As always, I don't own anything. Enjoy!
He pulled her closer suddenly, so close, in fact, that she fancied she could detect his heartbeat through the thick of layer of their coats. His head bent down, and a gasp crawled its way up her throat as she felt his warm breath ghosting over her neck.
"You really have no idea how lovely you are, do you?" His words echoed in her ear, tingled down her spine, and came to settle in her stomach, warm and comforting.
A response bubbled up to the brunettes lips, but the only words her mouth seemed able to form were his name. "Draco –
Wait, Draco? Hermione's fingers slow over the keyboard as her mind finally seems to catch up with her hands.
Here she is, attempting to write the final scene of her latest book, and her brain decides to think about Malfoy? Of course, in all fairness, Hermione has been thinking of the blond headed man more often as of late. After she had sent the muffin basket, she had tried her best to simply forget Draco was there, and treat him like any other neighbor on her street.
Suffice to say, her mind seems to have a different idea as it likes to bring up the Slytherin anytime it well pleases. So far, Draco has been popping into Hermione's thoughts when she cooks, cleans, showers, and, now, whenever she writes.
The Gryffindor shakes her head, as if the action will clear it from the hold Draco Malfoy apparently has on it, and corrects her typo before continuing on with her book. Although the thought of Malfoy stays in the back of her mind, monopolizing her thoughts, and staying just out of reach so he can pop back up at the most inconvenient of times.
A shiver wracks Draco's body, and he pulls his coat even tighter around his frame. While the fall had been chilly at night, and slightly uncomfortable, the winter it had preceded is downright vicious. It's only the first week of December, and already mother natures has decided that everyone should be forced to wear multiple layers before even stepping foot outside.
A sigh of relief escapes the blonde as the bar he works at comes into view. While the walk from the bus stop may be short, it's still long enough to make the man feel like an icicle upon reaching the door.
Upon entering, Draco can tell it's going to be a quiet night. There are three customers, two of whom have stashed themselves in a corner booth and appear to be far more interested in their phones than each other. The third is slumped over the bar, balanced precariously on a wooden stool, and Draco surmises that the patron is most likely homeless, if his clothes are anything to go by, and it's a safe bet the man is seeking shelter from the dastardly winter outside.
The blond haired man hangs his coat up, and stashes his wand in his boot. He'd made it a habit of making sure he had quick, easy access to it since the incident with Hermione, though he still felt uncomfortable using magic after going without it for so long. He clocks in, and begins to take stock of what needs to be done by the end of his shift.
"Draco, mate, just the man I wanted to see!" Louis, the pub manager, says to him in a voice far to cheery for Draco's liking. Although, he and Louis never have any trouble working together, Draco wouldn't exactly call him a 'mate'. Not to mention, spending years in the Slytherin house has made Draco wary of sudden attitude shifts, and he's learned to approach these types of situations with an air of trepidation.
"Did you need something?' Draco questions, not unkindly.
Louis smiles, though it's colored in satisfaction more than friendliness. "Actually, I was hoping you could cover for me tonight, and close up shop. My girlfriends in town, and we don't have much time together."
"I don't have keys to the pub." Is Draco's answer, flat and obvious.
Louis's smile falters, before he responds with, "Well, I could just loan you the spare set, and you can turn them in next shift. Listen, Draco, I wouldn't ask if it really weren't important."
"Alright, sure."
His manager's grin is back as he says, "Great! Thanks so much, mate! The keys are on a hook in the office, you can't miss 'em. Oh, and don't worry about taking the trash tonight, I'll just have Thad get it in the morning. Ring my cell if you run into any trouble!" Louis struggles into his coat, and hurriedly escapes into the cold air outside, the bell on the door chiming as it slams shut.
The night passes slowly, and no new customers come in shaking snow off their boots. The three from earlier have long since cleared out, and Draco has stocked and cleaned everything he can think of. He's just about to pull out a book to read when a chime cuts through the air, signifying that someone's walked in the door.
The Slytherin feels surprise creep up his throat, and a thrill of panic run through his spine as he inspects the new customer.
"Well, well what brings Miss Hermione Granger to a pub at seven on a Tuesday night?" Draco's voice is light, and he hopes it holds an air of teasing rather than malice. The last thing he wants is to fight.
Hermione, for her part, simply sits down on a stool, and unwinds her scarf. "I'm celebrating." She says simply.
"Is it rude of me to ask what you're celebrating?" Draco queries.
"I just finished my latest novel, and sent it off to my publisher." Pride colors her voice, and a smile warms her face.
Draco nods, commenting with, "That's certainly an achievement worth celebrating. What would you like?"
Hermione's smile shifts in consideration, "I'm not entirely sure, I really don't know of any drinks beyond fire whisky, butter beer, and wine, and I certainly don't want fire whisky."
"I think I have just the thing for you, then."
A minute or so later Draco sets a glass down in front of Hermione. The drink is a rich gold color with foam on the top, and cinnamon sprinkled throughout. The Gryffindor eyes the drink before raising a questioning glance to the blond.
"I promise it's not poisoned." He offers reassuringly.
Hermione laughs, and raises the glass to her lips. Her eyes widen in surprise at the taste, and she sets the glass down reluctantly. "This is wonderful!" She complements.
"Thank you, I like to mix flavors and see what king of drinks I can create when it's slow. If you can't tell, this particular drink is inspired by butter beer." Draco replies, smile falling easily into place.
"Oh, I can tell," Hermione says before taking another swig. "Although, I can definitely taste cinnamon and vanilla in this version. It's really well put together, and the flavors compliment each other."
"Yeah, well, I always did enjoy potions, and this is as close as muggles get to potion brewing. Back to the bigger event though, what kind of book did you write? Did you finally re-write Hogwarts: A History?" Draco asks, hoping to a strike a conversation that wouldn't end in yelling.
Hermione's smile falters, though if Draco notices he gives no indication, and she replies with, "No, actually, it's a romance novel. About muggles. Probably about as far away from a book about Hogwarts as you can get."
Draco doesn't miss the edge of bitterness and anger that colors Hermione's voice in the last sentence. So much for finding some common ground.
"Well, if it's written by you, I'm sure it's wonderful. After all, you are the brightest witch of our age. You could probably run a garbage truck, and it would still be amazing." Is his genuine response, and the complement doesn't go unnoticed by the astute Gryffindor.
Hermione smiles in thanks, but can't seem to find anything else to say. In her novels, conversation always seemed to flow so easily between her characters. Why are the words escaping her now? In lieu of answering herself, Hermione simply takes another drink of the delicious concoction Draco had mixed up for her.
Time passes, and neither speak as Hermione slowly drains her glass.
"Would you like another one?" Draco questions from behind, causing her to jump. He'd excused himself earlier to stack the chairs as she sat at the bar.
"No, thank you. Actually, I think it's about time I head home. How much do I owe you?" The Gryffindor questions, reaching to fish her wallet out of her bag while Draco comes back around the counter to face her.
"On the house." He responds with a smile.
"Oh, no, I couldn't-"
The blond cuts her off before her statement reaches a conclusion, "Just think of it as a congratulations of sorts. You know, on getting your book done."
"Thank you." She replies, smiling widely as she tightens her scarf around her neck, and heads for the door. Though they didn't talk and laugh all night like in her romance novels, it certainly could have been worse. Hermione smiles to herself as she ducks into an alleyway to apparate, and she feels quite warm despite the chill in the air.
Well, that's all I got for this one.
Sorry the chapter's a bit late, I'm getting married on the 20th, and I've been busy with last minute plans.
Anyways, see ya next time!