A/N: Feeling inspired whilst indeed travelling alone, I came up with this little Dramione piece. It's not much, but it's supposed to be a light, enjoyable read without any drama (or actual plot, mind you). It's rated M for part two, which has lots of lemons. If you prefer to not read smut, you can just skip it and read only the parts one and three – the story should still make sense that way.

I have not forgotten Faceless, but I can't do it any justice right now, so I thought the least I can give you is this.

Alpha- and beta-thanks go out to MalfoysMuggleMrs.

Enjoy! Phinoa

Company of a Stranger
A short story about a more or less serendipitous encounter

One of the beautiful things about travelling alone is that the memories made are not tainted by anyone else; no family drama, no crumbling relationship weighing them down, no ex in the photos you wish weren't there. The downside of course being, there is no one to make new memories with – no one but yourself and the occasional stranger that will never again play an important role in your life. But isn't that ever so exciting?

Hermione Granger sighed wistfully, still glad to have decided to go on holiday all by herself. Not that Harry or Ron (or anyone, really) would have actually wanted to tag along – the biggest wizarding library in Europe must have been, at least for her two best friends, the dullest destination imaginable.

She looked at her small, beaded bag and smiled at the thought of all the hassle Muggles had to endure in order to go places:

Arriving at the airport hours before the actual take-off; waiting there forever because of a delayed or cancelled flight; passing the time with overpriced sandwiches; window-shopping for clothing you could never afford. Not to mention, feeling like a criminal going through customs. Then, watching the onboard safety measures ballet which hopefully you won't ever have to utilise because you haven't paid any attention to the instructions on how to use your life vest – apart from knowing that it's stored under your seat.

But most importantly, Hermione was spared holding onto her armrests while her guts squirm and heart plummets as the aircraft ascends into the sky. Hermione never liked flying – neither on a plane nor a broom or a Thestral. Granted, Apparition, Floo travel, or Portkeys were no less sickness-inducing, however, they pass by much more quickly and don't require you being forty thousand feet above sea-level.

No, Hermione definitely preferred travelling the magical way. One look at the clock told her that the Portkey was about to activate any moment now. She pressed one finger onto the old bucket and counted the seconds.

Four, three, two, one … The familiar sensation kicked in as invisible forces exerted pressure from all sides, as if a current pulled you under water, stealing your breath and whirling you around until you can no longer tell up from down. It was over as quickly as it started, and Hermione found herself standing in the middle of a circular room with a dome for a ceiling.

'Herzlich Willkommen,' said the witch in front of her. Hermione pulled a face which she hoped looked somewhat apologetic and imparted that she didn't speak the language very well.

'Herzlish …' she started sheepishly, and the witch smiled.

'English?' she offered. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

'Yes please.'

'Welcome to Aachen,' the woman continued, sounding like she was about to make a speech which she had given innumerable times before. She had a thick, German accent. 'We hope you haf a pleasant stay. You will fint all ze information you neet here'– she conjured a brochure which Hermione accepted with a whispered thanks –'as well as in all of our tourist information centres in ze entire country. Haf you booked your accommodation yet?'

Hermione assured she had and again thanked her, the witch leading her to one of the fireplaces. There was quite a long queue; an entire class from Beauxbatons – judging from the babbling in quick French and their light blue uniforms – waiting to Floo to their next destination.

Hermione didn't mind. She wasn't in a hurry, after all. That's another marvel of travelling: time seems less important. Not that it's less meaningful, oh no. There just isn't any wasting of it. Waiting, pausing, observing, it's all part of the experience. Again, especially whilst travelling alone – no one standing beside you and drowning you in their fidgety impatience and "why does it take so bloody long to get there". But that's the point – the getting there itself and treasuring every single moment of it.

As soon as she entered her room for the week, however, the weight of loneliness overcame her; it dragged her down, and for a second, she couldn't breathe. Luckily, only for a second, as her healthy common sense spoke up. Hermione composed herself, shaking off the unwelcome self-pity and taking a couple of deep breaths.

Everything is fine, she said to herself. Odd – sometimes all it took was a bit of reassurance on your own behalf. It was as if she'd had to reach that point once – just this once – so that she could move on and enjoy every minute of her holiday.

After a little sightseeing around the city and spending quite a while admiring Charlemagne's surprisingly unadorned throne (little did Muggles know that the famous Emperor came from a line of wizards) Hermione headed for her actual destination.

The entrance to the library – an old, dusty book shop that had a sign hanging in the window saying something along the lines of "out of business" (or so Hermione assumed) – required the visitors to cite a line from any magical piece of writing that ever was before the door would turn into a passageway.

'Due to an Apparition Jinx, first laid upon the castle after the mass-splinching of 1154 (cf. chapter 75), it is impossible to Apparate or Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts,' Hermione whispered against the door. There was a light draft now as if the shop were trying to suck her in, and Hermione – after a quick glance past her shoulder to check for any Muggle bystanders – walked right through the glass.

Her mouth parted slightly as she stared up to the archway in front of her, big letters chiselled in stone reading "Bibliotheca Ars Magica Europaea". The sight was sufficiently overwhelming. Hermione was flooded with mind-blowing impressions; from the vast entrance hall and the reception where she was asked to give up her wand and given instructions about proper book-handling (not that Hermione would ever treat a book with anything but respect), to the actual library – a hall so high Hermione couldn't make out the ceiling. There were moving spiral staircases everywhere, leading to the extensive multitude of shelves holding the largest collection of books Hermione had ever seen.

Where to start? She pulled out a list with must-read books she had made before her journey – Godric forbid Hermione come unprepared to the second biggest library in the whole world (the biggest and oldest being in former Mesopotamia). She eventually made her way toward the section labelled "Aachen Exclusives", relieved to see that, in the library itself, they offered different languages to help get one's bearings.

Hermione quickly acknowledged that she could spend an entire lifetime in this place. She soaked up every sentence, every illustration, taking both notes and her time because she knew she wouldn't be able to come back quite as soon. She had her own bookshop to take care of, after all. Perhaps she should try to get her hands on one of these to sell to the highest bidder …

'Be careful not to drool over the pages, Granger, you probably won't be able to afford the replacement,' sneered a familiar voice. A very, very familiar voice. Hermione pulled a face and looked up.

Bloody fantastic.

Draco Malfoy stood some metres away, leaning against one of the shelves, arms crossed. A stupid smirk was plastered across his stupid, handsome face. Hang on, handsome? When in Godric's name did she begin to think of Draco Malfoy as handsome?

Probably ever since he started popping into your shop every now and then, whispered the voice in her head, ever eager to give the correct answer.

'What are you doing here, Malfoy?' Hermione pressed through clenched teeth, careful to not allow the volume of her voice rise above whisper-level.

'I could ask you the same question, Granger.' He pushed himself off the shelf and took a couple of lazy steps towards her. 'Then again, I should've known I'd find you here. This must be your …' he trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

'My what, Malfoy?'

'Nevermind.'

Hermione fumed inwardly. She couldn't stand it when people started a sentence but refused to finish it; it was like reading a book and discovering that the final pages were missing. She squinted at him.

Concentrate …

'Are you seriously trying to penetrate my mind?' Draco said incredulously before letting out a laugh that – for some reason – sent shivers down Hermione's spine. 'Oh, Granger, don't even bother, you won't succeed.'

Hermione stifled the profanities that threatened to roll off her tongue. He was right; his mind was blocked completely. She couldn't get through to a single thought.

'Tell me then,' she said, her curiosity slowly but surely gnawing her patience away. 'Unless it was just something to insult me, then, if you please, spare me.'

Draco clicked his tongue. 'An insult? No … I wouldn't stoop that low, now would I?'

'Oh please, you have plenty of times before. How convenient for you to forget.'

'I most certainly did not forget,' he said, pulling up a chair and seating himself across from the table she currently occupied.

'I cannot recall,' began Hermione hotly, though she quickly realised she'd raised her voice after all, thus continuing in a whisper, 'I cannot recall inviting you to join me.'

'I don't need your permission, Granger, this is a public space. Alright, let's see … what do we have here?' Draco brazenly snagged the scroll out of her hands and perused its contents. '"Blood magic in Aztec culture – beliefs, purposes, and practices" … Granger, this is … dark.'

Hermione blinked a few times in astonishment. 'You can read that?'

'I took Ancient Runes, too, you know.'

'Yes, but,' she spluttered, 'this is a rare Galician variant, our curriculum didn't cover that.'

'So?' Draco cocked an eyebrow and put back the scroll with a delicacy she hadn't expected. 'You underestimate me. I just blocked your, I must admit, unexpected and not too meagre attempt at entering my mind. Surely I am capable of translating a few old runes on the fly.'

Hermione was rendered speechless, and she scolded herself for not being able to say something witty in return. She just sat there, staring at him and his stupid, unblinking eyes. What was he doing here anyway?

'I'm here on business, if that's what you're wondering,' he said suddenly.

'Don't tell me you're a Legilimens, too,' said Hermione, getting more and more aggravated.

'No, just a people person.'

At that, Hermione snorted indignantly.

'What?'

'You're a right charmer, sure.'

'You'd be surprised.' Hermione gulped involuntarily at his change of inflection as well as the cocky smile that was tugging at his lips. 'If it's charming you want … have coffee with me.'

'Um …' she made, dumbfounded. Heat rushed to her face, and she turned away in a futile attempt to hide it.

'Articulation is key, Granger,' he drawled, then added, accentuating each syllable, 'So people can understand you.'

'Oh, just shut it,' she hissed then but failed to actually feel annoyed. In fact, she rather enjoyed their repartee. So, why not have coffee with him? Apart from his sassiness, Draco had little in common with the messed up teenager from many years ago. Besides, she hadn't been on a date since … in a while.

'C'mon, Granger, I don't have all day. Well, I do, but still – hurry up.'

'Alright, I'll have coffee with you.'

'Excellent,' said Draco, standing up and looking at her expectantly.

'Now?'

'Of course now. There's this café I've been meaning to check out. I think it'll meet your taste.'

He was right – it did. The little café, situated in Aachen's old town, had a variety of porcelain coffee pots hanging from the ceiling, and its walls were covered entirely in bookshelves.

'So … you're telling me that, after being surrounded by books all day, the one place you choose to spend your holiday at … is a library.'

'More or less, yeah,' said Hermione sheepishly while stirring her cup of coffee; a motion she had been doing for far too long now; she didn't even add sugar.

'Well, it suits you,' he commented before taking a sip from his own drink. 'You're quite predictable.'

'Excuse me?'

'Nothing to get upset over, Granger,' chuckled Draco. Stupid, bloody charming chuckle. 'I rather like it. You're not bending to anyone else's expectations. After the war, everyone wanted you to go big, you see; change the world. But instead, you bought an old bookshop.'

'Predictable is not a compliment.'

'So? Nor is it an insult. It doesn't have to be anything. Just take things the way they are, stop reading too much into them.'

Then, he winked. He just winked at her. What was she supposed to read into that? Oh, she'd show him predictable, alright!

And without wasting a second thought on it, she winked back.

'Interesting,' said Draco, never breaking eye-contact. 'But you don't have to try so hard, you know. Like I said, predictable is not a bad thing.'

'Oh, sod it,' Hermione groaned, raising her hands. 'I give up. Fancy some cake?'

And so they had cake. Hermione particularly liked the one called "Bienenstich" – almond and custard goodness that had the calories practically jumping out at you. In between bites, she stole a glance at Draco. He had his eyes closed, savouring another local treat. He looked rather … What, Hermione? Stop pining!

'You've always had a sweet tooth,' she remarked with a smile, upon which Draco looked up questioningly. 'You're not the only one who's good at observing people, you know. I remember your owl bringing you tons of sweets back in school, almost every week.' Draco made a face of comprehension, then continued to eat his cake. 'But how you didn't swell like a balloon is still a mystery to me.'

Draco finished his bite before answering, 'Good genes. And lots of exercise.'

'Do you still play Quidditch?'

'Occasionally. Although I have developed quite a liking for football.'

Hermione's fork came to a halt halfway between the plate and her mouth.

'No way,' she said. 'You're messing with me.'

'I am not,' he grinned. 'It's simple. Just one ball, two goals, 90 minutes … fantastic if you wish to get your mind off things.'

'What things?'

'Oh, this and that. Work, mostly. The public. Just things, really, and what have you.'

Hermione got the sudden impression that they had broached a topic he did not fancy talking about.

'So, where are you playing football?'

'I found this team in Bath who are in the local pub league. And guess what: Dean Thomas is team captain.'

Hermione had to remind herself to keep her jaw shut. Draco Malfoy was quite the opposite of predictable.

'He wasn't too keen on my joining them at first … but Dean's definitely one for burying the hatchet over a beer, and so we did. Apparently, I make for a good centre-back.'

Hermione cleared her throat while trying to pick up what was left of her cool. Somehow, Draco made her feel like she was fourteen again. And now, she couldn't help but picture him in a football jersey. It was definitely time to change the topic.

'What business brings you here then?' she enquired.

'The library needs new fundings,' he replied between sips of cappuccino; Hermione couldn't help but follow the movement of his tongue as it darted out to collect the froth off his upper lip. 'I thought I'd visit the place and see whether or not I would like to become a benefactor.'

'What would you get out of it?'

'Not much … mainly, my name on some random plaque somewhere in the entrance hall, or – more likely – on a bench, I don't know. Oh, and – how could I forget – a lifetime honorary membership with unlimited access to the library as well as the restricted archives.'

'Transferable?' Hermione enquired hopefully.

'Oh, Granger … sadly, no,' said Draco with a put-on sigh.

'Too bad – it was hard enough obtaining a pass for the week! It was rather pricey, too. I can't imagine how costly a lifetime membership would be …'

'You know, I could always bring somebody along.'

For the second time that day, Hermione blushed. She could tell from the way her skin prickled. This was too odd … or was it? Draco was quite suave – admittedly, still putting the sly in Slytherin – but overall witty and sophisticated. And surprisingly nice. Even more surprising was his apparent interest in her; Hermione was neither blind nor thick enough not to realise that.

'Whom do you have in mind?' she said with an air of ostensible casualty.

'Oh, you know'– Draco tapped his chin as though intensely pondering –'someone with a vague interest in literature, probably. The swotty kind.'

'So … definitely not Ron.'

Draco snorted. 'Most definitely not.'

He remained quiet for a while, and Hermione began to feel nervous. A thousand questions popped into her head all at once: would this lead anywhere? If so, where exactly? Would it mean anything? Would she want it to mean something? What would her friends say? Would that even matter after all those years?

Hermione failed to stifle a groan, an expression of her frustration with the lack of answers.

'What's wrong?' asked Draco, once again levelling his gaze with hers. Godric, his eyes … they are just grey, Hermione!

'Nothing, it's just – you … and I – here – ugh.' She let her face fall into her hands.

'I see,' he said, voice layered with disappointment. 'Look, I know this is bordering mental, but here we are. Who would have thought? Well … I'm just glad you joined me for coffee. But I wouldn't want you to feel awkward, so … I'll leave you to your thoughts.'

'What?' Hermione looked up at the blond, who was already in the middle of leaving, putting a Muggle banknote on the table – way too much for what they'd had.

'No, really, it's fine … Hermione. See you around.'

With that, he turned on his heels and made towards the exit.

'Draco, wait!' said Hermione, getting up and hastily collecting her belongings before following him outside. As soon as she was out the door, she grabbed him by the arm. He turned around, wearing a devilish smile, and Hermione realised immediately what it meant.

'Oh, you …' she fumed, 'you Slytherin you!'

'Is that supposed to insult me?' He raised an eyebrow. 'I just wanted to see what would happen, is all.'

'Let me guess – you knew I would come.'

Draco took a step towards her, which made Hermione's heart misbehave – it wasn't supposed to beat faster!

'Well, I didn't know for sure, but I gambled, and the odds turned out in my favour,' he smirked, tucking a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear – common code for "I want to kiss you". Hermione's feet (like the rest of her body) had decided to work against her by stepping ever closer. 'Like I said,' he added. 'Predictable.'

'I'm not predictable,' she breathed against his lips.

'Yes, you are.'

And with that, he closed the remaining distance, sealing her lips with a remarkable kiss, and Hermione's world began to spin. Had kisses ever felt this way? This mind-blowing, this … words failed her. She only leaned into him further, revelled in the way he had his hand buried in her hair, the texture of his lips and his enticing smell, his warm touch – Merlin's beard, was anything about this man not perfect?

When he withdrew after an unidentifiable amount of time, Hermione found herself in a post-snogging stupor.

'Been waiting to do that for quite a while now,' he said softly. His hair – which she had ruffled, apparently – looked ever so appealing, and his cheeks were tinged with a light pink hue. Good to know she wasn't the only besotted one.

'You have?' was all she got out.

'Oh yeah.' Draco smiled at her. 'London is just so … full of eyes. I prefer the company of strangers.'

'I'm not a stranger.'

He chuckled. 'It rhymes with you, that counts – listen, I've got to run … boring business supper. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?'

'How long will you be staying?' she called after him, and Draco backpedalled slowly, his sweet smile turning into a mischievous grin that made Hermione's heart flutter.

'However long you like.'