Click-clack, click-clack

Hermione's heels made her approach down the hallway of St. Mungo's less than stealthy. Heads popped out of the nurse's station, voices greeting her as she walked by.

"Hello, Stella! Good to see you, Adam."

Her job often brought her to the hospital, and with all the time she spent here, she'd gotten to know many of the staff.

The hospital was a good place, run by people that genuinely cared about the community. The children's ward, in particular, was staffed by competent witches and wizards that had devoted their lives to healing.

It was in that ward that Hermione spent most of her time when she was at St. Mungo's.

The war had left no shortage of children without parents, and in the years following as Wizarding Britain attempted to rebuild, the orphaned and abandoned little ones had no one. Calling upon all her favours as a war heroine, Hermione created a position within the Ministry to shore up the cracks and ensure more children didn't fall to the wayside.

Though not an easy job by far, she loved it like little else. It was hard-won—she'd personally petitioned the Minister to allow her to create a new division within the DMLE to handle services for children and families. They were far overdue for a change. Muggles had a system for children in need, though flawed, and Hermione thought it was high time the magical community followed suit and protected and cared for its most vulnerable citizens.

And so, the Children's Services Department, a subdivision of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was born. Hermione worked with local magical law enforcement officers and frequented the courtrooms of the Wizengamot; it was the most rewarding thing she could have chosen to do with her life.

On nights when the emotional toll such a position came with was too much, Hermione went home, drew a bath, and cried until her head hurt. Time and again, the world had proved to be an unfair place, but any opportunity she had to make it a little less cruel, she would grasp with both hands.

Today she was meeting with Elenor Walton, a sweet six-year-old witch who had lost her mother in a fiendfyre incident started by her father. The Aurors had investigated and declared it an accident, but after meeting with the father, Hermione got a niggling feeling that something wasn't right.

Her goal was to place Elenor with her grandmother. When Hermione had done the preliminary interviews, there wasn't enough evidence to declare the father unfit despite her concerns. But then he'd refused help for temporary shelter and lied about having a place to stay, instead dragging his daughter through the seediest parts of the city in the dead of winter, earning her a nasty case of dragon pox and a month-long hospital stay.

Now Hermione had a reason to back her suspicions and was doing everything she could to prove that Elenor should not, under any circumstances, be returned into the care of her father upon being discharged from the hospital.

The Ministry proved useless, throwing up red tape at every turn. Even beyond Elenor's grandmother needing to pass a home inspection, there was still a ridiculous amount of hoops to jump through and paperwork to fill out.

It was quiet in the far corner of the children's ward; Hermione hurried over to the last curtained cubicle on the right and peeked inside with a small smile and a wave. "Good afternoon, Elenor!"

"Miss 'Mione!" Elenor might be the only person Hermione allowed to call her by that silly name—other than Harry and Ron.

She looked so tiny on the bed, tucked under blankets with a stuffed hippogriff on her lap. Her skin had a greenish tinge, but no matter how she was feeling, Elenor remained a ray of sunshine. The sweetest smile always lit up her face, and these meetings with little Elle had quickly become the highlight of Hermione's week.

Sitting down in the rickety chair next to the bed, Hermione pulled a file out of her bag. "How is Rooly feeling? Better I hope, after his fall."

Elenor sneezed, sparks shooting out of her nose before she brushed her chubby fingers across the top of her Hippogriff. "Yes, he's fine now. Healer McCarthy gave him a shot and it made him all better."

"Glad to hear it!" Hermione continued, asking Elenor how she was doing, if anyone had been to see her, and general questions to suss out her wellbeing. When the serious part of their conversation was over, the little girl smiled and leaned in conspiratorially to whisper in Hermione's direction.

"Did you bring me a treat this time?"

Hermione laughed. "Shhh, don't tell the healer. I did sneak a little something inside my purse for you." Reaching into the depths of her bag, she pulled out a little purple and gold box.

Elenor beamed and clapped her hands. "A chocolate frog!" she squealed. "Oh Miss 'Mione, you're the best." Prying the box open, she giggled with glee when the frog hopped out, tiny hands flying out to catch it before it could escape.

"Only half now, all right? I don't want to be responsible for spoiling your dinner, little miss."

Nodding enthusiastically, Elenor caught the chocolate frog by its foot and brought it to her mouth, taking a big bite with her little gap teeth.

"Well now, look at these two pretty ladies we've stumbled upon," a deep voice said from behind Hermione.

"Mister Draco!" Elenor clapped her hands again. "Mister Harry, too?"

"Hello, Miss Elle." Harry stepped out from behind Malfoy. "You're looking chipper today."

Levelling Harry with a serious expression, Eleanor whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

Harry swung his head around comically as if he were looking to see if anyone was standing nearby then held up a hand. "I promise. Auror's honour."

"Miss 'Mione brought me sweets."

Draco gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. "Sneaking contraband into a hospital now, Granger? How naughty of you."

"It's for a good cause," Hermione said, winking at Elenor.

"I am a good cause, aren't I, Mister Draco?" Big blue eyes looked up at Malfoy from beneath fluttering lashes, and Hermione stifled a laugh. The little witch was already figuring out how to make wizards melt at her feet. She'd had Harry and Draco wrapped around her itty bitty finger from the first day they met her.

Hermione went over her notes while Harry and Draco entertained the child. She loved to see their badges and the "cool thingies they can do with their wands!"

A few minutes passed before Hermione looked up to see Elenor with rosy cheeks and delight sparkling in her eyes, pleading for Harry to make more sparks with his wand.

"Again, again!"

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, "Well gentlemen, I think it's time we leave Elenor so she can get some rest."

Gathering her things back into her briefcase, she rose and said a quick goodbye, reaching for the little girl's hand and squeezing lightly. "I'll see you next week!"

They said their goodbyes, and the three of them left the children's ward, making their way down the long hallway on the second floor. Harry and Draco walked on either side of her, as they always did, almost as if at any moment some cartoon villain with a twirly moustache might jump out and stuff her in a sack. She found it rather sweet, if not a bit ridiculous.

"What brought you here?"

Harry shook his head. "Government poppycock. We'd have caught the bad guy a hell of a lot faster if there were better protocol already in place. As it is, we can't do anything without requesting approval. It's mad."

"I know what you mean. I just came from a hearing where things would have gone so much smoother for the poor child if we'd just had a standard operating procedure. It's like the Ministry doesn't give a fig about the messy cases, the ones they can't easily tie up in a neat bow."

"They don't." Malfoy's response was jaded, but she didn't blame him. Putting work into a career that you think will affect change, only to be held up at every turn made the rose-coloured glasses foggy and scratched. Seeing the Ministry through adult eyes cast the institution in a different light.

"The case that brought us here is pretty nasty; a victim of our fugitive was injured and hospitalized. Had to get his statement," Harry said.

Shoes squeaking against the tile floor, Hermione came to an abrupt stop as her heart stuttered, fingers catching on Harry's sleeve to halt him. "Was there a fight? Are you both all right?" Sure, neither of them looked injured, but Harry was very good at hiding when something was wrong. He knew how much she worried for him, and she knew he tried to keep things from her as a result.

Strong fingers patted her own as Harry said, "Everyone's fine, 'Mione. We weren't involved until afterwards."

Relief settled over her like a warm blanket, and she felt a pang of guilt as she realised she'd completely glossed over the wellbeing of the wizard who had been attacked. "I hope the victim is all right."

"He'll live. Just gives us even more reason to catch this fucker," Draco said.

Harry shot him a scandalized look over Hermione's head. "Now, now, Malfoy. Such language. Where are your debutant manners?"

"Fuck off, Potter." Draco followed his words with a saucy wink. It was so quick she barely noticed, there and gone.

Through all of their sordid history, she never thought she'd see the day when Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter got along, but she'd been wrong.

After Ron had dropped out of Auror training, feeling compelled to step up and help George with the joke shop, Harry had gotten closer to another trainee—Malfoy. When they completed their training and began working for the Ministry, they'd been partnered up.

One night after an especially tough case, Harry had confessed that there were just some things that couldn't help but bring people together—spending long hours chasing true evil and living on the brink of near-death was one of them.

Honestly, Hermione was grateful. With how busy she was with her career and volunteer work, she felt that she was sometimes a poor friend to Harry. She'd not always been able to be there for him right after the war when she had worried he would need her the most. It had turned out that Malfoy's demons weren't that far off from Harry's. He'd done wrong, he'd been a vile bully and eventually a soldier for an evil being, but he'd also been a kid. A teenager, just like the rest of them, trying to protect his family and forced into growing up far too soon and facing the cruel realities of life and death.

Harry bumped her gently with his shoulder, pulling her back to the present. "It's Friday," he sang. "Come out with us, 'Mione. It's been forever. You could use some loosening up."

Hermione gasped in mock outrage. "How dare you imply that I am uptight, Mister Potter. I'm the most easy-going person you know."

Both men laughed at this—a little too hard if you asked her. It wasn't that funny.

"I'll even buy you a drink. What do you say, Granger?" Malfoy said.

"Make it two and you've got a deal. But I have to stop off at the office first and then home to feed Crooks. I'll meet you there. Eight o'clock sound all right?"

"It's a date." The smirk on Draco's face gave Hermione reason to worry. One never knew what that smarmy, sneaky prat was up to.

The words, though said playfully, made her heart skip a beat.

A date.

She'd deny it if anyone asked, but Hermione had been eyeing Harry and Draco for a while now. They were both quite fit, and she wasn't blind.

"Go on then! Leave me be. I'll see you gentleman later," Hermione said with a robust eyebrow wiggle. Sharing a conspiratory look, the two Aurors chuckled darkly and watched her walk away.

A disgruntled meow reached Hermione's ears as she pushed open the door to her flat.

She'd finished work a little later than usual, which inevitably meant Crookshanks' dinner was delayed. It wasn't as if he was starving—he'd gotten a bit plump in his middle age, and surely he could survive an hour without food.

Kicking off her heels and slipping out of her stockings, Hermione let out a groan of relief when her toes were freed from the confines of faux suede and pantyhose. Bending down and digging her thumb into her instep, she mumbled at her disgruntled Kneazle. "I know, my fussy little chunk. Just a minute, okay?"

The kibble was stashed on the top shelf of the overhead cabinets. With a stretch and small hop, she fumbled for the container. Unfortunately, her grip on the canister was loose, and it slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground, the plastic lid popping off and spilling kibble across the floor.

"Shite. No, Crooks! Wait."

Her greedy, not-so-little Kneazle eagerly lapped up the spilt kibble at an alarming rate.

Groaning, Hermione fell to her knees; she would have to put him back on a diet after this incident.

When she'd finally chased Crooks away from the spill and cleaned up, she collapsed onto her favourite overstuffed chair to read the paper.

The front page of the Prophet heralded the grand reopening of Hogwarts. Just reading those words filled Hermione with a soft glow of happiness and pride. While the school remained open after the war, the renovations had taken years. At long last, they were ready to debut the new facility, more modern and equipped with improved safety precautions.

Turning the page, Hermione chuckled when she saw the face of her best friend contorted into a fierce scowl. Poor Harry. The reporters tracked his every move like Muggle paparazzi, and she could hardly pass a newsstand without seeing his face splashed on its covers.

He hated the fame. A few months ago, in an unfortunately timed burst of frustration and anger, Harry had grabbed one of the cameras flashing in his face and tore it apart—with his bare hands.

It had been a glorious display of good old-fashioned violence, no magic necessary, and it kept the press away from him for a solid week. Much too soon, though, they were back to following him around like a flock of pixies.

A column to the right of the article about Harry caught Hermione's eye, beautiful filigree framing the title that read, "Dear Lavender."

She groaned. Lavender Brown had somehow landed her own column dedicated to anonymous advice. Advice. As if Lavender Brown were the type of person fit to be bestowing such a thing on others. People from all corners of Wizarding Britain owled in questions, and Lavender shared her sage wisdom with the poor sods.

This particular letter had been penned by Snitchless in Surrey.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the moniker. She wouldn't begrudge anyone their success, but she found these sections ridiculous and would never understand the appeal. As she gently turned to the next page, Crooks wandered over in a post-kibble coma, hopping on her lap for a cuddle.

After a few minutes of idly running her fingers through his ginger fur and catching up on the news, a chiming drew Hermione's attention to the Black Forest cuckoo clock hanging on her wall—a piece of her childhood home that her parents had gifted to her. Oh, bollocks. She'd better hurry and get ready or she'd be late.

She sent Crookshanks off with one last rub to his back. "Okay, Crooks. Off you go."

Heading to her bedroom, Hermione pulled open the wardrobe and started tossing things behind her and onto the bed. Tonight she wanted to dress up, put a little effort in.

Ignoring the annoying little voice prattling on in her head that was telling her exactly why she wanted to go the extra mile with her appearance, Hermione took care in choosing her ensemble. True, she'd never been one to care much about frippery and beauty routines, and Harry—of all people—knew that. He'd seen her at her very worst: malnourished, dirty, scuffed-up.

But tonight vibrated with promise, a fluttering excitement settling in Hermione's stomach at the prospect it held.

She'd been denying the sexual tension between herself and the boys for weeks now—maybe longer. There was more at risk than mere awkward interactions. If she were reading things wrong or it turned out their chemistry just fizzled out, it could throw a spanner in her friendship with Harry—one of the most important things in her life. And her newfound companionship with Malfoy was odd enough on its own without throwing in extra layers. Harry helped to bridge the gap between Hermione and Draco somewhat, but they were still figuring out how to act around each other. Hermione was nothing if not cautious, calculating every possible outcome before making a decision. If at any point in the night, she was hit with a sense of wrongness, she'd pull back and just enjoy a night out with friends. Hoping for it to be more was something she could entertain in her own mind without having to put anything on the line.

Harry had been her first, and she had been his. On the run and hunting for Horcruxes, they were two scared, lonely teenagers seeking solace in each other. Again and again, they'd come together in the weeks when Ron was gone, settling into a routine of sorts, grasping onto any little semblance of a normal life they could. When Ron returned, Hermione's world flipped upside down, and she was left to wade through a quagmire of conflicting feelings.

Part of her understood why he left; fear for his own family and numerous insecurities drove him, only made worse by the Horcrux. But the other part of her was still a heartbroken teenage girl, abandoned by the boy she cared about. The weeks that followed were tense and awkward.

It was Harry that had been there, and time and again, he was the only person she could count on. There'd been rough patches along the way. They'd fought, of course they had, but the bond they'd forged out there on their own proved stronger than anything she had with others.

Ron's return put them in an awkward spot, and she'd been determined to keep Harry from ever feeling like he needed to choose between his friends. They were the "Golden Trio," but Ron was his best mate, and she would never want to interfere with that, no matter her feelings for Harry. No matter the butterflies, the deep sense of rightness when he'd held her in his arms, or how safe she felt beside him.

And so, she let her feelings for Harry go dormant and sought her pleasure elsewhere. She'd been doing pretty well, casually dating here and there, having the occasional one-night stand, and completely resisting her attraction to Harry Potter.

Then Malfoy came into the mix. He was downright delicious and damn near irresistible. A no-feelings fling couldn't hurt, right? They didn't work together; there was no conflict of interest. Perhaps she could see where that could go.

But after seeing Harry and Malfoy together, spending time with them as friends and seeing how well they worked as a team, a plan formed in her mind. The thought of two wizards—touching her, kissing her, driving her crazy—at once made her pulse thump a little harder beneath her skin. Both of them were so different and imagining the visual contrast alone was enough to bring a flush to her skin.

As their friend group expanded and Malfoy found a place within it, Hermione spent more and more time with the two of them. At the occasional game nights held at various friends' houses, she managed to always end up tucked between Harry and Malfoy in a long string of Hermione-orchestrated incidents. She'd brush her fingers over Harry's knee, lean in to whisper some little joke rather seductively—she hoped—in Malfoy's ear.

They had to have been getting the hints; she really hadn't been subtle. So when they'd invited her out, she'd decided tonight was the night. She'd lay her cards on the table and see how they reacted.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to put thoughts of their bare chests and delightfully thick forearms from her mind and finish dressing. If she didn't, she'd end up needing a cold shower before she left.

"Aha!"

She finally found the jeans she wanted—the ones that made her arse positively pop—piled in a heap at the bottom of the wardrobe. All that was left was to shimmy into a sparkly blouse and swipe on some lipstick.

Staring into the mirror, she fussed with her hair, fluffing and fiddling before deciding to sod the whole thing and let it be. She wouldn't hide the parts of herself that made her who she was. They could have her warts and all.

With a kiss blown in Crooks' direction, she headed out the door and into the night.

On any given Friday night, Diagon Alley was teeming with people, and tonight was no exception. Hermione felt a thrum in her chest, energised by the exciting atmosphere.

As she passed by Flourish and Blotts, a book in the window caught her eye. She stared longingly through the glass before glancing at her watch, deciding she had just enough time to take a quick peek.

The door chime tinkled gently behind her as she crossed the threshold. She paused a moment at the entrance, closing her eyes and breathing deeply; she would never tire of the smell of fresh parchment mixed with the musty scent of centuries-old tomes.

Heading for the far back corner of the shop, Hermione ran her fingers gently along the spines as she passed, searching for the one on display in the window. It was a new edition of Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, and if memory served her correctly, it could be found in the stacks near the back.

Though the Alley was bustling, the book shop was rather quiet, with most of the crowd spread out between the restaurants and pubs. Hermione found a spot on the floor in the Magical Histories section, tucked away and perfect for skimming the book she'd seen.

Skimming quickly turned to reading, and soon Hermione was lost to the magic of words with a book splayed in her lap and several more stacked on the floor beside her. She wasn't sure how much time had passed when scuffed black boots drawing near caught her eye. She traced her gaze over muscular thighs and trim hips, all the way up to a face with bright green eyes and messy hair.

Harry.

"There you are. How did I know I'd find you here? We had a date, you know." A pretty, lopsided grin spread over his face.

"Oh, no! Oh, I'm sorry, Harry. I don't know what got into me. I saw this book in the window," she gestured to the thick tome propped on top of her crossed legs, "and I'd been having such a difficult time finding it anywhere, so I came in to buy it. But then I found more, and well, I'm sorry."

Harry chuckled, extending a hand to help her up from the floor. "It's all right, 'Mione. We should have known this would happen. We're the ones who foolishly picked a location that would bring you directly in front of the bookstore. Rookie mistake." His dark lashes fluttered closed on a wink, and she had to stop herself from tittering like a schoolgirl.

Too charming for his own good.

Hermione sent the books floating back from whence they came, snagging only the one she'd seen in the window. "I'll be just a minute, I promise!" she said, speed-walking to the checkout. Harry laughed dryly and followed behind her.

Digging in her pocketbook for her money, Hermione froze as she felt the warmth of Harry's body pressed against her back. Before she could pull it out, Harry had handed the teenage girl behind the till money for the book. "Harry, I'm perfectly capable of paying for it on my own."

Harry brought his mouth close to her ear. "I'm aware. Let me do something nice for you." When her jaw fell open, preparing to argue once more, he pressed even closer to her. "Please?"

It was impossible to say no to Harry when he asked so sweetly. And really, she'd never been able to deny him anything. She sighed, resigned, and nodded her head.

When their transaction was finished, Hermione's new book tucked safely in the depths of her bag, Harry led her out to the street with a gentle hand on her lower back, holding the door for her to pass through.

"Where's Draco?" she asked.

"Inside holding our table. The Leaky is packed tonight."

As they walked to the pub, a group of rowdy wizards laughing and shoving each other turned the corner in front of them. Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione's hip, pressing her to his side to allow the men to pass without jostling her.

At the contact, Hermione felt a stirring in her belly. A lick of heat spurred on by Harry's touch and presence. They stepped inside the dark and smokey pub—a rather sensual setting, in Hermione's humble opinion, and perfect for her plans.

Harry led her to the far corner where Draco sat at a small, round table. He stood when they arrived, waiting for Harry to pull out Hermione's chair and seat her before sitting down once again.

Such picture-perfect manners. She could only hope they weren't nearly as polite in bed.

Someone stopped by their table to drop off drinks—one of which was Hermione's favourite.

"I hope you don't mind that I ordered for you," Draco said, smiling at her with those perfect cheekbones while pushing a glass of rum and Coke towards her.

"You can order whatever you like if you're paying, Daddy Warbucks."

Harry barked out a laugh at that as Malfoy lifted an eyebrow, confusion plain on his face. "What?"

Hermione smirked. "You've never seen Annie?"

He just blinked at her.

"Ah, right." She slid her gaze to Harry and leaned forward as if she were sharing a secret. "He's got that unfortunate pure-blood deficit thing. It's a shame. You're really missing out on musicals, Malfoy."

His confused look made her chuckle as she took a sip of her drink, sitting back in her chair. "Are we going to get food? I'm really craving chips."

"As long as you don't dip them in mustard again, you monster." Harry looked at her with a mock scowl on his face.

"Mustard is the condiment of the gods. You're an uncultured swine."

When Harry threw his head back and laughed, Hermione's eyes followed the line of his throat, an image of her kissing her way up to his jaw filling her mind.

Mmm.

"Granger?"

"Hmm?" She dragged her gaze away from Harry's jawline to blink at Malfoy.

"Anyone home?"

"Hilarious. I got lost in thought. Something I'm sure you wouldn't understand." Giving him a taste of his own medicine, Hermione smirked at him, pleased with herself. "Be a dear and grab us some chips, would you?"

"What am I, your bloody house-elf?"

She snorted rather indelicately. "As if. You're not nearly well-behaved enough to be a house-elf."

A cute dimple she'd never noticed showed up in Draco's cheek when he laughed, volleying, "Swot," at her before striding away.

"So, how are you doing with the Ginny thing?" She slid her gaze to Harry.

Plastering an exaggerated look of confusion on his face, Harry said, "Ginny thing?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Harry. Have you met her new witch yet? I figured you'd be all over that, what with their connection to professional Quidditch and your borderline obsessive passion for the sport."

"I'm not obsessed." A pointed look from her was all it took for him to break, shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Okay fine. I am obsessed, and yes, I've met her. She's great. I'm happy for Gin."

Hermione knew he meant that. It had taken time for him to get to that point of acceptance. Harry got back together with Ginny after the final battle, and Hermione had stepped back to give them time to work things out, allowing herself to focus on Ron. There'd been so many tangled feelings twisted between Ginny and Harry—and Hermione and Ron, for that matter—young love fizzling out and leaving them all to sort through the mess.

"How uncharacteristically mature of you, Harry Potter."

"What can I say? I'm finally getting past years of repressed youth and learning to be a grown-up." He knocked back the rest of his glass, not the barest hint of a grimace on his face as the liquor burned down his throat.

Oh my.

Perhaps she was a little too far gone if she found the ease with which he drank whisky alluring and somehow delightfully masculine. Focus, Hermione.

"And what about you, hmm? You go out of your way to meet Ron's exes?"

Tucking her chin, Hermione chuckled to herself. "How could I when they change by the fortnight? It's probably easier if I don't, save myself the painfully insipid conversations and autographs the tarts would probably request."

Their playful ribbing was interrupted when Malfoy returned, food and a few bottles of beer in hand. As Hermione reached for a chip, she had an idea.

"Up for a little game, boys?"

She knew neither would say no to a challenge and wasn't surprised when Harry nodded and Draco gestured for her to go on.

"It's simple, really. We take turns asking each other questions. When it's your turn, you either answer the question—honestly—or drink."

Harry scoffed. "Easy. I have nothing to hide."

That's what I'm hoping for.

The smile that spread across her face felt a little shark-like, and she could only hope they picked up on what she was putting down.

"Great. Let's begin. Go on, ask me anything," Hermione said, leaning back in her chair.

They shared a look across the table; Malfoy spoke first.

"Have you ever cheated on a test? Even the smallest bit? Be honest, Miss Perfect."

She gasped, affronted by the question. "I can't believe you would think me capable of such a thing. I'm offended at the mere insinuation—"

"Hermione." Harry was looking at her with an amused expression, one eyebrow lifted in her general direction.

She blew out a sigh. "Okay, fine. Yes, I have, but only once! And I had good reason."

Draco leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and saying, "Do tell."

"It wasn't on OWLs or NEWTs; I would never do it on those. But I may have fudged a bit on one of my Divination exams. I shouldn't have, and it was absolutely pointless anyway because I just dropped the class. In the end, I felt so awful that I told McGonagall what I'd done," she said. "The detention I served assuaged my guilt."

Draco shook his head, chuckling to himself. "You are the only person I know who would snitch on themselves."

Hermione huffed and lifted her chin. "That's because I know how to follow the rules."

"Ah, but only when it suits your cause, right?" Harry cast a pointed look in her direction. "Because I seem to remember you bending the rules quite often as long as you could justify it in your head." He shifted a bit, just enough to drape his arm over the back of her chair, thumb slipping beneath the short sleeve of her blouse to rub circles on her shoulder.

Hermione was a bit taken aback by Harry's astute observation. "Perhaps, but I never heard you complaining. I'd say you benefited from it considering all the times I had to bail your arse out of something."

"Fair," Harry said, tipping his glass towards her. "All I'm saying is that you aren't the goodie-two-shoes everyone thinks you to be. It's not a flaw. You just know how to play," he paused, eyes darkening as he stared back at her, lips quirking, "dirty."

In response, she lifted her bottle to her lips and drank, tongue flicking out as she pulled it away, eyes on Harry's all the while. When his throat moved on a rough swallow, she cheered inwardly.

One point for Granger.

They played a few more rounds, and though none of them backed down from any questions, they continued to drink, inhibitions lost with each sip.

"All right, my turn," Hermione said, laughing as she set her glass down too roughly. "What's one sexual fantasy you have that you haven't tried yet but would like to?"

Draco whistled through his teeth. "You're not playing around."

"Answer the question or drink, sir."

His tongue slipped out, wetting his lips as he met her gaze "Teacher/student. I have a thing for pleated skirts."

She pursed her lips, humming to herself. "Pretty tame, if you ask me."

"We're in public, sweetheart." Draco leaned forward until he was in her space. "Take me home, and I'll show you how tame I am when I have you coming around my cock and screaming my name into your pillow."

Suddenly the game had been flipped—it wasn't only Hermione trying to stoke desire there tonight. Heat raced up her neck. It seemed too good to be true. He was bluffing, she was sure, and she wondered what might happen if she called him on it.

As her lips parted, ready to push the issue, Harry broke the trance between them with a touch to her thigh, fingers trailing over her knee. "I believe it's my turn to be questioned."

It was a hardship tearing her gaze away from Malfoy's, but Harry's handsome face soothed it somewhat.

"If you had to sleep with one person at this table, who would it be?" She steepled her fingers under her chin, leaning her elbows on the table as she waited for Harry to answer.

Harry feigned being lost in thought then looked at Malfoy with heat in his eyes before bringing his gaze back to her. "Why limit myself to just one, hmm?" Malfoy smirked, and realization settled on Hermione that perhaps it wasn't just her that came here with a plan.

The joke had been tossed around the Auror office that Harry and Malfoy were like an old married couple, but Hermione had assumed it was all in jest. Was there a nugget of truth to be had there, perhaps?

She scarcely had time to ponder the thought before Harry bought them another round. Soon after, Hermione started swaying to the music, chair squeaking with her slightly inebriated, slightly off-beat rhythm, so she dragged Harry and Malfoy to her favourite club in Muggle London.

The music was loud, bass sinking into her chest and distracting her from the terror of what she was about to propose. She pulled the boys with her to the dance floor, dancing to a frantic beat as they spun her in and out of their arms.

After a while, the music switched, dropping into a low, sultry rhythm. Hermione moved between Harry and Draco, slow and smooth, revelling in their lingering touches. Harry grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back into his chest, the two of them swaying together to the beat. The song changed, and she stepped away, gaze flickering between them both.

"Take me home."

Both wizards started speaking at the same time.

"'Mione, I'm not sure that's—"

"Granger, we shouldn't—"

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "If you two aren't up for it, fine."

As she stood waiting for their answer, the two men looked at each other, sharing some sort of silent conversation before turning back to Hermione. She could tell from their expressions that they had made their decision, and she placed a hand on both of their chests, lips quirked in a smile as she said, "Your place or mine?"

A/N: Welcome to Come Together! This is my first longer multi-chaptered story, and I'm so excited to share it. This fic is a spin-off of a one-shot written in October that I have retitled "Over Me." If a few things look familiar here, that's why. Thank you for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts, and I always welcome concrit. Updates on Monday!

Come on over to nuclearnik on Tumblr for story updates, manips/aesthetics, and general tomfoolery.

All my love and thanks to the fabulous LadyKenz347 for her impeccable alpha skills, and to the lovely ravenslight for the excellent beta work.