Chapter Three

"A dinner," Malfoy drawled. "At the weasel's."

"Weasley's," Hermione huffed. "If you don't want to, just say so. There's no need to be a prat about it."

He raised a silvery eyebrow. "Careful Granger, I might say no."

She rolled her eyes.

"Why exactly are you inviting me?"

"Because Ron insisted I bring a date," she rubbed at her eyes. She was now wondering if it had been a bad idea to ask him. Yes, they got on well when working, but to ask him for a favor? His gray eyes wandered over her form, landing on her pink cheeks.

Malfoy made a sound of amusement. "So you asked me? Trying to make the old boyfriend jealous? That's beneath you, Granger."

"I am not trying to make Ron jealous. I'm annoyed he's making me bring a date. I figured I'd bring you to annoy him."

He barked out a laugh. "You want me to….annoy him?"

"Yes." She folded her arms across her chest. "I don't want you to mock him or say anything undignified, I just want you to come. Your presence will be enough."

"And what do I get out of it?" He grinned wolfishly.

Her eyes narrowed. "My gratitude."

He snorted. "No."

"What is it you want, Malfoy?"

"I want you to have lunch with me," he said, surprising her. "Every day, for the rest of the week."

"Why?" her eyebrows raised in bewilderment.

"It'll be good for my… less than stellar reputation. Understand me, Granger, we don't have to be friends. It'll just do me some good to be seen in public with you."

Hermione frowned. She was by no means oblivious to the struggle Malfoy had been going through since the fall of Voldemort; the pureblood families wanted nothing to do with him after he came forward in qourt to help Harry imprison several low-key deatheaters, and the opposite hated him for the way he'd been in school.

"Just lunch?" her head tilted to the side, appraising him. He nodded, smirking, twirling his wand in his fingertips. She smoothed her hands on her skirt, glancing up at him through her bangs. He was watching her carefully, but was trying to hide any nervousness behind a smirk. "Alright, Malfoy."

He stood, reaching for his robe. "Alright then. Let's go."

She blinked, surprised. "Now?"

"Yes, Granger. Now. I'm hungry." He shrugged it on. "We can look at Potter's notes later."

She pushed to her feet, reaching for her bag hanging along her chair. After holstering her wand, she followed him out the door. Malfoy led the way and people gave him a wide berth as they moved throughout the ministry. Hermione noticed that many glared at him as he passed, but Malfoy kept his sharp chin tilted up as he sauntered down the halls as if he owned them. She had to hurry to keep up, her kitten heels making it difficult to walk, her skirt tight around the knees. He noticed her falling behind and stopped, letting her fall into step beside him.

Once they entered the floo station, all eyes were on them, curious. It wasn't common knowledge that Malfoy worked with Hermione and they certainly never spent any time together outside of work. "Diagon Alley?" He asked her.

"I'll meet you there," she said, stepping forward and grabbing a handful of floo powder. She tossed it down, spoke clearly, and the green fire engulfed her.

She stepped out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was mostly empty. Tom worked behind the counter and an old man nursed a firewhiskey in the corner. The fireplace roared behind her and Malfoy stepped out, brushing soot from his robes. He gave her a smirk.

They headed into Diagon Alley, the street busy with the end of summer. A few people stopped and openly stared as Malfoy ushered her inside a cafe on the corner. It was new, owned by a recent Hogwarts graduate.

"What do you want?" Malfoy asked her, eyeing the crowded restaurant. "I can get your order while you find us a spot to sit."

"Turkey sandwich."

He eyed her with amusement. "Alright."

Her lips twisted to the side of her face when she tried to suppress a smile. She was surprised to find herself enjoying his company. He flashed a smirk at her before he sauntered off towards the line.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned to find a young woman with glossy blonde hair standing behind her, holding a notebook and quill. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

"Amelia Parker," she introduced herself. "I work for Witch Weekly. Would you mind if I had a word?"

"Now's not a very good time," her eyes flitted back to Malfoy. He was chatting with the girl at the counter. "And I don't really do interviews…"

"Oh, I know that!" She interrupted. "I was just hoping for a comment on what you're doing here with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione shifted in discomfort. "I'm sorry, I really can't talk at the moment-"

"Granger," Malfoy approached. "Thought I told you to get a seat?" he glanced at the reporter. "Haven't you got anything better to do?" He raised a condescending eyebrow at her. She flushed with embarrassment.

"Don't be rude," Granger scolded. She was secretly grateful for his interference, but she'd never admit it.

"It's quite alright, Miss Granger," she said, "I'll be in touch, yes? For an interview?"

"Well I-"

"Have a nice lunch!" The reporter waved a hand at them, walking away with swishing hips and a wave of glossy hair.

Hermione turned to Malfoy with a frown. He gave her a self satisfied smile and nodded towards an empty table in the corner. They made their way there, taking a seat. "You think you'd be better at telling reporters to 'sod off' by now, Granger."

"It's not my fault I'm not as rude as you."

"It was rude of her to approach you," he pointed out as their meals materialized in front of them. Malfoy had ordered her tea. She took a sip, surprised to find her favorite. She eyed him over the rim of her cup. He ignored her, reaching for his roast beef sandwich. The reporter had retaken her seat not far from them and was eyeing them. She reached for her wand and cast a muffliato around their table.

"So Malfoy," She asked, setting her cup down. "Have you got any thoughts on the case?"

"I've thought on your theories," he said once he was finished chewing. "And I think you may be right."

"About the victims being muggleborn?"

He nodded. "Which rather concerns me, if I'm being honest," he leaned forward, staring hard at her, "considering the fact that I am currently having lunch with the most famous muggleborn witch in the world."

She straightened. "Are you implying-"

"If you're theories are right," he cut her off, "you are the most logical target. Your murder would be publicized beyond belief- Potter would make sure of that- giving the killer a certain sort of power."

She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "I would love it if this psychopath came for me," she said passionately. "I've handled far worse."

He leaned towards her, so close that she could see the dark blue rim circling the gray in his eyes. "Granger, I'm not questioning your abilities as a witch- I'd have to be mad to do so- but this is a serious threat. At least mention it to Potter."

She rose an eyebrow at him. "You sound almost concerned for me."

"Of course I am! If you die, who's going to help fix my reputation? It's not like I can have lunch with Weaselbee."

She couldn't help it. She laughed.

HIM

She was sitting in a cafe. He could see her through the glass window. She was wearing a red blouse, the color of freshly spilled blood. It looked ravishing on her. The traitor Malfoy certainly thought so; he could see the Malfoy's eyes wander over her, dark with interest, his lips curling as she laughed. Her lovely face was flushed with happiness and life.

He turned away. He had another girl for today. She would have to wait.