Typical Disclaimers Apply
A/N: Thanks to Azrulai, sjrodgers108, Isabella120, and silverbirch for reviewing chapter four! You guys are great!
Draco coughed once, cleared his throat, and coughed again. "Well?" he finally asked, hoarsely, and after about two minutes of utter silence.
"We should talk outside," Hermione finally muttered. Her mind was whirring as she and Draco moved out of the crowded kitchen and outside into the damp yard. Was he rebounding again? The grass was cool against her feet, soaking through her clogs. Maybe he was just desperate for companionship.
"I'm not on the rebound again," he said quietly, as if he was reading her thoughts. "I've thought about it a lot, and, well, I really am quite fond of you, Hermione."
"Huh? I mean, really?" she asked, rather incoherently, but still audibly; she was still rather lost in her thoughts..
"Yes, and it isn't just because you remind me of Astoria. You're brilliant and witty and I'm happy when I'm with you." He looked up at her, his gray eyes shining with warmth. "And really, what harm could one date cause?"
"People will talk," argued Hermione half-heartedly, coming back down to earth. "They're talking when we're not dating, imagine what they'd say if we actually confirmed the story. And what of your mum?" He raised his eyebrows. "You just said last week how she'd kill you if she thought we were involved."
"I did say that, yes. But my mother doesn't run my life, Hermione—"
"You live with her."
"True," he acknowledged, smiling, "but I am an adult. She respects that. And I don't think she'd be too upset if I broke the news to her, instead of the Prophet."
Hermione stifled a laugh. "Okay, if you say so. But still..."
"If you're worried it'll upset your family, then we don't have to do it." He put a gentle hand on her arm. "I really do care about you, Hermione, despite the way I've treated you for the past decade or so. These past three months have meant a lot to me, and I'm glad I got to know you. You're a wonderful person." He smiled quickly at her and then moved away, back towards the house.
Hermione hesitated. "Wait," she finally called out, quietly, but still with enough force for him to hear her. He turned back, grinning. "One date," she said firmly. "Dinner at a Muggle restaurant. Next Friday. Dutch pay. Pick me up at seven, have me home by ten."
"It's a date."
By the time Friday came around, Hermione was regretting her decision to actually go out with Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, the man who had instigated the rebellion that led to the death of her husband. Not that anyone other than Hermione actually noticed that.
"You're dating Malfoy!" Ginny laughed when Hermione came over to ask her for clothing help. "Merlin, this beats anything I could ever do."
"You married your husband so you could get money from the government," Hermione snapped, shutting Ginny up. "And I'm not dating Draco. It's one date. It's no big deal." Ginny ushered her through her flat and over to the bedroom, where a large wardrobe stood parallel to a queen-sized bed. Ginny immediately began rifling through the racks of clothing and pulling out outfits at random.
"I used to wear this all the time, before I got so fat," she said, gesturing at her four-months-pregnant belly. Even whilst carrying a child, Ginny managed to be much more petite than Hermione ever could be. And she seemed to be offering her a dress fit for an eleven-year-old.
"I'm not going out on a date dressed like a prostitute," she said coldly, not even flinching when the flicker of hurt passed over Ginny's face. "I just came over to borrow a pair of shoes, and maybe a nice necklace?" Now Ginny looked less hurt and more confused.
"So you're wearing...that?" Hermione glanced down at her rather well dressed self. She'd opted for a nice, black, knee-length dress with three-quarter sleeves. She thought she'd looked quite sophisticated and classy. Apparently not.
"What's wrong with this?" she spread her fingers over the soft black fabric.
"Well, nothing, if you're going for a job interview or a funeral." Ginny faltered for a moment, but immediately her smile flicked back on. "Good God, Hermione, you don't want to scare him off with this McGonagall look!" Hermione glanced down at herself. Sure, her dress was a little conservative, but she always dressed that way. She said so to Ginny. "Yes," Ginny argued back exasperatedly, "which is exactly why you cannot wear that on a date. Now put on this bloody dress." She thrust the scrap of silk at Hermione.
And you can't say no to a pregnant woman.
An hour later and Hermione was back at her flat, clothed only in a black dress that barely covered her chest and hips, a pair of Ginny's old black stilettos, more makeup than a circus clown, and a butterfly hair-clip. A buzz went off. Someone was waiting to be let in.
She opened up the door to see Draco, looking relatively normal for a wizard masquerading as a Muggle in a sport coat and nice trousers. However, she swore his eyes were going to fall out of his head the moment he saw her. And then the whole image was blown when he burst into hysterics.
"I honestly do not see what's so funny," she muttered, welcoming him in.
"You're dressed," he gasped between giggles, "like a prostitute!"
Hermione grimaced, already regretting everything that had led up to this point, all the way back to leaving the Christmas party. "Alright, date's canceled. Go on home."
"No, Hermione, please," he plead. "I found this great Muggle restaurant. You're going to love it, I promise."
"You have one more chance," she growled. "If you call me a whore one more time I am switching offices and having you demoted."
"No, I promise, it's going to be great. How do you feel about Irish food?"
"Irish food?"
The moment Hermione saw the golden arches she knew the date was doomed.
"You're taking me to a McDonald's?" She hissed through her teeth.
"I know it doesn't look too nice from the outside," he said gesturing to the fluorescent lighting and advertisements for cheap hamburgers. "But I stopped over at the Burrow today and asked if Arthur knew any nice, quiet restaurants, you know, since he's into Muggles and their culture and all of that. And what do you know, but George said that all the Muggle-borns in Gryffindor raved about this place!" He smiled at her hopefully.
"Draco, the next time you're looking for restaurants, try to remember that the nicest ones aren't sandwiched between a bank and a clothing store," she muttered as they pushed open the glass doors and stepped onto the dirty tile floor, only slightly cleaner than the sidewalks.
"So you don't like it?" he asked quietly as they stood in line, waiting for their food.
"Draco, I can tell you put a lot of care into getting this whole date set up," she said kindly, laying a hand on his arm, "and that really means a lot to me, but—"
At that moment a man, about Arthur's age at most, came up and muttered, "How much for an hour?"
"I don't think you need reservations here, sir, you just wait in line," Draco explained naively. The man laughed hoarsely.
"I meant an hour with her," he said, his eyes taking in Hermione's high heels, bare legs, and semi-revealed cleavage. She honestly felt part of her soul dying at that very moment.
"I—she's not—this is my date," he hissed. The man grinned lasciviously, his tongue poking out to lick his lips.
"I've got cash and no police connections, boy, you don't have to worry with me." He looked at Hermione's face and winked. "Hey, sexy."
"You did not just say that," she snapped, rolling her eyes.
"Tough girl, eh? Well, I like them tough." He looked like the Cheshire Cat. She nearly vomited. Was this man real, or was this some horrible symbolic nightmare?
"It's really time for us to go," Draco said, eying the doors. They quickly sidestepped the creepy man, got back onto the crowded sidewalks, and Apparated back to Hermione's apartment.
"Forty-five minutes," she said, checking her watch. "Well, it lasted longer than I thought it would, and it managed to be one of the most horrifying experiences of my life." She raised her eyebrows ironically, "Well done."
He grinned at her, "Same time next week, then?"