Hermione bounced her leg impatiently up and down, wishing she could get up and pace the restaurant a few times. Unfortunately, the other witches and wizards enjoying themselves at the fancy Menu de Montmorency looked as if they would frown fiercely upon anything that might distract them from their dinner partners' lips.
On the thought, Hermione frowned at her untouched water goblet. She was pretty sure that the restaurant staff had spiked each and every goblet with a love potion, probably in celebration of the restaurant's namesake: Laverne de Montmorency, the inventor of many of the love potions in existence today. Evidence of Hermione's theory could be seen in almost any direction: diners were either making goo-goo eyes at each other or seemed to be locked together at the lips.
A sudden pop brought Hermione's attention back up: was her date finally here? It certainly was taking him long enough! Hermione's friend at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (she hated that name!) had said to be here at 7:00; but then, Kalila had always been known to act a bit scrambled, especially in the middle of such an important case: fairies' rights to education. It wouldn't surprise Hermione if Kalila had forgotten to tell her mystery date when to show up… or to even set up the date at all.
As if in verification of this idea, Hermione raised her head to look futilely at the richly-clad house-elf twitching nervously beside her table. The sight of the creature filled her with pity; although her bid for elf rights had been a relative success, it hadn't accomplished much: house-elves were now free to seek jobs, but the effect had been for them to treat their bosses as they had their familial masters, so that whole clans of them were working for a single business for generations. It didn't help that they were still used to being subservient, either: business-owners were taking advantage of the house-elves' willingness to overwork for next to nothing, resulting in many restaurants like this one that currently employed house-elves as servers.
"Mist-mi-mistress would like t-to o-order s-s-something while she w-wai-waits?" the house-elf, name-tagged Pierre—although Hermione seriously doubted that was his original name—trickled out in his high-pitched voice. His arms were trembling at his sides, although Hermione wasn't sure if this was in readiness for an attack on her part or if it was to prevent himself from grabbing something to smash his head against.
Hermione took in the sight of the house-elf trembling before her in a rich, well-wrinkled tuxedo, and sighed. "No, thank you," she responded politely. "I think I'll wait a bit longer for my date to show up."
Pierre nodded his head furiously. "Y-Yes, m-m-mistress…" He edged one arm slightly closer to the sleeve of the other, his knobby fingers taking what felt like ages to reach in and draw forth what looked like a half-filled bottle of sapphire ink, a long stick with a couple of whispery splinters, and an old, crinkled, unused bit of parchment.
Hermione reached forward to take the items—whatever they really were—from Pierre's hands, but the house-elf panicked at this and promptly dropped all three objects before quickly Disapparating. However, the house-elf hadn't been gone for longer than three seconds before he reappeared, being held tightly in place by the hand of a haggard-looking witch.
"My apologies, Madame," the witch said pointedly, speaking more to Pierre than she was to Hermione. "Pierre here is a new employee; he is currently in training. Please forgive any further mistakes that he might make." The witch's blue eyes widened when they landed upon the ink, parchment, and what finally seemed to be a quill. She turned on Pierre quickly, pointing at the incriminating evidence with an anorexic arm. "Did you drop those there on the ground in the middle of my restaurant? What if someone had stepped on those and fallen? That bottle of ink could get broken, and then blue ink would be staining my expensive carpet! Pick those up imm—!"
"Those are mine," Hermione quickly broke out. "He was bringing them to me, and I dropped them when he handed them to me. So…" Hermione reached down and picked up the quill, ink, and parchment. "You can stop harassing your employee, now."
Blue eyes flashed. Hermione could tell that this witch was about two seconds away from pulling something physical, and she was scared that Pierre was going to be the victim.
Swiftly, Hermione continued. "After all, I would hate to go back to work tomorrow and have to report you to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for breaking the law prohibiting a business-owner from showing prejudice against a non-human employee."
The witch's breath caught, and for a second Hermione thought she was going to call her bluff; as much as Hermione wished there was one like it, that particular law was currently nonexistent. However, Hermione was hoping that this witch wouldn't know that.
Eventually, with her hand still on poor Pierre's shoulder, the witch nodded curtly before promptly Disapparating. Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair. It was some time before she realized that she was still holding on to the quill, ink, and parchment that she had picked up off of the floor. That was fine, though: Pierre was going to hand them to her, which meant that they were meant for her, anyway.
Hermione placed the chipped inkwell on the table after carefully uncapping it. She decided that she didn't need the stub of a quill after remembering that she had one in much better condition buried somewhere in the bottom of her purse. After fishing it out, she took the balled-up piece of parchment and spread it out carefully on the table. Across the top was written, Something excruciatingly unavoidable has come up, but I hope you can forgive me soon enough that we can get to know each other this way?
Something excruciatingly unavoidable has come up, but I hope you can forgive me soon enough that we can get to know each other this way?
You do realize that it's rude to stand up your date?
I apologized!
Did you? I didn't see the words "I'm sorry" once.
"I'm sorry" is not the only way to apologize. I said I hoped you'd forgive me.
Yes, well, forgive me for being careful, but the last time I ever heard of someone communicating with a piece of parchment like this, it… it turned out badly.
Oh? So then you are in the habit of communicating with parchment?
I am in the habit of writing on parchment, yes; it's having the parchment write back that slightly scares me.
And I'm guessing that you don't get scared often.
No! A lot of things scare me!
…
Like…?
Like… scary things.
I see. And what do these scary things consist of?
What are you, a psychologist?
No... Why, are you in need of psychological help?
Sometimes I think so.
Only sometimes?
You ARE a psychologist!
Assuming I was, would that affect your opinion of me?
Who are you?!
I thought I was a psychologist.
But that doesn't tell me anything about who you are.
You're right. You just assumed that I was a psychologist, even though for all you know I could be some pathetic Muggle-lover working in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.
My parents are Muggles.
…
Did that house-elf send the parchment to the wrong table? There is no way I could date a Muggle.
For your information, I'm a witch.
As is evidenced by your presence in a magical restaurant. And for your information, I don't date Mudbloods, either.
YOU EGOSTISTICAL, SELF-ASSURED, PREJUDICIAL, PURE-BLOOD—
And proud of it.
CANTANKEROUS, BIASED, FROOT LOOP! ARGH! THERE ARE NO WORDS TO DESCRIBE YOU! HOW DARE YOU?
And how dare you live in the magical world? How dare you dirty the purity of that magical establishment? I guess I was right when I decided not to show up in person!
I thought you said something "excruciatingly unavoidable" had come up?
I lied. I just hate dating.
THEN WHY BOTHER WITH A BLIND DATE??
Because my mother insists that I move out and provide an heir to the family fortune. If I had known that Kalila was going to set me up with some random Mudblood from her work, then I would have turned her down.
I never said I worked with her!
You didn't have to. Just look at your vocabulary: prejudicial? biased? Those are words that only a lawyer would use, and only a lawyer working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would ever get so upset over the mistreatment of Mudbloods.
Good-bye.
So long, Mudblood.
YOU ARROGANT, SPOILED, SON OF A BUBOTUBER!
I thought you were leaving?
HOW CAN YOU BE THIS CALLOUS? IT'S HORRIBLE! ARGH! YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'RE NOT HERE!
Really? What would you do if I was there?
I WOULD CURSE YOU INTO OBLIVION!
With what curse?
…
LIKE I'M REALLY GOING TO TELL YOU!
Hahaha. You really have no clue what you'd do to me, do you?
I'd do SOMETHING! One time at school this horrible boy was making fun of Muggle-borns, and I slapped him!
Ooh, you slapped him, did you? I'm so scared! Although… I know from experience that slaps can sometimes hurt…
Yeah, I'll bet you do…
Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking down at the woman's response. She was so quick to assume the worst about him! Although, Draco had to admit that it was more than a little stupid of him to tell a Mudblood that he harbored such a strong distaste for people like her. On the other hand, though, Draco thought, he had told her the truth right from the start; if this relationship were to deepen, this woman could never be able to argue that he was dishonest.
Of course, that was only if the relationship were to continue, Draco reminded himself out loud. Fortunately, he was alone in his bedroom, so there was no one around to question his sanity as he imagined the possibilities of such a relationship. Or so he thought.
"Draco!" Narcissa called reproachfully as she carefully opened her son's bedroom door. "Didn't you have some sort of date tonight? Why aren't you gone already?"
Draco looked sideways at his mother, his eyebrows lowering onto slit eyes while his smirk disappeared completely. "Mother, I thought I asked you never to come in here without asking permission first."
Stepping completely inside Draco's room, Narcissa slammed the door angrily behind her and reproached, "This is still my house, young man, and I don't care how far into the Dark Arts you have gotten: you are going to follow my rules."
"Mother," Draco pleaded, "I have just gotten out of Azkaban. Can't I have a reprieve from your stupid little rules for maybe a little while?"
"You got out a month ago, and don't talk back to me!" Narcissa snapped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, trying to force back a wave of guilt for not being able to protect her son from a ten-year sentence in one of the most hellish places on Earth. She stayed like this for a few moments, during which Draco decided that he did not want to stand through one of his mother's lengthy lectures about the importance of the family name.
Crack!
Hermione looked up, expecting yet again to see Pierre standing in his rich tuxedo with perhaps another odd gift from her decidedly disappointing date. Something in the back of her mind alerted her to the fact that the Pop! of Pierre's entrance did not match the Crack! of this new arrival's, but it wasn't until Hermione saw who was standing before her that she paid this bit of information any attention.
"Excuse me," drawled a deep, sarcastic voice, "but may I have the belated pleasure of joining you?"
While Draco Malfoy took his seat—without even waiting for Hermione to answer his sardonic remark—Hermione tried to figure out how she could have ever been set up on a blind date with this one man out of six billion people in the world—and that was only the number the Muggles knew about; who knew how many people there truly were in the world, when taking into account all of the non-human magical creatures along with every witch and wizard alive?
Malfoy picked up a menu and scanned it with bright blue eyes encased by deep circles, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Hermione noticed that he had gotten a lot thinner than he had been when she last saw him, and definitely a lot more pale. His hair was much longer, too, but it was still bleach-blonde and slicked back, only now the yellow length was contained in a band at the base of his skull, continuing downward to just below his shoulders. The look really did not compliment him very much; Hermione was tempted to sneak up on him from behind with a pair of scissors and give him a proper haircut.
Of course, that wasn't the only thing Hermione wanted to cut. His heart would be a good thing to tear out, as well, for everything he had done to her and her friends and the rest of the wizarding world, as well as some of the Muggle world. Of course, Malfoy's role in the Final War had been comparatively minor, which is probably why he had gotten off with only ten years in Azkaban—although Hermione was sure that a good part of the Malfoy fortune was also to blame for his short sentence.
Hermione noticed that a lot of the people in the restaurant had managed to remove themselves from their partners' lips, and realized that they were all staring at Malfoy, who had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. No, Hermione thought, they're not staring at Malfoy at all…
… They're staring at his boldly displayed Dark Mark.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione screeched, not caring if anyone heard her since Malfoy already held everyone's attention.
Malfoy sneered and turned the page to continue perusing the menu. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm dating a Mudblood."
Gasps spread throughout the room at the use of such a taboo word, and another Crack! announced the reappearance of the restaurant owner.
"I'm sorry," the witch said coldly to Malfoy's Dark Mark, "but I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."
Malfoy's sneer changed targets and even seemed to grow a bit. "What? Can't a kid have a tattoo?"
"You're twenty-seven, you dolt!" Hermione whispered hurriedly.
"Twenty-eight at last check, Granger. And isn't it the Muggles who say that life begins at forty?"
Hermione was too full of anger to even correct Malfoy. Instead, she reached out and grabbed his arm—aiming her snatch so that it perfectly hid that damned Dark Mark from view—to drag him out of the restaurant before he could cause any more emotional trauma to the people inside.
Unfortunately, Malfoy seemed to be a lot heavier than he let on, and had rooted himself to the carpeted floor with his rubber-soled shoes. "Now, now, Granger," he chided mockingly, "this is a nice restaurant and I will not have you making a ruckus."
"You're the one making the ruckus, you… you… you Death Eater!"
"Former Death Eater, Granger. The Final War is over."
Hermione screamed in frustration and, releasing Malfoy to do as he pleased, stomped her way out of the restaurant and out onto the street. For a moment she considered Apparating over to Ron's apartment—or better yet, Harry's—to vent about the night's events with someone who despised Malfoy with equal if not surpassing passion. Unfortunately, Hermione knew that Harry and Ron were both occupied tonight, and they would definitely not appreciate any intrusions: Ron was currently on his honeymoon at the North Pole, with his new wife Beula (they were due back in two days), while Harry was taking advantage of Ron's absence by spending as much "alone time" with Ginny as he could.
Stopping, Hermione thought that maybe she didn't want to interrupt her friends…
"Wait!"
Hermione turned and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy following her, looking rather odd running down a Muggle street in deep blue formal wizarding robes. The traditional French architecture of Menu de Montmorency seemed to have dimmed into the shadows behind Malfoy; Hermione was sure that any Muggle passersby would mistake the magical establishment for an empty alleyway.
"What is it?" Hermione called behind her, not caring whether any Muggles heard her. She hastened her pace as she continued, "Is that place too informal for a prestigious Pure-blood like you?"
Malfoy smirked as he ran closer. "After ten years in Azkaban, do you really think I care about the formalities of local restaurants?"
Hermione's chest heaved and she realized that she was now running, as well. Fortunately there were not many cars on the streets of this lonely corner of Muggle London—hence the restaurant's location there—so Hermione did not have to worry so much about getting run over by cars as much as she did running into the occasional pedestrian. She was also thankful that her long red robes slightly resembled an overly extravagant evening gown.
"Only ten years? I think a life sentence would be more appropriate!"
There was a loud crack, and Hermione found herself suddenly shoved against the brick wall of one of many identical condominiums, with Malfoy glaring down at her. His palms were flat against her shoulders, pushing Hermione harder against the building's rough exterior.
Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get the words out, Hermione interrupted: "Anything more and I'll scream bloody murder."
Something seemed to flash behind Malfoy's eyes for a second, frightening Hermione. She pushed herself further against the bricks supporting her to try and ground herself, but the effect was lost when Malfoy replied, softly but harshly, "Be careful what you wish for." Hermione trembled as his gaze shifted, taking in her entire appearance. "Or maybe you really do want something more, Granger?"
Hermione flinched instinctively, repulsed. She tried to swing an arm up to slap Malfoy, but he released one of her shoulders to nab her wrist. A scream rose in her throat, but it died when she saw the quick cringe on Malfoy's face that had come with the raising of her arm: Draco Malfoy, serial murderer and former Death Eater, was the same at twenty-eight as he had been at thirteen, when she had first smacked her palm against his face.
Still the same arrogant, selfish, whining little bully. But with better reflexes.
"You haven't changed a bit…" Hermione whispered, shocked to hear Malfoy chanting the exact same thing right along with her.
Malfoy, on the other hand, did not seem surprised at all; he continued, inclining his head towards Hermione's as the intensity in his voice rose: "Always the self-righteous, smart-mouthed, egotistical little Mudblood, Granger."
Hermione inhaled deeply, trying and failing to keep her temper from controlling her actions. Furious, she peeled herself off of the brick building to stand up straight, tilting her head back at almost a sixty degree angle just so she could look Malfoy in the eye. Now almost literally head-to-head with her oldest foe—although technically Malfoy was more Harry's foe than hers—Hermione responded strongly, "Get your hands off of me, you spoiled, power-hungry, conceited, greasy-haired, murdering son of a bubo—!"
"Excuse me," commanded an authoritative voice.
Hermione and Malfoy both turned: Hermione gave the police officer an apologetic grin, the epithet muffled in her throat, while Malfoy looked scathingly at the intrusive Muggle and exhaled slowly.
"Is everything alright over here?" the policeman asked through thin, chapped lips.
Malfoy took in a lungful of air with the obvious intention of putting the officer in what Malfoy felt was his place, but Hermione burst out quickly, "Yes, sir; everything's fine."
Malfoy bit his lip, a display of self-control that Hermione had never seen from him before. Of course, Hermione thought, he probably didn't know what was going on; she was sure that a Pure-blood Pride prick like Malfoy would never have seen a Muggle police officer before, and Hermione had to admit that Malfoy was smart enough to know that now would be a good time to keep quiet and let Hermione lead.
But… why was Hermione protecting him, anyway? If she really wanted Malfoy to go away, all it would take would be a few sobs and a quick lie, and Malfoy would be a taken away. He would, of course, be able to Disapparate, but he would have to wait until there were no Muggles around before he could do any magic.
Hermione sighed; she could never do that, even to Malfoy… especially to Malfoy, who, having a criminal record already, would definitely receive more of a punishment than a twenty Galleon fine for infringing on Muggle law. Considering Malfoy's status as a convicted serial murderer and former Death Eater, he would probably be sent straight back to Azkaban for at least a month. No, Hermione could never to that to anyone…
"Miss?" the police officer asked, his tone now one of genuine concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Hermione realized that Malfoy had relinquished his holds on her shoulder and wrist while she had been thinking; he was now looking at her impatiently, not in the least bit worried about her sanity.
"Miss?"
It would be so easy to just say "No, help me; he hurt me"; so easy to send Malfoy back to a place she had just minutes ago believed should be his cage for the rest of his life.
Malfoy nudged her arm with his elbow, since both of his hands were buried comfortably in the pockets of his robes. One eyebrow was slightly raised higher than the other, the two of them together casting one long shadow over two light blue eyes that looked expectantly down at her. "Granger," he pushed, "are you okay?"
"Yes," Hermione answered confidently, surprising Malfoy into raising his other eyebrow. "I'm fine."
Malfoy snorted, lowering his eyebrows—both of them—into their natural positions. "You could have fooled me."
Hermione promptly stomped on Malfoy's foot, causing the police officer to assert, "Alright, now, if you're both alright then I suggest you get back to whatever party you've come from."
Hermione blinked, but cried out when Malfoy retorted, "Look who's talking! What costume party are you headed to?"
"Malfoy!"
The police officer shifted his weight onto both feet, apparently having eased it all onto his left leg sometime while Hermione was thinking. He brought one hand to his waist; Hermione, thinking the officer was going for his gun, pulled her wand from the concealment of her pocket and held it at the ready.
"See here, Malfoy!" the officer protested, proudly flipping open his wallet to reveal a shiny gold badge. "I'm a real Muggle law enforcement officer!"
Malfoy let out a low chuckle. "Really, Macmillan? How did you end up doing that, after all of your annoying ambitions at Hogwarts?"
The memory of Ernie Macmillan, Hermione's Hufflepuff rival for the title of Class Know-It-All, floated to the surface of her mind, effectively rippling the image of the faceless police officer until Hermione finally saw the similarities. Sure enough, the police officer standing in front of her was Ernie Macmillan, all grown up.
Hermione cried out in surprise, "Ernie!"
Ernie gave Hermione a disbelieving look, commenting lightly, "I thought it was weird that you were taking me seriously, but I figured you were just joking around, so I decided to follow along… but you didn't recognize me?"
Hermione gave an embarrassed laugh, letting Malfoy answer for her: "Apparently not, and you still have yet to answer my question."
Laughing, Ernie explained that he was actually working for the Ministry: he was in Muggle Relations, working "undercover" to make sure that none of the Muggle crimes turned out to be magic-related, and pretty much acting as the Ministry's eyes and ears in the Muggle world. If a (small) crime was magic-related, Ernie could also apparently do damage control.
Hermione listened to Ernie's stories about petty pranksters pulling minor stunts on poor Muggles, but occasionally her eyes would drift over to watch Malfoy laugh or inquire about a particularly interesting incident. Ten years in Azkaban had to have been tough, she thought. She doubted he could make it through such torture without changing at all.
"Well, Macmillan," Malfoy sighed, a note of finality in his voice hinting at the approaching end of the conversation. "Something excruciatingly unavoidable has come up."
Hermione looked sharply up at Malfoy, wondering what he was up to. Why was he making such an obvious reference to their earlier conversation? It was almost as if he was talking more to Hermione than he was to Ernie.
"I had a date earlier this evening, but I was lazy, so I sent her a bit of parchment bewitched with the Defero Charm so I could go out with her without actually having to… go out with her."
"Uh-huh," Ernie nodded, a mixture of confusion and shock written on his face. His grey eyes flitted nervously from Malfoy to Hermione and back again. "That makes perfect sense…"
Malfoy shrugged. "It did at the time. But now I'm thinking that I might have been a bit rash. After all," Malfoy added, fixing his amused gaze on Hermione, "she was willing to 'save' me from a former classmate… Ernie Macmillan of all people, too…"
Unsure of where the conversation was going, and quite aware that Malfoy wasn't really talking to him at all, Ernie made what he hoped was a noise of assent.
"So I figure… my honor is slighted. I had to be rescued from one of the most harmless students to ever attend Hogwarts—"
"I am not harmless!"
"—so, in order to get my honor back from this rather protective witch, I figure I should at least follow through with the date I was supposed to go on in the first place."
Hermione stared. Her insides felt as if they had frozen solid while her skin felt like it was melting slowly off under Malfoy's gaze. Did he really just ask her out?
Malfoy extended his hand, palm facing up, for Hermione to take, but she hesitated. She eyed the hand suspiciously, scrutinizing each and every fold of skin as if looking for dungbombs, and then finally looked up at Malfoy. He was watching her inspection with a smirk.
"I thought you didn't date Muggle-borns," Hermione said slowly.
"HOLD ON HERE!" yelled a forgotten Ernie, who was looking back and forth from witch to wizard as if the two of them had spontaneously combusted. "Draco Malfoy—the big, bad, bully who went and joined You-Know-Who in his sixth year of school—is asking Hermione Granger—the cleverest witch of our entire class, and a Muggle-born—to go on a date with him?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes and grabbed Hermione's hand before she could bite Ernie's head off, but while the couple started to walk back towards Menu de Montmorency—with the full intention of downing whole goblets of water—Ernie could only stand and stare.
Finally, he found his tongue. "AND SHE SAID YES! Oh, mother of Merlin… Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger… That has got to be the oddest couple of all time…"
This fanfiction is dedicated to all of the authors who write completely crappy, unrealistic romance fics. This includes (but is not limited to) most Dramione writers!! I myself do not usually support Dramione fics, but I will generally accept them if they are well-written. Lately, though, there has been an extreme shortage of them (I know they're out there, though!). So for those of you who enjoy reading about the unexpected couples, I hope you find this completely in-character because I really did try!! Oh so incredibly hard!! I think that's my seventh (OMG SEVEN!!!1!1!!!eleven!!!!111!!!oneone!!!!) draft for the ending that I finally decided on...
Anyway, I would also like to say that I will be taking requests for other unlikely couples that I can experiment with, so I can get better at keeping characters... in-character. The only two requirements that I have are that the couple has to be heterosexual, because there is no way in the Muggle world or the magical that I could ever write a guy-guy or girl-girl romance fic, and that the couple cannot be siblings, because that is just gross and disgusting and wrong (yeah, I'm talking to you, twincest fans... perverts, the lot of you...) ... I think I would die gagging on my own vomit... (and yes, I have been known to do this on occasion... just ask my friends) Anywho, please hit the magic button (yes, it's magic! whenever someone pushes it, I immediately get an owl with your message! OooOOOoooh!) and let me know what you think, how I can improve, whether I'm awesome or if I suck, and if you really liked it that much and want me to write more then you can ask me to write a chapter featuring another couple. But if you want that to happen, you HAVE to give me a THOROUGH review!!!!! Not just "Good job, gimme Ginny/Dumbledore" (ewwwwww...). No, it's gotta be good. Tell me your fave part, fave quote, whatever!! Just PLEASE give me more than "good" and "bad". If I am bad, please tell me what I did wrong and how to improve!!
NOW GO PUSH THAT BUTTON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!