Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.

A/N: A gift fic for I_was_BOTWP for being a wonderful and fabulous human being!

Loosely inspired by these lyrics from "Scarlet Begonias" by the Grateful Dead:
As I was walkin' down Grosvenor Square,
Not a chill to the winter but a nip to the air,
From the other direction she was calling my eye,
Could be an illusion but I might as well try, might as well try.

Blocker

Hermione Granger was a lot of things, but mostly, she was a damned cock block.

Draco slammed the front door to his flat, grumbling under his breath about witches who couldn't keep their opinions to themselves.

"I'm sorry." Hermione stood from an armchair facing the unlit fireplace.

Draco glared at her as he marched past. His bedroom was at the end of the hallway; he pushed the door open to find Hermione sitting at the foot of the bed with her legs crossed. She jumped up when he entered.

"All right." She planted her fists on her hips. "I'm not sorry. But, Draco—"

With a sigh, he stepped into his walk-in closet. He shed his dinner jacket and worked the knot of his tie as he mouthed along to Hermione's familiar excuse.

"She was just,"—she flapped her wrist dismissively—"blah."

His eyes rolled in exasperation.

"Do you know how long she talked about her family's estates?"

He slid his undone tie off slowly, arching an eyebrow in Hermione's direction.

For a moment, her eyes tracked the movement of the silver tie before they flicked back to his face. "Forty-eight minutes," she said. " I don't know anything about this woman. I don't know if she has siblings. I don't know if her parents are still around and what they might be doing. But I do know that she has a manor outside Paris for when she's in the mood to shop and a villa in Italy for whenever London bores her." She threw her hands up in the air. "I mean, really. What a terrible date!"

Draco loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves. "You're forgetting something, Granger." He sauntered towards her, stretching to his full height and glaring down his nose at the infuriating witch.

Despite the weight of the haughty sneer that was his family legacy, Hermione held her ground. "What?"

"She was my terrible date." He angled his head down, looking her squarely in the eye. "Not yours." With a move that would have made his late Head of House proud, he swept out of the bedroom and headed to his study. Bypassing his oft-used crystal decanter—which he had emptied with a vengeance since his last failed attempt at dating—he plopped onto his favorite couch and picked up his worn copy of The Art of War.

"I know." Hermione appeared beside him, slumping into the brown leather that brought out the warm tones in her hair. "I know it wasn't my date, but—in a way—it was. They all were."

He held the book open before him, staring blankly at the words. His attention—as usual—was fixed on the woman next to him. At the periphery of his vision, Hermione fidgeted with her thumbs as she was wont to do when she was anxious.

"I'm part of you." Hermione sighed. "Wherever you go, whatever you do—I'm with you always."

He lowered his book to the armrest, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"I know it's not what you expected. And it's not that I'm ungrateful." A shy smile formed on her rose-blush lips, making his breath catch in his throat. "The opposite, in fact. I only want the best for you, Draco Malfoy. For everything you've done for me."

He coughed dryly, shaking the uncomfortable feeling around his shoulders whenever he thought of that night. "I'm sure anyone would have done it," he mumbled.

Hermione shook her head. "Not just anyone. Harry, probably. Perhaps even Ron."

Draco scoffed.

"But not everyone would have offered to tether my soul to keep me from going to the Great Beyond."

"It was my aunt's fault," Draco grunted. "Damned cursed knife. It was only right that I helped you."

Hermione placed a hand on his knee, her touch like a nip of winter air. "Bellatrix might have cleaved my soul from my body, but you saved me. And you used your own body to host my soul without a second thought on how it might affect you."

"And what a gracious host I've been since then," he mused.

She gave his knee a playful swat. "I've shared space with worse." Draco twitched an eyebrow in question, and Hermione tilted her head back, laughing. "Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Oh, they were the worst. Once, they made all the girls in Gryffindor tower list the boys they want to snog."

A smile tugged at a side of his lips. "Did I make it on anyone's list?"

Hermione tore her gaze from him, her ghostly cheeks deepening a shade. "Just one," she whispered.

The implication in her words warmed his skin as though he stood too close to an open flame—exciting and dangerous and potentially devastating.

Draco dared himself to throw kindling into the fire.

"Hermione." His voice rumbled; she bit her lip at the sound of her name. "About these dates that I've been going on…"

She glanced at him from under her long lashes. "Yes?"

"Do you really just want the best for me? Or,"—he phrased his question to lessen the chance of getting a cold slap on the cheek—"do you have a different motivation for not liking my dates?"

Hermione shrugged one shoulder, the expression on her face too casual to be authentic.

"Do you dislike my dates," he pushed, "because you're jealous of them?" When he was met with silence, he whined. "Granger."

Her hands covered her face, and she released an irritated growl. "I don't know what to say, Draco! Do you want me to say, 'Yes, I've been sabotaging your dates because I hate them?' Or say that I want you for myself and to hell with all these aesthetically perfect women with their sleek hair and villas in Italy? Do you want me to tell you that I see and hear you every minute of my existence but, somehow, I'm always craving more? Do you want me to say that?!" After a loaded pause in which neither of them breathed, Hermione lowered her hands from her face, staring at him wide-eyed. She whispered, "Do you?"

His heart thudded in his ears. The room felt too hot, and he sidled closer to her, seeking her comfortable coolness. He opened his mouth to say,'Yes, for fuck's sake, say it all!'

A phantom finger laid gently on his lips. "Don't."

"Granger—"

"Draco." Her earnest gaze bore into him, and he was enthralled. "We don't know how long this...situation...between us will last. When they can put me back in my body." A dent appeared between her eyebrows. "If they can put me back. Until it happens, we're stuck living together like this. I'd rather not start anything important while I'm literally a shadow of my former self." A wry expression bloomed on her face. "And, call me old-fashioned, but I don't want to live with my significant other without a commitment."

Draco smirked. "More of a commitment than a soul bond?"

She tutted in mock pity. "Our soul bond isn't Ministry-certified, I'm afraid."

"Well." He placed a hand on top of hers, still covering his knee. "Let's hope the brightest minds in Europe can put you back in your body soon. In the meantime, there's something I need to do." He stood, pulling her alongside him as he went to his desk.

"What is it?"

Draco picked up a small, leather-bound notebook and gave her a saucy wink. "I have to clear my social calendar of those terrible dates."

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!