Draco received a surprise when he walked into the café on Friday morning. For the first time in their entire friendship, Hermione was already seated at their usual table.
"Granger. A little early for you isn't it?"
She didn't respond, but merely slid a folded piece of parchment across the table, practically bouncing up and down in her chair.
Draco raised an eyebrow in her direction. "And what's this? You weren't serious about actually bringing legal action against me because I ate the last bite of your scone yesterday, were you?"
"Oh, just read it, you prat!"
Draco heaved a dramatic sigh and received the desired eye roll in return. Sometimes it was all too easy to rile Granger up if she hadn't had enough of her tea yet. His grey eyes scanned the parchment and he shot her a genuine grin across the table.
"They approved you to attend the Venice conference? That's excellent!"
"I know, I know, but keep reading!" she ushered him excitedly.
Returning to the letter, his eyes and grin widened as he reached the bottom. "They want you to present on the Mermish Runes? Granger, that's amazing!"
She beamed back at him as he returned her letter and Draco could tell his enthusiasm pleased her. "I got the letter just as I was leaving my office yesterday. I almost sent you an owl last night but I wanted to tell you in person. You're the first one to know."
"Me? Why?"
Him. Not Weasley. Not Potter. Not She-Weasel. Not her parents. Him.
Hermione blushed and stammered and Draco groaned inwardly at how lovely it made her look. "Well—be-because it was you, really, that helped me along. How many times did you read through my application letter with me?"
"Forty-two, but who's counting?"
Hermione tried to shoot him a withering glare, but failed as her delighted grin would not quit. Riding the high of the professional accomplishment she'd achieved, Draco decided to try his luck.
"I think a celebration is in order. Let's try that new place downtown tonight, I hear they stock over 50 different vintages of champagne and I say we don't leave until you've sampled every single one."
That got the grin to slide off her face. Had he said something wrong? Why did she suddenly look like he'd uttered something hurtful?
"I do have plans tonight, actually," she said carefully, no longer meeting his eyes.
"Working late does not count as 'plans' Granger. Especially on a Friday night. Come on, let me take you out."
She still wouldn't look at him. Merlin, could she not take a joke anymore? That was nothing if not a mild jab at her workaholic tendencies. Tendencies he happened to admire in her.
"I am... going out to dinner with someone," she murmured.
"With Weasley?"
"It's Potter."
"Huh?"
"I know you meant Ginny, and again, her last name is Potter and no, not with Ginny."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Granger. So what, do you have a date or something?"
When she broke out in a furious blush, Draco felt his insides go cold. He'd guessed correctly, she had a date tonight. Twenty fucking points to Slytherin.
"Yes, actually, Padma set me up with Anthony Goldstein. He was in our year, in Ravenclaw."
"I see," he bit out in a clipped tone. Draco had zero memory of whatever Ravenclaw git she'd just name-dropped, but made a mental note to spend the rest of the work day investigating him. "And where is your new beau taking you tonight?"
"He's not my anything, and we're only having dinner at the new Spanish place by Madam Malkin's."
"Sounds lovely," he sneered, lip curling, his tone indicating he thought it anything but lovely. "So will I be invited to the nuptials or were you going to spring that fact on me too when I least expect?"
Hermione went from sheepish to infuriated in roughly .002 seconds.
"For Merlin's sake, why do all my friends insist on making such a fuss about me going on one date? You probably go on dates all the time!"
Thought that about him, did she? He felt a perverse sort of pleasure in the fact that Hermione Granger was completely, totally, and devastatingly wrong.
Draco laughed bitterly. "Is that what you think Granger? Do tell, when have you ever heard me discuss a date with you? We chat every morning, do we not? Have I once mentioned a night out with a woman?"
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Well it's none of my business what you do in your love life, Malfoy."
Draco leveled his eyes at her and felt a sick thrill of satisfaction when she squirmed slightly under the intensity of his gaze.
"Turnabout's fair play, so let's discuss it then, shall we? Here, allow me to paint a picture for you of my glorious and exciting adventures with witches," he sneered and Hermione tried to cut in. "Malfoy, I'm sorry, look I—"
"Women aren't exactly bursting through my Floo for dates. And the ones that are? About one third are all wet in the knickers for my considerable wealth, another third are blood purist creeps who want me to knock them up so they can pop out another generation of Death Eaters, and the last third see me as a challenge for cheap thrills. That last third want the reformed bad boy as some weird notch in their bedpost, like I'm a sort of perverse achievement in a pity game they like to play.
So there you have it, Granger. My extremely limited options are to date a boring heiress who will spend all her time counting my gold, become my father, or date someone whose motivations begin and end with bragging to the rest of our world that they shagged an ex-Death Eater. None of these women actually want me."
She had the decency to look chastened once he'd completed his pathetic summary.
"Is that really how you see yourself?"
Draco let out a hollow laugh. "It's the reality of my pitiful love life, why sugarcoat it?"
"I think you have a lot to offer someone as a partner," she replied softly, holding his stare. Draco's heart thumped so hard in his chest, he worried she might actually hear the beating.
Whatever burst of hope her compliment inspired, it was spectacularly squashed by his more irrational and impulsive side.
Have a lot to offer, do I? Apparently not as much as this Ravenclaw prig. I'd offer you the fucking world if you let me, Granger.
Draco stood suddenly, not wanting to be around Hermione another minute more. "Well congratulations on the conference, Granger. Enjoy celebrating properly with your boyfriend," he said flatly, then turned on his heel and swept from the café before she could respond.
He made it roughly 50 paces down the street before he heard his name.
"Malfoy! Malfoy! Wait up, will you?"
Yes it was immature, he knew that, but it didn't stop Draco from increasing the speed of his long stride until he heard Hermione's footsteps pick up into a flat-out run behind him.
Taking pity on her much shorter legs, he slowed and came to a stop. He only had to wait 30 seconds more before she came swiftly around his body to face him head on.
"Why did you leave like that?" she demanded, still panting from her short run, the cold January air most likely burning in her lungs.
"Like what?" he drawled.
Hermione rolled her eyes and flapped her hands dramatically at her sides, dropping her work bag right on the sidewalk but making no move to retrieve it.
"Don't give me that, Malfoy! Why are you upset with me?"
He quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm not sure what gave you that impression. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an early meeting on the adjustment to maximum broom speeds." Draco made to step around her, but she moved bodily in front of him, cutting off his path.
"You do not!" she huffed. "You told me yourself that meeting was moved to the first week of February because the new broom regulations from the Ministry don't go into effect until next week."
Damn her and her perfect fucking ability to recall every fact he ever uttered. I give up, witch.
"Whatever, Granger, just leave it all right? I've got to get to work."
Draco succeeded in stepping around her this time, but noticed the way her shoulders slumped as he passed.
"Why do you care if I go on this date?" she called softly.
Draco schooled his features into the hardened mask of his youth before turning around to face her. Her expression was open, pleading, and raw; so beautifully vulnerable that it hurt like an Unforgiveable Curse to his chest.
"You know what Granger? I don't care. I really fucking don't."
This time when he stalked off, she didn't follow.
I am in control of this.
-----------------------------
The first thing Draco did when he returned home from work in the evening, was cast the world's strongest Silencing Charm around his bed chambers.
The second thing he did was remove his outer robes, tie, pin, cuff links, wristwatch, suit jacket, and belt, until he was down to only his white dress-shirt and black trousers.
The third thing he did was summon an unopened bottle of firewhisky. Removing the stopper, he summoned a crystal tumbler and poured himself a generous measure.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth things all fell under the category of "glasses of firewhisky consumed by Draco" while he leaned against the mantle and stared into the roaring fire.
Try as he might to dull his memories from this morning with more and more alcohol, he couldn't get Granger's words out of his head.
I think you have a lot to offer someone as a partner.
Like what, Granger? He'd wanted to snarl at her. Vast amounts of gold, sure, but beyond that? Any respectable witch (read: non-Dark Lord sympathizing) would be signing up for a lifetime of polite shunning from those on the right side of the war or drooling from vapid sycophants looking for favors. Those were generally the two extremes of society's feelings towards Draco.
Granger's words burned through his mind again.
Why do you care if I go on this date?
He didn't care. He did not. Go on a million fucking dates, Granger, while I sit alone and rot away inside this gigantic, empty home, a self-imposed recluse because I'm so messed up I can't stomach the thought of you being happy without me.
"Fuck!" Draco roared and hurled his empty tumbler into the fireplace, where it shattered loudly against the stone and wood.
Pulling a hand roughly through his hair, he growled and all but collapsed into the armchair behind him. Not even bothering with a fresh glass, Draco yanked the bottle of Ogden's off the side table and took several long pulls straight from the bottleneck.
He wanted to be numb, feel nothing. There's a potion for that...
No, he wouldn't go back to using. Not over this. I am in control of this.
Now Healer Browning's voice was in his head. When you feel that urge to use, Draco, try to take a moment and sort through why you have the urge. What emotion is the primary driver of your actions?
Jealousy.
Draco groaned and ran a hand over his face. He was so jealous he was three-quarters of the way through an entire bottle of Ogden's. He was so jealous of some other man taking Granger to dinner he wanted to throw up. He was so jealous of Granger sharing drinks and intimate conversation with this faceless Ravenclaw sod that he wanted to smash every piece of expensive antique furniture he owned not with his wand, but with his bare hands.
Fuck Browning, and fuck me, and double-fuck Anthony fucking Goldstein.
Wait no, he didn't want any fucking for Anthony Goldstein.
Glancing up at the clock over the mantle, his bleary eyes saw that it was closing in on 10 o'clock. Surely they would have finished their dinner by now? Draco imagined Goldstein to be the type of pompous date to suggest that Granger "Simply must try the dessert port," even though neither of them had visited this particular eatery before. The Ravenclaw ponce probably took the lead on ordering all the courses too, seeking to woo Granger by attempting the Spanish pronunciations of the dishes.
Jealousy.
Granger probably did know how to correctly pronounce all the dish names. She probably could also list out the ingredients and their region of origin. She would have studied the menu beforehand in anticipation of her evening. And while that worthless prat she'd agreed to spend her Friday night with most likely sought that knowledge to impress his female companion, Draco knew Granger's motives to be entirely different. Granger didn't soak up knowledge on every topic within reach because she wanted to show off. Her accumulation of facts was never boastful in nature. Sure, at Hogwarts she took obvious delight in the praise showered upon her by professors, but Granger's insatiable thirst for knowledge was simply because it thrilled her to discover something new. This unending quest she embarked upon to learn absolutely everything was one of the sexiest things about her.
Wait, what? Sexiest? That implied that he found more than one thing sexy about Granger. That term indicated that there was a whole entire list ranking the sexiness of Granger's qualities.
Draco pulled the bottle to his lips again and almost finished if off entirely. Fine, all right? Granger was very attractive. He'd obviously noticed her beauty on several occasions, what was the big deal?
She'd really grown into that impossible mane of hair, somehow it looked both wild and soft at the same time. Speaking of soft, her full, pink lips looked ever so inviting, especially when she was gnawing on the end of a pen, lost in thought. And if she got going on a passion of hers? Those warm brown eyes would light up and burn with an almost blinding intensity. Draco had to will his body not to seize up when she directed them his way, mid-rant. There were days when Draco felt she looked at him like he was worth something. Like he was more than just a failed Death Eater with parental issues and too much money. And the way her skirts hugged her arse...
"Bloody hell," he mumbled and drained the rest of the bottle in one long pull.
The hands on the clock were edging closer to 11 now. This farce of a date had to be over by now, right? Granger wasn't the type of witch to invite a man to her home on the first date. And you would know this information how?
Draco furiously chucked the empty bottle of Ogden's into the fireplace where it smashed spectacularly and summoned another bottle.
Jealousy.
He didn't need any damn Dreamless Sleep potions when he could get blind drunk instead. Draco took another long glug from the new bottle and rested it against his knee. What if she did invite Anthony Goldstein over to her place after dinner?
The most fantastical and gut-wrenching vision began playing out in his mind's eye. Granger shyly asking if her date would like to come upstairs for a bit. She'd let him into a flat that probably prioritized comfort over style and with books overflowing everywhere. She'd offer to make coffee or tea and invite him to sit on some monstrosity of a sofa.
Would he make her laugh? What would they even chat about? Probably reminisce about "the good old days" at Hogwarts. And wouldn't it be all too easy for Granger to fall for someone like that? Some boring, well-read tosser who had the luxury of not being born into a cursed family? How happy their school-year memories must be.
More whisky found its way down Draco's throat. The alcohol couldn't stay the conjured, fictional scene plaguing him.
Abruptly the imaginary scene swam ahead in his mind, shifting to the pair no longer talking, but gazing longingly at each other from across the couch. Draco had no idea what the hell Anthony Goldstein even looked like, but he envisioned a vague, brunette, sort-of-tan person.
And now that unremarkable, non-descript man was moving his face slowly toward Granger. Granger, biting her pouty, pink lips slyly, before accepting a soft kiss from her date.
Draco felt sick to his stomach. This was all in his head, but it still made his gut lurch. The horrifying hallucination moved onward, with Granger touching her date's chest lightly, welcoming his body weight atop her on the sofa. The scene skipped a few chapters ahead and now she was leading her faceless date to her bedroom...
Merlin, this was fucking killing him, taking complete control over his emotional stability.
Jealousy.
So this was it, the price he must pay. The ultimate punishment for Draco Malfoy's sins. He'd avoided Azkaban and death only to be tortured by his own inner Dementor that delighted in showing him scenes of what he could never, ever, have with Granger.
What would he even do with a proper chance at a date with her? He sure as hell wouldn't waste any time on pleasantries if Granger invited him into her flat post-dinner. If she let him, he'd snog her senseless the minute she closed the door behind them, get her right up against a wall and bury his hands in her hair. He'd slowly coax her pretty mouth open with his tongue and swallow every little breath and moan from her. Maybe she'd pull on his hair in turn too, urging him on, and he'd happily oblige, kissing and licking down the exposed skin of her throat and neck until she was gasping in his ear and then—
Draco's eyes snapped open and he froze, completely ashamed of himself as he withdrew his hand from his trousers. He had been stroking his own erection for the last few minutes to his impossible fantasy without even realizing. Merlin, he was a pathetic creep.
A lonely, pathetic, creep, who should probably put down the whisky and go to bed and not think about what Granger looks like in a dress. Or out of a dress. Merlin, help him.
Stripping down to his boxers, he settled into bed and tried to will his body to calm down. The alcohol usually did a decent job of dulling his senses, but all Draco could see when he closed his eyes were Granger's big brown eyes.
Big brown eyes that would flutter closed in pleasure while he ravaged the bare skin of her shoulder and collarbone with his lips. His hand once again resumed stroking himself and Draco no longer had the strength to stop. He knew it was wrong. Granger was his friend. But now his mind's eye pictured how it would feel to pick up her lithe frame and grip her backside while her legs wrapped themselves around his torso. Their frantic kissing would reach a fever pitch as he'd walk them to her bed, lay her down gently and crawl up her beautiful body. His hand began working faster, and Draco could feel his climax building. A few swift strokes later and Draco came all over himself to the image of Hermione writhing with pleasure underneath him, moaning his name while he pounded into her.
Draco lay in his bed, quite alone and panting, unsure of how he got to his point. Disgusted with himself, exhaustion and drunkenness eventually combined forces and he fell asleep in mere minutes.
---------------------
The food was divine. The wine was delectable. The conversation flowed easily.
So why was Hermione, to borrow a quaint turn-of-phrase from Ron, bored out of her gourd?
The evening started off well. She'd met Anthony outside the restaurant and was pleased that he was still quite handsome. They exchanged an awkward handshake that elicited nervous laughs from each of them, and she immediately liked his easy smile.
The restaurant was tapas style, and they had an enjoyable time taking turns selecting small plates to share. Hermione asked Anthony about his life post-Hogwarts, as they ran in adjacent social circles and she hadn't kept up with him. While he was talking about how he got started in the Department of Magical Transportation at the Ministry because he'd always been fascinated about how to improve the Floo Network, Hermione found her attention wandering.
She was sitting in the middle of a dimly lit, stylish restaurant with an attractive male who had not once sneered in her direction all evening, yet she couldn't help but feel a bubble of guilt in her gut. Malfoy's expression this morning when she'd told him about her date with Anthony had haunted her all day. As had the callous way he'd dismissed her when she'd chased after him down the street like a bloody lunatic. Honestly, what was wrong with her?
Scratch that, why the hell should she feel guilty? She was a perfectly single young woman and who she chose to spend her Friday evenings with was none of Malfoy's concern.
But was he...? Could he have been...?
No, he wasn't... jealous? Hermione almost snorted into her wine glass at that ridiculous notion and re-focused her attention on Anthony. She shouldn't spare another thought on that self-centered, spoiled, irritating man-child who had completely ruined her Friday morning by lashing out at her for no real reason.
Hermione had been so excited on Thursday evening when she'd received the official notification that she was an invited speaker to The Evolution of Rune Translation and its Effects on Modern Wizarding Culture conference in Venice. And Malfoy had been the first person she'd thought to tell. Malfoy, who'd not only listened to all her theories regarding the communication methods of ancient Mer-people, but had actively engaged in discussions with her, encouraged her to apply, and helped her polish her written statement.
His genuine delight and pride in her accomplishment meant the world to her in that moment. Hermione couldn't ignore the way her heart had fluttered when he'd suggested they go out to dinner to celebrate. But she'd already committed to her date with Anthony.
Speaking of, she should probably be listening to what her date was saying.
"...which of course would solve the privacy issue that sometimes arises when people don't know how to ward their Floos properly," Anthony was saying. Hermione nodded enthusiastically, hoping he hadn't noticed her mind drifting elsewhere.
"I must confess, I'm not a fan of Floo calls, seeing how uncomfortable it can be to kneel the whole time, even with a proper Cushioning Charm. I'd rather just Floo all the way to my destination and conduct the conversation in person. It's such a shame the wizarding world doesn't have the Muggle equivalent of mobile phones."
"Precisely! This is why Muggle Studies was one of my favorite subjects. I think we could learn a lot if we worked on adapting some of their technology," he replied genially.
Hermione smiled as she thought about a certain Christmas gift she'd received. "I was recently given a pair of charmed journals that sort of mimic text messaging. That's probably as close as it gets these days."
Anthony's eyes widened as he went to take a sip of wine. "Someone gave you charmed journals? Those are exceedingly rare!"
Hermione felt a blush creep up her face. "Well actually, my friend bought a pair of blank journals and performed all the charms work on their own."
Her date's eyes widened again. "That's... honestly impressive. Your friend must have put a significant amount of effort into the magic required."
Yes, Malfoy was a friend. Just a friend. And damn it all, how did he worm his way into their conversation tonight? Hermione drained the rest of her wine glass and poured herself some more from the shared bottle.
Anthony was a perfectly nice, perfectly respectable and agreeable date. She told him about her upcoming trip to Venice in the spring and he asked all the right, polite questions. He asked polite questions about her parents (she left out the obliviating for now, as it wasn't exactly first-date type conversation). He asked polite questions about Harry and the Weasleys.
So why did Hermione feel like chugging this entire bottle of wine? What was missing tonight? Why did all these easy questions and dialogue about her everyday life leave her feeling something close to apathy?
A flash of blond hair behind Anthony made her start. Her eyes zeroed in on the spot that attracted her attention only to see a young blonde woman donning a white winter hat as she left the restaurant. Her hair wasn't quite the right shade, but in that quick moment, Hermione's gaze had been drawn, hoping to see...
To see whom exactly?
"Miss me already, Granger?" she heard his snarky, teasing tone all too easily in her head. "You've eaten an awful lot of dead animals this evening, shouldn't a bleeding heart such as yourself be a vegetarian?" The faux-Malfoy in her mind coupled his quip with that irritating smirk of his. Yes, that would be just like him, starting a debate with her in the middle of a meal over the ethics of meat-eating as someone who worked on behalf of creature rights.
"Um, Hermione?"
Hermione blinked as Anthony called her name again. "Sorry, what were you saying?" She was beyond embarrassed at having been called out for not paying attention. Too busy fantasizing about a quarrelsome, blond git.
"Did you want to order dessert?" Anthony asked again. Hermione looked into light blue eyes and saw nothing but kindness there. He didn't deserve to have a distracted date. With a heavy heart, Hermione demurred, saying she was far too full.
As they left the restaurant, she'd given him an awkward hug and a parting sentiment of "Let's do this again some time... as friends." Smart man that he was (Ravenclaw and all) he'd gotten the hint, if his pained smile was anything to go by.
Apparating home, Hermione sighed as she climbed into bed alone and reached for her mobile. She'd promised Ginny to text her the minute the date was over. Hermione was quite proud of herself for teaching Ginny how to use a mobile, which allowed them to have more private conversations and was much quicker than owl post.
H: Hello friend. I'm home now.
G: Already? I'm guessing Anthony is not staying the night?
H: No, of course not!
G: Well, why not? We're adults, Hermione, who cares?
H: I care. Besides, I think this was a one-time thing. I don't see any future dates.
G: That bad?
H: No, not at all! He really was quite lovely company.
G: Quite lovely company? Just say "boring" and save yourself a few words.
H: He wasn't boring, there was simply a lack of spark. It was like going out to dinner with Ron or Harry.
G: Well I'm proud of you for putting yourself out there. See you Sunday?
H: Of course, give my love to Harry.
Hermione turned off the mobile and relaxed against her pillow. As she turned off the lights, she felt a warm weight settle on her feet and peeked down at Crookshanks flopping down for the night.
"Silly old thing," she chuckled and closed her eyes. Try as Hermione might, sleep would not come easily. This date should have worked out for her. Anthony was intelligent, kind, and good-looking.
He wasn't who you wanted to be out with tonight. The thought floated across her mind and Hermione sighed.
She'd already given Draco a piece of her heart, as a friend. Each of her friends held a portion of Hermione's heart, in their own way. Ginny as the sister she never had. Harry as her best friend and brother. Ron as her first love. All of the Weasleys, their spouses and partners, Luna and Rolf, these people all took up residence in her chest. Hermione did not view love as a finite resource, but how much of herself could she afford to give Draco without breaking in the process?
She didn't quite know the answer to that question yet, but she did know that the answer did not lie in lukewarm dates with other men.
-----------------------------
Draco awoke on Saturday morning feeling like he'd been trampled by a herd of Erumpent.
"Crick!" he called hoarsely. A house-elf appeared instantly at his bedside and gave a short bow.
"How can I help you this morning, sir?"
Draco groaned again and clutched his head. "Hangover Potion, please."
"I'll have Watson begin brewing one immediately. It should be ready in 15 minutes. Shall I bring it to you directly?"
Draco waved an impatient hand. A proper shower was in order before he could do anything else. "No, have it waiting with breakfast. Set out some toast... on second thought, set out every bread-related item Watson feels like preparing." Yes, lots and lots of bread to soak up all that blasted alcohol. Any thoughts of bacon or eggs made him queasy.
"Very good sir." With a short bow, the house-elf disappeared with a soft crack.
Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his head in his palms for a minute. Eventually, he found the strength to stand and staggered towards the en-suite bathroom. No, a shower wouldn't do, he could barely hold his weight up. He drew himself a warm bath instead, sighing gratefully as he sunk his body into the comforting soapy water filling the large, marble tub.
Draco closed his eyes and leant his head back, thinking about his immature behavior last night. He'd gotten so rip-roaring drunk that he'd destroyed a glass tumbler, two bottles of whisky, and then capped it all off by wanking himself to sleep. Truly, a memorable evening.
Merlin, what the hell was wrong with him? How was he supposed to look Granger in the eye on Monday, knowing he'd tossed it to lewd thoughts about her?
But then, she'd probably meet him Monday morning telling him all about her wonderful, enchanting date from Friday evening. Draco knew he wouldn't be able to stomach her blabbing away about some other man, eyes all aglow as she fondly reminisced about her romantic night out.
What if Goldstein stayed the night at Granger's place, in her bed? Draco imagined what she looked like in the early morning light, tangled in bed sheets. What if she rolled over, completely nude, ready for a morning shag, kissing her way up Draco's chest...?
Fuck! Was this really happening again? Draco sighed and felt there was nothing else for it, he was going to need to relieve his rapidly hardening member.
In for a Knut, in for a Galleon...
----------------------------
Draco wondered if she would even show up at the café Monday morning. He didn't have to wait long to find out, for there she was, entering at her usual time. As she locked eyes with him and walked over, Draco felt something stir in his chest; a cross between relief and guilt. He couldn't quite read her expression, and he didn't know if that was good or bad.
"Good morning," she greeted stiffly.
"Granger," he replied. She dropped her bag like always and left to grab her tea from the counter. Draco may or may not have held his breath the entire time it took her to get her drink and return to sit with him.
"How was your weekend?" That simple question that fell from her lips caused panic to erupt within him. Didn't she want to tell him first about her perfect, amazing evening with Anthony Goldstein? For Merlin's sake could she just put him out of his misery already?
Not only did he want to know about her dumb date, but he had no idea how to answer her question truthfully. Well Granger, I absolutely destroyed my liver and brain on Friday because I don't know how to handle negative emotions in a healthy way, so I decided to down two whole bottles of Ogden's. Then I got off thinking about shagging you. Saturday was also just as productive! I rubbed one out in the bath, fantasizing about fucking you, then decided to go flying sans cloak or warming charms in a futile effort to calm my traitorous body down. I even got a beater's club out and slammed bludgers for nigh on two hours until my arms wanted to fall off. But even that didn't stop me from servicing my own beater's club (if you catch my disgusting meaning) later that night because apparently you've turned me into a man with the unstoppable sexual urges of a Third Year who's just discovered the concept of wanking. To cap off my wondrous weekend, I barely slept three hours last night because I woke up screaming from a usual nightmare of my aunt torturing you.
Instead of that unhinged rant, Draco gruffly replied "Fine."
Hermione pursed her lips and fixed him with a hard stare. "Do you want to discuss what happened on Friday?"
Do I want to discuss the fact that I'm wildly jealous of some Ravenclaw twat when I have no right to feel this way? No, not really, Granger.
"I'm not sure what you mean," he ground out evenly and averted his eyes.
He heard her huff impatiently and looked up to see her throwing her hands up, all indignant. Damn it all, she was even attractive when she was hacked off at him.
"Fine, if that's how you want to be! In case you were interested, which it wouldn't matter in the slightest anyway, the evening with Anthony was most pleasant but I don't plan on seeing him again."
Draco sat up straighter in his chair, hoping his ears hadn't deceived him. "You don't?"
"No," Hermione replied firmly. "It was nice for Padma to set us up, but I don't see the need to go on more dates with someone I'm not interested in pursuing romantically."
Well, well, well. Draco made no response to this bit of news and sipped his coffee. His delicious, heavenly, perfectly hot coffee. Had anything ever tasted so good? He suddenly felt famished and since he'd skipped breakfast, thought he might treat himself. This day seemed to be turning right around.
"Fancy a scone?"
"Sorry?"
"A scone. My treat. Pick a flavor."
"Oh, blueberry, please."
"You better hope there's more than one of them left, Granger, or you're getting another flavor," he teased and went off to grab the pastries.
When he returned, Hermione was giving him a curiously smug smirk, but Draco thought nothing of it. Instead, he asked her about her conference presentation prep and how she wanted to organize her speech. He asked question after question about her runes studies and Mermish culture and their lively conversation was only interrupted by a startled Hermione glancing at her watch and realizing they were running behind.
Draco didn't mind, he could be a few minutes late every now and then. Was it so bad that he wanted to luxuriate in the fact that Anthony Goldstein had failed in his attempt to secure Granger's affections? This disastrous date had given Draco more mornings with her. He wasn't naive, he knew one day Granger would waltz in and tell him that she was ever so sorry, but her relationship with her boyfriend/husband/whatever took top priority, and she could no longer meet him every morning before work. But for now, that day was in a distant future, and Draco would like to keep it there for as long as possible.
"What's your favorite color?" she asked suddenly, as they walked along.
"Gold," Draco answered after a beat. Gold was the color of snitches, of honey, of toffee and many other sweets and desserts. The particular shade of gold he favored also happened to show up in Granger's hair in the sunlight and even in her eyes when she got excited.
"Not green?" she asked teasingly.
"Please," he scoffed, "that would be terribly cliché, don't you think?"
"Hmm, I suppose so," she agreed as they reached their parting point for the morning. "A shame, really. I think green is a good look on you," and with a smirk to rival his own on his best day, she turned and left.
On any other morning, Draco might have pondered both the double meaning of her comment coupled with her sly expression, but he was in too good a mood to get analytical.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr: @heyjude19-writing.