The Worst Date Ever

The Meal

His pupils dilated ever-so-slightly, signaling the presence of an arousing stimulus. His nostrils flared, indicating that he was subconsciously collecting some sort of olfactory data—an evolutionary trait humans hadn't quite kicked yet. His Adam's apple bobbed a fraction in his throat, suggesting that something was causing a surplus of saliva to collect in his mouth.

He shrugged. "Nice try, Granger, but my penis doesn't even register that you're a female presence."

What a fucking liar.

She leaned into him a bit more, making certain that her breasts were rubbing against his side. "I don't believe you."

He swallowed again, audibly this time. "Don't play with me, Granger. Just because I said you've got a nice body doesn't mean I want to do dirty things to it."

She almost stumbled in her Beyonce heels. There was something about the way he casually dropped the words, "dirty things," that took her back a bit. Maybe it was the snappy drawl he always used when someone backed him into a corner. It was a trait that dated back to their Hogwarts days, and it was never, ever something Hermione considered attractive. But when he used it to suggest that "dirty things" might done to her, by him nonetheless...

She had never considered it before. He had always been too annoying and condescending for her to remotely entertain the idea. But she supposed...from a purely theoretical viewpoint...that Malfoy could objectively be considered attractive.

He leered at her chest. "Although, I do appreciate that you decided to go sans bra tonight, doll. If you dressed like this more often, maybe a shit date with me wouldn't be the highlight of your social life."

Then again, ew. She shouldn't even go there. He was too blond, too pale, too pointy, and too Malfoy. He probably was one of those guys who pumped over a woman for three minutes before collapsing on top of her and asking if she "got there" before passing out. It didn't matter that he was essentially a visual feast in his suit and that he smelled like he looked—like a man with a sharp jawline who was born on a bed of money.

Suddenly she was too close.

This evening was destined to be a crap shoot, and it was best just to grin and bear it. "What's first on our agenda, Malfoy?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner." Okay. That didn't sound so bad.

"At Wetherspoon's."

She grimaced. "Wetherspoons?"

"Now, don't be a snob, Granger. You wouldn't want to give the impression you were ungrateful."

"That's rich. I have actually heard you refer to fish and chips as 'poor people food.' What possible reason could you have for taking me to Wetherspoons?"

"I've heard they have excellent cocktail pitchers. But most importantly, they have the lowest Yelp rating of any pub or restaurant in South London."

"You do realize that you will also hate it. Possibly even more than I will."

He put a hand on his chest. "As long as you're miserable, Granger, I will give it five stars."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you like soggy chips and spotty silverware, you little...what is that?"

"It's beginning to look a lot like Chriiistmaaas. Eeeeverywheeere you goooo."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Is that...?"

The sound was getting louder.

"Take a look at the five and ten. It's glistening once again."