A/N: There's going to be a song mentioned in this chapter. I highly recommend you listen to it (at the time and mark mentioned) whilst reading. Really sets the mood.
She had to admit — for a last minute ensemble, her outfit looked mighty fine.
Normally, for nights out, Hermione opted for casual attire (band t-shirts, trousers, boots, and certainly no makeup). But this night was different, in that she wasn't just dressing for the Muse concert. With one look in the mirror, she undid the clasp in her hair and ruffled her curls a bit, allowing them to fall loosely to her elbows in chocolate spirals. She couldn't look too overdressed. Just enough to show she cared a little, not to show that she had raced to the shops after work and dropped an uncomfortable amount of money on something brand new. Still, she was content with the end result — a little black dress matched with a biker jacket, and some heels to class up the affair.
On second thought, perhaps the dress was a bit much…
Hermione frowned, heavily considering her usual attire until she remembered the amount of money she spent.
No, the dress and heels would have to do. If her co-workers ventured to ask, she would just have to fib her way out of it and hope the lot of them weren't feeling particularly nosy — because those were the people with whom she planned on attending the concert. Just a few friends from the department. As planned, she would meet them inside the venue, thirty minutes before the show was scheduled to start, which left an hour or so to do the thing.
Satisfied with her ensemble and less nervous, thanks to a shot of liquor and some calming music, she took her clutch and proceeded out the door.
It was an uncomfortable thing, waiting.
Draco's eyes drifted to the time on his wristwatch. Half nine. He'd been there for an hour, alone, with two drinks down and nerves in his chest. It would probably have fared wiser to schedule a designated meeting time, but he wasn't thinking straight during that call and his co-caller hadn't contacted him since then. For all he knew, she had no intention of meeting him and had only agreed because she felt obligated to — or because she felt sorry for him.
There was no need, of course.
His life, although different, was nothing to pity.
Through his inheritance, he bought an enormous home in the most expensive district of wizarding London, and shares in some promising companies, as well as a collection of artwork that would have made even Musée d'Orsay pale in comparison. On top of that, he was the chief executive officer of Malfoy Apothecary — a family business, of course, but one he had worked tooth and nail to save after his and his parents' involvement in the war had been revealed to the public.
All in all, it was safe to assume he had high income and learned hard work, the hard way.
But none of those things held a candle to his most recent venture.
It was called 'The Two-Way Touch' and was chiefly owned and operated by his best friend, Blaise Zabini, with whom he had brainstormed the idea after a night out in Kiev. To them, it was more of a hobby than anything else, but the business was growing and for that reason, became quite demanding. Being CEO of something as high profile as Malfoy Apothecary and CFO of his and Blaise's venture left him little to no free time.
Only at night, did he have a moment to breathe and regroup. But even those hours were devoted to the new business. In the start, both he and Blaise thought it wise to work as operators, but the business was no longer in its start up phase. Over the last couple months alone, it had experienced exponential growth, which was the reason they had expanded from Eastern Europe to the UK, and even to America. Because of this, Blaise proposed they put their operator statuses to rest, and focus on the business side.
Though, for obvious reasons, Draco found it difficult.
Blaise had no idea his friend continued to work as an operator, and although Draco felt bad keeping the information from his business partner, he wasn't about to explain his reasoning.
There was one rule, one rule ingrained to the minds of each and every operator under their employment. Do not exchange personal information with clients. For all parties involved, this was the best course of action, and although Draco had lived by this rule for months, he had obviously broken it the night he first talked to her — to Granger.
It wasn't obvious, at first, but he knew within one minute of conversation. There was no mistaking it. She was the one. She was the woman on the other end of that call. It was clear to him, particularly when she had scolded him for asking her favourite sex position. He knew that tone. He'd inspired that tone — that outrage — on a regular basis during their time at Hogwarts; long enough to recognize it anywhere.
For that reason alone, he was a little offended when she didn't recognize his smug, sarcastic tone of voice. Could it be, that so many years had passed? Could it be, they were that old? Or worst of all…could it be, she had forgotten all about him?
No, not true.
One, because she ended that first call within seconds of his confession. Meaning, she obviously remembered his name, enough to connect the dots between that and the initials he'd given her.
Two, because she wasn't just shocked and embarrassed to see him in Rhiannon's shop. No, she was downright mortified and then, as his eyes lingered on her for a little longer than intended, less than disappointed.
It faded quick, but he knew that look, he knew that alarm and the dash of intrigue that followed.
In that single moment, she bolted out of the shop without a word.
That, was to be expected.
But what he hadn't expected was a follow-up conversation, and her denial. Somehow, she had managed to convince herself he wasn't the man with whom she had shared that first encounter. Luckily, he didn't mind. Seeing her in the sex shop restored his conviction — enough that he could privately admit he was attracted to her.
More than attracted. Maybe a little infatuated…obsessed? No, not obsessed. Not really.
Either way, what happened later that night, during their second conversation, took him by surprise. Going into it, he had no intention of complimenting her or dropping such hard, heavy hints. Part of him was insulted she refused to accept the truth. But another part of him relished that fact, which propelled him into asking her to meet before the concert.
That in mind, he sat amidst an enormous group of people, most of whom were pre-drinking before the show. It was close to nine forty-five, when he had another look at the time, taking measured sips as to not inebriate his senses too far. No, he had to keep his wits about him. His wits were the sole reason the witch had agreed to meet. Or…was it his talent for dirty talk?
He couldn't decide.
Beyond that, he didn't have time to decide.
Draco observed as several men steer their attention to the entrance. Curious to know what was happening, he followed their sheepish, and in some cases, rather salacious, stares and felt his chest contract. It happened then. She was there, and bloody hell, had she arrived. With concentrated effort, his jaw remained closed. But that didn't stop his eyes from wandering, from taking her in, head to toe.
Her clothes and hair weren't drenched in rain, as they had been the day at the shop. No, she wasn't a mess — though he quite fancied her either way.
For that night, she had her hair down in natural spirals and applied light makeup, dressed in an eye-catching black number; the skirt of which rose a couple inches above her knees, swaying as she turned, searching for him in the crowd. The dress alone was quite fancy for a concert, but she played it down with a biker jacket and minimal jewelry. In fact, the only pieces of jewelry he saw on her were a pair of earrings, ones he recognized from when they were teenagers — sentimental value, perhaps. Seconds later, he noticed her peep-toe heels and the manner in which they elongated her legs, punctuating each step she took with a light click.
Feeling lightheaded, he breathed, watching from a safe distance. She had her back turned to him, and somehow failed to notice the only pale blonde head of hair in the vicinity. That in mind, a small smirk found his lips and without another second to spare, he rose from his seat, slowly, and moved to the bar.
She was there, nursing what looked like an extra dirty martini.
It was all quite film noir, the more he thought about it. Minus the crime, of course. Though, he supposed it was a bit of a crime to leave her hanging. With her mind and her level of anxiety, which bordered close to obsessive compulsive disorder, she had to be losing her cool. Her calm, composed demeanour didn't fool him for a second. He knew that foot tapping and hair tucking. He'd been around her enough times, during high-stress situations, to know.
Again, he smirked, thinking about all the times he'd positioned himself near her during exams. Back then, it was a cheating tactic, but through that, he managed to recognize her quirks. It seemed she'd developed another, in her adult years. Without fail, she sipped on her extra dirty martini in three and then five second increments; alternating between the two, to appear normal.
Merlin, she truly is a nutter…
Draco hovered about seven feet behind her, before the voice that he presumed to be his conscience, convinced him to cut the shite and be the gentleman his mother raised him to be.
In the distance, he heard 'Blue Veins' by The Raconteurs. It was about twenty-eight seconds in, filling his ears with the piano keys and the subsequent strum of the bass guitar, in rhythm with the low, even beat in his chest, as he combed a hand through his fringe and moved forth.
"Gin and tonic," he ordered, making brief eye contact with the bartender. "Cheers, mate."
Drink in hand, he settled in one of the stools, aware that someplace a few stools down, there was a woman dressed in black.
It happened slowly — and then fast.
Her eyes meandered in his direction, the moment she sensed someone near. Lazily, she tilted her attention to the right, where he was, and then back again, at her drink, unfazed — until the image of that same blonde head of hair burned holes through her consciousness. Heart racing and muscles tense, she snapped another look in his direction and froze.
Draco watched it unfold through his peripheral vision, keeping cool against the drum of his chest.
It was around this time, that the song reached its chorus, transitioning the scene to black and white, under the shadow of the hard, blues ballad.
In the seconds that followed, he felt the pull of her gaze travel from the surface of his skin to the depths of his veins. Only then, did he do as she'd been waiting him to do since the start. Draco took one drink from his gin and tonic, silent and still, as the alcohol calmed his nerves, and slowed the drum in his ribcage to a calm, even pace.
With only his eyes, he looked at her…not at her touchable legs, one folded over the other, nor the brush of cleavage that escaped beneath the neckline of her dress. No, not those places. In that moment, he reserved his attention for her most vulnerable place.
Her eyes.
Bright brown, filled to the brim with mingled shock, uncertainty, and apprehension, and eventually…the serene quietude that was acceptance, her eyes fluttered shut…and by the time they opened again, he was closer.
Drink in hand, he moved to the seat beside hers, about a foot away, far enough that he wasn't imposing on her, but close enough to catch scent of her perfume. It was light and distinctly different from the floral scent he remembered as a teenager, running this witch's confidence and self-esteem to the ground, whilst holding a candle for her, resolved to believe she would never find out.
Granger breathed in, her chest rising but never falling.
She looked at him, at his tousled hair, hovering in wisps over his stormy grey eyes, and his clothes, smart and black, as well as his hands, as he used one finger to trace the rim of his drink. She focused on that single movement, with a reddish hue to her cheeks and neck. Then, right on cue, her eyes wandered to his lips, and in that same second, a small quiver ran through hers.
If he knew one thing for certain, it's that she was thinking about what he had said, about kissing her, about running his fingers through her hair and making love to her with only his lips.
Only then, did she exhale.
"Looking forward to Muse?" he asked, aware that her blush deepened, the moment she heard his voice.
Granger blinked. "OH — right." She tucked an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. "The concert."
For some inexplicable reason, he wanted her to know he was nervous, too. But he remained silent, opting instead to drink from his gin and tonic, hoping the action of doing so would disentangle the knot in his chest.
"I can't wait to hear 'Undisclosed Desires'," Granger said, sharing her favourite song. "What about you?"
Draco looked to her then, dropping his attention from her eyes to her lips, and back again. "I don't know," he furthered. "I could stand to wait a little longer."
Though it was fast, he caught the heat that danced across her face.
She tucked another invisible strand, cheeks aflame and face turned to her drink. From there, she took the garnish, which consisted of one olive, and devoured it. Though, not before licking a drop of liquid from it, with the olive between her lips. Draco watched through the corner of his eye, wishing he had a garnish on his drink, with which he could have seduced her. But all he had was the knot in his chest, and the drink to dull it. Content with that, he brought the drink to his mouth — a little too fast — and in doing so, caused a bit to dribble down his chin. Startled, he caught the beed of liquid with his left knuckle.
Granger sniggered in response. "Nice save."
He paused, waiting a moment, before breaking into a smile. "If I'd known spilling drink on myself would break the ice, I'd have done it sooner."
"Break the ice…" she repeated, blinking. "…whatever for?"
Before he could respond with an equally sarcastic comment, the bartender came around and fixed them a second round of drinks. Until then, Draco hadn't noticed he'd finished his first. Perhaps he was more nervous than he realized. There was no reason, really. Granger didn't seem disappointed. Surprised, yes. Maybe a little embarrassed, too. But not disappointed.
That in mind, he drank from his vodka neat, slowly, as to keep his wits about him…again. Granger took a similar approach. He had a feeling they carried the same train of thought. There wasn't much time before the show started, which left them at a crossroads.
"I better head to the venue," she realized, catching a glimpse of the time on his wristwatch. "I told my friends I'd meet them ten minutes ago."
Draco nodded, having lost track of time. "Yeah, me, too."
It was an awkward end to their 'first' meeting, but there was nothing to be done. Draco covered the tab for both rounds and held the door open, as he and Granger left the pub. She seemed startled by the gesture. It was cold outside — brisk and biting. Draco shoved his hands into his pockets as they crossed the street, wondering how women managed to walk, let alone run in high heeled shoes. More than that, how was Granger able to do so? Last he checked, she was as clumsy as ever.
Memories of the sex shop flooded his brain, and he tried not to laugh, but the sight of her, mortified, with her vibrator grinding against the hardwood, between them, would forever be etched into his memory. No matter where the night took them, he would always have that image.
Seconds later, it happened.
Granger turned to him, as they reached the doors. "Er…"
"See you…after the show?" Draco asked.
She breathed out, cheeks pink from the cold. "Yeah…I…I'd like that."
In the perfect world, he would have asked to stand with her and watch the show together, but he wasn't sure how comfortable she was with being seen with him — around her friends, no less. Because of that, he didn't risk it and opted to part with her once they walked through those doors.
Though, not before an awkward 'see you later' moment.
There were countless people inside, moving about, chatting, drinking, chuffed to see Muse and to start the night with a bang. Draco glanced to his left, where Granger stood, having forgotten how small she was. Even with heels, she reached no higher than his shoulders. Granted, he was on the taller side, but still. He turned to her, blocking her from a couple drunken buffoons, cursing as they nudged him into her.
"Sorry —" he blurted, sidestepping a little, to avoid knocking her over.
Her eyes widened, and then relaxed, once she realized what happened. "Don't worry," she mouthed.
The music in the background was loud. It wasn't Muse. It was the opening band.
Draco wheeled one look around and found his friends' heads bobbing about near the front. No doubt, they were wondering where he was. He faced Granger again, and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. It was too loud to communicate from such a distance. Instead, he leaned forward, to her ear, slow enough that she could have backed away, had she wanted to, but she didn't.
"I'll wait here," he said to her, having learned from his earlier mistake of not planning things thoroughly enough. "Once the show's over."
Granger stood on the tips of her toes to respond. Her fingertips skimmed his forearms, as she tried to keep balance. "Oh — sorry — I —"
"It's okay," Draco quickly broke through, holding her in place, with his hands loosely around her waist. In an instant, he dropped them. "I — I'll see you soon, I guess."
"Yeah," she nodded, tossing one look over her shoulder, where he presumed her friends were standing. "Erm — should we —"
"If you —"
"Only if you —"
"I do," he spoke, rather candidly. "Do you?"
Granger opened her mouth and then closed it, as another one of those buffoons came hurdling past them. This time, Draco hadn't been paying close enough attention to block the collision. But he did have quick reflexes and because of that, he managed to catch her before she tumbled to the floor. She gasped, glancing back at the buffoon and then at him, cheeks flushed, as she noticed his arms were around her waist again, tighter…
Without meaning to, their wishes had been realized. It wasn't quite the hug he'd imagined, but being close to her felt nice. In this position, he was close enough to catch the freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose, and the natural curl of her eyelashes. Merlin, he thought to himself. She really is beautiful.
"Hmm?" Granger mouthed to him. "I didn't catch that."
His pulse quickened, once he realized he'd spoken out loud. "Erm —" He set her down. "Unimportant."
Her eyes narrowed a moment, inherently skeptical, before she tossed another look at her friends. "I should — I should probably head over there before they send out a search party."
"Oh — right," he nodded, slightly crestfallen. "Have a nice night."
"You, too," she smiled.
From there, they separated. He moved to the front, where his friends stood across the stage, and she to the bar, where hers hung back to observe without getting trampled. It settled him to know she wouldn't be run over by another drunken buffoon. She really was quite small…
Though, before he knew it, before he had the chance to look back at her, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered around him, erupting in a mixture of shouts and applause, as Muse entered the stage.
A/N: Ahhh, so nervous about this chapter haha. Writing from Draco's perspective is challenging. Hope you liked it!
