A/N: And here is the second chapter. Hope you enjoy it! I've started writing the third one, but I have no idea when it will be finished.
I am so glad that niffizzle, again, found time to fit my chapter into her schedule. Seriously, I am embarrassed how many mistakes I make...
Why, oh why had she agreed to go on a date with Terry Boot on a Sunday at 10 o'clock? She had felt flattered, of course, that the handsome Healer had asked her out after running into her a few times at St Mungo's.
This wasn't their first date. About a week ago they had met for a coffee, and it had been… nice. Safe. Comfortable. Easy. And so she had been looking forward to meeting him again, especially since he had so empathetically suggested an antique book market.
But then the Quidditch World Cup finale had happened. Or rather, Draco Malfoy had happened. And with him, a certain melancholy and unsettling gut feeling that their evening had ended too abruptly.
Hermione sighed to herself. She was a rational person and knew there was no reason to cry over spilled pumpkin juice. And she wasn't the type of witch who threw away a perfectly good option for a potential partner after one fleeting moment… evening with a different man.
No, she thought, emphasising this conclusion with a stomp that resulted in her foot finally getting into her boot. She wanted to give Terry a real chance, and she wouldn't waste another second on intriguing smiles and bottomless grey eyes. Of course, she'd banned every thought about how his lips had felt against hers and how inviting he had smelled. Obviously.
After all, she wouldn't have to jump into a marriage contract until noon, wouldn't she? And who knew when she would meet Draco again? If ever.
"Seriously, Draco! A blonde on Friday and a brunette on Saturday?" Pansy, casually reclining in one of the comfortable armchairs in the breakfast salon, pointed at the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. "You're either very bad in bed, or the girls are standing in line to have a go at you." She casually sipped her morning tea. Even if it was nearing noon, but… pureblood elite, eh?
"You of all witches should know that, shouldn't you?" Draco asked arrogantly. He lowered himself into the chair opposite the dark-haired witch and reached for the strong coffee that always waited for him.
But Pansy remained unaffected and only scoffed good-naturedly. "So you didn't improve since our mutual first time? Oh, Merlin, then it must be the money that attracts all the witches!"
Draco chuckled, pleased by their comfortable banter.
His relationship with Pansy had been easy, but nowadays, he loved her like a sister, the fumbling tries at sex long forgotten. His mother treated her like the daughter she never had, something Pansy appreciated, having lost her own mother during the war. Pansy was engaged to Anthony Goldstein, who, like Narcissa and Draco, had given the young witch the stability, reliability, and love that she craved so desperately but had been raised too proud to admit.
They often met over late breakfast on Sundays, which was the only occasion Draco set foot in Malfoy Manor. Because, obviously, Draco didn't live in his ancestral home - too many bad memories. He knew he'd go back to permanently living there one day, but not yet or even in the next few years.
As if on cue, Narcissa breezily walked into the room. "Though," she interrupted her words by kissing the two on the cheeks, "Pansy is right. Two witches in one weekend is a bit much."
Draco scowled and defensively said, "And since when do you take anything written in this paper for true?"
"Never. But these photos look pretty convincing." Narcissa gestured to the newspaper with her perfectly manicured hand.
"I was only on a date with the blonde," Draco admitted and added suggestively, to annoy the two witches, "And she even was quite decent company afterwards."
Pansy snorted, causing Narcissa to glare disapprovingly at the plebeian noise. "Not decent enough to invite her to breakfast on Saturday, I guess," quipped the younger witch. Draco shrugged as an answer, and Pansy continued, "So who was the brunette then?"
He looked closer at the photograph. It showed him and a woman he knew was Hermione Granger hugging, and Draco was relieved that the photographer had captured these seconds and not the moments following. As it were, the reader could only see his face; it was rather blurred, but with his hair, he was still instantly recognisable. The only things one could see from the woman were her brunette hair and her rather perfect bum, even more accentuated as she stood on tiptoes.
How hadn't he noticed that yesterday? Oh. Right. He had actually enjoyed talking.
Pansy still had her smug "Admit you can't Slyther-out of this" expression.
He consciously displayed a triumphant half-smirk. "The other one was taken during the World Cup finale at the Three Broomstick. It was only a hug in the excitement of the team's victory. The press was out for gossip."
Pansy didn't seem to buy it. "Since when do you 'hug'?"
It was true. When engaging with his usual social circles, he never hugged. It was either a kiss on the cheek or the hand for witches or a firm handshake or curt nod for the wizards since lifting hats had become old-fashioned even in the wizarding world.
"Since Mother deemed it necessary to hire a 'public relations' agent, namely Daphne Greengrass," Draco explained. That was only a partial lie. It was true that said public relations expert had advised him to 'relax his posture' and 'open up' to show wizarding society how much he had changed. In the same conversation, she had also mentioned that the conception of the Malfoy family would profit from contact with 'liberal' characters. But that hadn't been the reason Draco had talked to Hermione yesterday. No, she had simply intrigued him, her vibrant persona calling him to interact with her.
"And that necessity wouldn't have risen, had you not deemed it appropriate to be, as the younger generation calls it, on the 'dating scene' for so long," Narcissa chided him. Basically, she told him to keep it in his pants in pureblood speak. "I really think it's time for you to-"
"-Settle down, marry a vapid pureblood princess, produce an heir, and grow into my designated role as the head of the family?" Draco finished with what he expected her to say.
Narcissa gave him a levelling stare that reminded him too much of his childhood days when he had 'accidentally' turned his father's peacocks a bright, Hufflepuff yellow.
"To find a witch that has the brain and the will to put up with your uniqueness, my dearest son," she continued primly. "It's very easy to find a woman that looks good on your arm, even in your bed."
Draco flinched. Even at almost thirty, he wasn't keen on hearing his mother talking about what went on in his bedroom.
"But it is a hundred times more difficult to find one that holds your heart and mind."
As if she hadn't just unleashed her most sincere speech to him in a decade, Narcissa dropped the subject and started a conversation with Pansy about the newest designer store on Diagon Alley.
Often, Draco grabbed his broom after the late breakfast at the Manor, sometimes meeting with Theo, Blaise, or some colleagues for a round of Quidditch, but not today. The previous evening still very fresh on his mind, he Apparated to the antique book market Dean Thomas had told him about. It wasn't a secret Draco was well-read, but only a few of his friends knew he read as much in his free time as a certain brunette bookworm. And such addictions had to be fed.
As soon as he had solid ground under his feet, he breathed in deeply. The scent of parchment and old paper filled his nostrils and tickled his brain. Immediately, Draco knew it had been the right decision to come here.
About an hour later and several Galleons poorer (not that it mattered to him), the blond wizard was deeply engrossed in a tome from the late 19th century about the history of household charms, when a tinkling laughter from somewhere nearby gave him a severe sense of déjà vu from last night.
He whipped his head around so fast he heard a faint cracking in his neck, but he couldn't see the owner of the laugh anywhere. Was he going crazy? Had this one encounter really messed him up?
"No, really? He said he slipped and 'fell' on his wand?"
There, again!
But this time, he was sure. Hermione Granger was somewhere near him. He was just about to call out for her when he heard a second voice from behind a huge stack of books.
"Yes, really! And the next time, he said it was a charms accident that his wand ended up in his-" The unmistakably male voice trailed off suggestively and Hermione giggled at the bloke's words. She had giggled yesterday, too, and it had been an adorable sound.
Not in that moment and not even years later could Draco explain what he did next.
He ducked.
He ducked behind the stack of books and squinted around the corner.
And even though he couldn't see who was standing beside her, he caught a brief glimpse if Hermione.
As to be expected, she had her arms full of books and her hair was in a complete disarray. But why was she smiling so broadly? At whom?
Whoever it was, he resumed talking, although he sounded unsure. "If you're interested in medi-magical accidents, I saw a book about that a few minutes ago."
Draco nearly scoffed. Of course, Hermione Granger was interested in such a book. She had probably seen Potter and Weasley going through half of those listed in it.
"Sounds fascinating. But after that, we could, well... you see, it's almost two, and I am getting a bit hungry."
Draco felt something cold dropping in his stomach. Did he have one coffee too many at the Manor?
"Yes, me too," Male Voice answered. "First, we'll find that book, and then you can let me carry your books and take you to that nice restaurant just a few minutes from here?"
The mass in Draco's stomach solidified, and he could just barely hear Hermione calmly explain how she didn't need someone carrying her books because she had her recently Ministry-approved extended bag with her. Then, Hermione and Male Voice were gone.
Draco, proud Malfoy he was, waited crouched behind a stack of books until he heard them at the register before he left his hideout. Almost automatically, he bought the book on household charms and Apparated back to his spacious London townhouse, where he carefully stacked his purchases on his bookshelves because, naturally, his library was in alphabetical and topical order. And all the while, the same set of thoughts circled in his head: why did the idea of Hermione meeting some wizard at a book market irritate him so much? It wasn't as if he had spend the night with her or had her sign a betrothal contract. They hadn't even really kissed. Yet he still felt a bit disappointed that she had met another man the next day. He knew that it was only his prat-istical ego talking, but somehow, he felt like fate had pranked him.
The next Saturday
Ginny Potter had a baby.
And as cute as Hermione found little James, she had met with his mother for brunch, not the baby.
As she had grown accustomed to since the witch had gotten pregnant, Hermione tried to endure Ginny's first sixty minutes of pure baby talk as patiently as she could because she understood what a huge portion of Ginny's life the little boy now occupied. Though, this time, her mental absence must have shown, for Ginny had somehow changed the topic slightly.
"The best thing about nursing are the breasts! Once you get beyond this sore nipple state, they're just full and soft, and Harry can't leave his grabby hands off of me."
"Merlin, Ginny! I don't want to hear that!" Hermione perked up, grimacing.
"What? I'm just encouraging you to go exclusive with Whoever so you can start making babies yourself! What stops you?" Ginny threw her hands up in a manner that reminded Hermione too much of Molly.
"First of all, the nipple talk doesn't make bearing children more attractive. And what holds me off is the idea of a parasite growing inside my uterus, plus the fact that said uterus has been probably cursed one too many times, and you know that." The last bit she mumbled more to herself, "Not to mention that while a man is only necessary for that initial act, one would be nice to have around permanently."
Ginny's expression changed from teasing to sad in a matter of seconds. Hermione hated to disillusion her best female friend so harshly, but the redhead knew that Hermione's supposed infertility had been one of the reasons she and Ron had broken up. It had devastated them, and Hermione was glad they had reconciled their friendship.
She had coped so well on the outside that Ginny forgot most of the times, but Hermione was well aware that her issues could be a hindrance in a possible future relationship. Though, chances were Muggle technology could help her.
Hermione touched Ginny's hand over the table. "It's okay, Gin. Really. Let's just talk about something else, alright?"
Relief brightened her friend's face again. "Like your date with Healer Boot on Sunday? How was it?"
"It was very nice. Perfect, actually. Every mother-in-law's dream," Hermione reported evenly.
"Do I hear a 'but' coming? Didn't he check your tonsils properly?"
Just when Hermione was about to answer to Ginny's question, she saw something blond in the corner of her eye. A quick look to the left told her it was an unmistakably platinum blond haired head and its owner was just entering the café.
There was no rational explanation for what she did next.
She ducked under the table.
"Hermione? What the heck?" Ginny asked from above, obviously confused.
"I… lost-" she mumbled something incoherently, "Yes. Under the table. And I can't find it!" What? She was called Brightest Witch of Her Age, and that was all she could come up with? She hadn't even had enough time to see if he had come alone! And would she care if he had? This was so confusing.
Ginny obviously thought the same, for she now peeked under the table. "What, your dignity?" She took in her flustered friend's expression and asked, "What happened?"
"Ferret." Hermione almost rolled her eyes at herself for the stupidity of her answer.
"Hermione, I love you like my sister, but the 'parasite who escaped from my womb' took all my Weasley patience with him. So try and make some sense."
"Draco Malfoy… is he still there?"
Ginny peaked back over the table and checked. "Oh, I see him. He appears to be getting some takeout. For more than one person. Maybe he has a naked witch waiting in his chic townhouse?"
That wasn't what Hermione wanted to hear.
"And… he left," Ginny announced a few seconds later.
Hermione counted to ten and finally came out of her hiding place.
Ginny had already adapted her 'Where's the hippogriff dung?' expression that years of living with six older brothers had taught her.
The brunette sighed, again. "Remember the Quidditch World Cup finale?"
"Yes, best sex Harry and I had in a while!"
Hermione winced. "Spare me the details! I had a… run-in with Draco Malfoy in the pub then."
"Yes, I saw him, but we didn't speak. The two of you looked quite amicable."
"Maybe, 'run-in' was the wrong choice of words." Why was she so nervous to admit it? It wasn't as if she had done anything wrong. "We kissed each other after the most pleasant evening I've had with a man in a very long time."
A pause. Then, Ginny asked, a bit confused, "But that sounds quite wonderful…. why are you hiding under a table then?"
"Because… I don't know? A reflex?" She really didn't know.
"A kiss and run reflex?" Ginny cackled.
"Yes, something like that!" Hermione chimed in with the laughter. "And the kiss was something of an accident!"
"'Accidentally' kissing Draco Malfoy on Saturday and meeting Terry Boot on Sunday - Hermione, you are the naughty one of us two, not me!"