Pickup Lines
Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me

Summary: Every Sunday morning at the Three Broomsticks, when Hermione drinks her hot chocolate and catches up on the latest issues, a persistent blond man would always interrupt her routine by doing embarrassing things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of meetings/interruptions. Dramione.

*Pickup Lines*

Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men. ~Joseph Conrad.

"Miss?"

Hermione put down her steaming cup of hot chocolate and looked up from her copy of the Wizarding Gazette, which was, according to the paper-boy, "fresh off the press". She had been pursuing the latest news concerning the signing of the Treaty of Peace (note the imaginative name) between the centaurs in Scotland and the Wizarding population. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had said he was "pleased to see this new development, and [he] has high hopes for further treaties between different species in the future."

Anyway, back to the source of interruption of Hermione's weekly routine…

"Yes?" She asked politely, twisting around in her seat to regard the blond man, who was currently leaning over the booth top separating them to speak to her. "How may I help you?"

The man looked apologetic. "I'm so sorry to trouble you, but I was wondering…" He paused, as if searching for the right phrase in his mind. Meanwhile, Hermione waited impatiently for his request, mentally tapping her foot and screaming, "Hurry up, for heaven's sake!" in all the ways she could think of.

"– A Sickle?" The man's deep voice broke into Hermione's silent tirade, stirring her from her thoughts. She blinked at the man, wondering if she had missed anything. Scratch that, she knew she had missed something; she just didn't know what.

"A Sickle?" Hermione repeated stupidly, and then got the urge to smack herself for acting like an idiot. "Come on, Hermione! You're the cleverest witch of your age, so start acting like it!" she reprimanded herself sternly, gritting her teeth.

"Yes. I need to borrow a Sickle," the man supplied helpfully, exaggerating each syllable and making Hermione feel like she was in nursery school all over again. Despite this feeling, however, she managed to look indifferent.

"Really? And why do you need a Sickle?" She raised an eyebrow – a wordless challenge to the man.

"Well, it's quite simple, actually," he said airily, flashing a cocky smirk at the brunette. "I just want to Floo my mother to tell her I just met the girl of my dreams…" He ended this with a saucy wink and his trademark smirk.

Hermione's lips were pressed into a thin line, almost thin enough to rival her former Head of House. "Really?" She got up from her seat, directing her famous death glare at the blonde, whose smirk faltered slightly; the Gryffindor's reputation had preceded her. In response to her question, he just gulped. Hermione could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"To tell you the truth, I know you're lying. You know why?" She didn't pause long enough for him to answer before rushing on. "'Cause you're a Malfoy." She spat his last name like it was an insult, oblivious to the wince that crossed his features.

"And you know what Malfoys always do?" Hermione narrowed her eyes spitefully, her hand rendering the newspaper crumpled beyond repair. "They always carry their wallets with them when they leave their house. Oh wait; it's a mansion, isn't it? So why would you be asking me, a lowly Mudblood, to lend you a Sickle? Huh?"

She stopped her rant, breathing heavily as she eyed Draco, her emotions now hidden underneath a deathly calm façade. He stared back at her, his face blank like hers. It seemed a decade because the silence was broken.

"I stopped thinking you were a Mudblood ages ago," he whispered, barely noticing the curious eyes of the other customers in the pub. "Since seventh year."

Hermione stared at him quietly, stunned, before snapping into action. "Excuse me," she choked out, hands fumbling blindly for the Wizarding Gazette, which she had dropped somewhere in her rant,and her no longer steaming cup of hot chocolate. "I – I have to go."

She practically flew out of the Three Broomsticks with her belongings clutched in her hands, leaving the grey-eyed blonde staring at the fast-disappearing silhouette, a wistful expression on his face.

"Young love," the old woman sitting in a dark corner of the pub warbled, her hand shaking as she held her walking stick like a lifeline. Her eyes were a dull green, fooling people into believing she was nothing more than a lifeless shell of a person; but that certainly wasn't true, for this old woman sees just as well as we do… And perhaps even better.

"Young love…"

A/N: And so Hermione runs out, confused, leaving Draco behind. Ooh, and there's also an old woman who, perhaps, sees even better than we do. Who wants to have a guess at who she is or what part she would play in this story? Or she just might be a one-time OC; who knows? (shrugs mysteriously)

By the way, yes, I am aware than this is shorter than my usual chapter. However, this is also one of my favourite stories… Written by me, of course. :D Also, I have a very, very, very important question for you all. So, to catch your attention, I will use bold and capital letters to emphasize the importance of this:

DO YOU THINK THIS SHOULD BE A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC, OR SHOULD IT SIMPLY REMAIN A ONE-SHOT?

Hehe… That should've got your attention. So, until I get enough reviews to tip the balance for either of the options, this story will remain under the category "In Progress". So, entertain me till then by doing these… REVIEW, FAVOURITE, ALERT AND READ! Whoops… You are already reading this. Forgive my mistakes, both grammar-wise and logical-wise… :D

Cheers,

Bianca tabbycat

P.S. Funnily enough, I got inspiration for this story as I was walking to school. I guess school is useful sometimes, huh?