Insomnia

A soft grey paw gently batted Hermione on the face, drawing her out of sleep. Opening one eye, she saw Sylvia crouched on the bed next to her, glaring at her expectantly.

Hermione groaned and threw the bedclothes off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Fine, I'm up, you ungrateful cat." She wandered out to the kitchen, followed by a triumphant Sylvia. "Seriously. I feed you, let you sleep on my bed, buy you catnip mousies, and then when I want to sleep in, what happens? I get a face full of your stinky feet."

Yawning, she filled Sylvia's red plastic bowl with cat food, and was rewarded by the cat's content purr.

After a small stretch, it occurred to Hermione that it might be a good idea to check the time. Walking sleepily into the living room, she picked up the small clock and peered at it.

11.30.

"No, that can't be right." She shook the offending object. "I went to bed at 10pm. No way did I sleep for 13 hours." Frowning, she took the clock back to her room, picked up her wand, and waved it.

"Reparo." Nothing. The clock ticked away happily.

Hermione sighed and sat on the bed. Thirteen hours sleep. She hadn't had that much sleep in nearly three years. Six hours was good for her.

Shrugging, she put it down to all the excitement, as well as the all-nighter she'd had with Draco the night before.

A small lightbulb flickered behind her eyes. Draco. This was Friday. She was going to Draco's house for dinner. A little bubble of glee began to build inside her, and she walked out to the kitchen with a much lighter step, humming a tune to herself. She made a cup of Earl Grey tea for herself, savouring the fragrance, and staring off into the middle distance with a little smile on her face, remembering how comfortable she had felt with Draco the night before.

The phone rang, startling her out of her little fugue state. As she walked down the corridor towards it, she made a mental list of who could possibly be calling her.

Dumbledore? No, he always used the fireplace.

McGonagall? Only if she'd heard about the dinner - or if she was going ask what was taking Hermione so long to get the next chapter ready...

Hermione swallowed, and went on to the next name.

Ginny? No, she was working today.

Mum? Oh god, no....

Steeling herself, she picked up the phone.

"Hi, mum."

A laugh, and then that soft drawl that was most certainly NOT her mother's.

"No wonder you dropped out of Divination."

Glad that phones weren't a visual medium, Hermione blushed.

"Good morning, Draco."

"Good afternoon, Hermione." The voice still sounded amused.

Hermione felt more embarrassed than she had in about eight years. Struggling to keep her voice cool, free from all traces of adolescent excitement, she took a breath.

"Of course. Silly me."

"Ah, the life of a writer."

"I'll have you know I work extremely hard, Draco Malfoy. A lot harder than SOME people I can mention."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who was it that spent most of his three years at the academy chasing anything in a skirt instead of studying?"

"I think it was the same person who finished second in his year."

Hermione frowned, outwitted.

Draco chuckled. "How are you, Hermione?"

"I'm good. Yourself?"

"Fine. Listen, I was thinking about tonight, and I realised I'd forgotten..."

Stung, Hermione cut him off. "Of course, you're very busy. I understand. Probably got papers to mark or something. We'll just make it some other time." The words rushed out of her, and were met by a patient silence.

"Quite done, Granger?" The voice was still pleasant.

"Yes."

"Can I finish now?"

A much smaller voice. "'es."

"I realised I'd forgotten to give you my address for tonight."

Wishing the ground would swallow her where she stood, Hermione replied in a very light voice.

"Oh. Of course."

She wrote down the address, feeling like the biggest idiot who ever lived, then studied it, frowning.

"Albert St - that's not very far from here."

"I know."

"Oh."

Draco noticed her silence, and the general air of awkwardness that was coming down the phone line, and felt guilty.

"So...are you still going to come around?" Trying not to sound as though it was the most exciting thing on his social calender in the last six months.

"Of course!"

His stomach stopped doing the Dance of Uncertainty, and he reclaimed his 'cool' voice.

"Great. Seven o'clock good for you?"

"Absolutely. Would you like me to bring some wine?"

"Thanks, but no. Snape's given me some excellent bottles from his cellar, and I've been looking for a reason to open them."

"Fantastic. So, I'll see you tonight?"

"Definitely."

As the phones hung up, five streets apart, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy banged their heads on their respective walls, each berating themselves for sounding like an idiot.

Draco looked around the shoebox he called home and sighed. The tiny three room apartment that had always seemed perfectly acceptable for visitors like Snape and Dumbledore now seemed greatly lacking as a venue for entertaining Hermione Granger. Draco caught that little thought by the tail and shrugged it off.

Don't be ridiculous.

No, of course not, you're not trying to impress her or anything.

Shut up.

Ooh! Nice comeback. I can't wait till she gets over here. This should be hilarious.

I hate you, Inner Voice.

Well, if you're going to turn this dump into The Love Grotto, you'd better stop talking to yourself and start fixing it up.

I'm not interested in her!

Sure. Tell yourself that.

Scowling at himself, Draco stood in the centre of his flat, speculating on how he could turn it into (the love grotto)(SHUT UP!) a comfortable home, worthy of entertaining someone with sensibilities as fine as Hermione's.

Meanwhile, Hermione had given up and called Ginny.

"Gin, I need your help. I'm a broken woman, here."

"Ah, the big date, eh?"

Hermione was incensed. "It's not a -"

Ginny Apparated in the room next to her, cutting her off.

"Relax, chicky. I'm kidding."

Hermione was looking distressed. Ginny's Mother Hen won out and she hugged her friend.

"What's wrong, then?"

Hermione looked at her, embarrassed.

"I can't find anything to wear."

After Ginny's laughing fit had run its course, Hermione, who had been standing there looking put out, spoke up.

"Gin, this is serious. I haven't done anything like this in years. I'm having a huge internal turmoil, you know."

"Why, sweetie?"

Hermione looked at her friend and sister-in-law wretchedly. "Because of Ron."

Ginny nodded. "Hermione - " she sighed and walked over to the other woman, reaching out to grasp her hand. "As much as Ron disliked Draco, I'm sure he wouldn't have any problem with you two being friends." Her voice became wry. "Besides, it's not like he's in any position to complain, is he?"

"Ginny!" Hermione looked scandalised. "But...I mean, I'm sort of..."

"Interested in him?"

Hermione looked at her shoes, and the redhaired woman hugged her.

"Of course you are. I loved Ron too. But it's been nearly three years. He wouldn't want you to be alone." She walked over the framed photo of Ron on top of the mantlepiece and fixed him with a look that made her look exactly like her mother. "Now, Ron, Hermione loved you very much, but you're gone, and if you were the lovely person we always thought you were, you won't grudge her making a new friend and not being a lonely sad git anymore."

Hermione laughed. "Gee, thanks."

Ginny smiled. "Don't mention it."

Hermione nodded, sobering. "It's just that Draco understands everything."

"I know. I think this would be good for you."

Hermione looked up, and nodded. "I know."

Ginny grinned. "Then it's settled. We'll dress you up all pretty-like, and you'll go over and stun the pants off him."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and suddenly looked up in horror. "Oh god - what if he's not interested?"

Ginny scoffed. "Then he's gay, or a lost cause. Look, sweetie, don't stress. Just go over there, talk to him, hang out, it'll be great. If something happens, then, by all means, seize the moment. And if not, then just enjoy the company of your new friend."

The brunette was looking at her in awe. "Wow, Gin, you should write for the Prophet. You'd make a bundle."

At a quarter to seven that evening, Draco was doing one last check to make sure everything was in place. The large mirror he'd Transfigured over the greatly-altered living room was watching him with one eyebrow raised.

"You know, mate, that's the fourteenth "final check" you've made. The place looks excellent. Now sit down before you get all sweaty and yuck. You're not going to get lucky if you look bad, you know."

Draco paused in his sweep of the room to look at his reflection in horror.

"I am NOT looking to 'get lucky', you useless piece of glass."

The reflection crinkled its brow. "Really? Then why are we looking so smooooooth?"

Draco stared in disbelief. "Did you just say that in a pimp voice? Did you?" He shook his head. "Never mind. Look, Hermione's my friend. I jsut wanted the place to look nice."

"Yes, and you always take 40 minutes to do your hair."

Draco slumped on the green Chesterfield (previously a horrid mustard yellow thing from Oxfam) and put his head in his hands. "Go away."

"Look! Just then! When you sulked! You made very sure that you wouldn't mess the 'do."

Draco groaned, and his reflection sighed.

"Hey, I think it's wonderful. There hasn't been a girl in this place in years. I mean, talk about dry spells..."

In muffled tones; "...just friends..."

Hermione stood outside the door of Draco's flat, smoothing down her skirt, and took a deep breath before ringing the bell.

A scuffling noise briefly followed, then the door opened, revealing Draco Malfoy looking (to Hermione) sensational in black, reminding her that she was still a young and, as it turned out, very red-blooded woman.

He stood in the doorway, looking at her like she was some magnificent artwork. Finally he smiled and gestured for her to come in.

"Good evening." He took her coat, and she thanked him briefly before turning to look at his flat.

She drew in an appreciative breath. "Draco, your flat - you really didn't do it justice the other night. This is beautiful." She walked over to the bookshelf that covered the whole of one wall, examining the titles.

Draco felt a huge twinge of guilt. "Actually, it's all transfigured." When she turned to smile at him, with a laugh at the edge of her mouth, he quickly rectified. "Except the books. They're real."

She shrugged. "Magic or not, you have exquisite taste." She walked back to stand next to him, and the room suddenly seemed overly warm to him, as he noticed that the dark green dress she wore hugged her just enough in all the right places, and he remembered the mirror's words - it had been a long time, indeed.

His Inner Horndog was doing a happy dance, and he reminded himself that she was a friend, and that both of them were in too fragile an emotional state to get into something as messy and complicated as that. His Inner Horndog was protesting loudly as he regained his cool.

"Would you like a drink of anything? Wine? Red, white?"

"Red, thanks." Hermione followed him to the little bar he'd Transfigured between the living room and the kitchen, and delicately seated herself in one of the comfortable high chairs he'd arranged, leaning one elbow on the bar and resting her chin in her hand, as she watched him carefully choose a suitable red from what looked like a pricey selection and pour two glasses. He silently offered her one and she took it, raising to him in a brief toast.

He awkwardly arranged himself in the chair next to her.

"So...how have you been?" She watched him expectantly, and he found himself very willing to tell her.

"I've been okay, actually. Better than I have in a while." He took another sip, trying to make himself bolder. "Seeing you the other night was good. I haven't talked with anyone like that in years." He risked a look at her, and found to his relief that she was nodding with a small smile on her face.

"I know. It was pretty cathartic, wasn't it?" She sighed. "I haven't ever spoken to anyone about the war like that. Not even Harry."

"Have you seen Harry recently?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, actually. I'll see him tomorrow. I saw Ginny, though."

"How was she?" Small talk. But it wasn't too awkward, thank god.

"Not too bad." Hermione grinned. "She was pretty happy that I was getting out of the house. She worries about me." A sigh. "She's exactly like her mum. Always worrying about everyone else, even when her own life's going down the toilet."

Draco nodded. "Maybe she needs to. If she stopped, then the sheer despair might totally consume her."

His sudden quiet outburst startled Hermione, and she realised that there was still so much about Draco Malfoy that nobody knew.

He went on. "I mean, what happened to her - losing a brother and a son in one night, and a husband because of it. I wouldn't have coped."

Hermione reached over and took his hand. They sat a while in silence, neither wanting to speak. Finally Hermione broke the silence.

"Did you ever hear the whole story of that night?"