One night. That was all Hermione had wanted: one night to forget the excruciatingly forceful grip that heartbreak still held around her chest. One night with a friend to try and put those swirling grey eyes out of her mind and relinquish herself from the depths of her own sadness. But of course, Draco Malfoy had other plans for her, as he often did. Damn him and his careful control, his perfect posture emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders and chest. Damn him and his confidence, exuding with every step she’d watched him take past her table. Damn him and his muscular figure, barely hidden under the flawlessly tailored attire he wore. And damn him and his hypnotizing gaze, which she felt the entire night as she (unsuccessfully) fought the urge to meet it from across the bar.