Pistachio
Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing!
Warning: My writing skills(z), and that this might be what you call a crack fic.
Draco Malfoy laid on his couch at eight in the evening, stomach growling. He was fed up with eating instant noodles. He had been surviving on it for the past five days. He had also been killing himself with it for the past five days. Certain he was going to suffer from cardiac arrest soon, he had all the equipment he needed at the ready. No, check that. He had all the equipment he could afford ready; his wand.
His personal funds were dwindling quickly. The Ministry had frozen the Malfoy assets for an indeterminable amount of time in exchange for a 'Get Out of Azkaban Free' card. He did not pass go. He certainly did not collect forty galleons. On hindsight, he should have named it 'Get Out of Azkaban for a Fortune'.
Luckily for him, he still retained ownership of an apartment in Muggle London. Why he even had it in the first place, he wasn't very sure. He must have been drunk when he'd bought it. Very, very drunk.
His father was confined in the Manor. His mother had naturally chosen to stay there with him… for a few weeks… every year. The rest of the days, she lived off her sister (the sane one), entertaining herself with cleaning up the vomit of a certain Teddy Lupin. Lucky her.
As for him, he was confined to a four kilometre radius from the apartment.
Why ever did he choose this apartment? That was a good one. He could remember it like it was only yesterday. It came from constant practise. He smacks himself over the head because of that, every single fucking day.
"Confinement to a four kilometre radius, and where I would like to stay? Why, what a silly question! There's no place better than my tiny apartment in Muggle-land, of course!" He had meant it to be sarcastic, of course. In fact, he hadn't even remembered owning the place. The Ministry employee in charge that day either did not understand sarcasm, or was unamused by his use of it.
"Bugger this!" he cursed as he sprang off the couch. "I'm going for ice-cream," he announced to no one in particular. Because, what better way to save than to splurge on ice-cream?
He shaved off the beard he had been growing for the past thirteen days, and combed his hair. Maybe he could get a little discount if he could- WHEN he charmed the socks off the… what the hell was their job title? Scooper? Scoopologist? Scoopy doo? Bah!
He grabbed his coat and made his way to the door. He didn't simply Apparate to the ice-cream parlour. He didn't feel like splinching himself. The Ministry had restricted his magic to the bloody apartment; something about protecting the Muggles from him. Bull shit. He wasn't above using his fists if they annoyed him too much.
He locked the door and pressed the lift button, then remembered that he hadn't brought any money with him.
Damn it!
He unlocked the door, took off his shoes, went in, came out, wore his shoes, and locked the door again. The lift had already gone back to the lobby in that time. He pressed the button again. Dumb Muggle contraption, wasting my precious time. He had all the time in the world, though.
The walk took him fifteen minutes, by which time he wasn't feeling very hungry anymore. He wasn't about to turn back though. He was sure people would cast him weird glances. He didn't want them to cast him weird glances. He was the only one allowed to cast those weird glances.
He entered the dinky parlour. There was a line to the counter and the seats were sparsely occupied. If my magic wasn't restricted, I would remove every one of them from the establishment; free ice cream for the wizard, he thought haughtily. That was precisely why the Ministry had barred his magic.
He stepped in line behind a lady wearing a colourful woollen cap over thick brown curly hair. He vaguely caught the scent from her thick hair. Vanilla. If he hadn't known what flavour he'd wanted, he did now. Curse you, unknown woman!
Soon, it was the lady's turn to order. Having nothing better to do, Draco listened in.
"I'd like a scoop of Pistachio Swirl, please."
Ewww! Who would order that kind of flavour? He'd always thought that the flavour was there simply to make the display look full, or… something. He hadn't actually thought about it, but still!
He discreetly craned his neck to peek at the woman's face. In actual fact, he was leaning so far over the counter that he was practically leaning on the glass.
"Sir, can I ask you to please not lean on the glass?"
No, you may not, he mocked in his head. He stood back up straight. "Sorry about that. I was just wondering who was ordering the pistachio," he shot her his most charming smile.
"Malfoy?" the lady in line gaped at him.
No, Malfoy did not order the pistachio, you did, he thought. He turned to face her and his smile faltered. "Granger. Fancy meeting you here. Binging on ice-cream, I see."
"Likewise, Malfoy."
She paid for her (urgh!) Pistachio Swirl and left to find herself a seat.
"A scoop of plain vanilla, please."
"Sir, it's called Killa! Vanilla."
In his mind, his response was 'I'll 'kill ya' if you expect me to say that!' His smile became even more sugary, "Of course it is."
He paid for his ice-cream. The damned employee didn't even give him any discount, he wondered why. Guess who won't be coming back here again!
Looking around the shop, he spotted an empty seat, opposite HER. Actually, he hadn't even considered sitting next to Muggles.
She looked up at him when he pulled the chair away from the table. Then she looked around. "Malfoy, there are plenty of empty seats around."
He wrinkled his nose, "I'm not sharing with Muggles."
"You can have this table to yourself, then," she said as she moved to an adjacent empty table.
He followed suit, "As I was saying, I'm not sharing with Muggles, and it'd be awfully rude to reject them. I'm sure you understand."
She rolled her eyes and went back to her (pistachio!) ice-cream, deciding to just ignore his presence.
He stared at her spoon as it dipped into the cup of ice-cream and was raised up to her mouth, carrying a mouthful of green and white swirls.
He thought it looked like puke. Hell, he thought he was going to puke. He looked away hurriedly, back to his own ice-cream. It was white. Her ice-cream had white in it. He gagged.
He contemplated on going back to the counter to try to exchange the vanilla for something non-white, like… chocolate! Chocolate was a safe choice; the anti-thesis of vanilla! That was when he remembered. Chocolate was out! Think! What else was non-white, non-green, and in stock?
He took a while to arrive at his answer. Strawberry!
By that time, his ice-cream was already partially-melted. There was no way the employee who didn't even give him a discount would consider an exchange of melted ice-cream for a fresh frozen one.
Besides, strawberry is an awfully girly flavour, he thought disdainfully.
Coincidentally, his stomach started growling again.
Looking worriedly down at his ice-cream, he dug in. Surprisingly (to him, anyway), it didn't taste like anything other than vanilla ice-cream. He wolfed down the cup of ice-cream.
Feeling an uncomfortable prickling sensation at the back of his head, he looked up. She was staring at him with wide eyes. She shook her head, as if to reorganise her thoughts, as if it could reorganise her thoughts, "Haven't been eating?"
"How'd you guess?" he replied drily.
She seemed unaffected. "Want some?" she pushed her cup towards him.
He scrunched up his face in disgust. She pulled the cup back.
He leaned onto the back of his chair and watched her put small mouthfuls of green and white into her mouth. Occasionally, she would look around at the other patrons and sometimes she would look up at him with curiosity clearly on her face.
He couldn't help himself when he reached for his spoon to dig into her diminishing scoop of… stuff.
He muttered a prayer in his head before putting the spoonful into his mouth.
She looked at him expectantly. He didn't notice. His eyes had closed of their own volition. All he thought of was how wonderful it felt to have pistachio swirls melting in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around, licking the spoon clean, actually sighing in delight.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw her mouth wide open in a combination of awe and adoration. No, actually her jaw had dropped because she was both disturbed and perturbed by his display.
He glanced at the remaining green-ness in the cup.
She pushed it towards him. She suddenly didn't feel like eating, anymore.
He ate the ice-cream slowly this time, savouring a previously unknown flavour, now so familiar. He had an inexplicable urge to ask her to buy him another cup of the delicious flavour. He suppressed it. He was no beggar. He only took what others willingly (or unwillingly) offered.
He took her spoon from her hand and licked it clean. When that was done, he stood up.
"Good taste, Granger. I must say, I never expected that. Walk you out?"
She merely nodded, still stunned from his display. She grabbed her coat and purse and walked alongside him.
They stopped outside the ice-cream parlour, where he turned to face her. He wanted another taste. He couldn't stop himself.
His right hand snaked around her waist while his left went to the back of her head, pulling her towards him.
Their lips touched almost gently, hesitantly on Hermione's part.
Taking matters into his own hands, he boldly swiped his tongue across, trying to get the lingering taste of pistachio off her lips and onto his. Sweet pistachio! He let out a moan, his hands instinctively pulling her even closer to him.
Surprised by his blatant expression of pleasure, her mouth opened slightly in a silent gasp.
Seizing the opportunity, his tongue delved in. Heaven, he thought, pistachio heaven. He took his time to explore, tasting the sweetness of pistachio everywhere, drawing out the experience.
Granger, to her credit, was leaning in to the kiss, albeit not as daring or hungry, but granting him more access, matching his every move.
He eventually discovered that it was impossible to get any more of the pistachio into his mouth without seeming like an inexperienced and overenthusiastic kisser. He certainly didn't want to come across as a wet fish. He pulled back reluctantly, belatedly realising that he needed air.
Feeling almost sheepish, he released his hold on her. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, considering their history, especially the history of her palm connecting with his face.
He went on to do something he thought was even less intelligent. He looked at her. One look at her flushed cheeks and swollen lips and he was gone.
He couldn't resist drawing her in for a quick, chaste kiss.
Fortunately, Granger hadn't seemed to have gotten her bearings, yet.
It was high time to flee.
"See you around, then, Granger," he waved and entered the parlour again, for his own scoop of Pistachio Swirl, leaving Hermione on the pavement, dazed and out of breath.
Later that night, as he lay in bed, his mind drifted back to the interesting turn of events.
He'd been awfully forward, not to mention out of line (even if she had responded in kind). Perhaps a treat to some ice-cream was in order.
Maybe he could try a different flavour the next time.
A/N: Well, I hope you liked it! I feel comfortable writing humour (the first part pretty much wrote itself). The second part was sort of a bitch. I hope it's been sufficiently disguised to not be as cringe-worthy as the first draft had been.
Reviews are always welcome! Do let me know what you think; if it'd made/spoiled your day (or breakfast/lunch/dinner).