"Choke him out! Choke him out!"
Hermione's eyes were dry from not having blinked in ages. The MMA fighters thrashed against one another, having finally brought the fight to the ground. Hermione was aware that there were many people who might envy hers and Malfoy's front row seats, so they may better witness the collapse of civilization. The luxury was, however, lost on her. She was too scared to check, but she was pretty sure there was blood on her cleavage from one of the fighters.
Malfoy clapped as the Irish guy did indeed choke out the American. He leaned in to whisper. "So, what do you think of your first UFC fight?"
Hermione was shaken out of her daze. "I think..."
She looked around at the carnage and the celebration of brute force for its own sake. People were spilling warm Carlsberg all over each other and cheering at the sight of blood. Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of ancient Rome. Hordes of the populace would gather at the heart of the city to watch gladiators bring honor to their countries by spilling the blood of foreign slaves upon the hallowed dust of Rome; saluting Death as a revered friend and entering the halls of Elysium with dignity.
"Oi, mate grab 'im by 'is balls! Get 'im in 'is baby maker!" A drunken old man in the row behind Hermione jumped up and spat at the ring. Dorito crumbs flew through the air and cascaded down Hermione's dress.
She shook her head. "I think this place makes me feel racist against white people."
"Yeah, it's glorious, isn't it? By the way, doll, you've got a bit of that American bloke's nose blood on your tits."
"Charming. Are we finished here?"
"Not by half, doll. This is just the first fight. There are eleven more fights to go."
"Eleven?" She shook her head, her eyes glazing over as a woman with bright purple hair wearing a silver bikini walked around the ring holding a sign announcing the next fight.
She didn't understand. Why would Malfoy put her through all of this when it clearly wasn't to his taste any more than hers? Did he really hate her so much that he derived so much pleasure from her humiliation? "Haven't you had enough?" she whispered.
"I'm sorry, what was that, doll?"
She turned fully in her seat to face him. She saw a small glimmer of contrition appear in his face as he witnessed the defeat in her eyes. "Why are you doing this? You hate all of this just as much as I do. Why would you go through so much trouble just to see me humiliated? What's even the point?"
His treacherous Adam's apple bobbed again in his throat, and he licked his lips. "I mean...the bet, right? You know it was all in good fun. I wasn't trying to—"
"Why do you hate me?"
His eyes widened in their sockets. He released a puff of incredulity as he looked her in the eyes, searching for evidence that she was serious. "I don't hate you, Granger. Why would you think that I do?"
She shrugged. "You only ever speak to me to patronize me or embarrass me. You're twenty-five years old, and yet you still act like the same rat-faced eleven-year-old git you used to be. The only difference is that you don't call me 'Mudblood' anymore."
He licked his lips. "I don't...I don't know. I thought the bet would be a laugh. You always look so serious, and I thought..." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide the pink tinge on his cheeks by turning his head from her. "Look, Granger. I can take you home. We can call off the rest of the night. I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand. I thought..." He laughed darkly. "Looking back, I realize I was stupid to think that you'd find any of this funny."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I think it's funny, you idiot. If you had done this to literally anyone else, I would have paid good money to have seen it."
He smirked slightly at her remark. "So, you're saying I should have sold tickets."
She smacked him lightly on the arm, smirking in spite of herself. "Perhaps you can tuck that idea away for the next time you do this to someone else. Maybe give me a discount as reparations for my present misery."
He laughed. "Oh, Granger. I could never do this to someone else. And ruin what we have?" He put a hand on his heart, mockingly. "That would cheapen it."
"I don't know. I'll bet you could rope Melanie into replicating it with you."
"Who's Melanie?"
Hermione turned to look him in the eye. She was surprised to find that he seemed to be serious.
"Our waitress. From Wetherspoons. You spent the whole time flirting with her. Remember?"
He smirked. "I remember you were jealous."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I was not jealous, Malfoy. I just couldn't believe that you would be quite that rude. It was a new level. Even for you."
"Well, for what it's worth, I only did it to rile you up."
She sniggered, relaxing in her seat as she watched some Russian guy kick another Russian guy in the face. "I guess I can't really fault you for it. It's sort of the shtick tonight, right? Worst date ever? At least you realize that it was rude. There are plenty of men who would do it without having a clue how it would make their date feel."
He leaned in closer. "In case I forget to tell you later, you've been a real sport about the whole thing."
She snorted. "I've fought you every step of the way, Malfoy. You've practically dragged me kicking and screaming all evening."
He bit his lip. "Yeah, but you've still done it. You didn't have to, you know."
She shrugged. "A bet's a bet. You won fair and square."
He waved his hand from side to side. "I thought we had established that it wasn't exactly square."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm still furious with you for using Felix, but technically you're right. We never said you couldn't. And you were basically finished with those cases, anyway." She inhaled, steadying herself for the next part. "You're a good detective, Malfoy."
He tore his eyes away from the fight and turned his head to her. She was stubbornly refusing to look at him, choosing instead to watch one of the fighters body slam the other. She was doing a very good impersonation of a person who was genuinely interested in the sport. He smirked.
"You think I'm a good detective."
"Yeah," she breathed, still not taking her eyes off the fight. "Look, let's not make a big thing of it."
"Of course not," he said turning his attention back to the fight. "You know...there's a possibility that I may have gone overboard with this date."
She blinked. "Overboard?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I should probably cancel the Nickelback concert and the Portkey to Washington D.C."
Her head zapped in his direction. "Washington mother-fucking D.C.? What was that for?"
"A lecture by Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, Paul Ryan called "How to Use Ayn Rand Quotes to Win Arguments.' But I'm fairly certain I can get my deposit back on that one."
She facepalmed herself. "For the love of Godric, Malfoy. At the risk of being gauche, exactly how much did this date cost you?"
He hummed in contemplation with a faraway look in his eye. "I'd say roughly half of my annual salary."
Hermione's heart moved a fraction of an inch in her chest in shock; mostly at the casual way, Malfoy dropped that number, as if the amount was merely rusty Knuts in his pocket or spare change that he discovered underneath his couch cushions. It was easy to forget that Malfoy was loaded, but every so often he slipped and reminded her in a terribly alarming way.
A small part of Hermione—a very small part—was almost flattered because no man had ever spent anywhere close to that amount on her. Even if she added up every date and gift she had ever received from a male, it wouldn't scratch the surface of what Malfoy dropped for this date. But given the circumstances, it was hardly romantic. "I figuratively have no words to describe how disturbing that is, Malfoy."
"Are you hungry?"
She gaped at him; amazed at his ability to so abruptly, yet seamlessly change the subject. "We already ate."
"You barely touched your food. And truth be told, neither did I. I know a place that's open late.
You've at least earned a decent dinner. Let me buy you one as a token of my appreciation."
She chuckled. "I guess I could eat."
"Come on. Let's get out of here."
The two stood from their seats in the front row and walked toward the exit. Hermione's eyes crossed when she felt his hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward.
Had she had possessed the courage to look at him, she would have seen that he was blushing.
*
"Oh my god. Malfoy, this is amazing." She practically purred as she bit into the heavenly falafel. The buttery crunch of fresh cucumbers combined perfectly with the moist, subtle crispiness of the falafel and the tangiest tzatziki she had ever tasted.
Draco preened into his own wrap. "I know. I found this place years ago back when I was still in my foolish drinky stage with Blaise and Theo."
She rolled her eyes. "I can't stomach nights out anymore. Clubs are boring. Pubs are disappointing. People are loud. I'd rather just drink at home."
He chuckled. "I'm the same way. At least then I can go to bed when I want."
She nearly choked on a tomato, nodding her head in agreement. "I'm the same way. Give me a bottle of wine and a good book, and I'm happy. But ask me to put on a pair of trousers, and I'm out."
He laughed. "Well, in that case, I apologize for taking you away from the comforts of your home and forcing you to put on proper clothes."
She snorted. "You'd call this proper? All evening people have assumed that you paid for my company."
He grinned. "You do look hot in that dress."
"Shut up." It lacked the bite her usual 'shut ups' possessed. Maybe it was because he had a tiny bit of hummus on the corner of his mouth. It was endearing. "You've got a little..." she motioned at his mouth.
He rubbed the wrong side. "Did I get it?"
"No. Let me just..." Without even thinking, she wiped it away for him.
Draco was too startled to react as her fingers brushed the corner of his lips in a light, fleeting, but confident movement. Afterward, he smiled, particularly pleased by her ostensible fascination with an imaginary spot on the table between them.
*
For the second time that evening, he put his hand on the small of her back, directing her out of the falafel restaurant. It felt nice, having his hand there.
"Thank you for this. You didn't have to buy me dinner for real."
He grinned, knocking shoulders with her. "Come on, Granger. I couldn't let you starve to death."
She chuckled. "You know, you're not half bad when you're not calling me 'doll' or leering at my breasts."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Sexist Draco, bad. Falafel Draco, good."
She giggled.
As the pair walked down the pavement, they caught the attention of a group of three men sitting outside smoking cigarettes. "Oi, lovely! How'd you like to have a seat right here on my cock, eh?" The other two sniggered at the crude comment.
Hermione's face heated, but she continued to walk forward. Refusing to engage was her typical tactic when dealing with guys like this.
Draco, on the other hand, took a different approach. He turned and faced them, his eyes burning, and his jaw set so hard, his teeth were creaking. "What did you say to her?"
She touched his arm and lightly tugged. "Draco..."
The tallest of the three flicked the butt of his fag into the street and strolled over to Draco. He looked like he hadn't brushed his teeth in years. "Wha's that, pretty boy? You got a problem wif me?"
"Yeah, I've got a fucking problem. You don't talk to her like that."
The other two men approached Draco and the tall bloke with the poor oral hygiene. "You 'ear that, lads? 'e's got a problem wif us talking to 'is bird." He cracked his knuckles. "I meant no harm, mate. It's just that she looks like she sucks a mean cock, yeah?"
Draco shoved him. He shoved back. And before Hermione knew what was happening, the two were on the ground, scuffling.
She rolled her eyes. Men and their bloody fighting. She pulled out her wand and flicked it towards the other two men who were rounding on the fight. "Petrificus Totalus," she said dully.
They froze. She then turned her attention on the man Draco had pinned to the ground, punching in the face, and repeated the spell.
Draco froze at the statue of the man beneath him. He looked up at Hermione who was currently sending her Patronus to the Ministry for the Obliviators to come and tend to the Muggles' memories. "Why did you do that?"
"Me? Why the fuck did you do that?"
He scowled, blood oozing from one of his nostrils. "What are you talking about? Didn't you hear how he spoke to you?"
"I don't need you to defend my honor."
"I never said you did. Excuse me if it just didn't sit well listening to this prick talk to the smartest fucking person I know like she was a whore."
Hermione's eyes softened. "I appreciate that, Draco. I do. But if you picked a fight with every man who catcalled a woman you knew, you'd be a very busy man. Let me see your nose."
He shook his head. "It's fine."
"It's broken. Come on. It wouldn't be the first time this evening I got someone else's blood on me."
He shook his head. "I just...I didn't like hearing him say those things to you."
She bit her lip, unable to look him in the eye. "It wouldn't be the first time. Episkey."
"Ow. Mother fucker!"
"Better?" She held his head in her hands, searching for signs of a concussion in his eyes.
Catching his breath, he nodded. Her big, doe eyes were full of concern and ferocity. It was a look that was so profoundly Granger that he couldn't help but feel moved to see it directed at him for once. At this proximity, he could count every freckle across her nose if he fancied. The contrast between the golden flecks against her pale skin was quite striking. He'd never much noticed Granger's freckles before, but he decided right then and there that he liked them. They humanized her; softening the natural intensity she normally exuded. He swallowed deeply. "You're so fucking pretty," he whispered.
Her breath hitched, and she removed her hands from the sides of his head. She wasn't entirely sure he meant to say that. Even he looked taken aback by it. "Thank you."
He exhaled deeply. "Look, I know I haven't exactly been a saint to you."
"Draco, please don't do this—"
"Just let me say this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know I take the piss out of you a lot, and that I'm kind of a misogynist—which I'm working on by the way—but the truth is...I...respect you. A lot. I wasn't kidding when I said that you're the smartest person I know."
Her eyes widened. "I...um. Thank you." This had certainly shaped up to be an odd evening. She had known Malfoy for fourteen years and not once in that entire time had he ever paid her a compliment. Tonight, he had paid her several. And she was certain they had been sincere—mostly because she had never seen sincerity on his face until this evening, and it contrasted greatly with his usual sarcastic wit. She Scourgified the blood from his face. "Um...listen, I should wait for the Obliviators, but—"
His shoulders sagged. "I'll see you at work, then."
"Oh, um...yeah. At work."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Unless you want me to wait with you?"
"No. That's not necessary."
"I'll wait."
"No, Draco. You really don't have to—"
"I know that you're more than capable of waiting on your own, but this is kind of my mess. So...you know."
She sighed. "Draco. Thank you for the falafel and for standing up to those guys for me. But you should really go home. You're hurt, and you need to rest." Not to mention the poor man was obviously embarrassed as hell, but Hermione didn't feel the need to point that out. It was a kindness, sending him away.
"Are you sure?"
She could tell that he was just as uncomfortable as she was with the newfound civility they had found within the last couple of hours and the odd, emotional turn that it had taken in the past several minutes. "Go home, Draco."
He nodded. "I'll see you at work."
"At work."
He Disapparated, leaving her staring at the spot he had previously occupied.
Hermione sighed. "I am in so much goddamned trouble."