The Worst Date Ever

The Outfit

A pause.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Uhhhh. Hang on." Hermione grumbled as she wiggled into the dress and examined her appearance.

Whoa.

If Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin Mattress, had been an actual streetwalker then she would have been embarrassed to wear this dress.

"How does it look?" he asked from behind the door.

She ran her hands over her stomach as she looked at herself from several angles. Was her arse always so perky? Maybe she should buy some better fitting pencil skirts.

"Granger!"

"Alright, you slimy little rat," she said as she raised her wand to the door, allowing it to swing open.

Draco's jaw hit the floor. "Whoa."

"Yup."

"Granger, you look..."

"I look like a common prostitute."

"...I was going to say you look sensational."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I mean, you do look like a prostitute. And a cheap one at that. But who knew you were so goddamned sexy underneath those frumpy bags you call skirts."

Her face fell. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, his eyes trailing up her body. "Are those tits, Granger? Sweet Jesus, you've really got them, don't you? They're bigger than I thought they'd be."

"Are you done?"

"I mean, I had a feeling you were hiding something. But this? I should arrest you just for covering it all up. Selfish, Granger."

Making certain her two boniest knuckles were front and center, Hermione punched him in the arm.

"Owwww," he squealed. "That was uncalled for."

Hermione disagreed. She was sure that the less-than-masculine squeal he emitted would be the highlight of this entire evening for her. "Well, you were being a creep, leering at me like that. Didn't your mother ever teach you to respect women?"

He cradled his bruised arm. "My mother taught me to dance a perfect waltz, and to how to complain to a waiter about the wine selection in flawless French."

Merlin. Even on a normal date, he'd still be a holy terror. "Are we going, or not?"

"Are you going to insist on acting like a rabid little hellion the whole evening, or can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself?"

"Only if you promise to stop objectifying me. Otherwise, I'll put my bathrobe back, on and you can take me out like that."

Draco chuckled. "Only you would find that less embarrassing. I don't see what you're complaining about, Granger. You've definitely got the goods for that dress."

"So, bathrobe it is, then?"

"No, no, no. My evening. My rules. The dress stays."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let me just see if I have any shoes that will go with it."

She walked over to her closet and rifled through her shoe selection.

She felt him before she heard him. An arm darted out past her head and seized a six-inch strappy black heel. "Wear these."

"You can't be serious."

"They're your shoes, Granger."

"I wore them once at a fancy-dress party, and I couldn't even make it half the night before I transfigured them into flats."

He shrugged. "What can I say? They go with the dress."

"That is to say that they add to the whole 'cheap hooker' thing."

"Again. Your shoes."

She signed. "Malfoy, I understand the whole point of this evening is to humiliate me, but this is actual physical torture."

He bit his lip, his eyes moving from the lethal stiletto in his hand to her dainty feet. "I'll tell you what, Granger. If you wear them, I'll put a charm on your feet. That way, we both win. You'll feel

like you're wearing house slippers the entire evening, but your legs will go on for miles, and your arse will positively devastate."

She narrowed his eyes at him. "When this is all over, you will pay."

He grinned, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. "It's the worst date ever, Granger. I thought we'd at least go Dutch."