HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MCAL! If you have read any of my works this year, you know that my sweet MCal is just as integral to me making words as is my laptop. There aren't enough wonderful things to say about my Alpha-extrordinare. You feed my muse all the sweet stuff you know she likes and keep me accountable, keep me pushing and striving to be better and above all, you keep the complete joy in fandom alive!

Her birthday is in just a few short days and I've got a little short story ready for you! You'll have one chapter today, one tomorrow and the final two on the big day! I adore you endlessly and hope the days leading up to your birthday are as wonderful as you are.

Without further adieu- some bed sharing, mutual pining, fake dating shenanigans. Just for you. -LK

XXXXX

He stared at her for exactly five beats, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he tried to discern if the witch was absolutely fucking with him. She had to be.

"Malfoy?" She said his name almost like a whine. "Would you just… say something?"

"You're fucking with me." It wasn't what he meant to say, but it was certainly appropriate.

"It's one weekend, and I swear to everything that is magical, I will do all your reports for a week—" His features fell, an indelicate snort escaping him. "Fine! A month. An entire month of reports."

"Why are you lot doing this anyway? Slytherins wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. It's so… well, it's so Gryffindor."

"It doesn't matter, but I can't very well get out of it now. I'd meant it just to be close friends, but of course Harry wouldn't go with Pansy; then Neville just had to invite Luna, which was fine. But then Ron—"

Ahhh, yes. Now he understood. A nasty twist of jealousy coiled around his lungs, and he abruptly returned to the forms on his desk. "So that's it. Your ex is bringing his arm candy, and you need a stud for yourself? I'm flattered, Granger. Truly."

He spared a brief glance up at her. Why was it that every time her cheeks pinkened like that his stomach roiled delightfully? She shifted nervously in her place, tucking a curl behind her ear and crinkling her nose in an adorable little show of frustration.

"You're the person that will piss Ron off the most, and if he's going to be traipsing his little French tart around, then I'm a big enough person to admit that I want to do the same."

"Wait," Draco interjected, leaning swiftly forward, "would that make me the tart?"

Stomping her foot into the cheap carpet of his office, she pulled a face, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Will you go or not? It's one weekend where you put your arm around my shoulder and sit with me at meals and pretend you don't loathe the ground I walk on."

Pursing his lips, Draco canted his head back and forth a few times petulantly. He'd already decided he would, had decided it as soon as the words had floated over her tongue and into existence. Draco Malfoy was many things, but he was not stupid, and that's exactly what he'd have to be to pass up a weekend on Hermione Granger's arm. But he liked watching her squirm—would love to watch her squirm in many ways—but there was something particularly enjoyable about riling her up.

"Malfoy!"

He groaned. "Fine, I'll do it. Send me details later; I'm busy." There was a long moment of silence, and he lifted his gaze to hers. She looked… shocked, her lips barely parted and her brow puckered. "What?"

She blinked a few times, coming back to reality and shaking her head. "Nothing. Just… thanks, Malfoy. I owe you one."

He watched her go, the sides of his throat tightening as her hips sashayed from his office. She peeked one final time over her shoulder as his heart skipped exactly two beats. It meant nothing; he knew that. He knew that. But even after years of her ignoring every damn signal he'd dropped, years of her dating that stupid buffoon and getting her heart shredded into pieces… he found it was still all too easy to hope. What a ridiculous thing, hope.

Of all the things he knew with any varying degree of certainty, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no way that Hermione Granger was interested in him any further than a pawn to make her ex jealous.

XXXXX

Grinning, Hermione rushed down the hall of the department and ducked quickly into her tiny closet-esque office. Pressing the door shut, she rested her forehead against the back of the door and tried to remember how to breathe.

Everything she had told Malfoy had been painfully true. She really did want to bring a date to the cabin this weekend because seeing Ron with Gabrielle Delacour on his arm was sickening enough without being the only person attending the weekend stag. Things between them had ended amicably enough; there was no burning effigies or screaming matches for their neighbors to hear. They just… faded to black. As easy and complicated as that.

Then, when Fleur and Bill started having kids, Fleur's baby sister started hanging around, except… she wasn't a baby anymore. She was the spitting image of her sister but with a softer disposition and, thankfully, a softer accent. And the first time that she batted her bright blue eyes Ronald's way with a murmured, "Did I ever properly 'zank you for helping Harry that year?" it had been over.

They fell so quickly and easily in love in front of Hermione's eyes that she hadn't had time to wrap her head around it. They existed in each other's negative spaces, always tangled limbs and stolen kisses. It was stomach churning.

And with each passing month, she became more and more painfully single. Maybe she shouldn't care; after all, she had her career and her cat. She had a lovely little flat on the posh side of London, and on the weekends she was free to volunteer or browse the bookshelves as long as she wanted without being bothered to attend another Quidditch match or meet their friends at the pub. But if she was honest, she often got lonely. So lonely, in fact, that she had begun taking lunch meetings just so she didn't have to eat alone.

Often with co-workers and, more often than not, with Malfoy. At first it had been cantankerous at best, but slowly their jabs turned playful and their laughs more genuine. Now, she found herself lurking around the corner with a sad little salad from the cafe, waiting until he summoned her in.

It wasn't an easy friendship, if one could call it that at all, but these days he was a constant in her life, one that she sometimes found herself idly (read: actively) dreaming about taking to the next level. She wondered what it'd be like to be kissed by him like one of those girls he was always taking out to fancy dinner dates and charity events. Wondered what it would be like to be the girl on his arm and shown off for the world to see… it was ridiculous.

She was Hermione-bloody-Granger after all; she pined for no man. Well… okay, there was a little pining. Barely there. Truly.

And now he was heading to the cabin with her as her… date? Pretend boyfriend? With a groan, Hermione lifted her forehead and swiftly banged it against the back of the door for good measure. Merlin, what had she gotten herself into?

XXXXX

He'd received his requested details from Granger promptly that evening. Apparently they were headed to some large wooded sanctuary, although from what she said it wasn't going to be some hole-in-the-wall shack. The house boasted a gourmet kitchen, two balconies, and an impressive view. Hell, even if he wasn't going as Granger's arm candy, it still sounded like an alright weekend.

He couldn't put his finger on when things had begun to shift for him, when she stopped being the bushy haired swot and began being the women she was now. It had happened so gradually that when realization had finally dawned on him, it had slammed into him with all the force of a well-timed bludger.

Bag ready to go, he stepped through the Floo into her flat. "Granger?"

"Be right out!" Her voice carried from the back of her flat, and he unceremoniously dropped his canvas bag next to the Floo and began poking around. It was nicer than he'd originally thought, but still full of things that made it quintessentially Granger. A stack of books on the end table and a cup of half-drank tea placed precariously on top. A knitted blanket thrown haphazardly over the back of the sofa and a visible dent in the cushions showed her favorite spot. An ugly, oversized cat snoozing in the light of the window lifted its ratty head to offer a delicate hiss in his direction.

"Sorry about that. Ready?" Draco turned and against his volition, his breath caught painfully. Merlin, she looked good. Her denims kissed every square inch of her legs, and her skin, still sun-kissed from summer, was complimented by her chunky cream sweater. Her curls were swept up over one shoulder, but none of that compared to the way her lips curled up in a friendly smile upon seeing him or the colour of her cheeks when he smirked back at her.

He swallowed the knot coiled deep in his throat. "Ready."

XXXXX

"Hellooo? Anyone here?"" Granger's voice rose in a happy greeting as she stomped the wet leaves from her boots and left the door open for him. With a small shrug, she turned back towards him. "Guess we're the first. We're up here."

Draco followed her up the stairs, through a secondary sitting room, and down a long hall of doors. "I don't know if I told you, but it's actually my birthday this weekend. Not that it's that big of a deal, but I did claim the master suite. There um… well, you see, the house is full, so we'll have to bunk together, if that's alright?"

A flash of unwelcome and unfamiliar anxiety unfurled in his chest as she pushed open the opulent door to a large master suite. Perhaps Draco should have asked more questions… she'd mentioned throwing an arm over her shoulder and sitting with her at meals, but he wasn't sure after that.

Inside the room, there was a massive bed with four posters, rich woven tapestries hung around each one, and countless pillows rested at the head. A long chaise stood next to two chairs and a small bar, all framed by a wall of windows looking out over the wooded countryside and a private balcony.

"This is some set-up, Granger. Must be some birthday." Draco spoke from the corner of his mouth as he dropped his bag on the edge of the bed and proceeded to walk around the room. Of course he knew it was her birthday. It was indeed a big one, too. Her thirtieth, and the fact that she had, in some ways, chosen to spend it with him did not escape him.

"Well," she said, opening the wide glass double doors to the balcony and letting in a gust of fresh, September air. "It was this or a birthday party. So a weekend away, mourning my lost youth and welcoming my life as a spinster, seemed favorable. Keep my shame hidden and all that." Her words were light, but her tone was not; they were laced with a sadness that he couldn't quite understand.

After all, she was still fit. She'd always had lovely features, once she'd learned to tame her hair and her teeth were of a more reasonable size, but there was something about her now...

He approached her quietly, standing just behind her until he could feel her sweater brushing against his chest. Dipping his lips to her ear, he smirked as her eyes fluttered closed. "I'm not so sure, Granger. You might still have a ways before you're relegated to a spinster. Surely there are a few steps before then. One of those older ladies who lures younger men into their bed or something."

Her chuckle shook through him, and a genuine grin spread over her lips. "You're just saying that because you're twenty-nine. Talk to me in June."

"There's the birthday gi—Hermione?" There was a loud thud behind them, a duffle being dropped unceremoniously to the wood floor. Granger turned just barely to look up at him over her shoulder, and something about the shade of milk chocolate in her gaze made him gulp.

"Ready?" she breathed quietly, so lowly only he could hear. He nodded. "Hello, boys," she said with a happy smile, reaching down to thread her fingers with his and—holy shite, he was in deep, deep trouble.

XXXXX

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Ron spat, his face turning a hideous shade of chartreuse as He brushed past Harry, who was standing with a gaping jaw.

"Don't be rude, Ronald. I told you both I was bringing someone—"

"Someone! Since when are you and Malfoy—" Ron sputtered, his eyes darting over them and settling on their interlocked fingers. "Holding hands!"

From just over her shoulder, Malfoy snorted, and she realized that she'd made a grievous error. There had been no discussion about the parameters of this weekend, and she had no idea what to tell her friends. A very serious oversight.

"We're doing more than holding hands, Weasel." Malfoy's voice was exactly how she remembered him in their youth: haughty and smug with no remorse for others. It wasn't the Malfoy she knew now at all. "Now, be polite and say hello."

"Hermione," Harry said after a small clearing of his throat. "Could we maybe talk a minute in the hall?"

Levying a tired sigh, Hermione released Malfoy's hand and offered a small, apologetic smile before crossing the massive room and joining her friends in the hall. "Where are Gabrielle and Pansy?"

"Downstairs," Harry said without missing a beat. "Do you care to tell us what's going on here? We knew you were friends with the prat… but you can imagine our surprise."

"I should've mentioned it, but well, it's rather… new." Hermione grimaced at her ill-formed lie.

Ron made a gargling noise that she recognized well from their time together; it was the noise he made whenever he wasn't getting his way. She'd heard it often in the three years they spent as a half-hearted couple. "Well, why did you need to bring someone 'new' on your birthday weekend? Especially when that new someone is Malfoy?"

Heat coloured Hermione's cheeks, her lips pursing tightly together. "Yes, I did. I wanted to spend my birthday with the people that mean the most to me, and that includes Malfoy. So run along and claim your rooms; there is a chef with the house, and they'll have dinner ready at seven." Turning on her heel, she made to march back into her suite, but she stopped and turned harshly over her shoulder once more. "I expect you both to be on your best behavior. Just as I was when Gabbi and Pans joined our little circle. Understood?"

With a quiet grumble, they both nodded and reclaimed their bags, making their way back down the hall. Truth be told, she'd been far from pleasant when both women joined their ensemble, but that was neither here nor there. Closing the door behind her, her breath caught at Malfoy laid out casually on the bed, his arms folded behind his hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

"How did the pricks take it?"

"Malfoy!" she admonished with a lighthearted chuckle. "They took it just fine. Not that I gave them a choice in the matter… but the two of us should talk. I know you're doing me a favor, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I hope I didn't… earlier, I mean, by holding your hand. I was just… solidarity and all that." She loosened a small laugh, her face screwing up on one side.

Something flashed over Malfoy's features, and before she could name it, he sat abruptly up, facing away from her. "You'd have a hard time making me uncomfortable, Granger. But we should lay out some ground rules, you're right."

Hermione swore she saw his shoulders tighten as he carded a hand through his platinum locks. But rules were good. Rules set up boundaries, and Hermione could deal with boundaries. Without them she was far too tempted to crawl up this man like a tree.

"Rules," she agreed with a firm nod. "We'll have to have some varying degree of physical contact... to keep up the ruse, that is. So are you okay with holding hands?"

Malfoy laughed darkly before pushing to stand and turning on her with an all too familiar smirk. "I am. Don't worry about the physical aspects of this little charade; I'm well versed in the art of conning people to believe I'm dating someone. The Prophet has been eating it up for years. What's our back story?"

Interesting. Very interesting. All those dates…

"I mean, they know you and I have become… friendly. A few weeks ago we decided to try our hand at dating?" Hermione offered with a shrug, ignoring that niggling feeling that she was experiencing about how desperately she wished this story to be true.

"Brilliant. So, I, in all my suave, debonair ways, swept you off your feet one late night at the office. You were powerless under my charm and quickly fell madly in love with me—"

Hermione sucked in a harsh, disbelieving breath. "Yeah, that doesn't sound anything like me. If anything, it was I who made the first move and you who fell helplessly in love with me. I can be quite charming… if I set my sights on it."

"Riiiiight," Malfoy drawled. "Well, the devil is in the details, Granger. And since it is I who agreed to help you, we will go with me being the sauve one and you being the starry-eyed one. Makes more sense. Have we had sex?"

Spit caught in the back of her throat, and Hermione began hacking and sputtering as she failed spectacularly at regaining her composure.

"It's important. People who have seen each other naked act differently around each other."

Fanning herself to cool the heat pooling in her cheeks, her eyes rounded in his direction. "Why does anyone in this house need to know one way or the other?"

"You forget that I've slept with someone in this house," Malfoy deadpanned. "Or did my sordid history with Potter's witch slip your mind?"

Her eyes fluttered closed as a soft hiss paired with colourful expletives slipped over her tongue. She'd not really forgotten about Pansy—who could?—but she didn't account for the Slytherin's watchful eye, either. Pansy Parkinson remained to this day the biggest pain in her arse imaginable. Pansy was far more understanding about her friendship with Harry than Ginny ever was, but she was meddling and cold… calculating.

"Fine. I guess we haven't, since that's the truth," Hermione responded flippantly and scoffed when Draco's features flattened in annoyance. "What now?"

"It just seems unlikely that I'd be seeing a witch for several weeks and not fucked her yet—"

"Malfoy!"

"What? It's true! But it's fine. It'll drive Pansy crazy, which is always a plus for me, since she will think it's annoying I never waited long on her." A wicked smirk tugged at his handsome features as he crossed the room towards the small bar and poured himself a firewhisky. "Anything for you?"

She sighed and joined him. "I'll take the same."

Malfoy chuckled and handed her the first drink before pouring his own. "Cheers, Granger. To making people believe the unbelievable."

There was something about the set to his mouth or the tightening of his eyes as he spoke that struck Hermione. With a gulp, she lifted her glass. "To the unbelievable."

XXXXX

Until Tomorrow!

Mega thanks to my love and beta, Ravenslight. If you aren't reading her WIP Queen of Swords, lawdddd. You are missing out. It's as stunning as she is, and that's saying something.