Title: Forty Things

Author: Silveris

Rating: R

Status: One-shot

Genre: Romance, kinda fluffy

Summary: The forty things a girl would die for. DHr.

AN/Disclaimer: HP is not mine, but if JKR gave it to me, I'd gladly accept. The list isn't mine, either. I came across it at my Friendster bulletin and though, 'Oooh, this is a good idea for a DHr fic...'

OOO

Draco Malfoy never cleaned up clutter.

What were house-elves for? He didn't get them for a hundred galleons in Knockturn Alley for nothing.

Hermione Granger thought otherwise. She actually sent the house-elves in a vacation, threatening them with clothes if they refused. So off the little ugly creatures went, leaving the flat in a messy state.

Hermione had ordered Draco to clean up as she was going outside to buy dinner.

And he knew that if the flat was still as messy when she left, he was going to bed without dinner…and without some…

So as he stuffed dirty laundry into the hamper, he mumbled incoherent curse words.

Hermione had hinted that the messiest corner was their closet. She clearly wanted him to start there. Grudgingly, Draco wrenched the closet door open and clicked the light on. The bulb flickered for a few seconds, and then steadied, giving off a sickly pale light.

Change light bulb, he thought, making a mental note for himself.

His eyes swept the whole closet. It was big. They had lots of clothes…he had lots of clothes. And they were all piled up haphazardly. Hermione's were neatly hung in one corner, and under them were her shoes. All blacks, browns, and whites arranged in an orderly line.

So he was surprised to find a wayward pair, sitting close to his large black loafers. They were pink and had high heels. He had never seen Hermione wear them.

Probably a present from her girl friends, he thought.

He was about to take it and put it next to her white sneakers when his eyes caught a crinkled piece of yellow notepad paper lodged inside the shoe. Gingerly, he squatted on the floor and pulled the paper out and slowly began to unfold it, smoothing it over the carpeted floor.

It was written by his own hand, he saw. Curious, he glanced at the thick black heading and whispered as he read, "Forty Things –DM."

He stole a quick glance at the long list under the title and at once, his face lit up and a small slow "Ah!" escaped his lips. He grinned and shifted position so he was comfortably sitting on the floor of the dimly-lit closet.

He scanned the list and his grin grew even wider.

He was holding in his hand the list that he wrote a year ago, when he had just started dating Hermione Granger. The Forty Things List—the things he did that he knew Hermione liked.

With the feeling of butterflies fluttering gleefully in his stomach, he read the list.

Touch her waist.

Give her your jacket.

Hug her.

Hold her when she's cold…so she can hold you, too.

He and Hermione were walking in the park while Crookshanks went to chase squirrels. It was five in the morning, freezing, silent.

"I don't know how you can stand the cold," she muttered beside him.

"Hm?" He was busy keeping track of Crookshanks, which had now started to claw its way up a tree.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, rubbing her arms to prove a point. He looked at her and noted her flushed cheeks, and the sharp intakes of breath. Her lips appeared chapped and dry.

He couldn't see why she was complaining now. She insisted to join him in his early morning stroll; he didn't force her. In fact, he even told her to go back to sleep. But she ignored him and got up, pulling on one of his black shirts and her jogging pants. When they were outside the door, he pressed that she really should just stay in the flat and prepare breakfast. But stubborn as she was, she shook her head and dragged him towards the street.

He turned back to the trees. "I told you so," he said quietly, though not soft enough for her to miss.

He heard her huff in irritation. When he turned his attention back to her, she had her arms crossed tightly around her. She stopped walking and was looking peeved. She was staring at the distance.

Sighing, Draco slowly shrugged his Quidditch jacket off and held it out to her.

She merely looked at him, irritation still in her eyes, and ignored his offer. She was obviously annoyed that he didn't tell her how cold the outside would be. She missed the warmth of their flat.

"Come on, Jane, you know you want it," he said, smiling slightly. He noticed her flinch a bit when he used her middle name.

Still, she ignored him. She was being a prat this time.

"Hermione, take it," he said again, after a while, wagging the jacket in her direction. He had taken a more serious tone now.

"Take the damn jacket, Granger."

Surprised at his usage of her last name again, she turned to tell him where to shove his jacket, but was surprised when he snaked his arms around her waist gently.

Automatically, her own arms wrapped around his torso in a tight embrace. She was drawn to his warmth, and to have him so close was comforting…too comforting. And she liked it.

Slowly, her eyes began to close. She was sleepy and cold, she couldn't help it. And Draco's musky cologne wasn't helping either. She just wanted to bury her face on his neck.

She felt the warm leather of Draco's jacket around her shoulders, but she didn't really care anymore…

Smile with her.

Take pictures with her.

Pull her onto your lap.

Click! Click!

Draco looked up from his copy of The Daily Prophet and—

"Ow! What the hell—"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

"Damn, my eyes!"

"I'm really, really sorry!"

Draco rubbed his eyelids and blinked rapidly. There were white spots in front if his eyes, but they were slowly beginning to vanish.

Hermione was kneeling on the couch beside him, her Polaroid camera beside her. She looked worriedly at him.

She had been clicking away at everything with her new camera. It was a birthday present from Dean Thomas to Ginny Weasley, but Ginny, apparently, didn't want it ("Or didn't know how to use it," Draco suggested last night). So the camera was passed on the nearest Muggle—Hermione.

"Geez, I told you to turn the flash off!" he exclaimed, although not angry.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered again. Gently, she cupped his face in her hands and stared into his deep silver eyes. "Are you alright now?"

He nodded, smiling slightly. Pleased, she smiled back and quickly planted a kiss on his lips.

There was another flash, but this time, it was Hermione who was caught by surprise. Draco had seized the camera and had taken a picture when she leaned in.

"Nice," he said, looking smug. She slapped his arm but he only stuck his tongue out at her.

Quite easily, Draco single-handedly pulled her to sit on his lap, turning her so her back was to him, and held the camera in front of them.

"Smile, babe," he whispered, just before he took the picture.

Tell her she's beautiful, not sexy.

When you are alone, hold her close and kiss her.

Hug her from behind.

"What are you grinning at, Malfoy?" Ron asked, menacingly pointing his wand at Draco.

"Ron, put your wand away," Harry warned, although his threatening look was directed at someone else...

The scene wasn't supposed to look funny. All three of them were seated on the couch in the living room of Hermione's parent's house. Harry and Ron were dressed as the Grim Reaper and Spider-Man, while Draco was in a white shirt and pants.

Harry looked positively frightening in his black robes, ashen face, and scythe. He looked like a Death Eater, in Draco's opinion. Who would've thought that the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Destroy-Evil would be dressed as one? And to look good in it, too…

Ron looked ridiculous. The Spider-Man outfit was obviously too tight. And stuffy. Draco wondered how on earth Ron could survive ten minutes in the thing. Well, at least, the Freckled One removed the suffocating mask. If he hadn't, Draco would've made it his business to poke air holes using the redhead's wand for the mouth and nose. He didn't particularly enjoy staring at the dying image of Ron Weasley.

People might think he murdered the git while Harry wasn't looking.

And as for Draco, since he was going to be Angel…all he had to wear were his pants, shoes, and really large fake white wings, ones which he didn't have to wear at once. The wings were currently in the car. He considered himself lucky.

Girls are going to fawning all over me tonight, he thought deviously.

Draco blinked once and uncrossed his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor.

"I haven't got pockets, Harry, if you must know," Ron hissed.

"Why'd you bring your wand in the first place? It's not like you're going to need it."

"He's coming along. Of course I should bring my wand. Didn't you?"

"No, Ron. We are going to a twelve-year-old's costume party—"

"Well, why can't we be clowns?"

"Because clowns are creepy! I told you that. And the kids agree, Hermione said."

"Why do I have to be this spider bloke? Look at it," Ron gestured to the spider logo on his chest wildly. "It looks alive! Harry, you know I hate spiders!"

"You want to trade costumes?" Harry asked.

"Hah! Fat chance! I would never dress in a Death Eater's cloak!" Ron exclaimed huffily.

Draco was about to say something but Hermione stepped out of her room dressed in a simple white and light green top and skirt. Her hair fell in elegant curls on her back, making her look positively radiant. He was speechless for a few moments.

"Hey, how come you're not wearing a costume?" Ron immediately demanded.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said, smiling.

"Well, at least you look good, Hermione," Harry said, taking her hand and kissing it. She blushed and thanked him. She missed the slight twitch in Draco's face.

"I guess that's two of us showing off our curves," Ron continued, grinning wildly.

Draco fought the urge to laugh and throw up. Curves? Honestly!

Apparently, Harry was thinking the same thing as Draco because he made a show of letting his oversized hood fall over his face. Draco knew Harry was laughing silently.

Hermione just numbly nodded. "Riiiiight," she said and handed a set of keys over to Harry, who had already regained composure.

"Here, Harry, you two go ahead to the car," she instructed. "I'm going to call my aunt's, tell her we're coming."

Harry dragged Ron to the door, the latter mumbling about leotards and dresses.

Hermione stalked over the phone and began to dial a number, but she never finished because Draco had suddenly wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her body began to stiffen as he rested his head on her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her hair.

She could tell that he was closing his eyes as he ever so slowly swayed her gently on her spot.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he whispered huskily. His arms tightened their hold on her waist for a moment then loosened as his hands gently held her by the hips.

She swallowed hard. Her knees felt weak.

She hardly noticed when one of his hands traveled up her body, skimming her waist, the side of her breast, her arm, her neck. The hand nudged her head to the side, and then their lips connected.

Slowly, softly, he kissed her, angling his head down for better access. He nibbled her lower lip gently, running his tongue across its pink suppleness. She tasted sweet and he knew it wasn't her strawberry lip balm. He could feel her ragged breath on his cheek as his hands began to roam all over her body—squeezing her breasts so he could feel her hardened nipples, running a path along the skin under her top, lightly grazing a palm between her legs…

Then she slowly pulled away. He didn't protest. She ran a hand through her hair and sheepishly smiled at him.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"No, it's okay. A little energizer before we deal with pre-teens," she said, her voice almost breaking. She was still in the process of trying to breathe normally.

"I think I should go check on the two," he said. She nodded and watched as he jogged towards the door.

She licked her lips as the door closed behind him.

OOO

TBC.

AN: Oh, don't worry. This won't be left to rot. I've finished the whole thing and just divided them into four parts. I have this thing with loooong entries.

The house-elves from Knockturn Alley bit was an ode to Caprigrrl Lannoire's My Life as a House-Elf.

Angel from X-Men looked too good to ignore, so I added him in. And come on, we all agree that he is a grown-up!Draco…