Title: Countries of the world
Summary: Hermione meets Malfoy in a little wooded vale.
*
Harry goes into the trees about five minutes before Malfoy goes in, and they stay about fifteen minutes, a little more, actually. When he comes out, Harry's got the hood on his school cloak pulled up, but Hermione recognizes him by the gait and the shoulders.
It starts to rain a few minutes after that, so Hermione casts
_Hydroimpervia_ on herself and the water rolls off her as she waits behind a clump of lilacs in bloom that are just starting to smell when Malfoy comes out of the little wooded glen about five, ten minutes after Harry leaves. When he does, Hermione's surprised how pale Malfoy is, and even more, how startlingly unattractive it is to be that close to white all over. Maybe it's the rain, but when she walks up to him, she sees that it's not just the pale skin and the white hair, but that even the pink underneath the fingernails seems somehow paler. No lips to speak of, really, a little smooth spot around his mouth, and then his skin's only a fraction pinker than the whites of his eyes.
It's pretty damned nasty, and he just looks even whiter in that dark blue cloak with red lining. Might as well be flag of the U-fucking-nited States of Ame--
Hermione gets a firm grip on her irritation. Stamps a little on it, throttles it with both hands. Damned if she's not going to let him win this one.
"Granger," Malfoy says, pulling on these black gloves. "Didn't think you were much of the field and country type."
Who the hell wears gloves in the rain? Fur-lined, leather gloves? And the fuck black leather goes with a cloak like that. Tacky little bastard -- just because you've got money doesn't mean you kno --
"It's raining right now," Hermione says, and before Malfoy can make any smart comments, she says, _Grue Ombrelle_ and taps her wand smartly against the inside of her wrist, carefully remembering to point the tip *away* from her because a handsome black umbrella shoots on the end of her wand. Pops open automatically, even.
With a slow smile, Draco actually turns his head her way , and for a brief moment, actually looks at her. Nasty pale eyes, he's got, and that strange fringe of almost-invisible lashes around them. Raindrops in them and on his cheeks too, some caught on the curve, some running down. Hair's absolutely plastered to his head with water, and that ridiculous clock of his doesn't even have a hood. What use is a cloak that doesn't have a hood?
"Thanks, but no," he says, saying each word very clearly, even raising his voice a little to be sure that she can hear him. "I've spent enough time rolling about today -- don't have the taste for mud, really. I don't think," Draco says, smiling again, this time with the nastiness clearly on the surface. "I don't think that Harry's got much of a taste for it either."
Draco puts his hands in his pockets and goes strolling up the road back up to Hogwarts, laughing at his little joke and whistling a little too.
Hermione though, stands there and listens to the thunder starting to roll in the distance, coming across the grass and the tops of the trees at the speed of sound. The rain dries up in the way it does before moment before the storm really hits, and Hermione laughs a little too and puts away the umbrella to cast _Hydroimpervia_ again.
*
Summary: Hermione meets Malfoy in a little wooded vale.
*
Harry goes into the trees about five minutes before Malfoy goes in, and they stay about fifteen minutes, a little more, actually. When he comes out, Harry's got the hood on his school cloak pulled up, but Hermione recognizes him by the gait and the shoulders.
It starts to rain a few minutes after that, so Hermione casts
_Hydroimpervia_ on herself and the water rolls off her as she waits behind a clump of lilacs in bloom that are just starting to smell when Malfoy comes out of the little wooded glen about five, ten minutes after Harry leaves. When he does, Hermione's surprised how pale Malfoy is, and even more, how startlingly unattractive it is to be that close to white all over. Maybe it's the rain, but when she walks up to him, she sees that it's not just the pale skin and the white hair, but that even the pink underneath the fingernails seems somehow paler. No lips to speak of, really, a little smooth spot around his mouth, and then his skin's only a fraction pinker than the whites of his eyes.
It's pretty damned nasty, and he just looks even whiter in that dark blue cloak with red lining. Might as well be flag of the U-fucking-nited States of Ame--
Hermione gets a firm grip on her irritation. Stamps a little on it, throttles it with both hands. Damned if she's not going to let him win this one.
"Granger," Malfoy says, pulling on these black gloves. "Didn't think you were much of the field and country type."
Who the hell wears gloves in the rain? Fur-lined, leather gloves? And the fuck black leather goes with a cloak like that. Tacky little bastard -- just because you've got money doesn't mean you kno --
"It's raining right now," Hermione says, and before Malfoy can make any smart comments, she says, _Grue Ombrelle_ and taps her wand smartly against the inside of her wrist, carefully remembering to point the tip *away* from her because a handsome black umbrella shoots on the end of her wand. Pops open automatically, even.
With a slow smile, Draco actually turns his head her way , and for a brief moment, actually looks at her. Nasty pale eyes, he's got, and that strange fringe of almost-invisible lashes around them. Raindrops in them and on his cheeks too, some caught on the curve, some running down. Hair's absolutely plastered to his head with water, and that ridiculous clock of his doesn't even have a hood. What use is a cloak that doesn't have a hood?
"Thanks, but no," he says, saying each word very clearly, even raising his voice a little to be sure that she can hear him. "I've spent enough time rolling about today -- don't have the taste for mud, really. I don't think," Draco says, smiling again, this time with the nastiness clearly on the surface. "I don't think that Harry's got much of a taste for it either."
Draco puts his hands in his pockets and goes strolling up the road back up to Hogwarts, laughing at his little joke and whistling a little too.
Hermione though, stands there and listens to the thunder starting to roll in the distance, coming across the grass and the tops of the trees at the speed of sound. The rain dries up in the way it does before moment before the storm really hits, and Hermione laughs a little too and puts away the umbrella to cast _Hydroimpervia_ again.
*