A/N: Hi readers! I am back with another story. I know I should work on the third part of Shared, but I can't do that with this lovely, charming, and so tempting prompt in my head (it's not forgotten, promised). This entire story is a gift for sleepygrimm, who prompted me. But this first chapter is also a gift for her birthday! I hope you enjoy this, my friend 3!

Although, this wouldn't be possible with a beta like niffizzle who invested so much time to make this so much better. THANK YOU! All remaining mistakes are my own.

Oh, I almost forgot - this isn't mine and no (Daily) Prophit is made.

"HERMIONE!"

Hermione cringed at the sound of her name being shouted over the relatively quiet mass of people that had gathered in the Three Broomstick. Almost all eyes were stuck on a big screen, specifically transfigured for this event, on one of the walls where the German Minister für Magiebeteiligte Vorgänge und Unvorhergesehenes (or as the English translation read at the bottom of the screen: Minister for Magic-Involving Occurrences and Unforeseen Events) spoke his introductory words and greetings for the finale of the Quidditch World Cup. This year, it was a match of epic proportions, seeing as France was playing against England on German soil.

Hermione tried to weasel her way through the crowd, stopping again and again to hug someone or simply say hello. It seemed as if her entire year from Hogwarts had also decided to come there tonight, which was surprising because some of them she hadn't seen in years. Then again, even Hermione recognised that this sporting event was one of a kind.

"Hurry up, Hermione, or you'll miss half the game!" Ginny, who had been the one shouting for her, pulled her closer by her sleeve as soon she was close enough. Her best female friend didn't speak any more words of greeting, nor did Harry, Seamus, or Dean who were all huddled around one table. They were too captivated by the screen to say anything else, but at least someone pushed a butterbeer into her hands.

Hermione didn't really mind. Even though she wasn't a real fangirl, she thoroughly enjoyed watching the game and loved the energetic atmosphere of such events. And, really, the man and women sweeping over the screen, pressed to their high speed brooms, were a sight to behold. Broomstick magic was complicated, and it always fascinated Hermione to see it at work, actively defying the laws of physics and rationality. The aim with the cubs, Quaffles, and Bludgers was something she'd never possess, that much she could admit (though she wasn't as bad at flying as most thought her to be).

As expected, the English team was in top form, but the French team fought as hard as their adversaries. And so as the game it was a whirlwind of blue, red, and white flying across the screen with the English commentator barely keeping up with the fast paced match.

After nearly an hour, Hermione climbed from the booth their table was in, intent to fetch another drink that wasn't butterbeer. It wasn't so easy considering that Ginny had started to snog Harry enthusiastically and rather indecently because the English had just reclaimed the lead. Once Hermione had successfully maneuvered around that, she almost crashed into Bill and Fleur Weasley, the latter cursing in rapid French about her team lagging behind while her smiling husband stroked her back consolingly. Hermione chuckled to herself, knowing the blonde witch was nothing like the docile doll so many judged her to be by her appearance.

Hermione once again found herself pushing through the crowd, only this time, no one bothered to stop her, everyone much too consumed by the game. When she reached the bar, she waved her hand to get someone's attention.

"Hi," she said to the man behind the bar.

He was a few years younger than her, probably a student who occasionally helped out when the pub expected more customers than usual. Yet despite her call for him, he either ignored Hermione or didn't hear her. Considering he was currently staring into some witch's decolletè, she surmised the first reason.

"Hey! I'd like to order something!"

No reaction.

She was about to huff and stomp when a drawling voice spoke, "Oh my, is this pub so popular now that it can risk not serving Hermione Granger, War Heroine?"

The brunette threw her head around and only needed a split second to identify the person who had loudly said the sarcastic words and now winked at her, clearly amused at how the barkeeper all but shrieked and hastened over to them.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger, I got distracted," the barkeeper said before Hermione could respond to the question.

She tore her eyes away from the blond wizard next to her. "One could say that," she spat at the frazzled younger man. Even though she probably shouldn't, she enjoyed how he reddened at her chastising.

"Whatever you order, it's on the house," he said placatorily.

Now that she could accept. "In that case, two of your best whiskeys neat, please. And don't fool me, I know what a good whiskey tastes like."

The barkeeper flitted away to pour the ordered beverages, and Hermione turned her attention back to the wizard next to her. "My, my, my. Draco. This is truly a surprise."

"It is. And what happened to 'Malfoy'?" He gave her a relaxed smile and slightly leaned in closer to her. He seemed to be a fraction out of place with his perfectly fitting black slacks and his steel blue long sleeved shirt - and Hermione asked herself why she even noticed that.

She smiled back, the surrounding atmosphere seeping into her, making her a bit more open than usual she concluded. "I figured you so bravely defending my honor would gain you the privilege of being called by your first name."

The barkeeper placed two tumblers with generous pours of whiskey in front of Hermione and hurried away again.

"Well then, Hermione." Smiling again, Draco took the whiskey Hermione had offered him and inclined his head in a toast. "To progress."

"Progress?"

"I consider us sitting at a bar and having a drink is quite the sign of progress, isn't it?" He gestured at the two of them who, at some point, had moved to sit on barstools without Hermione's conscious acknowledgment.

Hermione felt her lips curl into another broad, honest, if a bit sardonic smile, for she really saw the humour in the current situation. "Yes, absolutely, at least a small one. Just wait, in an hour you're going to order a mobile and ask me how to operate it." She clinked her glass against his.

Without missing a beat, Draco pulled a mobile from his pocket, obviously enjoying the flabbergasted expression on Hermione's face. "It's brand new, so I don't know much about it yet…"

Helplessly, she threw her head back and laughed loudly. "This is just too good!" she admitted.

Loud cheering around them brought them back to the excitement of the Quidditch game. Obviously, an English Chaser had scored again.

"Who are you betting on?" Draco asked conversationally, still leaning against the bar as if it was totally normal for him to converse with Hermione on a Saturday evening in a pub.

"That's a joke, right?" she asked back, incredulously. "I might not be an expert on the sport, but I am English!"

"So am I, but my family history goes back to France," Draco retorted, wriggling his nose in an exaggerated snobbish manner.

"I know, William the Conqueror and all."

He threw her a curious glance and she blushed. "You know that?"

"Yes… I am quite fascinated by wizarding family history after spending so many hours in Grimmauld Place."

Draco continued to scrutinize her. "You're living with Potter?"

She snorted and drowned the rest of her whiskey. "Yes, he and Ron are both my roommates. And Ginny and little James are all there, and Ron's ever changing girlfriends. We are a community. Make love, not war."

"You're kidding." The wizard's grey eyes blinked at her, and the way they caught the dim lights in the pub rather becomingly was something she'd rather not ponder now.

"No, Draco. I've lived in a tent with the boys, and that was so nice I didn't want to give it up." She fought a girlish giggle but was unsuccessful at it. Finally, she broke. "Okay, fine. That wasn't exactly the truth, and I don't really live with them. But Ron snores like a hippogriff, and Harry is exceptionally neat, just not in the kitchen. Living with them would drive me spare. And I love Ginny and James, but the witch can be a bit much and that baby even more so."

"Well, I'm still living in Malfoy Manor." With a practised hand movement, he caught the attention of the barkeeper and ordered two more whiskeys, making Hermione believe the man had hovered nearby.

Hermione stopped laughing and looked at his perfectly straight face.

"The peacocks need company."

Then, at her bewildered expression of trying to find out if he was joking or not, his lips slowly unfurled into a cheeky grin.

"Huh," Hermione's mind supplied. He was much more handsome like this than the seven years he spent sneering at Hogwarts, wasn't he? "I think I need another drink to accept that Draco Malfoy can be funny."

"This one is on me," he said and handed her the freshly arrived beverages.

Plenty of loudly emitted Booooo! sounds made Hermione aware that a Quidditch finale was still going on, and the supporters of the English team must have thought they had been treated unfairly by the referee, even though the replay of the scene in question clearly showed that Alicia Spinnet had indeed shoved Babette Abrams from her broom quite rudely.

"So who of the players are you going to snatch away this time?" came a curious voice from Hermione's side.

"What?"

"Well, I can remember you dating the Bulgarian Seeker after one World Cup," Draco explained to her surprise.

"How can you remember that? I thought you were too busy sticking your tongue into Pansy's mouth and sneering at Harry that year."

He winced at her words, the memory clearly unpleasant. "You forgot to add being an idiotic blood supremacist."

"Oh, sorry. I thought that was a given character description for you," Hermione deadpanned and for a moment, she thought she had gone to far. But then, Draco gave a low, rumbling laugh, a sound she had never heard until this day. It was actually very pleasant.

When the game paused for a break, the tension in the room grew palpable. No wonder, the score stood 250:260 for England now, but new rules demanded the players take a break for thirty minutes after two hours into the game.

Draco's proximity, the alcohol in their system, and the atmosphere of the evening made Hermione's mood vibrant and giddy, and she felt fantastic, if a bit devious because she was exchanging innocently flirty words and honest conversation with Draco Malfoy. She wasn't alone with him, of course. Now that everyone wasn't totally immersed in the game, there were other people for her to talk with. She exchanged mock flirting with Seamus which had Dean, his husband, laughing himself silly over. She shared a drink with Ginny, without alcohol on the red-heads side because she was still nursing her firstborn. She cuddled into Harry's side, enjoying his brotherly attention.

But always she returned to Draco's side. It wasn't a conscious decision. Instead, she simply found herself standing next to him when they were both talking to Bill about his latest ideas on the curse-breaking of early cultures. Or when he wordlessly handed her a new drink just as soon as she discovered hers was empty. Or when she saw him avidly listening to Dean as he explained the differences between Quidditch and football while she happened to discuss Seamus' cooperation with Weasleys Wizard Wheezes for some extravagant fireworks.

Really, it was all a coincidence.

Or magnetism.

But that was something she avoided pondering actively, only partially because Marcus Mullens closed his hands around the Golden Snitch in this very moment.

England had won the World Cup!

Announcing the fall of Voldemort was nothing compared to what happened in the pub after that.

The atmosphere was ecstatic, and it was so loud, Hermione couldn't even hear her own squeals. Everyone was hugging, people were toasting, and soon, some even started singing loud hymnes in honor of the national team.

And Hermione was in the middle of it all. After hugging and kissing Harry, Ginny, Seamus, and Dean on the cheeks, she turned to Draco. He was looking at her with a somewhat shy and sheepish grin. Throwing all caution into the wind, she stepped into his outstretched arms and was immediately engulfed in his arms which, she noticed, fit around her perfectly. She leaned back to give him, like she had done with all the others, a kiss on the cheek and felt bold doing so.

But at that same moment, Draco turned his head, probably to say something to her.

And their lips met in the middle.

They both froze, and the whole moment seemed to stop the world's spin on its axis, but then she relaxed. His lips were soft and warm, and she swore she could hear him making a happy noise in the back of his throat, but that was hard to say with all the noise around them.

She felt a happy emotion bubbling up and gave a small giggle she wasn't entirely proud of.

Then, the moment was over, and they pulled away. Draco's arms stay around here, and she wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't find the proper words.

The blond, who blinked rapidly a few times, struggled a bit, but opened his mouth to utter something when Harry shouted in her ear, "Hermione, you come with us! Sean and Deamus want to continue the party at their house. It's too crowded here and they have a pool! Can you believe it? A pool!"

Hermione dragged her gaze away from Draco and shouted back, "You are drunk, Harry!"

"Maybe. Probably," her best friend actually giggled.

She looked at Draco apologetically. "I'm sorry! I think I should go with them. Better keep Drunken Chosen One out of the public, right?"

Draco didn't seem perturbed. Instead, he merely grinned again.

She wanted to give him a proper goodbye, perhaps mention how nice the evening had been, but before either of them could say another word, Hermione got dragged away by The Saviour of the Wizarding World Who was About to Get a Good Scolding When He Was Sober Again. The amused (and adorably handsome) flicker in his eyes when Harry pulled her away made her want to shout how much she enjoyed watching the game with him and, frankly, the too brief kiss.

Hours later, when she came home after a hilarious time at Dean and Seamus' house, she reached into her pocket and found a napkin in her summer coat with something scribbled on it. Some numbers and the words:

"I hope this is my phone number?"

And a ridiculously bad sketch of a peacock.

Just for your information: The next chapter is written, and the entire story is planned out, though I can't make any promises for an update schedule.