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What Happens in Bulgaria...	By : jadedust Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 12205 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-What Happens in Bulgaria...
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
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- 3
A/N: I forgot to thank the invaluable S. in the previous chapter; she helped me work through what I thought were insurmountable plot holes/complications. Many thanks to her!

XXXXXXXXXX

One month earlier…

“Granger?! What are you doing here?”

“Can you really not figure that out, Malfoy?” The last person on Earth (or second-to-last, certainly in the top three) he wanted to see stood before him, admiring the same painting he’d been attempting to admire before he’d noticed her bushy hair and furious note-taking.

“Krum can’t still be interested, can he? Maybe he’s taken too many Bludgers to the head,” Draco reasoned. “Or, you haven’t given it up to him yet. Though Merlin knows why he’d want it. And we’re right back to the head injury theory.” Draco scratched his chin in mock-contemplation.

Granger clutched her notebook and quill tightly, her face red. “You’re lucky we’re in a public place like this gallery, Malfoy, or I might not bother restraining the violent impulses you’re inspiring right now.”

He snorted. “I’m quivering in terror, Granger. And you should be thanking me for the inspiration.”

“Anyway, what are you doing here in Sofia?”

Draco drew himself up and folded his arms across his chest. “Father’s here on Ministry business. My mother and I came along.”

“Ministry business, my arse,” she muttered.

He felt his face flush and took a step closer. “Sorry?”

She rolled her eyes and busied herself putting things away in a small, beaded bag. “Come off it. As if you don’t brag half the time about your father’s…associations. Now, it’s been lovely catching up, but I have somewhere to be. Enjoy the gallery.” She spun on her heel, a wave of curls whapping him in the face as she did so.

Draco grit his teeth and glanced around, but none of the other witches or wizards scattered throughout the hushed, private gallery seemed to have been paying any attention to them. He watched Granger as she left, her quick strides causing the slightly ruffled hem of her flowered dress to flounce against her surprisingly shapely calves. And her arse wasn’t bad either. Not bad at all. He’d never seen her in anything but a school uniform or denims and casual shirts and jumpers.

Except that dress at the Yule Ball. But then he’d been staring at her tits.

He shook his head as if to clear it and chuckled. This city is driving me barmy.

Running into Granger was, sadly, the most interesting thing that had happened in days. His family had come here straight after the term ended more than a week ago. While Draco was perfectly capable of entertaining himself (he was an only child), there were only so many museums, galleries, and palaces one could visit, and the city’s wizarding society was small compared to London’s. In addition, contrary to the impression he gave his friends, his father did not allow him along on business dealings; he didn’t even know if what Granger had insinuated was correct. Meanwhile, his mother spent her days shopping or doing some sort of charity work. He’d all but begged Blaise to visit, but he was off in Peru where his mother was seducing her future ex-husband.

But what was really frustrating him was his birthday celebration. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof. Since Draco’s birthday fell during the Spring term, typically around the time when studying for exams reached a fever-pitch, his family didn’t get the chance to help him celebrate properly. So, they’d established a tradition of throwing him a lavish party after term ended, complete with piles of gifts and dozens of his closest friends.

This year, the trip to Bulgaria had delayed the celebration. His father kept assuring him that they hadn’t forgotten; he was just too busy at the moment, but plans were underway. Every day, Draco returned to their suite of rooms at the luxury wizarding hotel hoping there might be a surprise waiting.

But so far there’d been none. Just the same empty rooms.

And he’d officially run out of art galleries.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next afternoon found him at his favorite restaurant, a little out-of-the-way place that even other wizards seemed not to have discovered. To his chagrin, however, the tables were fairly full, and there didn’t appear to be a seat in sight.

Draco sighed. Bollocks. Perhaps he’d just head back to the hotel for some room service.

“Would you like to sit, Malfoy?”

He bristled at the familiar voice and searched the nearby tables for the head of bushy brown hair. There Granger sat, a table away to his left, book in hand.

Draco rolled his eyes and made his way over. “Are you about to leave?”

“No, I just got here. I was lucky I managed to get this table. There’s an Herbology conference in town.”

Draco huffed. “Figures. Bet it breaks Longbottom’s heart not to be here.”

Hermione closed her book with a whump and stretched her shoulders back. “Well, are you going to join me?”

“Awfully eager for my company, hm? Not that I blame you.” He smirked. Fucking with Granger could be rather fun. Especially when he literally had nothing better to do.

She looked down at the book in her hands and said in an oddly quiet voice, “I’m just trying to be polite, Draco.”

Quirking an eyebrow, he stood there another moment, pretending to find the situation exasperating beyond measure and surprised he actually didn’t. His stomach helped him out further by growling loudly.

“Well, I am starving,” he sighed, sinking languidly into the chair across from her.

The next few moments were awkward as they ordered and waited silently for their shopska salads.

“So,” Draco began, uncomfortable with the silence, mostly because it meant he wasn’t saying anything nasty to her, “you’re spending quite a lot of time away from your sweetheart, aren’t you? Trouble in Bulgarian paradise? Are you being a prude, Granger? I’d be careful; he’s got plenty of options.”

Before she could respond their salads arrived, and both gratefully tucked in. After a minute or two of munching during which Draco stared at the Gryffindor in what he hoped was an aggravating manner, she put her fork down.

“We broke up. Yesterday, actually, after I saw you at the gallery.”

“Ah, so that was why you were so rude. Saw it coming, did you?” He speared a tomato and grimaced in a mockery of sympathy, feeling bizarrely energized by her news. Of course Granger and heartbreak was a recipe for glee as far as he was concerned.

She took a sip of water. “Not that it matters, but I’m the one who broke it off.”

Draco hid his surprise by shoving a stack of cucumber slices in his mouth. What had he gotten himself into? He didn’t actually care about the ins and outs of Granger’s personal life, even if it involved one of his favorite Quidditch players. He had to change the subject. Or piss her off.

“Pressuring you, was he?” he drawled as if bored. Which he was. Truly.

She dropped her utensils with a clatter. “No! He would never! And why are you so obsessed with…that?”

Draco went rigid in his chair. “I’m not obsessed!” He snapped his fingers for the waiter; this conversation required alcohol. “I’m a bloke; it’s normal. And I know how these things usually go.” Pansy had gotten her knickers in a twist the night of the Yule Ball when he’d tried to get his hand up her dress. Said he was “moving too fast.” What a laugh. The truth was she was messing about with some sixth year Ravenclaw and had only been interested in attending the Ball with him for appearance’s sake, the slag.

While he ordered some rakia, Hermione gulped down more water, then attempted to push her mass of curls back from her face. He noticed her floral-print blouse was somewhat transparent and found himself searching distractedly for a hint of nipple amongst the flowers.

“Viktor and I—”

Draco’s eyes flicked up to her face. She seemed not to have noticed his ogling, obviously too wrapped up in her emotional drama.

“We just weren’t compatible,” she finished as the waiter brought two small glasses of the brandy-like rakia.

“Duh,” he snorted. He’d once overheard some Mudblood using the word in a similar context and secretly found it quite expressive. He sipped his drink, and she did the same.

“Er, thanks.” She gestured with her glass, indicating the rakia.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging. Perhaps Granger would be more tolerable pissed. It might at least be entertaining.

“Right, so you thought that, what, magically? You and a beefy, Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker who barely speaks would be compatible? Although, your best mates are Potter and Weasley, so…”

“You’re one to talk,” she said, straightening in her chair and picking up her fork. “I mean, Crabbe and Goyle aren’t exactly your intellectual equals.”

Ignoring his shopska salad in favor of more rakia, Draco grinned, “Thank you for that complimentary assessment, Granger, but I am not dating Crabbe and Goyle, am I? They’re my back-up, and perfectly suited. My point stands.”

She glared and swallowed her mouthful of cucumber. “But you know what they say: opposites attract. And even if two people don’t share intellectual interests, they might be compatible physically.”

The victory he sensed coming tasted sweeter than the rakia hitting the back of his throat as he emptied his glass. “Am I to take it you and Krum weren’t compatible physically either then?” he smirked.

Granger pursed her lips and fell back in her chair, gaze wandering around the restaurant. The lunchtime crowd had thinned out, soft laughter and low snatches of mostly Bulgarian drifting on the summer air.

“Do you think that’s enough?” she asked quietly, twisting a curl around her finger.

YES, Draco screamed mentally. Girls were so…stupidly complicated. Bloody hell, all he wanted was a shag. All he and his friends talked about was shagging. Draco wasn’t even sure he cared about “compatibility” as long as he got his rocks off, as long as he had a girl and he could slide into her tight, wet—

Fuck. Now he’d gone and given himself a hard-on. No, wait. This was Granger’s fault. Granger and her compatibility issues. And her fucking transparent shirt.

“Wine!” he practically shouted at the waiter as he set their meals before them. The man nodded and hurried away. Granger looked at him as if he’d sprouted fins instead of an erection. He made sure his napkin was settled over his lap and gulped down some water.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she prompted as she cut into her meat.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, not caring if Granger thought he was a nutter. She probably figured he was drunk. Which he wasn’t. Yet.

He picked up his knife and fork and smiled. “That’s because you’re lying. Or, well, because you avoided answering my question directly. You can’t expect that to work on a Slytherin, Granger.”

“Fine.” Her voice was tight, the scissoring of her knife efficient but brutal. “I thought Viktor and I were compatible in that way at first. Or maybe we were at first. But it’s like it wore off or something.” She chewed contemplatively on a bite of pork.

“Maybe you felt the spark at first because it was new. But then you needed the intellectual connection.” Merlin help me, I’m discussing romance. With Granger. At least his erection had withered. He could have kissed the waiter when he brought the wine.

“Maybe…” she trailed off, brow furrowed in thought. If this had been an Arithmancy problem Draco had no doubt she’d have worn the same look. And have solved the problem by now. “Or maybe I’m just too practical and logical to be completely compatible with anyone. That’s what Ron says.” She said this in a matter-of-fact sort of way, as if it didn’t worry her at all.

Draco sputtered and coughed as some wine went down the wrong way. A few nearby patrons looked over in concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked cautiously.

Draco nodded and waited for the coughing to die down before speaking. “And you’re going to believe Weasley? Like he knows anything about…anything?”

“Watch it, Malfoy, Ron’s my friend! I’m not going to sit here and—”

“Friend, eh? Your male friend? Tell me, how did he react once you and Krum started dating?” Draco sipped his wine, smugly satisfied in his knowledge of the male sex and Granger’s apparent ignorance of it.

Granger, settling down from her small outburst, kept her eyes focused on her meat as she cut it. “Well, he was a complete prat.”

Draco sat back, swirling the wine in his glass. “Strange. Wasn’t he a fan of Krum’s?” he asked innocently.

She clenched her teeth and looked up at him. “Yes. So?”

“So,” Draco took another sip of his wine, drawing out the moment, “Weasley wants into your pants.”

“What?! That’s—we’re friends,” she whispered harshly, as if it were a dirty word. She leaned forward over her plate, eyes darting nervously, a dusky pink staining her cheeks.

Draco chuckled. “Now. But that doesn’t mean things will stay the same, or that he wants them to. He’s such an oaf I bet he doesn’t even realize why he said that crap to you. He was jealous, Granger. Are you really so thick? You’re an obnoxious know-it-all, but I never thought you were naïve. I’ll tell you one thing, I can guarantee that Weasley’s tossed off to fantasies of your—”

“Enough!” She slammed her napkin on the table and shoved herself up from her seat. During his little speech-cum-extended provocation, the color on her face had gone from pink to bright red, her brown eyes wide and lips trembling in barely contained fury. Draco bit back a smile before wondering why he was bothering and broke into a full, somewhat inebriated grin so wide he could barely wrap his lips around his wine glass.

“If you don’t stop speaking so rudely, I swear I’m going to slap you like I did third year! Or maybe I’ll turn you into a ferret, since I know how much you liked that! Or maybe both!” She reached for her bag, where he assumed she kept her wand.

Stunned, Draco couldn’t help but picture her slapping him two years before, the sting and humiliation, then the even worse humiliation just that past year of Moody (or whoever) turning him into a bloody ferret, bouncing and squeaking for Potter and others’ amusement. Still dazed, he distractedly took another long sip of wine.

And then his alcohol-loosened mind reversed and combined the two images: Granger changing him into a ferret, then slapping him.

Wine sprayed from Draco’s mouth as he began laughing uncontrollably, uproariously, at the absurd mental picture. It wasn’t long before his eyes teared, his guts hurt, and his laugh had gone completely silent in its hysteric pitch.

Granger stood there at first, baffled, mouth gaping, before falling into her seat with a huff and crossing her arms in aggravation. Through his tears Draco could see her glaring at him, but then her lips quirked as she fought, and gave into, a grin. She broke into a giggle just as he was catching his breath, his stomach unclenching.

“You’re drunk, Malfoy. You should eat.”

Draco brought a hand to his stomach. “I can’t,” he said weakly. “I think I broke my stomach. Also, I can’t move.” He slumped back in his chair, head lolling to the side.

She rolled her eyes but got up and moved to the chair next to him. “Have some water, at least.” She brought the glass to his lips, and he managed to take a few sips. He chuckled at the oddity of Granger helping him, and his stomach muscles protested.

“Draco, there’s something I’ve been wondering since the Quidditch World Cup.”

He arched a brow and waited. She seemed to be having difficulty, her fingers twisting around the stem of the water glass.

“Out with it, Granger.”

She let out a breath and looked him in the eye. “Why did you warn Harry, Ron, and me about the Death Eaters? Why did you tell me to get down and everything?”

Draco looked away, his face hot from the wine and the late afternoon sun stealing across their corner of the restaurant. What a daft question to ask.

Except, why had he?

Conscious of her eyes on him, Draco sat up and shrugged. “Maybe I liked knowing something you lot didn’t. Maybe I liked knowing I was safe, and you weren’t.” He fell back into his chair, bringing his wine glass with him, taking a drink. He yawned and shrugged again. “Maybe…I don’t know.” He realized, dimly, that this last answer was the truth.

She regarded him silently for a moment, squinting against the sun, which lit her eyes and bushy curls warmly. He could see more of her skin beneath the transparent blouse.

“You know your top is see-through,” he blurted, breaking the tension.

She rolled her eyes again. He wondered if she did that more or less around him than around Potter and Weasley.

“I know. That’s why I’m wearing a camisole underneath,” she explained with a wry smile.

No wonder he couldn’t find her nipples.

The waiter stopped by to check on them, glancing at Draco’s barely touched meal with concern. “The food’s superb. I just really like this wine,” he said, speech a tad slurred. “The check, please.” He gestured toward himself and Granger to indicate one bill.

“You don’t have to—”

He held up a hand. “Granger, don’t embarrass yourself. My parents brought me up a certain way, all right?”

He waited for her to make a predictably smart remark about his family, but all she said was, “Thank you, Malfoy.” He nodded curtly and picked at his food, which had grown cold.

He was not telling his parents about this afternoon, that was for sure. Even if it was essentially his father’s fault for dragging him to this blasted country where there wasn’t enough to do, where a person could become so bored as to be willing to sit down to lunch with an enemy. Where one’s birthday celebration had to be endlessly delayed…

The waiter returned with the bill, wrenching Draco from his bitter thoughts. He tossed the requisite galleons on the table with plenty to spare for a tip and gulped some more water before attempting to stand. He swayed a bit, and Hermione rushed over to steady him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled testily, and he was. Except for her breast pressing against his arm, which was distracting. She withdrew reluctantly and stepped back as he turned and began navigating his way around tables, his head thick-feeling, feet seeming very far away.

“Um, the exit is this way,” he heard her say from behind, as if the wine had somehow blinded him.

“Loo,” he announced, gesturing widely with his arm in the direction of the restrooms at the back.

After the longest, most satisfying piss of his life, Draco emerged from the restaurant into the balmy afternoon, his black trousers and dark, heathered button-down absorbing the strong sun like anti-Devil’s Snare. He was surprised to see Granger waiting for him, studying a paperback guide for tourists.

“Right, I suppose you’re on your own now that you and Krum are finished. Good luck finding something to do,” he drawled, waving dismissively and turning to leave.

“Have you been to the Sofia Zoo?”

“Zoo?” He looked over his shoulder at her quizzically.

“It’s this place where Muggles keep animals and—”

“I know what a zoo is, Granger,” he lied, rounding to face her. “I just don’t know why you’re asking.”

“I thought I’d go tomorrow if you’d like to meet me there.” She said it casually, as if they met socially all the time.

He gave a short laugh and shook his head in disbelief. “Because lunch went so swimmingly? What with your threats of violence and Transfiguration?”

She rolled her eyes. He must be setting some kind of record. “To be fair, you provoked me. Look, it just seems like you could use some company. I’m not stupid; I know how bored you must be to have even considered having lunch with me.” She took a few steps closer to him and looked up into his face. “We’re in a city where no one knows us. Well, almost no one,” she added as an afterthought, adjusting her blouse. “We’re far from Hogwarts and our social circles. Why not…try?”

He inclined his head, still feeling slow, like he was thinking through honey. “And what do you get out of this? Besides the eye candy, that is,” he leered.

She smiled enigmatically. “What do you care?”

He gazed over her head at the sides of buildings washed in gold. “I…don’t.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He shrugged a shoulder, noncommittal. “Maybe.”

She tucked the book into her bag. “I’ll be there either way, at 10:00. Have a good night, Malfoy.”

He grunted an acknowledgment and continued on his way, grateful they weren’t headed in the same direction. When he got back to the hotel, his room was empty as usual, his parents still out. So he had a wank, read, and fell asleep, dreaming of ferrets burrowing beneath sheer blankets.
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What Happens in Bulgaria...