Social Mathematics
Post-Hogwarts: Draco finds himself stuck in a loveless marriage, but fate gives him a last chance at happiness when an 'unforgettable' walks back into his life disguised as an old arch-enemy. DM/HG
Chapter One: Naked Wives and Black Heels.
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Sunlight escaped the heavy brocade drapes to dash across a rumpled pile of silk sheets, which lay discarded on the floor of the master bedroom. An early-morning groan emitted from the en-suite as the Master of the house tiredly re-entered the bedroom, toweling his hair with a lazy hand. It was far too early to be awake on a Sunday morning, Draco thought as he added the towel to the pile of sheet.
Without warning, a magnificently half-naked woman trudged into the room, a scowl on her face. Draco paid her no heed and disappeared into his wardrobe, dressing slowly. She followed, still scowling.
"Draco, did you hear me?" she snapped, her voice drilling into Draco's skull. It truly was too early in the morning to be awake.
"Actually no, Pansy," Draco muttered, "I didn't hear you, I have cemented my ears closed at the hope that your voice wouldn't break through, but alas, it seems not to be working." Draco skirted his still-naked wife to grab his work-robe. It made on affect on him that she was naked; the sight of her normally irresistible physique no longer aroused him in the slightest. He wasn't the foolish boy he had once been.
"The girls and I are going to Diagon for the day; may I have the cheque book?" Pansy demanded, her hand outstretched for it.
Over my dead body, Draco thought viciously, though he wouldn't put it passed the conniving beat before him. Instead he replied, "I have you five-hundred galleons last week, what happened to that?"
Pansy pouted, knowing she would have to work harder to get his cash this time. "Francine's party last Friday, I had to buy new dress robes."
"For five-hundred galleons?" Draco demanded, leaving his shoe half-tied as he rounded on her, his expression menacing.
Pansy retreated slightly at the look. "It was on sale."
"Sale?" Draco raged, stepping towards her, eyes narrowing.
Pansy dropped her hands indignantly to her sides, realising her hopes were lost now. But Draco didn't stop; he took another step towards her. This time grabbing her by the arm, tightly, he steered her to the door of the wardrobe, glaring down at her he fished into his pockets he pulled out a small cloth bag of galleons.
"Here! Take this, and get out of my sight. I'm not made of money, Pansy. We're not having this discussion every week. This is all you may have until I choose to give you more. If that doesn't satisfy you, you could always consider earning your own money.
Tears welled in her eyes as she accepted the money. "You never used to be like this, Draco," she murmured quietly as she left the room. "You used to be so good at giving."
"And you've always been good at taking," Draco called after her, going back to his shoes. A string of vulgar words that Draco wouldn't think any woman should know came as the reply.
Rubbing his face tiredly, searching for patience, Draco grabbed his briefcase and left the bedroom, hoping the rest of his day went better than his morning had.
--
Apparation always gave what Draco considered to be the beginning of headaches. But it was either apparate into work, or go through the mind-numbing and insanely difficult task of catching muggle transport on an early Sunday morning, not that he though it advisable on any given morning. So apparation it was.
Standing in the underground Atrium of the London based Ministry for Magic, Draco stared, perplexed, into the centre fixture of the complex; a large fountain. In fact, he was so lost to his surroundings that he didn't even hear the sound of expensive high heels clicking on the Atrium's polished tiles. It wasn't until the owner on these heels tapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him into the fountain, did he realise he had company.
Blushed red, he looked down into the face of someone he had thought he would never see again. This too caused him to take a few steps backwards, which then naturally dumped him unceremoniously into the enormous fountain.
Giggling softly, Hermione Granger offered Draco a hand. "Alright there, Malfoy?" she asked, pulling him to his feet with a little difficulty; the man was much larger than herself.
Draco blinked rapidly, not knowing if she were real. Then, embarrassingly enough, he actually asked her outright. "Are you real?" Pulling his wand from his pocket he charmed his robes dry.
Granger giggled again at his question. "Did you take a knock to the head, Malfoy?" she asked, covering her mouth in a rather ladylike fashion. "Should I call St. Mungo's?"
She had to be real, Draco thought, she had helped him out of the fountain, could a mirage to that?
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked. He wasn't sure how to go about this. The last time he had seen Granger was on her death bed, or at least what he had thought to be her death bed. Sure, he hadn't seen her die, but he had assumed her so far gone that she had to have died. Now, eleven years down the track, a perfectly healthy woman of thirty stood before him, giggling softly at his own stupidity.
"Well, if you must know, Malfoy, and I take it you must. I'm here for work," she told him casually, as if she talked to an old school chum, not the man who had made her life a living hell for the seven of her adolescent years.
"At the ministry?" Draco asked stupidly.
"No, at Zonko's," Granger mocked sarcastically, smiling the whole while. "Of course, the Ministry."
"Who hired you?" Draco asked, knowing it was none of his business.
"Boy, you're just full of questions today," Granger smiled, checking her watch. "Oh, look. I'm going to be late. See you 'round, Malfoy. Don't go ferreting around on me," she joked, jogging to catch the elevator as a co-worker held it open at her request.
Draco stared, dumb-founded. Not sure if the whole scene had actually taken place, or if he had simply imagined it. He didn't move an inch until Granger's smiling face disappeared below the Atrium floor.
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To be continued…