Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to post this. Real life plus struggling over some of the plot and details are my excuse. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please note: Hermione's hometown is assumed based on the wonderful essay located on the Harry Potter Lexicon entitled "Secrets of the Classlist". If you've never visited the website, and have ever had a question about anything regarding Harry Potter, it's probably the best site to consult. Sadly, it has not been updated in about 3 years due to a legal battle between the website's owner and J. over whether the site owner can publish a book form of the website. But it is still an awesome site.
Chapter Nine: Hermione
Hermione was freaking out, and she did not like it one bit. It was just a stupid dinner with Malfoy. It shouldn't matter what she wore. Except it's not just any dinner, a voice chimed in. It's a dinner date. Because he's courting you.
She had already spent two hours trying on one outfit after another, and the date wasn't even until tomorrow night. Ant the restaurant he had picked out – a Muggle one at that – was very ritzy. Hermione Granger did not do ritzy. She had no reason for fancy Muggle clothes; she belonged to the Wizarding world now. Even when she was required to attend formal occasions as a Ministry employee, the robs she wore would never have passed muster among the social elites, as Rita Skeeter frequently reminded her and the rest of wizarding Britain.
Hermione threw down the khaki skirt and black top she had been contemplating and went to her desk to see if she could afford to go shopping. It was pointless, she knew she did not have enough for a Muggle shopping trip. She had already looked at the book here times. Yet she still hoped a miracle would occur and she would discover a flaw in her arithmancy.
Nothing, she thought, sighing. Ugh, what am I going to do! She leaned back in her chair and chewed on the end of her quill, pondering her wardrobe, trying to think of something suitable to wear.
Her reverie was interrupted by a pecking at the window. She saw it was an eagle owl bearing a large package, followed by another smaller owl with a slightly smaller package.
Hermione opened the window to let the two owls in and fed them some treats, then went back to her desk to peruse the parcels. Almost immediately she noticed the Malfoy crest on both of them. Probably my first gift, she thought.
She reached to open the first one and then hesitated. Did she really want to accept a gift from Malfoy? Draco, she thought. If you're going to let him court you, then you should be on a first name basis.
She pulled the string on the parcel, and her eyes went wide as its contents were revealed. The dress she held up was simple, but definitely haute couture. She walked over to the mirror and held the silvery blue dress against her chest.
It's gorgeous, Hermione thought. The sleeves were off the shoulder and stretched across the neck just under her collarbones. The waist was banded by a strip of ivory with just a touch of gold in it. The skirt flared slightly at the hips to fall gently just above her toes. She was certain that if she were to twirl while wearing it, the skirt would flare out beautifully.
Why had Draco bought her a dress? How did he know she needed one? Hermione turned back to the packaging, hoping for some sort of note. Instead, she found a beautiful wrap that perfectly matched the sash of the dress. She held it up and watched the fringe fall down to hang from the bottom edge.
She turned her eyes to the second package, wondering what it could be. Pulling the string, she found a small rectangular box. She opened it up to reveal a necklace and matching earrings, with a note tucked in the box. Hermione examined the jewelry first.
Made of the most delicate looking silver, the necklace was an expertly woven Celtic braid, punctuated by tiny white blue gems of some sort. The earrings had the same pattern, only the braid hung from three of the same gems. It was all clearly expensive, but with none of the flashy gaudiness that often comes with such finery. It was as if it had been tailored exactly to her tastes.
She looked back down at the folded note, pulled it out, and read it.
Dear Hermione, she read. Please accept this gift as a token of my affection. I do hope you like it and will wear it on our date tomorrow evening. I am very much looking forward to it. Until then. Yours, Draco.
Hermione set the note down, lost it thought. She put away the dress and jewelry for safekeeping and went out to the kitchen. She suddenly felt the need for a good cup of tea. All the while, her mind was racing. How had Draco known what she would like? They had barely said three sentences to each other in their whole lives that consisted of something other than insults. The only occasion she could recall having dressed up and having Malfoy – Draco – present was the Yule Ball fourth year. She seriously doubted he had paid much attention to her. Certainly not enough that he still remembered her dress half a decade and a war later.
She shook her head. She didn't know how he had done it. But, she reflected, he had certainly succeeded. She trained the last of her tea in the sink, then went back to her room. Now that her attire for the next evening was decided, what she needed most was some nice and restful sleep.
"Hermione! Hold still!" Ginny scolded as she tried to arrange Hermione's hair in an elegant French twist. Hermione stilled just long enough for her friend to make one more twist here and a tuck there. Finally, Ginny nodded, satisfied with her handiwork. "There. Done," she said, and handed Hermione a mirror so she could admire her hair.
"Oh, Ginny, I don't know how you do it. I don't think I'll ever be able to control my hair. Thank you," she said, turning around to her friend.
Ginny shrugged it off. "It's nothing. Now, let's do your make-up and then get you dressed."
An hour later, Hermione hugged Ginny good-by and with a whispered good luck, watched her form disappear into the fireplace. She slipped on a silver pair of ballet flats and grabbed her shawl, just as someone knocked on her door.
Unexpectedly, Hermione felt very nervous and a little afraid, though she wasn't sure why. she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.
The sight before her took her breath away. Draco looked like he just stepped off the red carpet. He was wearing an expertly tailored suit that was clearly very expensive. She wasn't sure if it was a very dark gray color or if it was black.
Hermione was suddenly aware that her mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.
Fortunately, it seemed she had had the same effect on Draco. His eyes were as wide as his mouth as they travelled from her head to her toes. He seemed to realize he too was staring and quickly cleared his throat before speaking. "You look stunning, Granger," he said and offered her his arm. "Shall we go?"
Hermione pulled the door closed and took his arm. "Thank you. You look very nice as well," she said as they exited the apartment building. She was surprised to find him leading her to a Muggle taxi that was waiting on the corner, but didn't say anything.
The car ride to the restaurant was pregnant with silence. Hermione was so nervous, she couldn't think of something to say. What did she really know about Draco? Just that he was a Slytherin in school and a smarmy brat. Oh, and a former Death Eater. None of which were exactly topics of conversation for a first date. Draco must have been nervous, too, judging by the constant fidgeting of his hand on his pant leg.
Finally they arrived at the restaurant and the awkward car ride ended. Draco helped Hermione from the car and into the restaurant where he gave his name to the maitre d'.
As they were led to their table, Hermione couldn't help but gaze in wonder at the sheer expense of the décor. The walls were covered with a textured fabric that looked like woven threads of gold. Each table was covered in a sheer white gauze that Hermione couldn't name and lighted by a low hanging lamp with dangling crystals. The dishes were gold rimmed, handmade china, and the tableware very high quality silver. If she had doubted just how expensive the restaurant was after looking at the décor, she no longer did after a glance at the menu. There were no prices listed.
Hermione was starting to get uncomfortable with all the money Draco was throwing around. The jewelry, the dress, the restaurant. Which reminded her. "Draco, the dress is lovely, but I have to ask: how did you know what dress size I wear? And how did you have it made so quickly? I only agreed to a date two days ago."
"Oh, that's easy," he replied, still perusing the menu. "I asked Madam Malkin if she still had your measurements. Then I commissioned her to make the dress."
Hermione's first thought was Madam Malkin knows how to make Muggle dresses? Her second thought, however, caused her to panic slightly. "Draco, you do realize Madam Malkin is an outrageous gossip, don't you?"
Draco looked up. "I didn't, but why should that matter?" he asked.
"Well, now she'll no doubt tell everyone she meets that you were buying an expensive dress for me. We'll be on the tongues of every witch alive now."
Draco frowned. "I don't see why anyone would care what I'm buying or for whom. No one pays attention to the Malfoys anymore. Except maybe so they will know how best to avoid us," he said, the slight bitterness evident in his voice.
"Well," she began, looking for a reason to give for her concern that would not give away her true concern. So far, only Ginny, and by extension, Harry, knew about her date with Draco and his courting her. And for now, that was how she wanted it kept. "Well, I just don't want to be a topic of gossip," she came up with lamely. "It's no one's business who I see."
Draco rolled his eyes. Clearly he thought her excuse as lame as she did. "Well, I don't understand, but if it bothers you so much, I'll stop by tomorrow and ask her to keep it to herself."
Hermione shook her head. "No, that would only make it worse. I'm sure it'll be fine. Thank you, though."
"Well, if you are sure then…"
She smiled. "I'm sure. Now what are you going to eat?" she asked, picking up her menu again.
The waiter came and took their orders, then returned with their drinks. After he left again, Draco leaned forward. "So, Granger," he began.
"Hermione," she interrupted. "You should call me Hermione. Since we're on a date and all."
Draco smiled. "Hermione. So tell me, what have you been doing with yourself these last few years? Did you go back to Hogwarts for your NEWTS?"
The question threw Hermione off, but she supposed it made sense. After all, they really knew very little about each other. "Um, no. Well, I did sit my NEWTS, but I didn't go back to Hogwarts. I studied at home."
"And where is home for you? Or have you always lived here in London?"
"No, I'm from Winchester originally. My parents were dentists there."
"What is a dentist?" Draco asked.
"It's a kind of Muggle healer. For teeth," she replied. "Anyway, after second year, I spent most of my time outside of school at the Weasley's with Ron and Harry. Winchester became less and less like home. After the war…" She swallowed hard, trying not to cry. She didn't like talking about this. "Well, I haven't been back since. I got a job with the Ministry and found my flat and have been there ever since." Please don't ask me anymore about my parents, Hermione thought.
"And what is it you do at the Ministry?" Draco asked.
Hermione relaxed at the topic changed and then perked up again. She loved her job. "Well, mostly I'm in charge of house elves and their placement in Wizarding homes. But I've also been working on trying to prevent the abuse of house elves and to establish a bill of rights for them. Things like salaries and vacations."
Draco had an incredulous look on his face. "Rights for house elves? No offense, but who would want to give house elves rights? For that matter, what house elf would want them?"
"Well, your old house elf, Dobby, for one. But I must admit I've found very little support for y petition. Among wizards and house elves both," she said. "But I'm not giving up yet. I just need to do some more research and dig up some more funding from somewhere."
"Okay. What makes you think house elves want or need rights?"
"Well, someone has to look out for them," she cried. "They shouldn't be forced to hurt themselves if they disobey their families. And they should have something besides pillow cases and towels to wear for clothes."
She would have continued, but Draco interrupted her. "Hermione, you do realize that it's the elves who bind themselves to us, not the other way around. And they use their own magic to do so."
She stared at him not sure what to say.
He continued. "If they were really unhappy with the way things are, they wouldn't do the binding in the first place."
Hermione was speechless. No one had ever tried to talk her out of house elf rights quite like that before. "That…that…Draco Malfoy that is entirely beside the point."
He grinned like a big Cheshire cat. "If you say so."
Hermione scowled. Draco Malfoy was such a prat. "You're so brilliant, what have you been up to these last few years?" she asked him.
"Not a whole lot. Didn't go back to Hogwarts due to the trials and all. No need to take my NEWTS either. It'll be a long time before Malfoys will be trusted with political power again, whether it's behind the scenes or not. Mostly I've been learning about my family's trade investments."
"Investments? I was under the impression the Malfoy wealth was inherited," she said.
"Well, it is, sort of. My grandfather Malfoy inherited nothing but debts when his big brother died. Our current inherited wealth comes from my grandmother and my mother. What my grandmother brought as dowry was invested," he explained.
"I see," Hermione replied. "I didn't realize you had a grandmother still living."
Draco nodded. "Yes, well, we have been estranged until recently. She wasn't a fan of the Dark Lord, you could say. She's currently striving for the rehabilitation of the family name. I'm surprised you don't know her already. She's always doing something at or for the Ministry and charities and such."
"Really? What's her name?" Hermione asked.
"Rhiannon Malfoy, née de Clare."
Hermione's eyes went so wide they almost burst out of her head. "You-you're grandmother is Rhiannon de Clare?"
"Oh, so you do know her," Draco said.
"Well, only in passing. We've never been formally introduced. But I know that she's one to impress if you want to go anywhere in the Ministry."
"Well I can assure you she will want to meet you, since you're allowing me to court you."
Hermione couldn't believe it. Draco Malfoy was the grandson of the woman she most admired at the Ministry. And she wasn't even an employee at the Ministry. Just an incredible presence and influence.
They continued talking of other things as the evening continued. Hermione was surprised at just how knowledgeable Draco was about many Wizarding and magical subjects. She had been in several courses with him at Hogwarts, but she had never really paid attention to him during their school years.
Before she knew it, their return taxi was pulling up at her apartment. When they reached the door, Hermione turned to him. "Thank you, Draco. I had a lovely evening. And thank you again, for the dress and jewelry." He nodded in acknowledgement. "But don't feel like you have to go to all that expense again. I already knew you could provide for me financially." She hoped he didn't take that the wrong way. "I'm a simple girl with simple tastes."
"Yes, well, tradition and all," he said.
"I understand. And tradition has been honored," she replied.
"Very well, how about a picnic next time? Say Sunday?"
Hermione smiled. "A picnic would be lovely. Oh, but I have some place to be at ten that morning. So how about mid-afternoon?"
"It's a date." Draco lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, bowing. "Until then, Hermione. Have a good night."
"You too, Draco," she replied. With that she stepped inside and closed the door.
In her bedroom, she lay down and stared a the ceiling. She knew Draco was like an aristocrat of the Wizarding world, but she hadn't realized just how gentlemanly he could be. Or intelligent, either. He could still be a right prat, though. But really, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Hermione fell asleep, both anticipating and dreading the arrival of Sunday.
