Chapter Two: 8:45 P.M.

Malfoy's grand idea of fun is to drag me to this dingy pub a couple of blocks away. I'm only slightly surprised by the fact that Malfoy would venture to a Muggle bar – we do live in London, which is mostly Muggles – but more surprised by how noisy and cramped it is. And he likes this place.

"Me and my mates come here all the time," he's shouting to me as we make our way to the bar in the back of the pub. A rowdy-looking man stumbles into me and, thankfully, spills only a few drops of beer on my forearm.

"Why?" I mutter, swiping my arm, half-swearing, half-thankful he didn't spill the entire thing down the front of my dress.

What? This dress is new.

Mostly because I don't go out very much and have never worn it.

Malfoy plops down at a booth close to the bar, where it is only slightly quieter than eardrum-splitting levels. I reluctantly sit beside him, placing my purse in my lap. I guess it's homey, in a sense – warm hardwood floors, dim lighting, the people look like they are enjoying themselves – but I think I would rather be at home.

"So what will you have, then?" Malfoy asks.

"Well, I usually have Butterbeer," I begin, "but that's not really an option in a Muggle bar..."

"Really, Weasley?" he challenges, raising an eyebrow. "You can do better than that."

I raise an eyebrow right back. "I really can't."

"Shots."

"Definitely not."

"On me."

"I will happily pour them on you."

"Just one. That's it."

I swear we have an honest-to-Merlin staring contest, and I hate how he somehow – instinctively – knows that my blood pressure is rising, just by the implication that I won't do it.

Malfoy is smirking at me, and I can't stand it.

"This is peer pressure," I mumble as he stands up.

"This is going to be fun."

I stick my tongue out him as he stands, and he only grins widely before heading towards the bar. I press my palms to my face, which is oddly hot. And I'm smiling. Why am I smiling.

The late date I went on – before tonight, that is – was with a man who exclusively talked about brooms – and that was not a euphemism. Actual Quidditch brooms: how they work, how they're made and the specs of each model. I like Quidditch as much as the next person, it's fun to play on a lovely summer afternoon with my cousins, but he was beyond passionate. I couldn't get a word in.

The rest of the recent dates I've been on went like this. In fact, the last good date I had must have been at Hogwarts, with my ex-boyfriend. On a good ol' fashioned (lame) Hogsmeade date. The thought makes me groan out loud and bury my head in my hands.

Maybe I should just get a cat.

"I am here to save the day," Malfoy announces as he sets down a small wooden tray on the table. I narrow my eyes at the four tiny shot glasses, filled to the brim with warm, honey-coloured alcohol.

"You said one."

"I definitely said two," he says in an all-too-innocent voice, but his grin gives it away immediately. He picks one up and gestures forward. "Go on."

I take one gingerly. "Did you poison it?"

"What?"

"You seem like you would be the type to poison it."

"Why would I poison you, Weasley?" he says, amused. "I hardly know you."

"Exactly."

"Bottom's up," he says, reaching forward with his glass. I reluctantly clink my glass with his, and we down our shots together. It burns on the way down, and I am not surprised; last time I did shots was two years ago, at Lily's eighteenth birthday party. Two years ago.

I stare at the bottom of the glass. I either need to commit to this cat life or actually do something about my sad state known as the single life.

"Alive?" he asks, peering at me.

"Seems so."

"Damn," he says, picking up the next glass and handing it to me. "Well, second time's the charm."

I actually laugh this time before we down the next shot. Malfoy's eyes are grey-ish blue, and they are glimmering.

Did I actually just think that?

I need another drink.

"So what's the deal with your date tonight?" I ask, placing my forearms on the table and leaning forward. "Besides the magnificent performance in the toilets, via the flatulence."

He laughs. "I dunno. She wasn't very interesting. I just wasn't feeling it."

"Sounds like the last… every date I've gone on."

"The way I see it, dating is overrated," he explains, leaning forward as well. "As soon as you meet a person, you know if you like them. You don't need to have a full bloody meal of it."

"Better to escape through the window," I say sarcastically.

"Yep."

"So why go on the date?"

"Like I said, my mates set us up," he says. I raise an eyebrow. He shrugs and adds, "I lost a bet."

I laugh. "Amazing. I went on my blind date with hopeful prospects."

"Ah, hope," he says sympathetically. "The fool's emotion."

"Oh, shut up."

"So what happened with Prince Charming?"

"Well," I say, ticking off my finger, "it started off with him being a full thirty minutes late. Which is just ridiculous if you ask me."

Malfoy just stared at me, as if he didn't understand. I cleared my throat – the bar he chose was rather loud. "I mean, would you wait thirty minutes for your blind date?"

"Er, yes," he answered, perplexed. "I did tonight."

"What?"

"I did tonight!" he said loudly over the blaring music. "My blind date was thirty minutes late. No big deal. I was watching the game. Harpies vs. Magpies."

I blink at him. "I thought he stood me up. After all that time getting ready."

"That's why you meet old classmates in the loo," he advises, grinning, "so it's not all for waste."

"Uh huh." I am starting to feel the drink hitting me and my head feels a little lighter. Malfoy seems encouraged by my reaction – somehow, he is finding me amusing. And I am not amused.

"So what other crimes did he commit?" he asks.

I glare at him. "Besides that, he spent the whole evening bragging about his bank account. You'd think he owned all of Gringotts."

He seems unfazed. "Well, does he?"

"He didn't ask me one question about myself," I continue, ignoring him. "Just, 'I have the best office at the Ministry,' 'You should come see my corner office,' 'You should be so glad I'm taking you to this fancy-ass restaurant that you clearly can't afford!'"

"Yeah, Weasley," Malfoy says, not even hiding his grin. "You should be so grateful."

I smack his arm lightly with the bank of my hand. "Then he squeezed my butt. Without consent."

"Well, I can't blame him." I go to smack him again, but he puts his hands up. "Kidding. That's pretty bad."

"I know." My face is flushing. I'm very warm, or maybe it's just think drink, or the crowded pub. "So I think I'm going to swear off dating."

"No more men," he announces, like I hadn't just said it. He stands up. "I'll drink to that."

I look up at him, laughing despite myself. "Thanks for the drinks, but I'm good."

"Of course it's good."

"No, I mean, I don't want anymore. I'm already feeling the first two." I look at my watch. "I think I might head home."

"Oh, come on," he says, poking my arm. "You can't get to bed at nine p.m on a Friday night."

My face flushes again. "I'm not."

"Sorry. Ten p.m."

"Malfoy."

"You can't go home yet," he insists, sitting back down and leaning forward. I get a whiff of his aftershave, or whatever he uses – it's musky. It's nice. "We have to meet up with my mates, get deliriously drunk and then I have to show you the best place in London."

I'm taken aback. Wait, what? "We're meeting your mates?"

"Well, we can't meet up with them sober." He's grinning, like he's got a plan, like he knows that the thought is making my stomach knot. I don't really know Malfoy. We've barely spoken before. I don't even know what he's been doing for the last four years since Hogwarts. I hadn't really planned on getting drunk tonight.

But even so… I hate to admit it, but I'm kind of intrigued.

I don't really want to go to bed at nine p.m.

"What's the best place in London?" I ask.

He taps a finger to his head. "That's the surprise."

"I –" I'm about to say, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me, when a familiar looking blonde girl catches my eye. She's behind Malfoy, at the bar, obviously ordering a drink. But she's looking around.

And then I realize – for him.

"Did you tell your date to come here?" I ask slowly.

"What?"

"Don't look, but she is right behind you." Despite that, he whips around – and then sinks in his booth, the colour flushing to his face.

"Shit," he mumbles to me, "I told her that we might come here after."

"Is she looking for you?"

"I don't know," he says, looking horrified. "Is she?"

I observe her – she's looking around. She's sitting at the bar. She's sipping her drink slowly, clearly waiting for someone.

"Yes," I reply, confused. Why would she wait for someone who just ditched her?

"We gotta run for it," he says urgently. "I'm not good with women's angry emotions."

I can't help but laugh.

He turns around quickly to check, and seeing her turn around, he dashes from the booth. Before I know it, he grabs my hand, and I only just take hold of my purse before Malfoy is dragging me through the crowd. I stumble after him, spotting only his wild blond hair through the crowd. I accidentally step on at least three people's toes.

"Do you think she saw me?" he asks once we're outside. He's a little out of breath.

"Maybe?"

"Let's keep going," he says, turning and walking at a slightly faster-than-normal pace. He still has my hand. "Maybe if we're just walking normally, she won't notice us."

But then I spot another familiar someone across the street, and the colour drains from my face.

"But my date might," I say, my voice suddenly full of false cheer. Malfoy turns to see what I am looking at, and sees my blind date recognizing me. Holding someone else's hand after I ditched him.

And he looks pissed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, walking faster. My blind date looks like he's about to cross the street and confront me. I drag Malfoy along, mind racing.

"Oh no," he moans, looking back. "She found us too."

"What?" I look back, and I see Scorpius' date as well. Seeing us, and stalking towards us.

"Whatdowedo?"

"Idon'tknow!" I whisper hurriedly, looking around. I do not want to deal with this. I am not very good with confrontation. There are Muggles everywhere, and there is no way we could apparate. My hand is sweating in his.

And then, by some miracle, a red London bus is roaring up behind us. It's spitting oil as it pulls up to a nearly empty bus stop, save for one tired-looking man entering. I glance at Malfoy for a split second, and then we clamour onto the bus together. I look madly for Muggle change in my purse.

And another miracle: the bus driver, a burly man, sees me ruffling through the contents of my bag, and decides to drive forward. Like he trusts us.

Probably a bad idea, because I don't have any.

"I can't believe we just did that." Malfoy is muttering to himself, looking out the window back at his abandoned date.

"Malfoy, do you have any change?"

He snaps out of it, and digs into his pocket. Out come four galleons, two sickles and a twenty-pound note.

"Umm…"

"You have to get off at the next stop, then," the bus driver says, as we obviously haven't paid. I look back at Malfoy, and he shrugs.

"At least we'll have a head start?" he says weakly, grinning at me. I scowl at him.

This is going to be a strange night.

A/N: Hi there! A slight turn of events, haha. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and let me know what you think in a review! :)