A/N: Hi there! Thank you to each of you who follows and reviews and reads this stories. I'm glad you like my drabbles.
This one is Dramione again, written for the weekly drabble challenge in the fb group Dramione Fanfiction Forum (if I remember correctly)
Prompts were: red heels, torn parchment, rain clouds (and maybe umbrella)
Remember, all of these drabbles are unbeta'ed.
Red heels. Torn parchment. Rain clouds.
How that all fit together, you ask? Well, Hermione could tell a very emotional, swear-words filled story about that. At least about the heels and the parchment. The clouds were something she hadn't taken into consideration when she stormed off from the festivities, and that they decided to open the flood gates the exact moment when she stomped very un-ladylike on the parchment with said heels just made it all worse.
"Looking good, Granger." Great. Exactly the person she needed. To blow off some steam. In the form of curses and hexes.
"Fuck you, Malfoy."
"Can't a gentleman pay a compliment to a pretty witch?"
"Not when you are the one paying it and the witch in question is drowning in her misery, looking like I do at the moment. And with drowning I don't mean in alcohol, but rain." Hermione gestured to the mass of thick, wet curls that had fallen from her carefully braided and pinned bun. Then, she pointed to the mud stains on her blood red heels. Stomping on embarrassing break-up notes did that to shoes, even if they still looked gorgeous.
Draco, of course, looked annoyingly handsome in his tailored black dress robes with the emerald green tie and his platinum blond hair that gave him a somewhat casual, but still poised appearance. Then, she noticed that she no longer felt the rain tickling on the exposed part of her back. Draco sodding Malfoy held an umbrella over her.
"Yeah, it would be much more fun for the both of us if you drowned in alcohol, don't you think? Especially since you should be partying because you're finally free of the weasel."
"Ron…" she choked back a sob, the mentioning of her now ex-boyfriend almost re-opening her own floodgates, and she hated herself for showing such weakness in front of the blond menace. Hell, in front of anyone.
"The dumb one, yes," Draco established. "The one whose IQ and magical ability you've surpassed when you learned to breathe. The one who wants a mother, not a girlfriend. The one who insulted and shunned you through the years of our education." Hermione snorted mirthlessly at the last sentence. "Oh wait, the last one could also be me, I suppose," Draco admitted, his voice suddenly devoid of sarcasm.
Curious, Hermione looked up from the bench she was sitting on and was met with eyes the colour of storm clouds. The intensity of his gaze stopped her tears. "Definitely," she admitted, then cleared her throat that was raw from all the crying and swearing, making the decision that she had enough of both for now. "I made quite a dramatic departure from the party, didn't I?"
"Not particularly diverging from what I've seen from Gryffindors in general, no. Though, you left the impression of an exceptionally beautiful avenging angel when you stormed out." He smirked and winked at her, and Hermione didn't like what that did to her. She went for the blunt way and asked: "Either you have a weird way of complimenting a witch or you're hitting on a recently dumped woman. I don't know what's worse. Or more Slytherin, in your case."
The storm clouds had long brightened - both in his eyes and in the sky above them. Draco folded the (ironically blue and yellow) umbrella and extended and offered his arm to her, still smirking. "Why don't we find out if there's something in between?"
She didn't know why she accepted his offer and linked her arm through his, her hand resting on the crook of his elbow. Was it because she didn't want to waste this evening by moping after having spent so long getting ready for it? Was it because her meeting with Ron today had been the last breath of what they both knew was a dying relationship, and, for once, he had been smarter than her and ended things officially (even if it was cowardly on a piece of parchment)? Or was it because she felt drawn to Draco's presence so close to her, leading her back inside, past the dancing wizards and witches and straight to the bar?
Hermione really didn't know. But she would to find out.
And if the red heels found themselves hanging on a certain blond's bedpost, who cared? She'd have another story to tell then.