Hey everyone!

This is a Muggle AU Dramione fic, It's likely to be 4 chapters and is very loosely based on Jack Johnson's song Situations.

I hope you enjoy it!

Situation number one
It's the one that's just begun
But evidently it's too late

-Jack Johnson

He couldn't stand them, he really couldn't. He had tried his best, but none of his efforts seemed to be good enough.

Draco was in a pub, sitting at a round table with four other people. He'd been here for about an hour, but he still didn't feel that his ears had grown accustomed to the obnoxiously loud giggle which would often explode from the girl next to him. She was leaning into his shoulder, the smell of alcohol in her breath blowing into his face as she spoke, and she kept moving, jostling him about and increasing the severity of his currant headache tenfold.

This evening was being completed at the request of his parents. The Malfoy and Parkinson Families had always been close, and though it hadn't yet been said explicitly, Draco could tell that it was expected of him and Pansy to one day get married. If he were to be objective, the logistics of such a marriage in terms of business made sense. Both families owned significant percentages of their respective markets and by joining the families and aligning priorities of said businesses they could make them increasingly more powerful. However, no one could be simply objective when confronted with the possibility of marrying Pansy Parkinson.

That being said, Draco was trying his best to be, and that was what had led him to the current situation.

He was sitting next to Pansy, with Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis and Millicent Bullstrode sitting opposite him. It was an attempt to get on with Pansy's friends and it may be because he was just in an irritable mood, or something else entirely, but every single thing they said seemed to rub him up the wrong way.

All four girls were socialites, in the public eye for one reason or another. Pansy as a famous businessman's daughter and took to wrapping other wealthy men around her little fingers, though how she managed it Draco would never understand. Tracy Davis was a model, most often seen in some sort of cosmetics commercial or with Daphne who was working as her agent. And lastly, Millicent Bullstrode worked as a journalist under the tutorage of a famous reporter known only as RS. She mostly wrote about the newest scandal or gossip which she had exaggerated about an unsuspecting victim.

All the girls were ambitious, ruthless and successful, and as an ambitious, ruthless and successful man he should be comfortable in their company; and yet, he would much rather be anywhere else.

The girls were currently discussing the newest edition of a local newspaper. Millicent had recently done an extensive article about some generous charitable donations made by a few public figures, most of which were greatly exaggerated if not entirely falsified. This article, of course, spoke exceedingly flatteringly about the other three girls who sat around the table. But what these girls were focusing on was not how successful this article had been, which it had been, but rather how it had been moved from the front page to the second.

Instead, the front of the newspaper showed a picture of brunette woman who was wearing a stylish deep blue dress, shaking hands with a representative of the Zabini family. The woman's long curly hair was pinned away from her face and ran down her back, and due to the good quality photo, you could see a small group of freckles which patterned her nose, and her rich brown eyes which smiled as she spoke. The title read, Granger's classy reappearance, and spoke in detail about the style of her clothes and possible scandals which could develop from such a meeting. Draco had not read it himself, but with the long conversation he was sitting through, most of it had been quoted, critiqued and ridiculed throughout the afternoon.

"But, how dare they?" A shrill voice opposite Draco said, reiterating sentiments which had been expressed by the girls numerous times in the last hour.

"Exactly!" Another voice chipped in, "You worked, exceptionally hard, writing such a beautiful article!"

The other girls continued to give their agreement and Draco put his elbows on the table and lay his head in his hands, closing his eyes to escape his current reality. He was reaching his last slither of patience, and doubted they would notice him at all.

"Yeah, I did! I'm really talented, and yet they just shoved my hard work aside so people could be bored to death by this dumb bitch-"

Draco pushed himself out of his seat and stood up.

Having not said anything for the past 75 minutes, Draco's existence at the table seemed to have been completely forgotten. So, at his abrupt movement all the girls looked up at him with shocked expressions. But before any of them could comment he started to speak, ensuring that he used a pleasant tone so as to not show his immense displeasure at having been in their company.

"I regret to be so rude, but I'm afraid I am needed elsewhere, so I will have to leave you all to enjoy your afternoon without me."

With nothing no more say, and with no wish to hear anything they might say, he quickly turned on the spot and walked straight out of the pub.

That was better. He felt his irritability lessen slightly as the cool evening air filled his lungs and prickled his skin. He took a deep breath and started down the road.

He was walking in the centre of town, down a street which was all browns and greys in the way that made it look like a town from the Victorian era. The cobbled pedestrian roads were surrounded by countless little shops, selling oddities and commodities which you never realised you wanted until you saw them. But as familiar with the area that he was, Draco had learned to put a cap on such wishes. In fact, he rarely visited these shops at all, with the exception of just one. The Bucket Collector, contrary to what the name might suggest, was a book shop, one that Draco often visited. The front of the shop was very thin, hidden between an antiques furniture shop on one side and a delicatessen on the other. But despite how small it may look, it rose up three floors and was filled to the brim with all manner of literature.

It was the sort of shop which you didn't notice if you didn't try to find it, but for those who did it became something of a home. At least this was Draco's experience of it. He figured this was exactly what he needed in that moment to sooth his irritation, so he made his way inside.

The dimly lit shop was still open, despite the late hour, and the door creaked a little as he opened it. A corridor of tall shelves ran down the shop in front of him, leading to a small staircase which he knew curled up to the right at the end and headed to the second floor. To his immediate left, the shop opened into a small room, containing a desk which sat in the centre of it with a till placed on the top. Behind the desk, infront of a large bookshelf which covered the back wall, was a large comfortable looking armchair. It looked rather ratty, but at home within a quaint little shop like this one. On the chair sat a tall, sandy haired man who had his shooed feet propped up on the desk in front of him. His head rested comfortably against the back of the chair, his eyes following the text of a large book which was open on his lap.

"Mr Malfoy" the man greeted in a kind voice, smiling at Draco briefly before looking back down at what he was reading.

Not wanting to disturb him again, Draco continued without saying anything and made his way down the long corridor and up the stairs to the second floor.

He hadn't been to this shop in a few weeks, but nothing seemed to have changed in his absence. The mismatched shelves were pushed roughly together to form rows, each holding books of random subjects. The topics covered were quite diverse, ranging from papers condemning the discussion of conspiracy theories, to books on the specifics of efficient raspberry picking.

This bookshop held many brilliant books, but it took an eye to be able to discern them from all the others that surround them.

He followed the familiar path past the odd looking shelf which contained 12 years worth of love letters, towards a small nook he often sat down in to read. But just as he reached it, he stopped still.

In his spot there sat a strangely familiar brunette girl; her long curly hair lying messily on her head, a small smattering of freckles running along her nose, and her rich brown eyes reading from a large book which she held against her legs.

The peaceful mood he had managed to develop was repressed by his returning irritation.

"Can I seriously not get a break from it all?" He mumbled angrily to himself.

The girl, whom he had recognised as Granger from the newspaper article, replied to his mutterings with one of her own. "You have no idea"

"Huh?"

She looked up from her book, and slid a newspaper across the floor which stopped just in front of his feet. Looking down he saw the same article he'd been hearing about for the past two hours. He compared the picture from the article and the Granger sitting on the floor in front of him and he noticed a weariness in her eyes and a frustration in the set of her mouth that she didn't have in the picture.

"It seems that even when we try to step out and do the right thing, it is still only our clothes that gain the spotlight." She said with a bitter sigh.

Thinking back on everything he heard Pansy and her friends discuss, he couldn't seem to remember them mentioning a reason why Granger was with Blaise in the first place. He just assumed she must be a socialite as well. But what she just said confused him. He was about to ask her what she meant, but she interrupted him before he could.

"But I really don't want to talk about that. I came here to be distracted, to read. By the sound of it, you did too?"

He nodded, letting the topic drop and sat down opposite her against one of the sturdier bookshelves.

"What are you reading?" She looked grateful for the complete change in topic, and at the mention of her book her eyes lit up.

"It's a fictional story about a girl in the American civil war, I'm not that familiar with American history, well not as familiar as i wish to be at least, but I think I might start reading up on it more. This book says a lot about history, bravery and family, but also a lot about social inequality, which I think it's still applicable today. It's so great to talk about topics like this in literature because it makes the awareness of it so much more widespread. Like how Dickins would always focus his stories on poverty and the awful conditions for the working class..."

She seemed to notice she was rambling a little a looked a bit sheepish.

"No, it's okay" Draco chuckled, "It's nice to see enthusiasm about important things". He thought back to his conversation at the pub earlier, and had never before meant those words so much.

"You say that now" she chuckled, "I think my friends are getting sick of how often I say the phrase 'social inequality'"

"Are you a bit of a warrior for it?"

She grinned, "You could say that"

A buzzing came from Hermione's pocket in her jeans, and she shuffled slightly as she retrieved her phone, muttered a quick "excuse me" and held it to her ear.

"Harry?"

Draco sat still as she spoke on the phone, watching her facial expression change from casual to worried to frustrated.

After a minute or so she let out a loud, "What on earth is he thinking?" and scrambled to her feet. She held the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she carefully replaced the books on the shelves, muttering "What an idiot" under her breath.

"Okay, I'm coming now, hang on Harry"

She held a finger over the speaker on her phone and looked to Draco.

"Sorry, my friend, he's... he's being stupid, i need to go and... fix stuff" She said, her eyes once again looking weary.

He chuckled, "It's okay, see you around."

She went to leave then but she stopped after a few steps.

"I never got your name." She said to him.

"Draco" he said, "Nice to meet you"

She laughed, "Nice to meet you too, I'm Hermione."

And with that she left.

After only a minute in his thoughts he decided he no longer felt like reading, so got up and left the shop, calling goodbye to the owner as he shut the door behind him.

He left the bookshop that night feeling a lot lighter than he had when he entered it. If that had been the last time he saw Hermione, the memory would have faded into the background, forgotten to the many memories which made up this time in his life.

But little did he know, his association with her had just begun.

Let me know what you think!

Blessings xoxo