Do This With Me

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

Chapter 16 - - Do This With Me

- - -

If you're gonna fall,

I'll let you know,

that I will pick you up

like you for I,

I felt this thing,

I can't replace.

~ Angels & Airwaves, "The Adventure"

Draco woke up Friday in a good mood, and nothing, not even his impending lunch with Pansy, could ruin it. He started the day with his usual two cups of coffee and half a dose of the modified Pepper-Up before dressing and heading to work.

When Caleb arrived, Draco set him to a special task, one that gave the secretary pause. "Are you certain, Sir? You don't want me to sort your mail, handle your Floo messages ...?"

"Sort the mail, yes, please. Then I'll deal with the messages. I need the information by lunch." Draco even gave the younger man a clap on the back before ushering him out of the office.

The morning meetings flew by faster than usual, and soon Draco was Apparating to Diagon Alley to meet Pansy. She had picked a new café for them to try and was already at a table when he arrived.

"Hello, Pansy," he said brightly.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked immediately, her brow furrowed in concern.

Draco laughed. "Nothing! What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You never smile at me," she explained, crossing her arms. "You rarely smile, period, and you're never excited to see me. What's going on?"

"I'm ... happy," he said, realizing it was true. Merlin, he needed to figure this out before things got out of hand. Otherwise, when he and Hermione parted ways, his reaction would not be good. Though, at least his sour mood would be authentic.

Pansy raised on perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Oh? I take it things with Granger are back on track, then?"

"They were never off track," he said.

She looked skeptical. "So that whole business with Charlie Weasley was ... what, exactly?"

"Just as I said," Draco replied. "They were at the awards banquet as friends. His date had cancelled on him; he asked her to go."

"Then why was she so bloody happy in those photos?" Pansy demanded.

Draco shrugged. "Turns out he was getting an award for his care of dragons. He had done something to improve their quality of life, or something. You know how she's always been interested in the rights of magical creatures."

"And you have always thought it was rubbish," Pansy said pointedly.

"That's true," he admitted. "However, it's hard to dismiss her arguments. She gets so incredibly passionate about her causes."

Pansy smirked. "I see why you listen. You just get her all worked up and then shag her rotten. You're terrible, Draco Malfoy."

Draco shook his head and drank his entire glass of water, all the while thinking unpleasant thoughts about Filch cleaning the loo so that he wouldn't react to Pansy's statement. The last thing he needed to do was think about shagging Hermione in any way, much less after she was all fired up about something.

Another glass of water was required.

"You all right?" Pansy asked.

"Fine. Just fine. How are you?" He knew how she loved talking about herself and hoped to steer her attention away from Hermione.

"We're not finished talking about you, yet," she declared. "So she isn't in love with Weasley?"

"They're just friends," he insisted, silently cheering himself for his half-truth.

"If you say so," Pansy sighed. "I suppose she is spared another day."

The waiter arrived with their meals and both began to eat. As Pansy added a lump of sugar to her tea, she asked, "What's got you in such a good mood though? I assume that you'll be seeing Granger, but that's nothing new."

"You're right," he affirmed. "I am seeing Hermione...I really wish you'd start calling her that. And even though that's enough to make me happy, we're going to a Quidditch game tonight. The big one, England against Spain."

Pansy frowned. "I didn't know Granger was into Quidditch."

"She doesn't follow it, but she likes to watch." He shrugged. "It was her choice."

Pansy studied him in silence for a few seconds, and then her expression softened. "Wait. You're going to a game? Draco, that ... that's incredible! You haven't done anything for yourself since ... well, too long."

He grinned. "I know. I'm really looking forward to it."

"What did you mean, it was her choice?" Pansy asked. After Draco's explanation, her eyes were wide. "She picked Quidditch over books? Are you sure this is really Granger and not some Polyjuiced version?"

Draco chuckled, and suddenly he didn't want to share Hermione's reason with Pansy. Even if she could appreciate it, he wanted to keep that between Hermione and him.

"I'm quite certain," he said, turning his attention to his food in hopes that Pansy wouldn't press the topic. After a few moments of uncharacteristic silence, he glanced up to find Pansy worrying her lip. "Pansy?"

She smiled automatically, but then her expression turned apprehensive. "I've got something to tell you."

"All right," he said, giving her his full attention.

"The thing is ... I'm sort of ... well, I'm seeing someone," she stammered.

Draco almost laughed at how worked up she'd made herself to say that. But laughing would probably anger her and she wouldn't continue talking about it. "Yeah?" he said simply.

"Yes," she continued. "He's a really great man, Draco. Kind, thoughtful, attentive, compassionate ... I'm quite crazy about him."

"That's wonderful." He smiled. Her tone was different this time than with any man she had mentioned before. She hadn't made a single comment about his looks or his prowess. That was certainly telling.

"I would like for you to meet him," she added, her knuckles white from gripping her napkin.

"Of course," he said reassuringly. "I'd be glad to."

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" Pansy asked. "I'd like to have you over for dinner. You and ... Hermione."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm not sure which should shock me more: you inviting her over, or calling her by her name."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Is that a yes?"

"Actually, can we make it another day? We've got plans at the Burrow." He tried to say it with a straight face, but couldn't quite manage it. He blinked.

"Amazing," Pansy said, shaking her head. "You must really be in a bad way to willingly go there."

The line between the truth and the lie had long been blurred, so much so now that Draco didn't have to worry about what he was saying. "You could say that," he admitted.

"Don't tell me you love her," Pansy scolded. "You've only been together a month...I know, I've been keeping track."

"If I'm not, then I'm well on my way," he replied, taking a sip from his tea.

Pansy gasped. "You aren't going to ... to marry her, are you? Merlin's beard, what would your parents say? Oh! Do they even know? Lucius can't approve, but if your mother has taken a liking to her, then he'll be civil for her." She paused only long enough to catch her breath. "That's what you have to do. Ingratiate her to your mother. Then Lucius will accept her."

"Whoa, whoa, stop!" Draco exclaimed, chuckled. "You're getting quite ahead of yourself. As you said, we've only been together a month. As for my parents ... Let's just say their vacation was well-timed."

"Surely they must know," Pansy argued.

"They do, and Father wasn't pleased. As you could well understand, given his ... history of intolerance and family history."

"And your mother?" she asked.

Draco cleared his throat. "In her most recent letter, she said she was looking forward to meeting Hermione. Enough about me, tell me how long you've been seeing this bloke I'm to meet." He wasn't looking forward to what would follow: a lengthy detailing of all their dates, letters, and rendezvous, but if she was talking about herself, then she couldn't think about him and Hermione.

He was surprised, therefore, when Pansy clammed up and said nothing more than, "A few weeks."

Draco tried to get her to expound, but she refused to provide him any details, including the man's name. He did promise to discuss the possibility of dinner the following Saturday with Hermione, and Pansy assured him that all his questions would be answered at that time.

As he returned to his office, Draco decided the whole conversation had been strange, but it had not dampened his mood in the least.

ooo

At five minutes until six, Hermione was rushing from the Slytherin Common Room to her own rooms. She had requested Samaya's help with straightening her hair, something she rarely did and only when aided by a professional. The idea was to make it look like she was putting effort into her relationship with Draco.

However, the entire exercise had been more effort than either she or Samaya had anticipated. Already late, she still had to change, get her things together, and Floo to Draco's room.

"Hey, Hermione!" said Harry as she rushed down the hall.

"Oh, hi, Harry!" she called back, not slowing.

"Where are you going?" he asked, hurrying to follow her.

"Meeting Draco. At six. I'm late," she panted.

"What's on the agenda?" Harry was jogging lightly to keep up.

"Quidditch." He stopped. Hermione considered leaving him, but couldn't. She turned around, breathing heavily. "What?"

"Quidditch. Tonight. The game?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"I suppose you could call it the game. Which starts in ... oh, bollocks! Two minutes! I've got to go, Harry!" She resumed her course to her room, this time full-out running.

"What about tomorrow?" he shouted.

"We'll be there!" Hermione called out her password before she reached the door and opened it with a quickly muttered spell. Once inside, she started throwing her clothes off and pulling on the pair of jeans and long-sleeved blue shirt she had picked out. She'd Charmed it to have gold stripes at the ends of the sleeves and around the collar...England's colors, but subtly displayed.

She wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, slipped into a pair of brown flats, and put on a little lip gloss. The Floo was waiting, and she called out her destination and rushed into the flames.

Draco was pacing when she emerged, and he looked up, startled. Then he stared as he took in the sight of her.

"Your hair," he commented.

"Do you like it?" she asked. Samaya had straightened it, then applied a product that would make it shiny.

"It's nice," he said, still examining it curiously. "It really makes you look different."

Hermione couldn't help but notice that for the first time since they'd been 'dating,' he hadn't complimented her. "Different is good?"

"Different is ... different. I suppose I'm so used to seeing your hair curly that I'm not quite sure what to make of this yet." He smiled. "You look lovely."

It didn't help. All that effort she had put into her hair, all that time .... "Oh! I'm so sorry I'm late!"

He laughed. "It's fine. We won't really miss much. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded.

"We'll be using the Traveling Room," Draco said. "This fireplace is only connected to your room. Is that all right?"

"Yes, I think I've conquered your drawing room. Not that I'd like to spend any time there." For the first time, Hermione noticed what he was wearing: khaki trousers, brown shoes, and a dark blue, long-sleeved v-neck T-shirt that clung to every hard line on his chest and arms. He was thin and lean, muscular but not bulging.

She blatantly stared...ogled, rather...as he walked through his bedroom.

He paused at the door and frowned at his apparel. "Is something the matter?"

"Not at all," she said, swallowing hard. "I've ... just ... never seen you in anything but work attire. It just occurred to me." Surely he would see through that lame comment!

"I wasn't even sure I had anything," he said, motioning her out the door. "I've had this shirt since Hogwarts, and I think it might be too snug."

"No!" Hermione rushed. "It's not. It's perfectly fine. Besides, it's too late to change."

Draco eyed her skeptically, but said nothing more. In the Traveling Room, he grabbed a light jacket and an over-cloak. Then they traveled via Floo to the Quidditch stadium.

ooo

Draco had done as Hermione suggested and purchased tickets that weren't in a box. However, he still had a reputation to uphold, so he got seats that were in the next best section. Each place had a cushioned seat and back, cup holder, and call button, which could be used to order food from an extensive menu.

Unlike the Quidditch World Cup, England's stadium was permanent, and the season ticket holders were granted luxurious perks.

"Wow, this is amazing!" Hermione said, testing out the reclining capability of her seat.

"Hard to imagine we're not watching this on the telly," Draco commented, pulling the menu from a pocket on the outside of his chair. The score was 30-10, England behind. The teams were well-matched, so a long game was anticipated.

"You know," said Hermione, turning in her spot to face him. "That's not the first time you've mentioned Muggle technology. And when I was telling you about my trip to the bank, you never stopped me to ask me to explain about cameras, or computers, or CDs. Why is that?"

Draco blinked, completely taken by surprise at her question. "I ... To be honest, the details are boring."

"I'm pretty sure we're going to be sitting here awhile," Hermione said teasingly.

He considered his options but came to the conclusion there was no harm in telling her. He had already confessed his biggest secret, and he trusted that she wouldn't break his confidence in this matter, either.

"I've never told this to anyone," he said as a warning.

"Really? Why not?" She repositioned her body in the seat, both legs on the floor and facing the game. However, she leaned closer to Draco so he could speak quietly.

"My father, I suppose. Protection from those who aren't so tolerant." Draco had leaned closer as she had, and now he could smell her hair. It was different, but not unpleasantly so. Still, it wasn't quite her.

"Oh?" Hermione said.

"It's nothing bad," Draco assured her. "It's just ... oh, hang it all. Many years ago, my father invested in Muggle communications. That's how he gained most of his current fortune."

Hermione gasped, which happened to coincide with a goal for England. "You're lying."

"No. When I found out, I was ... astonished. Dumbfounded."

"I don't blame you!" she said, still stunned at his admission.

"It took me a full year to get familiar with the products my father dealt in. He'd started in phone service, long distance, but then the field exploded, and he added cellular companies, internet ... Now I'm hearing big things about something called Bluetooth. Have to make a decision on that in the coming weeks."

"This is so surreal," Hermione said, glancing out over the action. One of England's Chasers had the Quaffle and was racing toward Spain's goals. "We're at a Quidditch game, talking about cell phones. Do you have one?"

"Not anymore. I did for awhile, but I didn't care for it. I got calls at all hours, it was impersonal, and I didn't like conducting business that way. Got rid of it."

"Wow," she said. "I suppose I can see why you wouldn't want that information readily available." Hermione paused, and then scowled. "Lucius Malfoy can belittle, kill, torture, and maim Muggles, but he has no problem working with them, so long as it bolsters his Gringotts account."

Draco hadn't been prepared for her quick jump to anger, but it didn't surprise him. "I know," he said softly, staring at her hand. Her hand was clenched in a fist, so he gently threaded his fingers between hers and gave a small squeeze. She immediately relaxed.

"As long as there are Death Eaters still on the loose, I think it's a good idea not to tell people what my business does," Draco explained. "They might retaliate." Then he scoffed and whispered, "Maybe that's why I'm being blackmailed."

Hermione shivered at the feel of his warm breath. "Do you think so?" she breathed.

Pulling away slightly, he shook his head. "Not really. I know for a fact that my father never discussed his business with other Death Eaters, and there are no former or current Death Eaters employed by Malfoy, Inc. Except me." His tone was gritty. "Since I'm convinced a Death Eater is behind it, then I don't think that is the reason."

Hermione glanced at him. "Can you be absolutely certain? What if a Death Eater somehow found out about your father's business? Just because there are no Death Eaters in your employ doesn't mean there isn't someone sympathetic to the cause who'd want to hurt your family."

Draco considered her words, then shook his head. "My uncles don't know about my father's business, and they know better than to cross him."

"Your uncles?" Hermione repeated. "How can you be sure they don't know?"

"They're duty- and magically-bound to alert my father...or me...of any conspiracies or threats against the family," Draco explained. "If they'd heard something, even a whisper, they'd have informed me right away, and in the seven years since my father's imprisonment, they've said not a word."

Hermione looked at him, slightly horrified. "You've ... seen them?"

"Yes. They've been at the Manor a number of times," he replied.

"They've been at your house?" she said, incredulous. "And you didn't turn them in?"

Now he gave her a questioning look. "Why would I do that?"

Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms. "Oh, I don't know," she bit out sarcastically. "Maybe because they're two of the most wanted Death Eaters on the Ministry's wanted list? They killed countless Muggles, perpetrated untold vicious crimes...need I go on?"

Draco didn't like the direction of the conversation. The last thing he wanted was for them to argue, especially about his insane uncles. "They're family, Hermione. My hands were tied."

"They're dangerous, evil men," she argued vehemently.

"What would you have done?" he demanded gently. "In pure-blood tradition, Rabastan and Rodolphus are considered my father's brothers, even though they're only related through marriage to my mother's sister. I know what they did...trust me, I don't like them...but I couldn't betray them like that."

Hermione watched the game, her brow furrowed.

"I hope you don't think less of me," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't," she said eventually. "It's just difficult to comprehend. I know they're family, but ... I could never feel safe knowing they could show up at any moment."

Draco frowned. "Despite their history, I've never felt unsafe around them. I suppose that's for the same reason I wouldn't turn them in; they're family. They wouldn't hurt me."

Hermione nodded. "But how can you say that because they don't know about a plan to hurt you that there isn't one?"

"Well, I suppose it's possible," he admitted. "Though, as you said, they're two of the most wanted Death Eaters out there. I just think they'd have heard about it."

"As long as you don't rule out the possibility," said Hermione, looking at him with kind eyes. "It would be easy for me to sit here and tell you what you should have done, but one thing the war taught me is that no one can know how they'll act when put into impossible circumstances. So I shouldn't judge someone for not doing what I instinctually think they should do."

"Thank you," he said, looking down at the seat in front of him.

She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled when he looked at her. He smiled back.

Soon Draco was absorbed in the game, his free hand occasionally mimicking the moves of the players. She smiled, wondering if he even knew he was doing it.

"See him? Number twelve?" Draco asked, pointing toward one end of the field.

"Yes, I see him," she affirmed.

"Today, I had Caleb do a little research on these teams, and I read over it after lunch instead of the financial reports I was supposed to read. Anyway, as we missed the starting lineups, we missed his name. But it's someone you know."

Hermione tried to focus on the player, but he was moving so fast that she couldn't see his face. "I don't know, who is it?"

"Oliver Wood," Draco said, turning to watch Hermione's expression. As he did so, however, his eyes fell on something else. He let his gaze linger for an instant, then sat back in his seat. "Looks like your idea worked."

"What idea?" Hermione asked, still trying to make out Wood's features. "I thought he played Keeper?"

"He did, but then a few years ago, someone on the Puddlemere United managing staff noticed that he flew really well and asked him to play Chaser in a few practices. He went from back-up Keeper to starting Chaser." Draco chuckled.

"That's very interesting," Hermione said. "I may have heard Harry and Ron talking about him, now that you mention it. What idea?" she repeated.

"Oh, right." Draco turned his body toward Hermione's. "Your idea to sit out here and not in a box. We're being watched. Don't look," he added hastily.

"That's good, then," she said, her leg knocking against his. "Just what we wanted."

Draco was about to say something, but he stopped. They did indeed want someone with a camera and nosy nature to spot them, but something had to be done in order to convince people...and more importantly, the blackmailer...that they were still an item.

"I've got to kiss you," he whispered, leaning close.

His proximity and his words set off a cascade of exploding fireworks in her stomach. "You've got to do what?" she asked.

"Kiss you. Not on the cheek. To sell it for good." He glanced over her shoulder and saw the man with the camera, still trained on them.

Hermione could barely breathe. Of course it was just for the silly magazine, but that knowledge didn't mean her heart would stop pounding any time soon. She hadn't really given much thought to public displays of affection. They weren't something she did a lot in the first place, and with a boyfriend who was only pretend, it seemed such occurrences would be rare. Still, with the rumors about Charlie, something noteworthy was required in order to quell them.

"Hermione?"

"Right, yes. Fine. Good thinking," she rushed out.

"It has to look natural. That's important. It can't look like our first kiss." His palms were beginning to sweat and he rubbed them on his trousers. "Has to look like we've done it a hundred times."

"Oh, I agree," she said nervously.

Draco had no idea how to go about making a kiss look natural when he was required to do it. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered how kisses even happened in the first place! It had been a long time since he had kissed someone like this...just because he wanted to, and nothing more. He had very rarely kissed Carrie during the years she came to him; he could count the occasions on one hand. Kisses were reserved for relationships, and at least six years had passed since he had been in one.

Yet people kissed all the time. He scanned the seats, looking to catch another couple in the act. He found three pairs who happened to lock lips while his gaze swept past them. It looked so easy, not at all the enormous thing it was quickly becoming in his mind.

Then it hit him: he was thinking about it. When you want to kiss a girl, you just do it, you don't think.

Hermione was facing slightly away from him, her attention on the goal where most of the players had congregated in a fight for the Quaffle.

Draco edged closer to her, took her chin in his hand, and turned her to face him. Then, without thinking, without breathing...he couldn't if he had wanted to...he gently, briefly, covered her lips with his.

Hermione smiled intensely at him, returned her attention to the game, and it was only then that he could breathe again. It was over too quickly, but it felt exactly right, the most natural thing in the world. Was that his technique, or was it kissing her? Really, a conclusion couldn't be drawn on such singular research. A few more kisses that night were in order.

For her part, Hermione was still trying to calm her racing heart. His light touch on her chin, his soft, pliant lips on hers ... It was all she could do not to hyperventilate. How she played it so cool afterward, she would never know. Merlin, it was just a tiny kiss! Barely a kiss, even, and yet she was unable to concentrate on anything afterwards.

It was probably the extreme circumstances, the build-up. One little kiss couldn't possibly affect her so much.

ooo

Draco managed to get in another kiss. Right after an England score, Hermione was cheering, and he just acted. He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her solidly for a few seconds. When they parted, her expression was one of bewilderment.

He had hoped to get in a third...just for good measure, in case the photographer had missed the first two...but didn't get his chance. After four hours, the score was 230-310, Spain. There had been a few Snitch sightings, but the Seekers were so well-matched that when one had the advantage, the other was able to distract him from his goal.

Hermione had felt extremely uncomfortable after Draco kissed her the second time. It wasn't the kiss itself...all prior theories about circumstances were thrown out the window, as she hadn't been expecting this one and had still felt near to swooning. Especially when he lightly touched his tongue to her lip before pulling away.

The difficult part was how much she wanted it to be real. His acting skills were far too convincing if they extended to being able to give breathtaking, sensual kisses at Quidditch games to a woman he wasn't in a relationship with. It wasn't fair. Then again, he had probably been with dozens of women. He had certainly kept a regular appointment with one for she didn't know how long. He probably kissed women as easily as he breathed.

Suddenly, the crowd reacted as one when the Snitch was spotted. Both Seekers tore after it, trying to gain an advantage. The crowd, Draco and Hermione included, was on its feet, chanting. Lights in the stadium were flashing rhythmically, and Hermione started to get dizzy.

She blinked and shook her head to try and clear her head, but it was quickly starting to throb in sync with the noise. Then everything disappeared and she fell into a kind of trance.

Draco noticed her stop cheering and go very still. Her eyes became glazed over and then she started blinking rapidly.

"Hermione?" he said, then shouted her name in an attempt to be heard. "Hermione!"

She made no response, but a look of pure terror was beginning to form on her face.

"Hermione!" This time he grabbed her arm, hoping to jolt her out of ... whatever was going on. Still no effect. Now she was beginning to shake. Draco looked toward the cameraman and saw that his attention was on the game. Draco linked his arm through Hermione's and Disapparated them both to an empty box near the top of the stadium.

The shaking had increased and she looked locked in a silent scream. Draco laid her on the sofa and she immediately curled into a ball. He was terrified; he had no idea what was going on, no idea how to help her. He had seen similar symptoms before, but never so severe.

Without knowing if it would do any good, he knelt on the floor and wrapped his arms around her. She continued to buck in his grasp for a few minutes, then the tremors began to slow. Draco held her until they stopped, and after what felt like a very long time, she finally opened her eyes.

"Draco?"

He released her somewhat and shifted his body so he could look at her face. "Hey."

"I ... Where are we?" she asked, glancing around the unfamiliar space.

Draco drew his arms away entirely and sat on the floor. "I brought us somewhere quiet. Are you okay?"

She nodded, still taking in her surroundings. "This isn't your home."

"No. I rented a box for the game in addition to our seats. In case you wanted to eat up here, or get away from the crowd."

Hermione turned toward him. "We're still at the game?"

"Yes," he replied. "We can leave if you'd like. I merely wanted to get you somewhere out of the way."

"No, we can stay. That was very thoughtful, Draco."

He nodded dismissively. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She put a hand to her forehead and massaged her temples. "I think the lights, and the sounds ...."

"You had an attack," he attested. "I've seen similar symptoms before, Hermione. I doubt this was your first."

Her expression turned to discomfiture, her already flushed cheeks brightening. "No. But it's been a while since the last really bad one. I almost had one at your house a few weeks ago, but I was startled right out of it."

"Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed about," Draco insisted, climbing onto the sofa beside her.

She shrugged. "I know that. It's just, these attacks come at the most inopportune times. They can be rather embarrassing."

"Well, no one even noticed. They were too busy watching the game."

Hermione looked at him, her eyes roaming over his face. They stopped on his right cheek and he did his best not to flinch under her scrutiny.

"What's this from?" she asked, lightly tracing the marred skin. "Did it hurt?"

"Ironically, the same source as your attacks: my Aunt."

Her eyes shifted to his and she retracted her hand. "What happened?"

"Bellatrix wanted me to torture a friend of mine simply because he hadn't paid her the 'proper respect,' as she called it. I refused." He made a face. "First time, too. I didn't see her move, she was so quick. Backhanded me hard, and she happened to be wearing an especially pointy ring that day."

"Do you have other scars?" Hermione asked softly.

He swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes."

She nodded. "Sometimes I try and think of these attacks as battle wounds."

"I couldn't believe how brave you were that day," Draco confessed, grateful the conversation had turned away from his scars. "You wouldn't give up. I thought you were telling the truth about the sword, but Bellatrix just kept at it. When I later learned you had been lying ...." He shook his head. "I've never known someone as strong as you. Not even Death Eaters, grown men, could stand up to the Cruciatus the way you did."

Hermione smiled. "Perhaps my cause was simply the one worth dying for."

"I've never thought of it like that," he said. "I'm sure you're right."

Hermione glanced again around the room. "Why don't we open these curtains so we can see the game? Did it end?"

"I'm not sure!" Draco said, grinning. He used his wand to move the curtains, revealing the entire pitch and the frenzied crowd. "Guess not."

"The view is incredible," she said. "And look, there's a screen for replays."

"Excellent." Draco leaned back in his seat and settled in to watch the game. "Do you need anything? There's the equivalent of room service, if you get hungry."

"I'm fine for now." After a few minutes of watching the game in silence, Hermione spoke again, this time very business-like. "Draco, do you wear cologne?"

He frowned, completely caught off guard. "Sometimes ..."

"Are you wearing it tonight?"

"I am," he replied, feeling suddenly warm around the collar. "Why?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would tell me exactly what happened after you noticed there was something wrong."

Draco nodded and retold the short story. Hermione was thoughtful the entire time.

"I've never had an attack go away so quickly," she explained when he had finished. "I remember being able to smell something when I was going through the flashback. As I focused part of my mind on trying to figure out the foreign scent, I was gradually drawn out of the attack."

"You think there might be a connection," he said, completing her thought.

"Exactly. Would you give me the name of the cologne?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

She looked him over briefly, pausing on his hair. "Shampoo, too. And ... Do you use any other products?"

Draco chuckled. "I will provide you with a full and detailed list, Hermione."

"Thank you," she replied. Her scientifically oriented mind had a strong desire to sniff him all over, to see if any of the smells triggered a memory. However, she doubted very much he would appreciate her doing so, and she didn't think she would be able to focus on her task for very long without getting distracted. One thing she did know, however: he did not smell of Hawthorne Inks that night, likely because he had changed out of his work clothes into something more casual. She hoped this information would prove useful.

Draco felt awkward just sitting and watching the game. He felt he should be paying attention to Hermione, but she seemed content to sit in silence. At least, he thought so.

"It's ... strange in here," she commented. "It's so quiet. Don't you think? There's no roaring crowd, and I can barely hear the announcer."

"You're right," he said. "If you want, I can let the sound in." When Hermione nodded, Draco pressed his wand into a small controller, and the noise from outside their box slowly increased. "Better?"

"Much!" she said, smiling. "Now it feels like we're really here again."

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Draco asked. "Really, I don't mind leaving."

"No!" Hermione insisted. "I'm having a great time. You know, other than nearly causing a scene while surrounded by thousands of rabid Quidditch fans."

"If you change your mind, let me know," he told her.

"I will," she assured him. "Besides, I'm actually enjoying the game."

Twenty minutes later, Draco glanced beside him to see that Hermione had fallen asleep. She had her head on the armrest at other end of the sofa, her body leaning sideways and her feet still on the floor.

He stood and lifted her legs onto the sofa, and she settled into a more comfortable position. Then he found a blanket, bright gold and blue with a giant golden Snitch in the middle, and covered her with it. Finally, he lowered the lights and the volume of the outside sounds and settled into a cushy recliner to watch the game.

ooo

The winner was determined two hours later at almost one in the morning. Draco had a difficult time staying awake for the entire thing when the box was so conducive to sleep, but he managed, thanks to the jolt potions periodically given to all the attendees. When England's Seeker caught the Snitch, ending the game at 520-460, he was more relieved than anything.

Draco shut the sound off completely and stood, stretching. Hermione hadn't moved since he'd covered her on the sofa, and he wasn't keen on waking her now. However, he doubted she would want to spend the night in the Quidditch stadium.

He went to her side and knelt on the floor, pausing to stare at her before waking her. She was beautiful, even with straight hair, and he didn't think he could ever tire of looking at her. Then he scoffed inwardly; he sounded like a love-sick puppy, and it was slightly nauseating.

"Hermione," he whispered, then rolled his eyes and said her name at a normal volume.

Slowly she opened her eyes and recognized him. She yawned. "Hey. What happened? Is it over?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah, it's over. England won."

"I feel like we just did this," she said, sitting up.

He laughed. "We basically did. Except this time you just fell asleep."

"What time is it?" Hermione asked, rubbing her eyes.

"About one."

"Merlin," she said, throwing the blanket off and standing up.

Draco followed her lead. "Are you ready to go, I presume?"

Hermione nodded, yawning again. "Yes."

Together they walked in silence toward the Floo stations. Halfway there, Hermione shivered, and Draco put his cloak around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said tiredly. "I think I left my cloak at your place."

There was a long queue at each of the fireplaces, so they waited a few yards away from everyone.

"What are we doing about tomorrow?" Draco asked her. "What time is dinner?"

"Oh, that's right!" Hermione exclaimed. "It completely slipped my mind. I usually Floo to the Burrow. If you want, you can come through to my room and we can go together from there."

"All right," he said. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "What are you doing with your day tomorrow?"

Hermione blinked, surprised by the question and remembering the detail she wouldn't be sharing with him. "Well, it's Saturday, which means breakfast with my parents. Oh, that's right, they want to have you over soon."

He nodded. "I remember. Next Saturday is good for me. The weekend after that I'll be in Paris."

"Paris?" she repeated, her eyes wide. She stood with her back resting lightly on the wall, facing the interior of the stadium.

"Won't you be, as well?" he asked, leaning nonchalantly on the wall, facing her. "For the opening of the Weasley shop?"

"Oh! That's in two weeks? I'd forgotten. I suppose I will be there," she said, her thoughts focused on how busy her life had been since agreeing to work with Draco.

He gave her an uneasy look. "I reckon we'll be there ... together."

The way he said 'together' made her pause, and then she understood. At that point in their relationship, it would make sense for them to stay together while in Paris for the shop's opening. "We'll deal with that when we have to," she said, another yawn escaping her control.

"Good idea," Draco said, frowning.

"After breakfast with my parents I'm going to Hogsmeade," she continued after a few moments.

"Is it already time for the first trip?" Draco asked. "I can't believe it. Seems like last weekend we were sitting on an orange sofa, talking during another Quidditch game."

Hermione smiled. "I'm not on the chaperone list for this weekend, but Blaise and I are taking our fourth-years to the Shrieking Shack. We both think it's important for our houses, especially, to spend time with each other."

"Blaise?" he said.

"Yes, Blaise. He is head of Gryffindor, you remember."

"I wasn't aware that you two were friends." Draco pushed himself off the wall with his shoulder and casually shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Look, the queue is much shorter. Should we get in?" she asked.

"Reckon so," he said, and gently led her toward the Floo stations, his hand placed lightly on the small of her back. Once they were situated, he said, "You're avoiding the question."

"No I'm not," she protested. "And you didn't really ask a question. Blaise and I aren't really friends, but he's pleasant to talk to, and we both agree on the importance of destroying the typical house stereotypes."

Draco smirked and was about to respond when they were interrupted.

"Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger."

They both turned to the source of the voice, and Draco recognized the man with the camera who had been watching them during the first few hours of the match.

"How about a picture?" he said hopefully.

Draco looked to Hermione, expecting her to refuse. Instead, she nodded with a smile.

"Great, thanks," the man said, getting into position.

Hermione scooted closer to Draco, and he put his arm around her. The camera flashed, and then without thinking, Draco absently kissed the top of Hermione's forehead. The camera went off again, and he inwardly groaned.

"What did you think of the match, Mr. Malfoy?" the man asked, obviously pleased with his success that night.

"It was a good one. I'm glad England pulled it out in the end."

"Looks like they've got a good shot at the EuroCup this year."

Draco nodded.

"We're up, Draco," said Hermione.

They had finally reached the fireplace. The green flames were set to go continuously without the need for powder with every person. "Malfoy Manor," he called. The flames roared bright red for an instant before turning back to green. "After you."

When they'd arrived in the Traveling Room, Hermione returned the cloak to an amused Draco. "What's so funny?" she said, yawning again.

"You went through first," he said, leading her into the hall. He still hadn't connected the main fireplace to her room at Hogwarts, and he didn't have any plans to. "You didn't see the look on that man's face when we both traveled here. You would have thought he'd discovered gold, he was so excited."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

He smiled lazily. "Think about it. Why wouldn't you simply go home? Instead you came here."

"Oh! You're right!" Then she shrugged. "I suppose it's official, then."

"Let's hope there won't be any more talk of Charlie." Draco let her into his bedroom and walked her to the fireplace in his closet. "What are you doing after your play date with Blaise?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, swatting him playfully and glancing around for her cloak. "I suppose I'll return to the castle, have lunch, catch up on some reading until it's time to meet you. Molly likes us there by seven, so why don't you come by around six-thirty?"

"So early?" he teased. "I was thinking more along the lines of seven, seven-fifteen."

Hermione shook her head and checked her bag, yawning. "Here it is. I had it all the time. If I don't go, I'm going to pass out on your floor. See you at six-thirty, Draco. Goodnight."

"Night."

She disappeared into the flames with a small wave, and then he let out a huge sigh. What a night! So much had been packed into the evening that he would need time to digest it all.

Draco didn't dwell on much of that. All he thought about while drifting to sleep was the way Hermione had felt in his arms and the softness of her lips pressed against his. He hoped he'd need another reason to kiss her very soon.

ooo

End Notes: > Thank you so much for reading! And thank you for your patience. Hope you enjoyed this! Chapter title taken from "The Adventure" by Angels and Airwaves. Beta credit goes to drcjsnider, pokeystar, and somandalicious. Art in this chapter is by marshy75 of LJ.