Hermione stood before her closet, clad in a fluffy pink robe with a slightly damp towel wrapped around her freshly-showered head as she evaluated her wardrobe choices. What did one wear on a fake date with a bloke one despised?
Camouflage, perhaps? A nice dagger holster? A poison ring?
"GRAAAAAAN-GERRRR!" A male sing-songy voice penetrated the quiet of her home.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she muttered.
Approximately ten seconds later, a chipper Malfoy wearing an expensive gray suit popped his head into her room. "Are you naked?"
Hermione instinctively pulled the edges of her robe closer together. "Would it matter if I was?"
"Not a bit." He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized her appearance. "O-kaaay. So...that's what you look like when you're off the clock." Draco wrinkled his nose. "It truly baffles me that you are still single."
"Oh, zip it, Malfoy. I just got out of the shower."
He snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Damn, I missed it. I knew I should have left two minutes earlier."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Two minutes ago? You're already twenty goddamned minutes early. It's bloody rude."
He patted her towel-clad head. "Worst date ever, Granger. Don't expect me to act like a gentleman tonight."
"Charming."
"Now. I feel compelled to tell you that you look like Baby Umbridge in that ridiculous outfit—"
"I was in the middle of getting ready, you arsehole!"
"—So, you'll be happy to know that because you are totally incapable of dressing yourself, I brought you something." He held up a garment bag.
She groaned. "Please don't tell me you get to pick my outfit."
"I get to pick your outfit." He thrust the garment bag into her hands. "I'll just wait outside while you put it on." He craned his head slowly towards her. "Unless you need some assistance. Zippers can be awfully tricky."
"Get the fuck out of my room, Malfoy."
He raised his hands in faux surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm going. Keep your knickers on. Or don't if you'd like to make this awful date a lot more interest—"
She slammed the door in his face.
The fucker.
Hermione sheepishly opened the garment bag Draco had brought, hoping against hope that he had not selected anything too dowdy or, in the alternative, too slutty, but realizing such a wish was futile. A tasteful middle ground was not the theme of the evening. This was to be the worst date ever. Which meant that...
Oh, hells.
"Mother fucker," Hermione murmured.
It was the shortest, smallest, shiniest, greenest dress Hermione had ever seen. The material looked to be a cross between cheap velvet and a polyblend satin. Either way, it wasn't cute. Merely holding it up to her body, she could tell that it wouldn't fall even mid-thigh on her. And the neckline was a joke. Was it a "U"? Was it a drunken "V"? It appeared to have no structural integrity whatsoever. She doubted she owned a bra she could wear with it, as the dress was unlikely to cover any of them completely.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Granger. I want to see."
"Go away, Malfoy. I'm still getting dressed. And fuck you, by the way for making me wear this. I have tea towels that would cover more of my body than this."
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."