A/N: So this is now a thing that I'm working on... don't know where it'll go. I think I've pretty much abandoned Sanctuary, as I don't really know what to do with the story. So this is my new project, I suppose. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you'll recognise, everything belongs to the lovely JK Rowling.
10.03.04
"Is this seat taken?" A voice, familiar to one he'd known but yet one that he couldn't quite pinpoint. Draco looks to the seat in front of him, lifting his eyes up slightly from the novel he'd been reading. He sees a pair of legs, smooth and pale (half covered by a pair of thigh high socks). And fuck, maybe he does have a girlfriend, but maybe he is lonely because he knows and has known for weeks that Tori's been cheating. So he motions for her to sit down, before turning his eyes back to the book.
"Pride and Prejudice? One of my personal favourites." She settles down while saying this, a bag much too large for someone of her stature to handle on her lap.
"Yes, yes. What do you think of the theory that Mary and Mister…" He trails off as he looks up, grey eyes meeting amber. "Granger?"
A look of utter surprise crosses her face. At least it's not disgust. "Malfoy! What are you doing here? In muggle London, reading… muggle books?" He might've gone mad but Draco swears that the way she says 'muggle' is a bit off and a bit funny. If she wasn't famed for her Gryffindor bravery, he would have said that she was scared. Scared, or at least a little cautious.
And maybe it's because he's lonely or frustrated or just any of the slew of emotions that he's trampled down, but he decides to answer. "Well, Granger, my parents disowned me. Not permanently, just kicking me out of the house and freezing all my assets. And anyhow, Ms. Austen was a witch, muggleborn, but a witch nonetheless."
Perhaps it's from sheer surprise that this boy, this boy who had ridiculed her for her blood, this boy who was not so much a boy as a man now, high cheekbones and stormy grey eyes, had actually answered her, that Hermione poses another question. "That still doesn't explain why you're here in muggle London. And it furthers my curiosity of why exactly you were disowned, as you say."
Now Draco's given up on reasoning with himself and just answers now, finding an ease that he'd only felt with few of his friends before. "Did you know Daphne's sister, Tori?" A pause. "Or Astoria as you'd know her." At her nod he carries on, "Well, we're seeing each other now. And she's known for being friendly to muggles and muggleborns, which is not the problem now. The problem is that her father, Robert Greengrass, has been sued for embezzlement and fraud and they've lost a lot of money. It's not so much my mother, as it is my father who won't allow this. This being me seeing a girl who's socially disgraced, as they called it." It's not like him, not like him at all to spill so much about himself. People were constantly looking to sell stories about him to the Prophet.
Hermione opens her mouth to ask what sort of circumstances had rendered the high and mighty Draco Malfoy so pitiful that he would chat to Hermione Granger and take public transport, before remembering that he'd sort of answered this already.
Maybe it's the way she's sitting, squashed by that ginormous bag of hers, or maybe it's the unfeigned interest in her eyes, but something tells Draco that for some reason or another he should trust her not to judge him. "It's all because of the war, truth is. If I hadn't been a spy for the Order near the end of the war, my parents would be in Azkaban. And you know! You know, the only reason they haven't thrown me to the wolves is because they'd be in fucking jail, is why! And if I hadn't been stuck in St. Mungo's with Astoria in the same ward then we wouldn't have met and I wouldn't be in this mess and…!" Draco trails off, frustration clogging his mind.
"Oh. The war affected us all. I'm sorry to hear this." He looks at her and decides that he doesn't like the generic answer he's getting, or maybe it's the pity in her eyes that he finds distasteful.
"So, how is living in muggle London? I'm assuming you are, that is." Hermione changes the subject quickly, the anger and vexation in his face upsetting her more than it should.
Her voice is calm, soothing, but he is still angry. Irrationally so, he knows, but angry nonetheless. "I'm not. I may not have access to my parent's Gringotts account, but I make enough money on my own to live in wizarding London, thank you very much!" At this, Hermione frowns and is silent for a minute, before abruptly standing up and reaching for the bag that she'd set aside.
"Granger…" Draco opens his mouth to apologise, a concept so foreign to him that he closes his mouth, unable to do so.
She looks at him, "It's my stop, Malfoy," before rushing out the train doors. And he's left sitting there, and it's only two stops later when he realises that he should've gotten off too.
When he finally makes it home, he finds Astoria standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a short black robe. At his footsteps, she jumps. "Draco! Honey, where've you been? If I knew you'd be late then we would've…" An inquisitive glare. "I would've… prepared more! For our special night!"
Now, Draco Malfoy is not a weak-minded man. But he is a warm-blooded straight man. And his conversation with Granger left him… frustrated. Damn those fucking socks. So, any suspicion lurking in his mind was chased away by a swift glance at his girlfriend's cleavage.
He kisses her, hard. And soon they are undressed and Draco wants to lose himself in her. But he finds that he doesn't care. Doesn't care as much as someone who uprooted their entire life to be with someone else should. He thinks, maybe, even if Tori were really faithful that they might not work out anyways. It's hours later, that he has to stifle a laugh at himself, laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling. I'd rather have to explain myself to Granger than have sex with Tori. Draco shakes the thought out of his mind and closes his eyes.