"In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different."
— Coco Chanel
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“Bloody hell.”
“What now?”
“Granger, you can’t make hangover potions for shit.”
“I’ve told you. You had a lot to drink last night and if you consume anything stronger than what you’ve already had it’ll –”
“Do I look like I give a flying Hippogriff’s arse? I’m in agony here!”
She shot him a withering glare. “Maybe you wouldn’t be if you kept your voice down.”
“I’ve only raised my voice because you have!”
“Actually, I haven’t. You only think everything’s louder than it really is because –”
“Shut up, Granger.”
Hermione scowled at him; a little affronted he obviously doubted her potions ability. Honestly, if the potion didn’t work at all, why didn’t he just go and make himself one? Lazy toadlike man. He’d been in a foul mood ever since he came down the stairs that morning and was unable to stop from constantly glaring over his shoulder at her, as though everything was her fault.
“Why did you drink anyway?” Hermione asked curiously, playing with the edge of the tablecloth as she watched him prepare coffee.
“You really believe I’d tell you, of all people?” said Malfoy snidely, stirring his mug so profusely it was a wonder it didn’t splash up and hit him in the face.
Hermione looked away and stared at the dried up flowers in front of her, considering going out and doing some shopping for a while to get away from him and his moods.
“Why don’t you throw those damn things out?” he asked after a moment, inclining his head towards the flowers. “They’ve been dead ever since I moved in.”
“They were from Ron,” she answered in a monotone.
“Oh.” Malfoy sensed the awkward territory he’d wondered into and quickly changed the subject. “It’s a miracle I accepted your silly potion, you know. After last night and you trying to poison me and everything.”
Hermione glanced away from the flowers and instead watched him sip casually from the mug, leaning with his back to her against the counter, completely oblivious to his slip up. She’d briefly mentioned while making her ‘silly potion’ if he remembered anything from last night. He’d told her no almost instantly and momentarily she’d believed him – that is until he mumbled about finding Crookshanks’ fur throughout his hair and grumbled about allowing such creatures to sleep on his head.
Regardless of how many times he denied it, she was positive he remembered. Although he had appeared genuinely confused about waking up in his own bed, so Hermione concluded he could only remember snippets of last night before passing out at the laundry door, and for this she was thankful. It’d been uncomfortable enough when he’d first entered the kitchen, her brain switching back inadvertently to the things he had said, speaking with a passion she’d never seen before, and then the words ‘stay with me’ repeating in her head. If she was still squirmy about it, imagine Malfoy’s reaction if he knew everything he’d told her.
She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. And there was no reason to remind him. The best thing for her to do was forget about it. File last night away and throw out the key.
“I need you to go to dinner with me.”
She had been too preoccupied with her thoughts for his words to coax an immediate response, and when she registered them, she stiffened. “I’m sorry?”
YOU ARE READING
A Wonderful Fortuitous Love
Fanfiction"You see, Draco Malfoy, without your sarcastic replies to endure each morning and that arrogance only you could carry, I find myself somewhat missing you." Draco thought the biggest problem living for a year under the same roof as Hermione Granger w...
