The Essence of Life | By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 17116 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from this work of fanfiction. |
The atmosphere in the elegant supper club was nearly a polar
opposite to the flashing strobe lights, driving beat and overwhelming noise of
the Swish & Flick. Soft candlelight, soothing music from a ten-piece
orchestra, and quiet murmurs of private conversation greeted Draco and Hermione
as they wove their way through the vast maze of tables to a secluded corner.
This venue plainly catered to a desire for an intimate tête-à-tête.
As Draco watched Hermione’s reaction, he worried that it
might have been the wrong choice. Her brow was furrowed and her smile was a bit
strained. He decided to confront the issue head-on. It wouldn’t do to have her
unhappy or uncomfortable for their first private meeting.
“If you don’t like it here, we can go back to the Swish
& Flick, or somewhere else, if you prefer,” he offered.
Hermione blinked at his words, surprised that he’d so
quickly interpreted her mood. What he had missed, and had no cause to
understand, was the reason behind it. She smiled, this time more genuinely, and
shook her head. “No, Draco, this is fine. In fact, much
better than fine. It’s just that I’ve always wanted to come here, but
Ron always refused. He thought it was ‘too stuffy and boring.’ We had very
different tastes in the things we enjoyed. His usually won out for what
entertainment we chose,” she explained.
Draco nodded sagely, but very deliberately refrained from
making a disparaging remark. It would really serve no purpose. “Well, then,
maybe we should see if our tastes in culture and entertainment are more
compatible,” he offered. “Shall we sit and order a drink?”
“Yes, please,” she accepted, easing into the chair that he
had pulled out for her. Draco then chose the seat to her right rather than
opposite her at the small, square table.
Seconds later, they were approached by a house-elf wearing a
miniature dress-robe that resembled a Muggle tuxedo. A crisp, white linen
napkin was draped over its left arm and a wine list, rendered on fine, white
parchment was grasped in its right hand.
“May I show Miss and Sir tonight’s wine selections?” the
tiny creature asked, in a voice as rich and cultured as any Hermione had ever
heard.
Draco’s natural tendency was to order for the both of them;
his ex-wife had played the part of the society bride extraordinarily well. This
witch, he guessed, might approach things differently. “Hermione,” he began,
“would you prefer wine or a mixed cocktail?”
“I started with wine this evening. It’s probably a better
idea to stay with that,” she replied. She turned slightly to address the
house-elf. “What do you recommend from your list as a nice red wine for
sipping?”
“We have a Chateau Cheval Blanc
2005 Bordeaux and a Dom de la Romanee Conti Richebourg Grand Cru 2007 Pinot Noir that are both
exquisite,” the tiny creature told her.
Hermione was not familiar with either selection, but saw
Draco’s eyes go bright at their mention. “I’ll defer to you Draco,” she stated.
“The Chateau Cheval Blanc, please,”
he decided, “and bring us a variety of appetizers that will complement the
wine.”
“Very good, sir,” the house-elf
acknowledged with a bow.
“Don’t you usually do it the other way around?” Hermione
asked, puzzled.
“I’m sorry; what do you mean?” Draco asked for
clarification.
“Select the wine based on the food choice,” she explained.
He smiled and blushed a bit,
looking at his hands folded on the table. “Not this time. At over two hundred
Galleons a bottle, the wine is clearly preeminent.”
He watched with both amusement and a touch of embarrassment
as she gracefully contained her urge to sputter. Hermione tucked in closer to
the table and spoke in a whisper. “Are you nuts? That’s… a thousand pounds!
That’s more than I make in a week – in two weeks!” she argued.
“I know it’s a little extravagant, but it’s a special
occasion. I happen to like that appellation very much; no reason that you
shouldn’t get to enjoy it.” He shrugged, as if to dismiss her concern.
“What’s so special about this occasion, then?” she prodded.
“The end of hostilities between Slytherins
and Gryffindors is quite momentous. It deserves to be
celebrated and relished.”
“I won’t argue the premise, but we are talking about a
rather small group of both,” she noted.
“A rather influential collection of representatives,
though,” he pointed out, lifting an eyebrow to emphasize his words.
“Well, that may be true, but you don’t have to spend
profligately to impress me, regardless of the reason,” she scolded lightly.
“Would Weasley know the meaning of the word?” he wondered
aloud, recognizing that, for all his desire not to be crass just seconds
earlier, this question was decidedly snide.
Hermione had to laugh when she realized what Draco had
intimated. “Oh, Merlin, no. He’d get it in context,
but he sure as rain wouldn’t have been able to use it in a sentence.”
He breathed deeply and met her eyes. “Look, Hermione, I am
who I am. I can afford nice things. That’s not going to change, regardless of
who I keep company with. And just so we’re clear, I’m not doing it to denigrate
your ex-husband; I just thought you might like to try a wine that I enjoy very
much. I have three cases of it in my wine cellar, so it’s not particularly
over-the-top for me. Once you taste it, I guarantee you won’t worry about how
much it cost. Relax and stop thinking for a little while. If anything, my goal
here is to impress you with my wit and charm. The money is entirely a
non-issue.”
“I think you know me well enough to know that it certainly
wouldn’t be your money that I’m concerned with. I guess I have to ask: Why
would you want to impress me at all?” she pressed.
“Well, other than pure male ego reasons, even back in the
days that I hated you for your heritage, I couldn’t
deny your intellect and ability. It caused me no end of grief from my father
that I was regularly bested by a Muggle-born. You fascinated me, and as much as
I would have hated to admit it, I was horribly curious about you. I guess that
part really hasn’t changed,” he confessed. “I guess I would like you to want to
know about me as much as I want to know about you.”
Their chat was interrupted by the arrival of the house-elf
waiter. He - identified by the name embroidered on his lapel as “Ralph” –
presented the bottle of wine to Draco for his inspection and approval. At the
wizard’s nod, he snapped his fingers, causing two fine Waterford crystal
goblets to appear on the table. He uncorked the wine, giving the cork to Draco,
who again nodded after ensuring that it was properly moist. A bare ounce was
poured into Draco’s goblet, which he swirled, sniffed, and sipped. His Adam’s
apple bobbed as he swallowed and his eyes drifted shut for a fraction of a
second as he relished the smooth, velvety libation. “Perfect,” he pronounced,
allowing the house-elf to proceed in filling Hermione’s glass, then finishing
Draco’s serving.
“Your appetizers will be served in just a moment,” the
house-elf announced as he set the bottle on the table between them. True to his
word, they hadn’t even had an opportunity to reach for their goblets when the
table was laden with a selection of cold meats, cheeses, hors d’oerves, and artisanal
breads.
Draco raised his glass. “To new friendships beginning as old
rivalries end,” he proposed.
“Salut,” Hermione agreed, lifting
the goblet to sip the fine beverage. “Ohhh,” she
exclaimed after a moment, “this is just exquisite!”
He grinned happily. “Told you so.”
He laughed merrily, if briefly. “I must confess, I’ve
always wanted an excuse to say that to a Gryffindor. Please take no offense.”
“Feel free. This deserves a ‘told you so’ or two.” She
lifted the goblet once more to take in the wine’s rich bouquet, closing her
eyes in bliss as she finally drew away. “I will honestly admit that I’ve never
had anything remotely close to this… fabulous. Thank you for sharing it with
me, Draco.”
“My pleasure, really,” he acknowledged. “So, what shall we
talk about while we nibble and sip?” He waited until she had selected a
sampling from each plate, then chose a few items for
himself.
“Hmmm. I think we should discuss
what we might be able to add to the ‘positive provocations’ list,” she
proposed.
“That’s a fine idea. We’ve already established dancing, fine
dining, finer wine,” he lifted his glass toward her, “and witty repartee. What
other things are you passionate about, Ms. Granger?”
Her cheeks went just slightly pinker at his choice of words.
“Passionate” was not a place she was even remotely close to going with this
man. She cleared her throat and spoke primly. “I’ve always been interested in
art, especially watercolors and oils on canvas. Sculpture is fascinating, particularly
in marble and stone.”
“What styles?” Draco wondered.
“I’m partial to the Impressionists and the Dutch Masters. No
one can rival da Vinci for sculpture. Michelangelo is
another favorite. How about you?”
“I’d have to agree on most of your choices, and I’d probably
add realism. Not terribly fond of modern art such as cubism or the like. But as
much as I do enjoy fine art, I’m more partial to good music,” Draco added.
“Define ’good’ for me, Draco,” Hermione prompted.
“Mostly classics, but I can appreciate almost any style of
music as long as there’s rhythm and melody and complexity. I’m sure you can
imagine that the bulk of what I grew up with was Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms,
Grieg, Strauss, and Chopin. I studied piano for at least ten years, so my training
was very focused on sonatas, concertos, and the like.”
Hermione was looking at him appearing to be thoroughly gobsmacked. “You didn’t!”
“I did. My piano is a nine-foot Steinway,” he told her.
“Me too!” she enthused. “Well, not the nine-foot grand piano
part; we only had an upright. But I studied piano, too. What’s your favorite
sonata?” Hermione asked.
“I’ve always been especially fond of the Pathetique.
Fabulous stress relief, I say.”
“For Beethoven, I’m more into Moonlight. It’s so…
tranquil,” she opined.
“See? We’ve already added three more items to the list,”
Draco said. His voice was quiet and thoughtful as he continued, “I’d have never
guessed how much we have in common.”
“Truth be told, I’m just as
surprised,” she confessed. “Of course, you’ve not said anything about the one
thing I’m best noted for.” She sipped again at the fine Bordeaux.
“That would have to be reading,” he surmised. He leaned
forward to add more wine to her glass and a splash to his.
“Of course.”
“I have a confession there, too. Especially when I was a
kid, my father used to have to chase me out of the library. I always had my
nose in a book.”
“Well, there’s one small divergence between us, then. I
always had my nose in a book, but I’d read outside in the back yard under the
willow tree, or in a lounge chair near the pool,” she told him.
“That is clearly the reason my complexion was so pasty while
you always looked rosy-cheeked and healthy,” he replied, self-deprecatingly.
They each savored another glass of wine and chatted about
the things they appreciated and enjoyed, finding common ground in their love of
family above all else, and the little joys in life like a good quill, quality
leather goods (Hermione confessed to having spent eighty Galleons on her
favorite handbag and Draco admitted that the wallet in his pocket had set him
back seventy-five), and the importance of self-expression and introspection
(both had kept journals for many, many years).
They had been content to chat and ask questions of each
other for quite a long time while the orchestra had played for the other
patrons’ listening and dancing pleasure. As the night grew late, Draco decided
that it would be nice to take at least one turn on the dance floor; he had,
after all, boasted his ability and should be expected to back it up with
evidence. A perfect opportunity arose when the orchestra began to play a
Viennese waltz.
He rose and extended his hand. “Will you do me the honor,
Miss Granger?”
She accepted with a nod and a smile, allowing him to take her
hand to lead her to the dance floor. It only took a fraction of a second for
the two of them to find proper frame and begin to glide around the parquet with
sure and graceful steps. They made the entire circuit of the platform three
times until the final strains of violin, viola, bass, trumpet, and saxophone
faded into silence.
Hermione’s cheeks were flush and a broad smile displayed her
enjoyment. “That was just lovely, Draco! It’s been such a long time since I had
such a talented partner.”
“I take it your ex-husband did not share your interest and
skill in the ballroom?” he guessed, knowing the answer before she spoke.
This time, she was the one to lift an eyebrow. “What do you
think?”
“Thought not.”
“You thought correctly.”
“Whatever else may come of our new-found… civility, I will
promise you that, should you ever find yourself in need of a willing dance
partner, I am your man,” he promised, bowing at the waist in a courtly manner.
She snickered quietly. “I shall keep that in mind, Mr.
Malfoy, should my feet find the burning need to flit around the floor once
more.”
They returned to their table to finish the last of the wine.
Draco was not quite ready to leave; they’d been having the liveliest debate
about the politics behind extending rights to non-human magical beings. “I
could just die for an espresso and a profiterole. Are you game?” he asked.
“You’ve found another of my weaknesses, I fear. There’s
nothing better than dessert – of any kind – unless it’s
dessert paired with espresso,” she stated firmly. “How do you do that, anyway?”
“Do what?”
“Happen upon my favorite things so easily. Ron and I were
married for four years before he knew that I even knew what espresso was.” She
sighed with melancholy. “The more I think about it, the less suited I discover
we were.”
“Well, just to put you at ease, I’m not using Legilimency on
you and I haven’t spied on you since sixth year. I’m just offering some of my
favorite things for your consideration. It just so happens that we have a great
many of those things in common.”
She, of course, picked up first on his comment about sixth
year. “You spied on me in sixth year?” she accused, but with curiosity rather
than anger.
“I was a teenage boy. I spied on anything and everything
with breasts.” He shrugged. “You might have been the enemy, and an insufferable
swot, but back then, you were still… not unpleasant
to look at in a jumper.” He smiled and had enough embarrassment to flush
slightly. He was also circumspect enough to refrain from ogling those assets
openly.
It was Hermione’s turn to blush, but she made it clear that
she chose not to be offended. She lifted her chin proudly and proclaimed, “I’m
rather proud of my shape, even after having two children. Although I wouldn’t
call myself sporty in any way, I do try to stay in condition. You never know,
after all, when you might need to run for your life… or enter an impromptu
dance marathon.”
They both laughed, and Draco raised a finger to call Ralph’s
attention. He ordered their dessert and turned back to Hermione. “I’m glad you
decided to stick around a little longer. I know you must be thinking about
getting back to your children, so I promise I won’t keep you till all hours.”
“My children are always on my mind, but they are with their
grandparents for the night, so I have no curfew, self-imposed or otherwise,”
she told him.
“Still, I’m very glad that you agreed to join me here.
There’s no way we’d have had the opportunity to have any substantive
conversation at the Swish & Flick. It’s fun for drinks and dancing, but not
really a place to get to know anyone.”
“You’re not wrong there,” Hermione agreed, taking the final
sip of her wine.
“It’s so ironic, and also somewhat disconcerting, that we’ve
technically known each other for more than half our lives, and this is the first
time we’ve shared more than a couple of dozen words. Never mind that half of
them would have been hexes and curses ten years ago.” He shook his head. “Why
are people – and by that I mean me – so stupid?”
“Because it’s what we’re taught to think, feel, and believe
by our earliest influences. In some ways, I was no better than you. I was
instantly suspicious and wary of anyone who was a pureblood, especially if they
hadn’t openly defied Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I forgot to take
into account that some people felt the need to protect themselves with silence.
Not everyone has the stomach or ability for a fight. It didn’t automatically
mean assent, and I made that leap far too often.”
“So, how can we grow past that?” Draco wondered.
“I think this is a good start. We make a conscious effort to
get to know people as individuals, not as members of some arbitrarily defined
group. Isn’t that the root of prejudice? When we think about or use words like
‘us’ and ‘them,’ we automatically separate ourselves. We’ve proved tonight that
you and I have more in common, at least in terms of the things we enjoy, than I
ever did with the man I married. That ought to tell us something. What, I’m not
sure, but something.”
“I know that what it tells me is that I’d like to get to
know you better. Are you willing?”
Hermione paused before rubbing a sliver of lemon rind along
the rim of her cup of espresso. “I think I am.”
000000000000000000000000000000
The next morning, Hermione woke to the Floo’s
chime announcing the arrival of her children from their overnight stay at the
Burrow. She and Draco had not parted company until nearly half three, so her
sleep had been brutally brief. While she had expected Molly, she was not
entirely surprised to see her former sister-in-law with niece and nephew in
tow. She wasn’t sure which adult would have been the more difficult one
to face as she dragged herself out of bed and shrugged on her fluffy yellow
bathrobe.
“You look like something the kneazel
dragged in,” Ginny commented, though the wry grin on her face belied any anger.
“Thanks. Two and a half hours of sleep will do that to you,”
she replied through her yawn.
“No!” Ginny exclaimed, then dropped
her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is he still here?”
“What? No! He never made it past the Floo, I’ll have you
know,” she replied, drawing on all of her considerable dignity.
“Aw, shucks,” Ginny teased, drolly.
“Mummy, look what Uncle Harry gave us!” Hugo piped up once
he’d deposited his overnight bag in his bedroom. He was carrying a miniature
version of a Wizard’s Chess set. “He says he’ll teach me how to beat Papa.”
“Yes, Mummy, and I want to learn too!” Rose enthused.
“That’s lovely, my sweets. Did you remember to say ‘thank
you’ to Uncle Harry?” Hermione asked.
“Yes, Mummy. I said ‘thank you’ and
gived him a big hug,” Hugo promised.
“Me, too,” Rose assured her mother.
“Very good. Mummy’s proud of you.
Now go finish putting your clothes in the laundry and Mummy will get some
breakfast ready for you.”
“No need,” Ginny interrupted. “I fed them before we left the
Burrow. Mum had stacks of pancakes and sausages ready before they even got out
of bed.”
“Oh, well, I guess I’ll just make some tea and toast for
myself then. Something for you?” she offered.
“Tea, of course. I want to hear all
about your little escape last night,” she prompted. “It was the talk of the
night, when the two of you left together.”
“Ohhh, I didn’t even think of
that,” Hermione groaned, putting a hand over her eyes. “People will think I’m
some kind of slag.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t worry about that. It seems that Malfoy has
cleaned up his reputation since marrying - and
of course, subsequently dumping - Astoria. He hasn’t been seen out with anyone
since then. Pansy and Blaise think he’s become a bit more serious and
introspective since his younger days.”
“Since when are they ‘Pansy and Blaise?’”
Hermione wondered.
“Probably about the same time he became ‘Draco’ to you,”
Ginny retorted.
“Fair enough. I suppose if we’re
going to try to make this ‘truce’ work, using given names is a reasonable place
to begin.”
“So, where did you go? What did you do?” Ginny pressed.
“We went to Grosvenor House, the wizarding side,” Hermione
told her.
“Really? Wow. Posh,
for sure. What did you do?”
“We had some wine and nibbled on some hors d’oerves, and we talked and danced.”
“And?” Ginny prodded.
“It was a lovely evening. We have a lot more in common than
I ever imagined. Our tastes in cultural areas are very similar, and we found
that we had many other coincidences in our backgrounds. For example, we both
studied dance and piano as children. I think… I don’t know. Maybe we could be
good friends,” she concluded, not sure how Ginny might feel about the man they
all used to call “ferret” being a part of her life.
“That’s nice. It does seem like he’s grown up to be a decent
man. And you have to admit, he’s always been easy on the eyes,” Ginny admitted,
with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, well, looks are nice, but if there’s an ugly soul
underneath, you can count me out.”
“Do you think he’s still harboring evil intent?” Ginny
teased.
“No! That’s not what I meant. I’m just speaking in
generalities here, not about Draco in particular. He was very sweet and
thoughtful all night.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
Hermione hesitated before answering. “How would you feel if
I did?”
“Hermione, my brother treated you like crap. If Malfoy –
sorry, Draco – can make you happy, I say that you should go for it. My
idiot of a brother has made his bed with his unforgivable behavior, and you
shouldn’t sit around wallowing in your grief over someone who didn’t deserve
you in the first place.”
“I don’t know yet if there’s any interest in something
beyond simple friendship for either of us, but I do know that I had a terrific
time last night, and I think he did, too. He was funny, and interesting, and
attentive, and a perfect gentleman from start to finish,” she extolled. “And,
okay, he’s not unattractive.” When Ginny raised an eyebrow to challenge her
characterization, Hermione relented. “Fine, he’s pretty damned hot. And, Merlin
forgive me for thinking it, but if he moves in bed
like he moves on the dance floor, oh my goodness is all I can say!” She covered
her face in embarrassment, laughing when she heard Ginny gasp in her own amusement.
Hermione went on to describe parts of their conversation and
just how late into the night they’d talked when her narrative was interrupted
by an owl tapping on the window. It was the same beautiful eagle owl that had
delivered Draco’s note and flowers the day before, and it was carrying another
small bundle. Hermione smiled as she unwrapped the
package – a spiky green plant – and read Draco’s note.
Dear Hermione,
As you may know, the acanthus plant represents an appreciation for the
arts. I thought you might like to add this to your garden.
Thank you for a lovely evening. I really enjoyed our time together and
hope to see you again soon. Would you consider joining me for dinner next
Saturday at 7:00pm? Please send your reply with my owl. He knows to wait.
Fondly,
Draco
Ginny had been reading over her shoulder. “I guess there’s“I guess I need to make a decision about mine, then,”
Hermione replied quietly. She thought for a moment, then, after digging her
favorite quill out of her handbag, turned the parchment over to write her
reply.
Dear Draco,
Thank you for the acanthus plant. It is a welcome addition to my
garden.
I had a lovely time, too. I would be delighted to join you for
dinner on Saturday. Please let me know where you’d like to meet.
Fondly,
Hermione
“There,” she said, attaching the parchment to the owl’s leg
and giving it a treat. “Off you go.”
0000000000000000000000000000000000
Draco slept until ten o’clock, when he was awakened by the
buzz of his wand, which he had set as an alarm. He had finally returned to his
flat at nearly four o’clock in the morning, after he’d escorted Hermione to her
Floo connection; he then walked around his block twice to burn off excess
energy. Still, he’d tossed for nearly an hour before finally succumbing to
sleep near five. His dreams had been pleasant, though, and his slumber,
although somewhat brief, had left him surprisingly well-rested. Now, however,
he couldn’t afford to laze about. His parents were expecting him in an hour for
brunch.
He pushed out of bed and bounded with a surprising amount of
energy to the bathroom. He turned on the taps and waited for the water to reach
the appropriate temperature. Draco’s shower was a quick one; he didn’t have
time to waste this morning, and he decided to cut corners and use his wand to
shave rather than using the old-fashioned razor that he typically preferred. He
wanted to have a cup of tea and read the paper before heading to the manor. He
was also hoping that there might be a reply to the message he’d arranged to be
sent earlier this morning.
There were two messages waiting in his kitchen, the first
attached to his own owl – obviously Hermione’s reply - and the second from the Zabinis’ owl. Most certainly, it was Pansy being nosy about
what had happened during his outing with Hermione. He reached for Hermione’s
reply first and was delighted that she’d agreed to his request for a second
private meeting. He’d write her another note this afternoon, once he decided
where he was going to take her.
Pansy’s note was brief and to the point, and as demanding as
she typically was.
Draco, Darling –
So? How did it go? Where did you go? I have to
know everything. Call me this afternoon, or risk the future functioning
of the Malfoy family jewels.
Love and kisses,
Pansy and Blaise
Draco laughed and shook his head. His friend, as dear as she
was to him, could drive him round the bend sometimes. There was only so much
detail he’d ever give, and she knew it, but there was no doubt that she’d hound
him until the end of days if he didn’t fork over at least a few “juicy”
particulars. That would have to wait until he returned from brunch with his
parents. They would get first crack at interrogating him today.
He browsed through the headlines in the Daily Prophet, and finding
nothing of earth-shattering interest or value, decided that it was time to head
to the manor and face the music. He decided that using the Floo was just too
quick; he needed a couple of extra minutes to brace himself for the coming
inquest. Apparition was the only way to go, then.
After one minute of displacement through space and four
minutes of strolling up the long path to Malfoy Manor’s front door, Draco
pushed on the heavy brass handle to gain entry into the main foyer. He was
greeted by his mother’s personal house-elf, Juji, who
told him that his parents were waiting for him in the family dining room.
He strolled in precisely as the large case clock began to chime the hour.
“Good morning, Mother,” he paused to kiss her cheek,
“Father.” He nodded in acknowledgment and took his usual place at his father’s
left, opposite his mother. The table immediately filled with an array of
delicacies. Poached eggs with Hollandaise sauce, rashers of bacon, fresh breads
and pastries, sliced fruit, Belgian waffles and a prime rib of beef were
available for the three diners. Draco absently thought that the feast
could easily feed ten, then remembered that anything
the family didn’t eat would be given to the house-elves for their mid-day meal.
The tiny creatures had astounding appetites; there wouldn’t be a morsel left.
“Draco, dear, good morning to you,”
Narcissa greeted. His father’s grunt of acknowledgment meant two things:
first, the man hadn’t yet had enough caffeine, and second, that he’d probably
only been out of bed for an hour or so himself. Lucius’ very guilty - and very
private - pleasure was a long lie-in on Sunday mornings. Typically, his wife
was also abed. Draco chose not to think about the implications.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said when she passed the sterling
silver basket filled with croissants and muffins.
“So?” she prompted.
Draco fought mightily against his desperate urge to sigh.
He’d known, without a doubt, that she would expect a full report of his
evening’s successes or failures. He was, however, going to make her work for
it, at least a little. “Mother, you’ll need to be a bit more specific,” he
drawled.
She huffed impatiently. “Did you go out last night?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“With whom, dear?”
“Pansy and Blaise,” he replied, being as literal as he
could.
“Where did you go?”
“The Swish & Flick.”
“Did you see anyone there?” she prodded further.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Hundreds of people,” he offered, biting the inside of his
lower lip to hide his smirk.
“Oh, Draco, stop being so obtuse.
You know what I want to know,” she snapped, finally getting annoyed with his
little game.
“You’re just too easy to tease, Mother,” he told her, a
devious twinkle brightening his eyes. “Yes, we went to the Swish & Flick
and saw the Gryffindors there. Hermione was with them,
and I rescued her from her arse of an ex-husband. I took her to Grosvenor where
we had an evening snack and drinks, and we had a very nice conversation. Does
that satisfy your curiosity?”
“Not nearly, but it’s a start,” she admitted. “What’s this
about rescuing her?”
“It was really nothing. We were dancing when the thoroughly
soused Weasley came up behind her and tried to pull her away against her will.
I warned him away and stupefied him when he wouldn’t leave. She and I left
shortly after that, once Potter carted the idiot away.”
“I imagine she was quite grateful for the assistance,”
Lucius interjected.
“Well, not at first,” Draco admitted. “She is very
independent and quite sure she can take care of herself. Once I reminded her
that she’d left her wand in her purse on the table, she recognized that my aid
was… timely.”
“So you did a good job of ingratiating yourself. Very Slytherin in your approach. I approve,” his father
noted.
“There was no deliberation on that point, Father. She was in
distress and I was able to provide relief. There was no calculation of
advantage involved,” Draco stated, sounding a bit insulted at his father’s
implication as much as he was surprised at himself for not having
thought along those lines.
“Even better!” Narcissa enthused.
“She likely saw you as courageous, then. A marvelous play
toward her Gryffindor nature.”
Draco chose not to comment further on the point, but shook
his head slightly at how thoroughly his parents seemed to weigh and
counter-weigh every move or turn of phrase. He wondered at how much more
“Slytherin” they were than he.
“What else happened?” Narcissa probed.
“We talked and we danced,” Draco added.
“About what?”
“Mother, we talked for well over four hours. I couldn’t possibly
remember or recount all of the topics we covered,” he answered with
exasperation. Couldn’t a man have a little privacy, for Merlin’s sake?
“Four hours?” she asked for confirmation, appearing quite
surprised.
“Yes, Mother, four hours. She’s… an interesting witch. We
seem to share… quite a few common interests.” Oooh,
miscalculation there, you arse. Now she’ll want to know what they are. He
mentally smacked himself on the side of the head.
“Oh? Tell me about them,” his mother insisted. This was one
point he knew she would not be denied.
“Primarily, we share similar interests in the arts, and we
both studied dance and music as children. We compared notes, so to speak, on
our favorite sonatas,” Draco elucidated with as much a note of finality as he
dared, recognizing that it was likely futile.
“Hunh,” his mother huffed. “Is
there any attraction?”
“She’s not a great, classic beauty, but she is lovely in a
wholesome way.”
“No, you goose, I meant was she attracted to you?”
“I don’t know, Mother; I didn’t read her mind.”
“Well, no matter. You’ll just have to woo her more
aggressively.”
“Mother, I don’t think Hermione is particularly concerned
about a person’s looks. After all, she did marry that Weaselbee.
If she’s going to be attracted to me, it will be for our compatibility, not
whether she likes my eyes,” Draco snarled impatiently.
“That’s not really what I meant, either, Draco. Attraction
comes in many forms. She could be attracted to your intellect or your skill.
Merlin forbid, she’s attracted to your money, although in your current
circumstances, I suppose that wouldn’t be as big an issue as it might if you
were hoping to marry for other reasons,” Narcissa mused, as much to herself as
to her son.
“Money has never been and never will be Hermione’s concern;
I can tell you that with great confidence. And who says that the only reason I
want to marry again is to have a child?” Draco pushed back.
“Well, wasn’t that the whole reason for pursuing a Mud… I’m
sorry, a Muggle-born?” Lucius interrupted.
“That may have been my initial motivation, but I find that
my thinking has expanded beyond that narrow definition,” Draco stated.
“Oh. Oh! So, you are attracted to her. You think you
might like her? Beyond what’s necessary?” Narcissa
probed.
“Define ‘necessary’ for me, Mother,” Draco began, then raised a hand before she could speak. “On second
thought, don’t. I’ll not marry anyone again simply because I can tolerate the
thought of… mating with them. However all of this may play out, I want more
from my next marriage than a potential baby factory.” Draco’s words had been
vehement, but not particularly harsh.
He did not miss the look that passed between his parents but
chose not to search for an interpretation. As long as he kept them out of his
social life, at least overtly, their thinking was really to no effect.
“All I will say is that she’s more interesting than I
thought she would be and we have much more in common than I ever thought
possible. I intend to pursue additional meetings with her based on that. If it
goes somewhere beyond that, I’ll be happy to let you know. Otherwise, butt
out,” he warned, dropping his linen napkin beside his plate and leaving the
dining room.
“Well, this will be entertaining,” Lucius noted.
“True,” his wife added, “It seems our son has grown a
spine.” She smiled into her tea as Lucius stuck his nose back into the
morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet.
After wandering around the garden for nearly an hour to cool
off, Draco had gone back into the manor to visit with his parents. He’d told
them in no uncertain terms that, as much as he loved them and appreciated their
concern for his happiness and well-being, he needed to manage his relationships
in his own way. They had parted company with the elder family members promising
not to interfere and their son admitting that there might be times when their
advice and counsel would still be welcome.
Arriving back at his flat, Draco poured a Firewhisky and sat
at his desk to write a new note to Hermione about the plans for their evening
together in six days hence. It took four tries before he was finally satisfied
with his effort. He wrote:
Dear Hermione,
Your acceptance of my invitation has made my day. I’m most eager to
continue our conversation. I can’t recall a time in recent memory when I’ve
felt both so intrigued and so comfortable. I must confess that I wish I hadn’t
been so blind for so many years. We might have been friends much sooner.
I’ve selected a casual venue for our next meeting. Please feel free to
dress as you might for a Quidditch match. (I do promise, however, that we will
not be within a dozen kilometers of a pitch!) Comfortable shoes might be
desirable.
If it’s acceptable to you, I will collect you at your home so that I may
escort you to our destination.
With great anticipation,
Draco
He wrapped the parchment around his owl’s leg and arranged
for delivery of another symbolic piece of flora. Now, all he had to do was
deflect Pansy’s incessant questioning. Fat chance, his inner voice told
him.
It was probably better to get it over with rather than wait
for her to stew in her own curiosity. Why exacerbate the situation
unnecessarily? That decision made, he threw Floo powder into the hearth
and called out the Zabinis’ address. It was answered
promptly by Mrs. Zabini, as he expected.
“Will you let me through, or are you and your arsehole
coming over here?” Draco asked.
“Don’t be an idiot, Draco. Come on over,” Pansy invited,
stepping aside to allow him passage.
“Hello, lovely,” he greeted her, dropping a kiss on her
offered cheek. “Where’s your arsehole? I don’t want to have to tell this story
twice.”
“He’s in the study, listening to something on the wireless,”
she replied. “Go on and get him; I’ll wait for you.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at her and put two fingers in his
mouth, executing an ear-splitting whistle.
It only took a moment for Blaise to appear around the
corner, a sour look on his face.
“That’s as much effort as I’ll expend corralling your
husband, Mrs. Zabini,” Draco retorted.
“You summoned, Monsieur Imbecile?”
“I did. I appreciate your prompt compliance.” Draco made himself comfortable in one of the overstuffed armchairs near
the hearth. “Your darling wife summoned me, after all, to find out what
happened last night after Hermione and I left, and I’m not going through this
conversation forty times, so sit,” he ordered.
“Only you would think that it’s acceptable to boss a man
around in his own home,” Blaise grumbled.
Draco merely snorted in reply as Pansy took a seat near him,
an eager look in her eyes.
“Shut up, Blaise,” she said without even looking at the man.
“This is important.” She addressed her next words to Draco: “Spill. Every detail.”
He sighed with a hint of irritation. “We went to Grosvenor,
shared a bottle of wine and a few hors d’oerves,
danced a little, and talked. I escorted her home and went back to my place. That good enough?”
“Merlin, not even close!” Pansy
practically shrieked. “I’ve heard more interesting and memorable accounts in Binns’ History of Magic classes, and that was eons ago!
You’ve got to do better than that, young man.”
“What more do you want to know? We had a nice time. She’s
interesting to talk to, and we have a number of things in common. I’ve asked
her out again, and she accepted. I plan to take this slowly and deliberately.
Nothing rash, and no hurry.”
“So you like her,” Pansy concluded.
“Well, I won’t go quite that far yet, but getting to know
her wasn’t your worst idea,” he allowed. “We’ll have to see what develops.
Remember, it’s not just up to me,” he cautioned.
“Not entirely, but I’m sure you could add appropriate
enticements that would sway most women,” Blaise interjected.
“I’ll remind you both that Hermione Granger is not ‘most
women.’ She’s smarter than just about anyone we know, including me.
Manipulating her is next to impossible because she’s wary and two steps ahead
of every possible angle. Besides, I think she’s one who will respond better to
honesty and building a foundation of friendship and compatibility.”
“You’re actually going to play this straight?” Blaise asked,
sounding horrified by the concept.
“I believe that’s what I just said.”
“So are you telling us that you really believed what you
said at the table last night?” Pansy prompted.
“Yes.”
“No qualifications or caveats?” she asked.
“No.”
“How the hell did that happen?” Blaise mused aloud.
“Lots of soul-searching and thinking about
the actions and beliefs that got me where I am now. Admittedly, in a
very compressed time period. That’s one thing I don’t feel the need to ever
share outside of this room, by the way. However, I’ve come to the conclusion
that we really were idiots, and dead wrong about a lot of what we were fed as
children and teens. At least for me, that’s an important revelation.” He turned
directly to Pansy. “I thought you were being sincere with your offer last
night, especially after the conversation we had yesterday. Was that not true?”
“Well, there was certainly more than a little truth in it,
but I didn’t realize you’d gone even further. So I take it we’re going to need
to put up or shut up?” she asked.
“Yep. I’d say that’s it in a
nutshell,” Draco confirmed.
Pansy and Blaise traded glances, and Blaise shrugged. “No
skin off my nose. I’m in if you are.”
“If it will help Draco get what he wants and needs, I’m
willing to play the game. I wasn’t being disingenuous, but I didn’t know you
were planning to dive in head first. We’ll support you; it’s probably the right
thing to do, regardless of your situation,” Pansy conceded. “So what’s next?”
“As I said earlier, I’ve asked her out to dinner next
Saturday and she agreed. I thought we’d do something nice and simple. Maybe a picnic near the ocean. I want her to see that I’m
not only a reflection of my money, because I think that actually turns
her off. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate nice things, but there’s more to
her than that.”
“Merlin and Morgana, Draco, you sound like you’ve already
gone ‘round the bend,” Pansy told him with a wide-eyed stare.
“No, I just… appreciate that she’s a much more complex and
interesting person than Astoria. For all the surface things she and I had in
common, mostly due to our similar upbringing, she didn’t have the passion for
things like Hermione does. I find that… stimulating.”
“You’ve already dropped the ‘Granger’ references, mate,”
Blaise observed, a teasing grin creasing his cheeks.
Draco chuckled. “Yeah, we actually talked about that last
night. We concluded that ‘friendly’ people don’t use surnames as a form of
address.”
“Ah, so that’s where it comes from,” Pansy concluded.
“Where what comes from?”
“The Potters were also using our given names last night, and
not to be awkward, we reciprocated,” she explained.
Draco shrugged. “Seems sensible and… polite, I guess.”
“Does this mean we’re going to need to arrange regular
meetings with the Gryffindor group?” Blaise wondered.
“I don’t think it would hurt my chances, if that’s what you
mean. If something more were to develop between Hermione and me, we would
certainly be thrown into social situations with them rather frequently. I can’t
imagine that she’d abandon her friends; it’s just not in her nature. So, yeah, maybe not every week, but periodically.”
“Fine. Shall I extend the next
group invitation, or will you?” Pansy asked.
“I’ll leave the broader social calendar in your skilled
hands, Pansy. Just make sure you check with me before committing me to any
grand event,” Draco cautioned. “It wouldn’t do to interrupt private time, now,
would it?”
0000000000000000000000000000000
If Hermione had been surprised by Draco Malfoy’s previous
messages and floral gifts, she was positively baffled by this one: a forsythia
bush was sitting in her front yard. His note had probably given a clue, but she
was not nearly as well-versed in the language of flowers as pureblood witches
were. This one, she’d have to investigate. She felt sure that Ginny might know,
or would at least have an idea whom to ask or in what book the answer might be
found.
Her patience for solving a mystery was non-existent, so
Hermione tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames and called out the
Potters’ address. She was answered a moment later by the lady of the house.
“Hey there! I just left an hour
ago, you know. What’s up now?” Ginny teased.
“What’s a forsythia for?” Hermione
blurted out.
“Uh, it’s a plant that has yellow flowers and green leaves,
most often used as a light hedge plant. Why?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m
speaking without thinking. What does it mean? In the language of
flowers,” she hurriedly clarified.
“Oh! Malfoy sent you another floral gift, eh?” Ginny
concluded.
“Yes, and most of them I had at least a clue. I’m stumped.
Do you have any idea?” she pleaded.
“I think so, but hang on one second and I’ll get my floriography book and check for sure,” she offered, her
head disappearing from the Floo momentarily.
Hermione could barely stand the suspense, but waited as
patiently as she could on her hands and knees, not really having much choice in
the matter since she hadn’t thought to tell Ginny to call her back when she’d
found the answer. She was most grateful when her best friend returned not even
a minute later.
“I was right,” she announced as she stuck her head back into
the Floo connection. “It means ‘anticipation.’”
“I should have trusted my first thought, too. That’s
basically what he said in the note, ” Hermione added.
“He sent you another note?”
“Yeah, to tell me that he’d pick me up here for our dinner
on Saturday, and to dress casually, as I would for a Quidditch match. He was so
funny; he said that we wouldn’t be anywhere near a pitch, though.”
“He already knows you pretty well,” Ginny observed with a
laugh.
“Apparently. Now if I could figure
out how he knew about my garden,” she mused.
“Well, I don’t think specific knowledge of your garden has
anything to do with it. He’s very traditional, and using flowers to convey
messages is about as old-fashioned as it gets. If you get any more involved
with him, you can count on getting all kinds of crazy flower and plant gifts.”
“I keep forgetting that, even though the Weasley clan is
pureblood, you aren’t terribly traditional in many ways. I can count on two
fingers the number of times Ron gave me flowers,” Hermione recalled.
“That’s as much to do with Ron being cheap as his ignorance,
Hermione,” Ginny reminded her with scorn in her tone. Ron was clearly not her
favorite brother these days.
“Only looking forward today, Ginny, I promise,” Hermione
replied with a chuckle. “Now, are you going to come over Saturday to help me
plan an outfit?”
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000
When Saturday morning dawned to torrential rain, Draco was
convinced the fates were conspiring against him. He had planned a picnic supper
at the seashore followed by a stroll along the beach for his dinner date with
Hermione. The anticipated weather was not cooperating as it seemed the whole
weekend would be a wash-out. While that was not terribly unusual for Great
Britain, it was less common during late July. He’d hoped to have a little luck
on his side. Now, he’d have to adjust his plans, and it would require a call to
his mother. While that wasn’t an issue per se, he’d rather she not be intimately involved in any date-planning, and this new
development would require at least her knowledge of said event. He sighed and
resigned himself to the inevitable, tossing the required amount of Floo powder
into the hearth for his call. He was at least grateful that the arrangements
wouldn’t require his father’s cooperation, thank Merlin for small favors.
“Malfoy Manor!” he enunciated.
“Draco, dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Narcissa
answered in mere seconds.
“Mother, I need to ask a favor.”
“Of course, Draco. I’m sure we’ll
be able to help. What is it?” she prodded.
“I need to use the property on Crete tonight. Could you send
a couple of house-elves over to make sure it’s acceptable for a visit?”
“No trouble at all. May I ask why you need it tonight?”
He knew she was going to ask, yet he still cringed. “I have
a date, and it’ll be better weather there for what I have planned.”
“With Miss Granger?”
“Yes, Mother, with Miss Granger. We’re just doing a simple
picnic, but I wanted something casual on the beach,
and as you can plainly see if you look out the window, that is not in the cards
within a few hundred kilometers of here. I thought I’d go somewhere that I know
the weather will almost certainly be perfect,” he explained, hoping that the
detail had been enough to satisfy her curiosity.
“Do you plan to stay overnight?” she queried.
“Mother!”
“I didn’t necessarily mean the two of you, although it might
be rather inconvenient to bring her home then return by yourself,” she noted.
“She has children to think about. I doubt we’ll be staying
overnight. Besides, this is only our first official date. I’m taking this
slowly.”
“Whatever you say, dear,” she placated him. “I’ll be sure
that the sleeping facilities are available, just in case. Have a good
time!” she wished him, pulling out of the Floo and terminating the connection
on her end.
Draco sat back on his heels, grateful that it hadn’t been
any more painful or humiliating than it had. His mother was right on one
account; he’d need to remember to check with Hermione about when she needed to
be home. It wouldn’t do to make her uncomfortable about watching the clock to
get back to her kids.
He pushed up from the floor and headed to the kitchen for a
quick breakfast, thinking about taking a quick stroll before remembering, with
a literal slap to the side of his head, that the weather would not cooperate
with that idea. He’d have to get some exercise the old fashioned way, so
push-ups and crunches it would be. Healer Hubert had been adamant about him
keeping his body fat as low as possible, and he’d developed the habit of
getting some kind of physical activity every day. He’d found it good stress
relief and distraction, particularly now that he wasn’t having intercourse
every night. That had been a tough habit to break. The edict about
keeping his hand off his penis other than twice a week hadn’t been much easier
to take. Only the higher purpose involved allowed him to keep
his resolve. It had required significantly more discipline than he’d
imagined when he’d so blithely accepted the Healer’s suggestion.
Two hours later, Draco had finished a light breakfast, a reasonably
strenuous workout, a wonderfully hot shower, and had finalized arrangements for
the picnic meal for the evening. He was a decent cook in a pinch, but no
expert, so he’d arranged for a simple and authentic Greek meal of dolmades, souvlaki, spanakopita, and
salad - with honey-drenched baklava for dessert – to be delivered to the
family beach house promptly at half seven. He’d raid the on-site wine cellar
for something appropriate. He hoped that Hermione would appreciate Greek
cuisine, kicking himself for not thinking earlier of the possibility that she
might not. He would add some simple roasted chicken pieces to the order, just
to be safe.
Deciding to spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing, Draco
pulled a book he’d wanted to read from his library and settled in for a few
hours of leisure.
Nearly sixty kilometers away, Hermione’s day was a bit
different. She’d risen at six o’clock to get the kids ready for their weekend
visit with their father, and spent most of the morning after they’d left doing
chores around the house. Even combining magic with Muggle methods, it took more
than four hours to get laundry, dusting, floor washing, and general tidying
complete. Two children had a great knack for making a mess, particularly with
the ridiculous number of toys they owned.
After a quick lunch of green grapes, orange slices, and
cottage cheese, Hermione had a long soak in the tub and waited for Ginny to
arrive. She had promised to help her devise an outfit that was casual without
being sloppy. Hermione’s own fashion sense wasn’t always stellar, she would
readily admit.
Ginny’s arrival was perfectly timed with Hermione’s exit
from the bathroom, once again wrapped in her favorite fluffy yellow robe.
Since Hermione only had a vague idea that they’d be doing
something casual, and it was both steamy hot and
raining, she had to assume that Draco would not take them somewhere they’d be
soaked. He certainly had more sense than that. So, she’d told Ginny to just
plan for keeping cool and looking reasonably good. Ginny rifled through
Hermione’s closet and found the perfect outfit – a milk-chocolate colored pair
of linen cropped trousers and a cream linen blouse with cuffed, elbow-length
sleeves. A pair of tan low-heeled sandals and simple gold jewelry finished her
ensemble. Ginny styled Hermione’s hair into a tight French braid, and Hermione
then added a very light touch of blush, mascara, and lip gloss.
“You look sophisticated, stylish, and positively lovely!”
Ginny told her as she turned in a circle for inspection.
“I have no idea what we’re doing, but I think this would
work for almost any casual occasion,” Hermione concluded, satisfied that she’d
not be embarrassed with her choices. With a hug and a wish for luck, Ginny
departed through the Floo, leaving her friend to wait for her escort to appear.
It was not ten minutes later that Draco’s arrival at
Hermione’s house was heralded by the chime of her front doorbell. She wondered
why he hadn’t used the Floo instead of Apparating. Her answer came when she
opened the door; he was wearing light tan trousers with dark tan sandals and a
stark white, short sleeve cotton button-up shirt. Even with a good Scourgify
spell, it was quite likely that traveling by Floo would have stained his
clothing with soot.
That was not what drew Hermione’s attention and curiosity,
however. She could never recall having seen Draco Malfoy in short sleeves. The
subconscious temptation was more than she could resist; she looked at his left
forearm. What she saw there surprised her, but not
unpleasantly. Where the Dark Mark had once marred his skin, an intricate and
colorful dragon now decorated the same space. It was immediately clear that
Draco noticed her glance.
He made a noise in his throat that he hoped she would
interpret as amusement rather than annoyance. “Yeah, quite the beauty, if I do
say so,” he commented, extending his arm toward her so that she could inspect
it in detail.
She hesitantly reached her forefinger toward his arm and
barely touched the skin’s surface, noting that it was smooth, although it
appeared textured. “That’s an amazing work of art, Draco.”
“It’s okay. You can ask,” he encouraged calmly. “In fact, I
know the question, so I’ll answer it.” He glanced toward the floor, then back
to her face. His expression was a combination of melancholy, embarrassment, and
the tiniest hint of defiance. “When the Dark Lord was defeated, his mark faded
quite a lot over time, but didn’t disappear entirely. I couldn’t stand to look
at the thing, and glamours only worked temporarily,
so I had a tattoo artist cover it with this. I’m pretty happy with the way it
turned out.”
“I’m sorry, Draco,” Hermione whispered. “Please forgive my
rude inquisitiveness. It’s just that I’ve never seen what happened to anyone…”
Her voice trailed off; she seemed unable to complete the sentence in a way that
wouldn’t result in dragging up unpleasant memories for both of them. Stopping
there, before her desire to vanish into the floorboards became manifest,
appeared to be the most prudent option.
“Don’t worry about it, Hermione,” he replied. “At some
point, if we’re really to become friends, we’re going to have to confront some
of those old demons and find ways to banish them. Otherwise, there’ll always be
discomfort and unpleasant history between us.”
“I know; you’re right. It’s just unbelievably insensitive
and cruel of me to bring it up on our first, um, private, uh, time together.”
Draco laughed. “If it makes it any easier, I consider this
our second ‘date’ and it’s perfectly acceptable to call it that. We got the
first one out of the way last weekend, so no ‘first date’ pressures tonight.”
His eyes were twinkling with amusement. “Besides, it was fairly provocative to
have this beast on display. It’s just too bloody hot to wear long sleeves,
though, even with cooling charms.”
“So we are going to be outside?” she asked, glancing with
dubious thoughts past his shoulder to the window streaked with rain, but
desperate to send the conversation along a new track.
“Yes, we are, but not here. We’re going somewhere that I can
just about guarantee will have perfectly blue skies, pleasant temperatures, and
copious quantities of sand. Before we leave, though, I just want to make sure
of timing. When do you need to be back?” Draco inquired.
Hermione shook her head. “The kids are with their father all
weekend. I don’t have to worry about being home at any specific time.”
“Oh, good. That will make our visit
more relaxed, since we won’t be rushing to beat a deadline. Shall we?” he
asked, offering his arm.
“I take it we’re Apparating?” Hermione deduced.
“Yes, and I’ll need to take you Side-Along because I can
guarantee you’ve never been there before,” he clarified.
“Fair enough,” she answered, grasping his forearms with both
of her hands. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the tug of displacement
and kept them tightly squeezed until she felt Draco steadying her when they
came to a stop.
“You can open your eyes now,” he whispered into her ear.
She did, and gasped at what she saw. They were standing on a
large flagstone patio that overlooked a vast expanse of white sand beach and
crystal-blue sea. Draco hadn’t been lying about the weather. It was hot and
sunny, but there was a pleasant breeze coming off the water. “Beautiful,” she
uttered.
“Yeah, I’ve always liked it here,” Draco acknowledged.
“Um, where is ‘here’?” Hermione wondered.
“We’re at my family’s beach house on Crete. I had wanted to
do a nice little picnic somewhere, and had planned to do it somewhere locally, but
as you know, the weather failed to cooperate. Thus, this was my next option,”
he explained with a shrug.
Hermione had turned to see the “beach house” that Draco had
referenced. It wasn’t like any beach house she’d ever seen, with its tall
columns and three stories. The building had to be easily ten or twelve thousand
square feet, and it was as majestic as it was large.
“We won’t be going inside, at least for now. I thought we’d
walk along the beach for a bit, and then have dinner at the shoreline. I have
some blankets and cushions that we can use to be comfortable.” Draco waved a
hand to indicate the direction to the marble steps that led to the sand.
When they reached the bottom, Draco paused for a moment and
reached down to slip off his sandals. “Nothing better than the feel of sand
between your toes,” he opined. “Feel free to take yours off, if you wish. The
sand is pristine here.” He took another few seconds to roll up the bottom of
his trousers to mid-calf. “Just in case,” he added with a shrug and grin.
Hermione smiled and removed her own sandals, thinking how
utterly odd it was to see Draco Malfoy doing something as thoroughly normal as
walking barefoot in the sand. “May I ask you a really odd question?”
“Of course; that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Getting to
know each other?”
She felt her cheeks flush a little, but decided to dive in
with her observation and its inherent query. “You are so fair-skinned that it’s
just… unexpected to find you enjoying a beach. Is this something you do…often?”
He laughed heartily at both her observation and that she
thought to question how he kept his complexion. “It’s entirely true that I have
ridiculously pale skin, but I do love the beach. I have to take careful
precautions when I’m here, or my skin burns horribly. I use a shielding spell
to prevent that. It’s pretty strong, so I can spend several hours in the sun
without getting even a little pink. When I was little, I made that mistake a
couple of times and suffered the consequences. After that, Mum would use the
spell on me until I was old enough to cast it for myself. Mystery solved,” he
concluded.
“And to answer your specific question, I used to come here
nearly every weekend in the winter, just to get away from our cold, rainy
weather. In the summer, it’s a little less often, but with a fair amount of
regularity. The last year or so, I haven’t been here as often, mostly because
of… well, you know about my difficulties.
“Besides,” he added, “the sun will be going down in about
ninety minutes, so I don’t think we need to worry about sunburn.”
“Quite true,” she acknowledged. “That’s another unusual
thing that makes our experience of the wizarding world a little different. I’d
have never thought of using a shielding charm to protect my skin from the sun.
I’ve always just used Muggle sun-block creams.” She paused for a moment,
considering whether she had the guts to make the request. What the hell; why
not? “Would you be willing to teach me?”
“Of course. It’s just a simple
variation on the usual charm you’d use for self-defense. It’s longer-lasting
and sits right against your skin rather than forming a broad perimeter around
your body. I’ll cast one on you now and show you how to modify it for other
things, too.” He plucked his wand from his trouser pocket and waved it over her
head, speaking the accompanying spell and demonstrating the appropriate flick
variation by casting it on himself as well.
“Like what?”
“As a bug repellent. Can’t stand
stinging and biting things,” he commented with a shudder.
“That’s darned handy. I wonder why some of my pureblood
friends didn’t know about it,” she mused.
“I’d guess that they do, but it’s just such an everyday
thing that they didn’t think to mention it. Remind me later, and I’ll walk
through the other modifications. For now, though, our dinner awaits.” Draco
gestured broadly to indicate the direction they should walk.
While they strolled toward the shore, Draco pointed out
various features of the property and distant land masses, keeping up a
pleasant, if somewhat impersonal, narrative. Hermione responded with
appropriate noises of appreciation and interest. When they were about thirty
yards from the water, Draco waved his wand and muttered a few words. A large,
multi-colored quilt appeared on the sand, stacked with big, squishy cushions
and smaller pillows. The wicker basket in the center undoubtedly held their
dinner.
“Shall we?” he invited, handing Hermione an extra pillow as
she settled onto the cotton surface. He opened the basket, which contained
plates, wine glasses and utensils along with the temperature-charmed food. “I
hope you like Greek cuisine. I ordered this from one of our favorite local
restaurants, and they’re usually quite good.”
“I love Greek food, and if there’s even a hint of baklava in
that basket, we can be friends for the next sixty years or so,” Hermione
promised with a laugh.
Draco smiled as he uncorked a lovely bottle of white wine.
“This isn’t quite the quality of the Cheval Blanc we had last week, but it’s
quite tasty.” He poured a glass for her, then for himself. “To another step in
the thawing of Gryffindor-Slytherin relations,” he toasted, touching his glass
to hers. They both took a sip and savored the bright, clean Pinot Grigio. “And just to put your mind at ease, baklava is
definitely on the menu.”
He pulled out each of the serving platters and encouraged
Hermione to fill her plate. She selected a sample of each item, including a
small piece of the roasted chicken; the rich aroma of garlic and oregano
promised an authentic Greek experience with even that simple dish. Draco
followed her example and peered into the basket before taking a single bite.
“What?” Hermione wondered when she saw his broad grin.
“They included a bottle of ouzo and a carafe of espresso,”
he informed her.
“As much as I enjoy Greek food, I must confess that I’ve
never tried ouzo. Is it strong?”
“Very,” he confirmed. “It’ll knock you on your arse if
you’re not careful.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll need to be extremely cautious. I’m a
well-known lightweight when it comes to drinking. Wine is one thing; strong
alcohol is quite another.”
“Is that why you weren’t drinking Firewhisky when everyone
else was?” Draco wondered.
“Yes and no. I’ve never really developed a taste for
Firewhisky, but the few occasions that I’ve had it, I was most certainly well
on my way to pissed after just a drink or two. Now, I steer clear at every
opportunity,” she confessed.
“I promise I won’t let you get pissed, but I do hope you’ll
at least try a taste. Just so that you can say you’ve had the entire Greek
experience, you understand,” he cajoled, a smirk playing on his lips.
“In such an idyllic setting, I’ll make every effort to
become fully immersed,” she teased. “As long as you keep your promise to feed
me baklava before the evening is done, of course.”
“You have my most solemn oath,” he allowed, placing a hand
over his heart to convey his sincerity amidst their banter.
Over the next hour, they ate heartily and drank moderately
while continuing the process they’d begun a week earlier. Both would admit to friends
later that it’s an odd thing to get to know someone with whom you’ve been
acquainted for many years, and odder still when your preconceived notions of
that person turn out to be dramatically different from the reality of their
character and personality.
Hermione was pleasantly surprised at Draco’s never-ending
wit and chivalrous behavior and Draco was stunned by Hermione’s
lightheartedness and easy give and take. Their decades-old experience of each
other had left very different impressions than the truths they were now
uncovering. They both continued to find common interests, and where they had
differences, found the debate over them exhilarating. Their well-matched
intelligence allowed for arguments to be presented without anger, and points of
view to be expressed with as much passion as evidence.
Draco would have been content to lounge on the quilt for
many hours but noted that the ocean breeze had picked up in intensity,
demonstrated by the occasional shiver from his companion. “Shall we walk a bit,
then maybe go inside to finish our dessert?” Draco
suggested.
Hermione nodded readily. “That sounds like a great idea.”
She was helped to her feet by the gentle tug from Draco’s outstretched hand.
“Thanks,” she said, feeling a bit of surprise but no disappointment
when he failed to relinquish his grasp.
“Juji will bring the rest of our
things up to the patio,” he noted when she glanced back at the wicker basket
containing their baklava and espresso. They’d yet to sample the ouzo, too.
The trek back to the patio took about ten minutes, and the
on-shore breeze picking up further gave Draco an excuse to do what he’d been
tempted to do for what felt like weeks. He draped his arm around her shoulders
and tugged her closer. “You must be freezing; the temperature seems to have
dropped twenty degrees,” he noted.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” she replied. When Draco interpreted
her comment as a mild rebuke for his physical proximity and began to shift
away, she grabbed the hand that rested near her collarbone. “Now,” she amended,
looking at him with a teasing grin.
He relaxed again and they continued their trip along the
sand. “Would you rather come inside for a quick tour, or have dessert on the
patio?” he offered. “If you’d like, I could cast a warming charm around us.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to see the house,”
she said, adding, “and I could do with a visit to the ladies’ room.”
“Absolutely. I’ll get everything
set up in the sitting room, then.” He guided her to one of the property’s six
powder rooms and gave her brief directions. “When you’re done, take a left out
of the door, and it’s the third door on the right.”
“Perfect. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Draco left her to her own devices while he went to check on
the arrangements down the hall. Finding that Juji’s
ever-efficient service had met his requirements, he settled onto the loveseat
and stretched his legs to wait for Hermione’s return.
Just moments later, she appeared in the doorway, and he rose
to greet her. “I see you found your way without a problem,” he kidded her.
“Due only to your impeccable directions, and of course, the
desperately short distance between points A and B,” she responded.
He smiled and waved his hand toward the loveseat on which
he’d been relaxing. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll pour us some ouzo.”
“Just a tiny bit,” she cautioned. “I don’t want to fall flat
on my arse.”
“Well, if you did, I promise I’d catch you before your
cheeks hit the floor,” Draco retorted, his tone oddly serious.
She couldn’t help it, no matter how hard she bit the inside
of her cheek or struggled to keep her lips pressed tightly together. Her eyes
started to water first, and for a moment, Draco’s face wore a horrified mien
that hinted at his fear that he had somehow offended her. Barely a second
later, a roar of laughter escaped from her and she was nearly apoplectic with
it in just the blink of an eye. Her mirth was so complete and so contagious
that he had no choice but to join her in it, although not understanding at all
why she’d found his comment so hilarious. Clearly, though, she had. The tears
streaming down her face while great guffaws shook her shoulders were ample
evidence. Draco flushed a bit, hoping against all odds that she wasn’t really
laughing at him, but maybe over him. Her breath shuddered a few times as
she tried to compose herself, and she reached into her ever-handy beaded bag
for the linen handkerchief she knew would be there.
She spoke as she dabbed at her cheeks, removing the evidence
of her fit of laughter. “Oh, Draco, I’m sorry, but that’s one of the most
priceless things I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
“It wasn’t that funny,” he grumbled lightly.
“Of course it wasn’t, you dolt. It was the delivery
that made it hilarious. You have the most dead-pan manner sometimes that it
makes your deliberate jokes even funnier. Or maybe it’s just all the wine we’ve
had tonight. Or maybe it just struck me. I’m sorry; I’ve made you
self-conscious and uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention, I promise,” she
babbled, trying to back-track on her mortifying, embarrassing display.
“Now I’ve humiliated myself,” she announced, her face turning a bright
shade of pink, bordering on fuchsia, and buried her face in her hands. When she
looked up a moment later, she saw Draco’s expression flitting between amusement
and… oh, Merlin, was that… ?
“You know, I’ve never thought much about what it would be
like to see you really let go, to just give in to whatever was happening in the
moment. I think that’s something I’d like to see more of,” he told her, his
voice husky and low. He reached over to flip a stray curl off her forehead.
“You’re quite beautiful when you laugh.”
That made her blush again, just when she’d thought she’d
regained control of her sensibilities. “Draco, no one would ever mistake me for
beautiful,” she retorted, sure that he’d been sipping some of the ouzo without
her.
“No,” he shook his head, “there’s no mistake at all. If you
remember the old adage, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If I’m the
beholder, I get to decide what’s beautiful to me. Right now, admittedly much to
my own surprise, that’s you. That probably would not have happened ten years
ago, but I’m learning that what’s beautiful to me has taken on many new
dimensions.”
“You know, I think we should stop all this nonsense talk
about beauty and focus on what’s really important,” she interrupted in an
attempt to deflect his attention from a topic that clearly made her
uncomfortable.
“And what might that be?” Draco wondered, with full
recognition of her thinly veiled premise.
“Dessert, of course. And that
sample of ouzo you promised, although I’m not so sure you haven’t already had
some,” she laughingly accused.
“If I’m drunk, it’s only on your loveliness,” he complimented,
sure that his comment would drag her back, however unwillingly, to their
previous topic.
She was no slouch in manipulating conversation, however.
“See? That just proves my point. You need a little food in your stomach to
counteract all the alcohol.”
“Between us, we’ve had one bottle of wine. That’s just
slightly more than two glasses each - over the course of about four hours, mind
you. I know you say you’re a lightweight, but that tiny amount of drink
wouldn’t even make my nose tingle, let alone affect my perception or reasoning.
I’m as sober as a Wizengamot Chief Warlock,” he professed.
“In the interest of accommodating your ravenous sweet tooth,
I will drop all talk of beauty, loveliness, and attraction in favor of serving
the most heavenly baklava you’ve ever eaten. And I promise, only one shot of
ouzo for each of us, unless of course, you request more.”
“Agreed!” she exclaimed, happy that the
conversation would move to new territory. That didn’t mean that what
he’d said would be quickly forgotten, and Hermione was now very aware of how
often and how intently Draco’s gaze rested upon her. Even more disconcerting
and confusing was the deep attention he paid to everything she said.
He served her a generous piece of the flaky, honey-drenched
dessert on a small porcelain plate and poured a shot of the ouzo for her to
try. Taking the same servings for himself, Draco watched with rapt attention as
Hermione relished the sweet, sticky treat. It was clear to him that she hadn’t
been kidding when she’d professed her love of the delicacy, and he found it
strangely enthralling to watch her absolute delight. It made him wonder what
else could elicit such a dramatic reaction from her. It made him wonder what it
would take to get her to respond to him that way. The very thought made him
gulp heavily, particularly as he watched her lick sweet honey from her lips
while groaning happily. He had to bite back a moan of his own.
“Draco, this is easily the very best baklava I’ve ever
tasted,” she professed.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he replied, hoping that his
voice hadn’t sounded as strained and tense to her ears as it had to his own. He
was sure she couldn’t have failed to notice that he hadn’t been able to tear
his eyes from her face.
Hermione lifted the shot glass that Draco had filled with
the ouzo and sniffed at it experimentally. The anise aroma was certainly
pleasant, but it also foretold of an extremely high concentration of alcohol.
She met his forceful gaze, and wondered what he seemed to find so fascinating
in watching her.
Draco lifted his own glass and saluted her with it. “Down in
one, Hermione, if you want the full experience,” he cajoled. “It’ll burn more
if you sip at it.”
She gave him a dubious glance, but shrugged in acceptance
and tossed her head back while swallowing in one go.
“Wow,” she gasped once she regained her breath.
He chuckled at her reaction. “Good ‘wow’ or horrified
‘wow’?”
“Uh, still deciding, I think,” she replied with a laugh.
He lifted the bottle in offering. “Do you need another one
to be sure?” He knew his grin held nothing but mischief and hoped that she
would take it as a sign of his attraction and interest.
“I really shouldn’t,” she hedged, but her body language and
eye contact told him that she would.
“Aw, come on. Live a little,” he needled, knowing her answer
already.
“Well, okay,” she finally agreed aloud, “but only because I
don’t have to be home early.”
“Or at all,” he muttered under his breath, surprising
himself with the thought. Seeing her behaving with such a sense of fun and
freedom had upped the ante on his rapidly growing enthrallment for the
Muggle-born witch.
It seemed that two things were true. First, he hadn’t spoken
quite as quietly as he’d thought. Second, Hermione Granger’s hearing was
remarkably acute. She lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you coming on to me,
Draco?” she challenged, though she sounded anything but angry.
“Uh, I guess my answer to that depends on one thing,” he
stalled.
“And what would that be?” she questioned while accepting the
refilled glass of ouzo from his outstretched hand.
“On which answer gets me a slap across the face and which
one allows me to steal a kiss,” he replied, broadening his smile and reaching
for her free hand. “I never thought that I could be so attracted to you,” Draco
added.
“That’s hardly surprising, Draco,” she scoffed. “After all,
the last time we saw each other prior to last week, you were still calling me
‘Mudblood.’”
He flushed with embarrassment and dismay, and shook his head
in denial. “No, no,” he protested. “That came out all wrong. I didn’t mean it
that way at all.”
“What did you mean, then? I’ve never known you to be
inarticulate, even in your insults.” She was enjoying teasing him in his mild
discomfort.
“That’s the point, Hermione,” he professed. “You’ve got me
all tongue-tied. I feel like I’m a fifth-year all over again when I’m with
you.”
“I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or horrified by
that,” Hermione replied with a wry grin.
Draco sighed and took a moment to ostensibly inspect the
pattern in the area rug while re-composing what he’d really wanted to say to
her. “What I meant is that I’ve never been attracted to anyone the way
I’ve been drawn to you, and so quickly, too. It’s been rather overwhelming, and
unexpected in that I never knew that I could feel this way, period. It’s
exciting and terrifying all at once, and I’m not sure how to process the whole
thing.”
“Oh,” she whispered, swallowing heavily as she heard his
confession, finding it more of a revelation than she’d expected to hear.
He looked at her with a mixture of hope and fear, wondering
whether he’d have been better off keeping his mouth shut entirely. Her reaction
hadn’t been unmitigated delight, but nor had it been appalled disgust, as far as
he could tell. In fact, it hadn’t been anything remotely identifiable.
“Uh,” he started in an uncomfortable stammer. “It’s okay; I
don’t expect you to…”
She stopped him with a finger pressed against his mouth and
a shake of her head. “Don’t say anything, please. I just need to allow that to
sink in for a minute. It’s… unexpected and flattering and sweet and surprising.
Yes, definitely surprising.” The way she closed her eyes for a moment hinted
at… relishment.
Draco relaxed just a little; at least she hadn’t told him
that his admission was unwelcome.
She dropped her finger away, dragging it slightly against
his lower lip; she noticed his eyes darkening and the tiniest shudder in
reaction. She concluded that his response was not easily feigned. He’d been telling
the truth.
Hermione appeared to be seriously deliberating her own
response. She’d had a really great time -better than she’d dared to hope – but
she wasn’t sure if she was ready to fully leap into a physical relationship
with the man who’d been one of the greatest rivals of her school years, no
matter how much he seemed to have grown and how charming he’d been in the bare
handful of encounters they’d had. If she was honest with herself, she wouldn’t
deny that she felt a strong attraction to the tall blond, one that certainly
seemed worth further exploration. She knocked back the ouzo while keeping eye
contact with the handsome wizard.
“Let’s say that I’m… not displeased with your declaration.
And in the interest of truthfulness and progress, let’s assume that I…
reciprocate your feelings. That being true, where would that leave us,
hypothetically speaking?” she hedged, keeping him on a tether for just a little
bit longer.
He leaned forward, surprising her only slightly. “Well, for
one thing, it would lead us here,” he whispered into her ear, nuzzling the
shell with the tip of his nose. He traced tiny kisses from her earlobe, along
her jaw-line to her chin, then gently captured her bottom lip between his own,
tasting the slightly sticky sweetness left over from the traditional Greek
treat.
Hermione wasn’t really surprised; he’d been giving
subtle signals about his attraction to her all evening. Her problem, as always,
was that her brain didn’t necessarily want to get into the same gear as the
rest of her. She’d always suffered from over-thinking,
and a bit of self-doubt about her own appeal to the opposite sex, and this
moment was no exception. Does he like me for who I am, or for what I can
give him? Is his interest in me genuine? Why would he want me that way? Those
thoughts swirled and buffeted her, elevating her doubt to a level approaching
panic. That was until Draco moved closer, and she got all the confirmation she
needed of his magnetism to her. The hard length that pressed against her hip as
he tried to get closer to her was remarkably irrefutable evidence. Shut up,
Hermione, she scolded her brain. Go with it, you fool!
And she did, for many minutes.
Draco knew he’d been slightly… eager when he’d decided to kiss
Hermione, and the long period of abstinence had taken its toll. He fought with
every ounce of strength to hold back; he would not humiliate himself by
dry-humping the woman. Getting close to her, however, was an imperative. If
there was incidental contact, well, he could hardly help that. Yeah, like I
even buy that myself, he mentally chided. He was feeling something akin to
desperation, but he would not push this until she made it clear she wanted to
head in the same direction. That hadn’t happened, yet.
Her signals, however, had been growing increasingly warm.
She hadn’t shoved him away at the first press of his lips against hers; in
fact, she’d been pleasantly yielding and delightfully participative in their
first full snog, once she’d made it past her obvious initial confusion over how
forward he’d been. Now, she was giving as good as he was, and their lips found
happy, enthusiastic joining with necks, earlobes, jaw-lines, and – in his
boldest move yet – collar bones, while two pairs of hands roamed shoulders,
ribs, backs, and arms. Somehow, Draco had freed her hair from its tight French
braid and had buried one hand in her soft, luxurious curls. Merlin, she
smells like heaven and tastes like paradise, he thought, and groaned aloud
with the thought. That seemed to bring Hermione back to earth just a bit and
Draco felt her draw away slightly.
“Sorry,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair in equal
amounts of embarrassment and frustration.
She peered at him, eyes as heavy-lidded as
his own. “No need, Draco. I, uh, have, um, enjoyed this quite a lot,”
she offered.
“But?” he asked, reading her unspoken protest.
“It’s not that I’m not interested – far from that, actually
– I just…” she trailed off, not knowing how to tell him that she was, frankly,
scared of how quickly they had reached this point.
He raised a hand. “I get it. Too fast.
That’s fine, Hermione, seriously. I’m not looking for a hot
shag here; I think we could have something real between us and I’d rather not
risk that. We’ll get there if and when we’re both ready for it.”
She sighed, but neither of them could be sure whether it was
in relief or disappointment. “Thank you, Draco. I think we will, but tonight is
just… too soon.”
He nodded and smiled genuinely. “Shall I escort you home,
then?”
When he saw indecision and the slightest hint of
disappointment cross her features, he offered another alternative. “Or, if you
prefer, we can stay here tonight – in separate rooms – and wake up to a
wonderful brunch on the beach tomorrow.”
Her lips twisted for a bare second of indecision until she
spoke suddenly. “Can we have real feta cheese Greek omelets for breakfast?”
“Your wish is my command.” Draco laughed, offering his arm
to guide her to the room that had been prepared for overnight guests “just in
case.”
When he opened the beautiful white and green boudoir for her
inspection, she gasped in delight at the lovely space that overlooked the
ocean. “I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable here,” she noted with a mischievous
grin.
“If you’re not, you are more than welcome to join me in my
room, right next door,” he offered suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows to
indicate that he was teasing - mostly. “Good night, Hermione.” He leaned down
to kiss her once more, leaving both of them breathless. When they finally
parted, he waited until she closed the door to make his way toward his own
accommodations. He could have sworn that he heard something from the other side
of the door, though. It sounded a little like “Wow.” He laughed joyously and
began to prepare for bed, and for what he knew would likely be a restless night
(unless, of course, he decided to take matters into his own hands, he thought,
mentally excusing himself with his Healer’s standing orders). This could be…
Wow, indeed.
While AFF and its agents attempt to remove all illegal works from the site as quickly and thoroughly as possible, there is always the possibility that some submissions may be overlooked or dismissed in error. The AFF system includes a rigorous and complex abuse control system in order to prevent improper use of the AFF service, and we hope that its deployment indicates a good-faith effort to eliminate any illegal material on the site in a fair and unbiased manner. This abuse control system is run in accordance with the strict guidelines specified above.
All works displayed here, whether pictorial or literary, are the property of their owners and not Adult-FanFiction.org. Opinions stated in profiles of users may not reflect the opinions or views of Adult-FanFiction.org or any of its owners, agents, or related entities.
Website Domain ©2002-2017 by Apollo. PHP scripting, CSS style sheets, Database layout & Original artwork ©2005-2017 C. Kennington. Restructured Database & Forum skins ©2007-2017 J. Salva. Images, coding, and any other potentially liftable content may not be used without express written permission from their respective creator(s). Thank you for visiting!
Powered by Fiction Portal 2.0
Modifications © Manta2g, DemonGoddess
Site Owner - Apollo