Bring on the Rain

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am a mere mortal cowering in the wake of JKR's genius.

Chapter 1 - Of all the gin joints in all the world

Draco Malfoy was irritated; irritated because he'd had a terrible day at the office, irritated because instead of going home to his flat for some peace, quiet and a stiff drink he was standing in front of a dingy little pub waiting to meet some blasted witch at the request of his mother. Mostly he was irritated because on top of everything else it was bloody raining. Torrential downpour would perhaps be a more accurate description. Glancing at his watch he noticed that he still had fifteen minutes before his date was scheduled to arrive. This irritated him as well. Draco Malfoy was never late. The importance of punctuality had been drilled into him from a very young age. His father had often said, "Remember Draco: To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late and to be late is to be killed." That last bit had proven only too true for a few unfortunate house elves over the years, but today, for Draco at least, to be early was to be wet and this irritated him even further.

Deciding it was ridiculous to continue standing outside in the chilly rain, he turned his back on the busy street where hordes of muggles pushed past him as though he were invisible, and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Though he detested the idea of being seen in such a place, it would at least give him somewhere warm and dry to wait, he reasoned grimly. He stopped just inside the door where he deposited his umbrella in the little stand. He pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his cloak and performed a quick drying spell in order to remove all evidence of the inclement weather from his otherwise immaculate black robes. Taking in his surroundings with an air of supreme distaste, he scanned the room in the vain hope that she might be early so that he could get the bloody date over with and put an end to this wretched day.

Draco hated blind dates. In fact the only thing he hated more than blind dates at present was the idea of being late for one. Though she wasn't exactly late yet, at least not in the strictest sense of the word, his annoyance with the whole business rendered him devoid of any charitable feelings toward the girl and he therefore presumed she inevitably would be…late that is. Under normal circumstances he would never permit his mother or anyone else for that matter to set him up with an unknown witch, despite the plethora of charming qualities she was said to possess. In this case however, he was meeting the daughter of a very wealthy and highly influential wizard who worked in the French Ministry's Département de Coopération Magique Internationale. Draco hoped that by 'greasing the cauldron' a bit with the daughter, whose name he couldn't recall at present, he might make her father more amenable to signing off on the International Wizarding Trade Agreement, which had been held up in negotiations for the last three months.

Of course, Narcissa Malfoy had no real interest in Draco's business ventures so long as they continued to provide enough income to maintain the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. The only reason she bothered to mention the young lady's father at all was because Narcissa knew that it was the only way Draco would even consider indulging her little scheme - which is precisely what it was. This was just another in a long line of thinly veiled attempts to try to set him up with a nice young witch in the hope that he would finally settle down and get married. Though he assured his mother time and time again that he had no intention of getting married until it was absolutely necessary, his assertions fell on deaf ears.

She had been badgering him at the breakfast table that very morning in fact. At the memory of her words, Draco was able to pinpoint the start of his bad mood.

"Time is running out darling. You realize your twenty-ninth birthday is fast approaching - only three months away – and you're no closer to announcing your engagement than you were five years ago."

Draco had reminded her for what seemed like the hundredth time, "Well mother, since I don't technically need to be married until I turn thirty, I see no reason to rush into things."

"Rush! Draco, darling, it takes time to plan a proper society wedding and if you wait much longer to announce an engagement… you know as well as I do what it will look like. The stipulations of your father's will are not unlike other wizarding wills. People will think you're only marrying for the inheritance."

"That is, in fact, precisely why I agreed to this ridiculous arrangement and I don't give a damn who knows it."

"Draco. I am still your mother and you will not speak to me with such language. Need I remind you that you have an obligation to this family? I lost everything after your father…"

Oh here we go, Draco thought inwardly.

His mother never ceased harping on about his broken engagement to Astoria Greengrass. It's not as if it had been his doing. He had barely ever spoken to the girl. They had been betrothed since he was four years old, but when Lucius was sent to Azkaban, Astoria's mother cancelled the contract, fearing a union with the disgraced Malfoys would sully their good name and jeopardize their place in society. Draco had been delighted by the news, but his mother had been devastated and had immediately embarked on a non-stop search for a new bride for her son.

"…and I will not lose my home and everything we've worked for as well."

Draco refrained from scoffing at her use of the word 'we' with extreme difficulty.

"You will marry Draco…within the allotted time frame," she finished, emphasizing the last words.

"Believe it or not, Mother, I am perfectly capable of comprehending the particulars of father's will, and I am well aware of my obligations to the family…obligations you seem to feel the need to remind me of every time I see you. Can we please talk about something else now?" he pleaded, but the Malfoy matriarch would not be deterred.

"Perhaps if you hadn't done such an admirable job of lowering my expectations I wouldn't need to remind you of them quite you so often. Really Draco, at this point I would be delighted if you would so much as deign to be seen with the same witch on more than one occasion. The Prophet has been printing some very unflattering articles about your 'womanizing' recently. It's embarrassing. How am I supposed to show my face in decent society when my only son is out gallivanting through London with any number of…"

He had tuned out her tirade after that. He knew better than to argue with her once she got going.

Trying to keep his frustration with his mother in check, he glanced around the smoky room once more. He didn't even know what this woman was supposed to look like. Not seeing anyone who looked as uncomfortable or out of place as he felt, he resigned himself once again to the fact that she hadn't arrived yet. He inwardly cursed himself for agreeing to meet her here of all places. This woman, he really ought to figure out her name at some point, was apparently unfamiliar with wizarding London and was therefore unable to apparate directly into the more fashionable depths of Diagon Alley.

He began to feel awkward standing about with nothing to do so he strode purposefully over to the bar, taking care not to touch anything as the place looked positively filthy. It was fairly crowded and most of the seats at the bar had been taken. He squeezed between two rather unpleasant looking men, cleared his throat in a slightly pompous manner and addressed the man behind the bar.

"Excuse me, but I'm expecting a young woman to meet me here shortly. Please let me know when she arrives and be sure to get her name."

"Yes of course Mr. Malfoy, sir. Somefing to drink while you wait?"

He paused, glancing at his watch in impatience before responding. "Fine then. I'll have a Firewhiskey."

"Very good sir. Righ' away sir."

He handed Draco the amber liquid in a glass that looked as though it had never been washed. Draco thanked him grudgingly and paid for his drink. He noticed an empty seat at the far end of the bar and, with drink in hand, made his way over to the back of the tiny pub. The smoke was thicker here and the acrid smell added to the general gloom. At least from this vantage point he would have a good view of the door and would be able to see his date as soon as she arrived. He didn't want to spend any more time in this depressing dump of a bar than was strictly necessary.

He approached the far end of the bar, pulled out the only remaining stool, performed an inconspicuous cleaning spell and seated himself between a large, beefy man wearing a horribly stained shirt who was smoking a foul-smelling pipe, and a slender woman who had long honey colored curls fastened loosely at the nape of her neck. He wondered briefly if this could be his date, but then noticed the large number of empty glasses in front of her in addition to her distinctly muggle attire and thought better of it. The woman didn't take the slightest notice of him when he sat. She seemed to be lost in thought, staring into the bottom of her empty glass as though she were searching for answers.

There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, but her face was partially obscured by a few stray curls so Draco couldn't place her. She wore a somber knee-length black dress underneath a long, black overcoat that still had a few flecks of rain dotted across the shoulders. Though he knew little about muggle fashion, she appeared to be well dressed, if only slightly disheveled. Draco sipped at his drink pondering how he could possibly know her. He didn't typically associate with people who dressed in muggle clothing, especially in public. Just then, she looked up and raised her hand slightly to get the attention of the man behind the bar. She still didn't register that anyone had occupied the seat next to hers, but the moment she lifted her head Draco realized exactly who she was.

"Granger?"

She turned to look at him with a curious expression on her face, but didn't respond.

It had been well over ten years since he last saw her face, but he remembered it like it was yesterday….

He was waiting to address the Wizengamot in the largest courtroom at the Ministry of Magic. The room was filled to bursting with those seeking justice against The Dark Lord's followers. The Malfoy family had always been among the most prestigious of the wizarding elite, so naturally this trial had been particularly well publicized. He imagined that most of the people were there so that they could witness the downfall of the Malfoys first hand.

In accordance with wizarding law, Draco was given the opportunity to speak in his own defense in an attempt to keep both he and his mother (who was too distraught to speak for herself) out of Azkaban. However, the looks of contempt pouring in from every direction did not strengthen his resolve. His father had already been sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment for a litany of crimes, the most egregious being attempted murder and use of the Imperius curse, but there was also the torturing of countless muggles and wizards, conspiring against the Ministry, as well as aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. In addition to the sentence in Azkaban, Lucius had also been forced to pay huge reparations to the Ministry and all of the families who were affected by his actions and associations.

When he learned about his father's sentence Draco allowed himself a glimmer of hope that perhaps his mother might be spared as she committed no crime other than feigning loyalty to a lunatic who had taken over her home and threatened her life on a daily basis, though he held no such optimism for his own situation. After facilitating the infiltration of the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, resulting in the death of Albus Dumbledore, Draco expected nothing less than a death sentence. With mouth dry and hands shaking, he mustered what little dignity and courage he had left and stood to face the angry crowd.

He had very little memory of what he said in his own defense. He vaguely remembered pleading with the court on behalf of his mother and thinking that the Wizengamot did not look particularly convinced. Then Minister Shacklebolt stood up and asked if anyone would bear witness for the either of the accused. The room went completely silent. Draco stared out at the sneering crowd feeling the last of his resolve ebbing away. His gaze fell upon a familiar face. Hermione Granger, looking somber, rose slowly from her seat and made her way down the aisle to stand before the court. As she passed by him their eyes locked for the briefest moment, her expression unreadable. His heart sank as she took her place on the witness stand. He swallowed hard; anticipating that one word from her would hammer the final nail into his coffin. The whole crowd watched in amazement as she stood determinedly before the Wizengamot.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, would like to speak on behalf of Draco Malfoy."

There was an audible gasp at her words and furious muttering erupted all across the courtroom. Kingsley banged a gavel on the highest bench where he sat overlooking the proceedings and shouted over the din.

"Order! I will have order in this courtroom."

The muttering ceased at once and he gestured for Hermione to continue. Looking only slightly discomfited she went on.

"Last Easter, I was among several resistance fighters who were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor. During our imprisonment, Draco Malfoy lied to a room full of Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, in an attempt to protect the identities of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and myself at great personal risk."

"Is this true, Ms. Granger?" Shacklebolt asked her.

"Of course Minister. Harry and Ron will both attest to the truth of my statement," she said with far less conviction.

Draco stared at her in utter incredulity. Before he even had time to register the meaning of what Granger had just said, both Potter and Weasley stood up to corroborate her story adding that he had also tried to stop Vincent Crabbe from killing them all in the Room of Requirement.

"Minister," Potter said, "I would also like to bear witness on behalf of Narcissa Black Malfoy."

With the exception of his mother, who was visibly shaking with silent tears, the rest of the courtroom had gone completely still, awaiting Potter's next words. Draco hardly dared to breathe.

"On the morning of the final battle, Narcissa Malfoy lied to Voldermort and his entire army of Death Eaters in order to protect me while I was at their mercy in the forbidden forest. She told them I was dead when she knew I was alive. She saved my life. Her only concern was for her son Draco. I assure you she had no intention to fight alongside the Death Eaters. She merely followed them to the castle to find her son."

The next few minutes were a blur to Draco. He remembered watching in desperation as the Wizengamot voted, the sigh of relief he was too afraid to release when he heard, barely audible over the roar of the disapproving crowd and the ringing in his ears, that in light of the new testimony both he and his mother had been acquitted. Through it all, the only clear memory he had of that moment was staring into the blank eyes of Hermione Granger.

They stared at one another now, for a long moment and Draco took in her familiar features. Her face had lost some of its roundness; her delicate bone structure was more pronounced than it once was, giving her a womanly appearance that was not wholly unappealing. There was something else… He didn't know if it was perhaps still wet from the rain or if it was simply the weight of her nearly waist-length hair, but her curls were no longer the frizzy mop that used to sit atop her head. They looked sleeker, smoother and hung somewhat limply down her back. The most noticeable difference however, was her eyes. They were slightly red and puffy, as though she'd been crying and they seemed rather empty. Gone was that inquisitive spark that used to light up her hazel, almond-shaped eyes.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on for several lifetimes, she spoke.

"Draco Malfoy." It wasn't a question. "Of all the gin joints in all the world..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind." She chuckled to herself, shaking her head.

She studied his face for another long moment. The awkwardness was palpable. Draco decided he would much prefer to wait out in rain than sit through more uncomfortable silence. Just as he was about to down his drink and make his excuses, she spoke again.

"What are you drinking Malfoy?" she asked, gesturing toward his half-full glass.

The vacant expression she had worn a moment ago vanished and was replaced with a slightly bleary-eyed smile. Before he could reply, she banged her hand twice on the bar and called out to the barman.

"Tom, a drink for my friend here."

She patted a spot on the bar in front of where Draco was sitting. Her bizarre manner had caught him rather off guard, and her use of the word 'friend' had not gone unnoticed. He gaped at her in silence until the old barman was upon them and looked at him expectantly. Draco recovered quickly.

"I'll take another Firewhiskey, thank you."

"Make that two whiskeys then Tom." She held up two fingers then paused to consider her empty glass. "On second thought," she glanced briefly at Draco, "you'd better make mine a double."

She flashed the barman a wry smile. Draco's attention was drawn once more to the growing collection of empty glasses in front of Granger and her behavior suddenly made sense. Hermione Granger was drunk.

"Very good Miss." The toothless barman nodded at her and gave them a gummy grin before shuffling off to get their drinks.

"So, Malfoy, what brings you here on such a dreary night?" she asked, turning her attention to him again.

He was momentarily stymied. Not only was she acting as though having a drink together was a perfectly ordinary occurrence but, aside from her uncharacteristic affability, she seemed to be quite lucid considering the staggering amount of Firewhiskey she had evidently consumed.

"I'm meeting someone," he replied, offhandedly.

She raised her eyebrows with a look of skepticism that plainly implied, "Here?" Anticipating her next question he added, "She's from out of town and this is the only place in Wizarding London that she knows."

"Ah," she said, nodding. "Anyone I know?"

He was tempted to tell her to mind her own sodding business, but keeping his temper in check, he opted to answer her instead.

"No, I don't think so. I believe she attended Beauxbatons..." He paused to finish his first drink and, deciding to vent his frustration a bit he added, "…truth be told, I don't even know her."

"You mean you have a blind date?" she asked, incredulous.

He sighed, resigned. "Yes. Supposedly she is the daughter of an old friend of my mother's in France or something."

She burst out laughing at that. Draco, who had never been comfortable being the butt of a joke, felt a part of his earlier irritation creeping back. It was short-lived however. As he watched her openly laughing at his expense, he registered dimly that she had a lovely smile. He had never seen a genuine smile light up her face before. How could he? When he had spent the better part of his childhood trying to make her cry. This thought made him slightly ill at ease and he was relieved when Tom shuffled back over to them with their drinks.

"L-Let me get this straight. You're going on a blind date set up by your mother?"

She struggled to speak through her laughter.

"So glad I could amuse you, Granger."

He tried to sound offended, but as he watched her erupt into another fit of uncontrollable giggles, he couldn't help but chortle along with her in spite of himself. Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes she went on.

"Frankly, I'm surprised. I thought that miserable cow Pansy Parkinson staked her claim on you years ago. Not married to the pug-nosed princess then are you?" she asked with a derisive snort.

Now it was Draco's turn to laugh. He had forgotten about Granger's innate ability to throw insults like a Slytherin, despite her misfortune of being sorted into Gryffindor.

"Merlin, no. I haven't thought about Pansy in ages. I'm not even sure if she's still in Britain. Last I knew she and her family fled the country after the war. I heard something about her being in Austria or Australia, but that was years ago."

"Oh."

She nodded, but said no more. Her expression was sobering. Had he said something wrong? Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the war? Looking thoughtfully at the drink in her hand, she turned to face him. Without a word she lifted her glass as though she were toasting him and downed her whiskey in one. Shaking her head seemingly to clear it, she banged her fist on the bar and looked up at him expectantly, a challenging smile playing about her lips.

He stared at her for a moment, rather impressed, before imitating the action.

"Sweet Mother of Merlin, Granger," he said through the burn in his throat, "I never thought I'd see the day when the Golden-Girl of Gryffindor would be drinking alone in a filthy pub, three sheets to the wind on a Friday night."

"I'm not alone" she said with a sly smile.

She had him there. Who was this woman and what has she done with prim and proper Hermione Granger? His curiosity was piqued.

"I've never known a witch who could handle that much liquor without losing consciousness, never mind carry on a coherent conversation. Where did you learn to drink like that?"

"Oh, just years of practice I guess," she replied cheekily, as Tom came round to refill their glasses.

"Well let's just hope The Prophet doesn't get wind of this. Rita Skeeter would have an absolute field day," he teased.

Granger let out a singular, humorless laugh.

"I'm sure she would. I had to leave the bloody country to escape her and that damn Quik-Quotes Quill of hers," she sighed. "So the little beetle is still scuttling around then is she?"

"Oh yes. It seems she never tires of following me around and making my life sound a lot more interesting than it actually is."

"She has a talent for stirring up trouble wherever she goes. Though I must say, it was always entertaining to open the Sunday Prophet and read about some wizard or other I was secretly rumored to have married."

They laughed. He couldn't believe that he was having a civil, no…pleasant conversation with Granger and that he was actually enjoying himself. He silently marveled at the unexpected turn in his otherwise tedious day as he questioned her further.

"You're not married to the Weasel then I take it?"

"Good God, no! Ron is like my brother. We dated briefly, shortly after the war, but it didn't work out. Too awkward. No, he's married with two children now."

He smirked at the thought of his least favorite redheaded weasel. It was common knowledge that Ron Weasley had been in love with Granger throughout their childhood, and Draco wondered who he had found to replace her.

"What gargoyle agreed to marry that great freckled git?"

"Actually," she said slowly, "he's married to Katie Bell..." she trailed off letting the name hang thick in the air.

He had nothing to say to that. It was practically instinct for him to make fun of Weasley, but when confronted with the memory of both the innocent people he had nearly killed in his attempt on Dumbledore's life, Draco felt suddenly awkward. Guilt flooded his system and settled in his stomach like a lead weight. She seemed to understand. He was silently grateful she didn't press him for details about that dark time in his life and they drank in silence for a few moments.

After draining his third glass of whiskey, he pushed the unpleasant memories aside. He had always been rather good at compartmentalizing his feelings. He watched as Granger absently drummed her fingers on her empty glass and he pondered what she had said about leaving the country. Where had she been? Now he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he saw her name in the paper, though the remaining two-thirds of the golden trio appeared in the headlines often enough. He thought there had been some speculation about her disappearance several years ago, but he rarely read The Prophet in the days following the war. He and his family had gotten plenty of bad press in those days and he didn't particularly like reading about it with his morning coffee.

Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, Draco adopted what he hoped was a friendly tone and, after waiting for Tom to refill their glasses yet again, he continued with their conversation.

"So, if you've not been breeding Weasley's ginger, mutant spawn, what have you been up to? Extended holiday?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Hardly," she scoffed.

"Ah, so you're a career girl?"

She nodded in acknowledgement.

"Of course, I should've expected nothing less from the brightest witch of the age. What is it that you do?"

"I work for a magical research and development firm in the states. I live in New York now."

"Really? If you don't mind my asking, what types of research are you involved in?"

"I work mostly in experimental charms, but I dabble in potions a bit as well."

"Interesting."

"Is it? I mean, don't misunderstand me, I love my work, but it makes for rather dull conversation. Creating new spells isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds. It's mostly a constant process of trial and error just to figure out one tiny piece of the puzzle. You know?"

"As a matter of fact I do. It just so happens I work in research and development as well."

"Do you?" she asked, clearly surprised. "Are you with the Ministry?"

Draco chuckled darkly at the thought.

"No, I don't think the Ministry would be too keen on allowing a former Death Eater to join their ranks."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." She sputtered in embarrassment as her cheeks flushed red. "It's just that I didn't realize there were any private firms in London. I thought I had a pretty good grasp on the competition," she added somewhat lamely.

"Only mine, as far as I know."

"You run your own company?"

He nodded.

"Impressive," she said sincerely. "How long have you been in business?"

"Going on ten years."

"Really? Then why haven't I heard of you?"

He laughed at the mildly suspicious look she was giving him.

"We're still pretty small and our research and development department is still in its early stages. We've been dealing mostly in building supplies, magically reinforced steel, that sort of thing; we're only just starting to branch out into international markets." He was not inclined to divulge the whole truth of the matter of his business.

"Well that's wonderful Malfoy. Good for you."

She lifted her glass to him once more.

"Thank you." He paused to take another sip of his drink and brought the conversation back around to her life. "So, what brings you back to rainy old England?"

"Oh, I'm here on business," she replied automatically.

"I hope for my sake that you're not expanding your business on this side of the pond. If memory serves, you were always a formidable opponent."

She laughed at his veiled reference to their childhood rivalry.

"No, it's nothing like that. I have some personal business to attend to that's all."

"I see."

He was extremely interested in the witch before him, and though he was curious to learn more, good breeding prevented him from prying any further into her personal matters. An awkward silence descended upon them and Draco began to feel more and more anxious with each passing second. They had, so far, avoided any serious discussion of their shared past, and he waited with trepidation for the other shoe to drop. As she seemed in no great hurry to restart their conversation he plunged on recklessly.

"So… were you planning to address the giant pink hippogriff in the room at some point or shall I?"

"No," she replied simply.

"It's just that, the last time we saw each other…" Draco started, but she cut him off.

"I see no reason to ruin a perfectly good conversation by dredging up old, unpleasant memories. To what end? I've moved on with my life and it appears you have too. Let's leave the past behind us, where it belongs," she stated with finality.

She left him dumbfounded once more, but he was grateful to her all the same.

"In that case, may I order us another round?"

She hesitated for the briefest moment.

"Sure. I don't see why not."

They sat in companionable silence while Tom poured their drinks. With a fresh drink in hand, Draco steered the conversation back toward safer waters.

"Tell me Granger, how is my old friend Scarhead doing? I believe I read somewhere that he finally saddled himself to the Weaslette?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes, Harry and Ginny have been married for over seven years now."

"Gods, couldn't they be more creative?" he asked with mock derision. "Did the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team pair off after Hogwarts?"

He was trying to get a rise out of her for old time's sake. Thinking she'd jump to defend her fellow housemates, she surprised him yet again when she burst out laughing.

"You don't know the half of it! George, you know, Ron's brother, recently married Angelina Johnson."

"You're joking."

"I'm not. And that's not all. Though I can't be sure, I thought I heard something about Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet."

"Bloody hell. Do they keep up with regular team practice?" he scoffed.

"Well, they used to play every Saturday afternoon at the Burrow..." she trailed off.

"Used to? Don't tell me they've given up on their aspirations to add the 'Weasley Weasels' to the International Quidditch League?" he asked, chortling at the thought.

"I wouldn't know," she hesitated briefly. "What with my job and everything…I…I don't make it home very often."

She smiled sadly and his laughter died at once.

He watched as Granger fumbled in her pockets for a moment and removed what looked like a pack of muggle cigarettes. She lit one for herself with the tip of her wand and offered the pack to Draco.

Draco accepted the proffered fag and did the same.

"I'm surprised at you Granger. These things will kill you, you know," he added exhaling.

"Oh no, they're perfectly safe," she contradicted, seeming to perk up a bit. "I tweaked them a bit. They look, feel, and taste like a regular fag, but I replaced all the harmful chemical bits with a simple calming charm, so you get all the benefits of nicotine, without all the negative side effects."

"Is that so? That is rather ingenious," he conceded, impressed.

"It's part of a little pet project of mine. You see I'm trying to find ways to improve the lives of muggles without their knowledge so as not to break the statute of secrecy."

He laughed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Of course you are. And how have you been getting on?"

"Not well at all. While most people agree that it is a good idea in theory, my employer is…reluctant to support the idea."

"I imagine they would be. I suppose saving the wizarding world wasn't enough for you? You have to save all the muggles too? Is that why you came back to town, to try to get your fan club at the Ministry to back your ridiculous plan?"

"First of all, my idea is not ridiculous! Secondly, I have no idea what fan club," she practically spat the words, "you are referring to. And thirdly, I have no intention of asking anyone at the Ministry to do anything, thank you very much."

She was gesturing wildly with the cigarette held loosely in her hand. At the end of her mini rant she childishly blew a cloud a smoke directly in his face. He laughed at her. It felt good to get her all riled up like that again. He finally saw a flash of the girl he knew (and loathed) all those years ago. Her features were once again alight with that spark of intelligence so characteristic of the girl he remembered.

The evening wore on in a smoky haze of drink and witty banter. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had such stimulating conversation with anyone, let alone his childhood nemesis. They discussed everything from her silly S.P.E.W club (which she finally conceded was a wasted effort) to the current political climate. She seemed to get louder and more animated as the empty glasses multiplied. He cast a non-verbal muffliato charm earlier in their conversation so as not to draw any unwanted attention, and he couldn't help thinking that had been a good idea. Draco was better able to hold his drink and keep his wits in check, but then, he was a much larger person than she and he suspected that she'd had a considerable head start.

As he studied the witch before him he dimly registered that she was vociferously condemning some of the amendments to the current International Trade Agreement that had been the main source of his frustration at work for the past several months. He was surprised to discover he and Granger were of the same opinion as to how the agreement might be improved.

"…it's utter rubbish. If the idiots at the Ministry would listen to reason and start passing laws that actually helped people instead of these useless, asinine..."

She stopped abruptly.

"Is anything the matter?"

"No. It's nothing. Your date is here," she said impassively.

"And just how may I ask do you know that? I thought divination wasn't your thing." He smirked at her, but she chose to ignore his jab as she leaned heavily on the bar and pointed towards the door.

"Look at the witch who just walked in…" she said, slurring slightly, "…the little petite one, talking to Tom. She looks absolutely terrified to be in here. See the way she's clutching her purse like someone's about to snatch it from her?" She laughed to herself. "And just look at what she's wearing. Those are clearly designer robes and French made, too, by the look of them."

She was quite right, of course.

"I think you must be right. I'm glad to see your powers of deductive reasoning are undiminished after all these years." Despite being arse-over-broomstick drunk, he thought to himself.

They exchanged a brief smile. At that moment, Tom made his way back over to where they were sitting.

"Mr. Malfoy, there is a Ms. Nicole Bouchard waiting for you, sir."

So that was her name.

"Actually, Tom, it is she who has kept me waiting for the past twenty minutes," he said checking his watch for the first time since he sat down. He could scarcely believe that he'd been talking to Granger for over half an hour.

"I'm sorry sir?" Tom questioned.

"Never mind, what do we owe you for the drinks? I'd like to pay Ms. Granger's tab as well."

As Draco made to toss a few galleons on the table, Granger stayed his hand, looking nervous.

"Just charge everything to my room, Tom," she said quickly. "This one is on me Malfoy."

Before he could protest, the old barman excused himself with a slight bow.

"Thank you," he said, hoping to convey more than just his thanks for the drinks. Though she would probably not remember their little encounter, he had quite enjoyed her company.

"See you around Malfoy. Have fun on your date," she whispered loudly nodding in the direction of the distinctly ruffled witch standing by the door.

He followed her gaze and turned toward the haughty looking witch.

"Yeah," he said without enthusiasm.

He couldn't suppress the surge of disappointment he felt when his conversation with Granger had ended so abruptly, but mentally chided himself as he refocused his attention on his actual date. He acknowledged her with a slight wave before making his way to the front of the bar. He turned to look back at Granger once more, but she was gone. He wondered for a moment if he'd simply imagined the whole thing. Judging by the multitude of tumblers balanced precariously in Tom's arms as he cleared the area of the bar where he had been sitting, Draco knew he had not.

In a dozen strides he reached the front door where he politely introduced himself to Ms. Bouchard. He retrieved his umbrella from the stand, though there was no need for it now as the rain had finally stopped, and he offered her his arm as he led her out of the pub onto the rain-soaked street beyond.


A/N: Please review! I'd really love to hear your thoughts. Constructive criticism welcome!