouldn't have expected any less. The girl gave as well as she got.

I let out a feral growl when Hermione suddenly began sucking on my lower lip, her fingers somehow managing to find themselves under my shirt, her nails scratching my back.

Oh, hell yes.

"Draco– we have to tal–"

No. No. No. No. Now is not the time for talking. I cut her off with a fierce kiss before she could say anymore.

"Hermione, what would you say if I told you that I want you to take advantage of me?"

Hermione's cheeks burned so much at my words that she resembled the tomato sitting on the counter to her left. I gave her a saucy wink, enjoying the effect I had on her, and when she turned her back at me to retrieve the pie from the oven, I'm sure it's to buy some time so she can compose herself.

"But what about that girl Blaise said you fanc–" Hermione started to say when she finally turned to face me again, only for her furrowed brows to suddenly relax when realization dawned on her. "That was me?"

"It's you," I confirmed, my voice oddly steady, largely contradicting all of the nervousness I was feeling inside. No use denying anything now. It was time I laid all of my cards out on the table. "You don't really think I would cook for just anyone, do you?"

"No, I suppose not," Hermione replied with a small smile, before she dipped her finger into the bowl of whipped cream and smeared it from my bottom lip down to my neck, then back up to my ear. I could have sworn I died and went to heaven when Hermione started licking, sucking, and kissing the cream she traced on my body.

Reaching the end of the trail, I felt Hermione's hot breath on my earlobe. "Since you made dinner, I suppose it's only fair that I show you my… appreciation."

I make a mental note to remind myself to cook for Hermione more often.

Author's Notes:

Yes, I'm alive. Medical school hasn't killed me yet. *laughs* I just want to tell you guys that no, I haven't abandoned my story, Those Silver Linings. It WILL be completed. I'm just not sure when. *sheepish smile* In fact, I was actually planning to finish at least chapter 3 plus maybe chapter 4 of Those Silver Linings this weekend but I ended up working on this oneshot instead. I think it had something to do with the fact that I had so much fun putting into words the inner thoughts of a reformed love-sick Draco. Blaise as well was pretty fun to write. *laughs*

Anyway, may I just say reviews are like cute happy pandas giving hugs. So please, don't hesitate to leave one! *grins*