One Million Reasons

Two To Tango

A/N

Just a quick note before we start. I wanted to say I'm sorry for the long wait for an update but we have officially moved into our new house. I hope you all had a great Christmas or holiday season, and your new years were safe. I hope coming into the new year to be able to update a little more regularly but having said that I'm not far off having bub but I hope you do stick around and continue to vote and review because even though I don't reply often I really do enjoy reading your comments.

That was it. That's all I wanted to say.

An hour after Draco had left Hermione was still stewing in her anger. An hour of scrubbing pots vigorously; one so hard she begun lifting the non-stick coating and another she had cleaned so thoroughly she'd ruined the scour. The water had gone cold and all evidence of soap had long dissolved.

She had thrown out the food she'd spent all afternoon preparing and bitterly spitting words of venom as she blew out the candles, put her mothers formal China away and refolded the good linen napkins.

An hour thinking over his words, and an hour for lack of a better word Loathing him.

It wasn't until she'd concluded that she did in fact; even if just for the past hour only. Loathe Draco Malfoy... Again.

Draco wanted to play make believe? Fine, have it his way!

Hermione made her way to the bedroom, throwing open the closet doors in a flurry of his Cologne, her perfume and their laundry detergent. A combination that had once made her heart swoon and her loins stir with lust. Tonight however she was too preoccupied and filled with rage to care that it made her nostrils sting and her eyes water.

She reached for the rack in the back, the "Malfoy approved" rack as Ginny had dubbed it when they were still on less awkward terms.

Hermione knew the dress she was looking for. Draco had brought it for her to wear months ago. The first time she had refused to be seen in public.

Well tonight she would wear it. She would play the part of perfect girlfriend and not grieving almost-mother. She'd smile. Drink champagne, shake the right hands and indulge in the idle gossips of the other wives while the gentlemen partake in whatever archaic caveman activity was on offer tonight that would allow them to boast and congratulate each other on being masters of the world.

The entire affair was ludicrous, as if something plucked from The Great Gatsby or straight from the pages of some other pretentious classic muggle novel.

Hermione traced the fabric, satin. Her eyes following the lavish way the beading followed the curve of her hips, and the colour; a sleek black with just the faintest hint of a navy blue when the light hit it just right. Made her pale skin look almost healthy and faintly sunkissed as opposed to the translucent tone it had taken on since she went into hiding.

Rushing through her make up she applied only a small amount to her eyes and lips, and her hair she pinned into a wild mess at her nape. Then, like a tornado she was gone.

A/N a filler I know but if I carried on this chapter would simply be too long so instead I'll leave it here and let the next chapter be filled with all the excitement.