"Earl grey with milk, no sugar, please." Hermione places her order at the Ministry cafe then turns to Harry. "And he'll have coffee with cream and two sugars." She quirks her eyebrow checking with her friend to ensure she ordered the right drink. Harry smiles in lieu of an affirmative, moving aside to wait for their beverages.
"How come you know about Ron coming home next month before I do?" Hermione playfully asks him. "I cannot believe that after all these years, he still tells you these things before he tells me!"
Harry's smile only grows wider. "Well at least that's one friend who tells me 'things', Miss Granger! You've been working at the Ministry for six months now and I still don't know what you do all day! I even had to guess on my own that it had to do with the Department of Mysteries. You know, as Auror and Chosen One combined into one, I have higher clearance than the Minister!"
Hermione swats her friend in jest, seeing as he still uses his Chosen One status from time to time to irritate her. "You could be Merlin incarnate that I still wouldn't tell you! It's supposed to be confidential and you know it!"
"Are you bound by an Unbreakable Vow? Is the future of Magical Britain in the balance? Would telling me cause a rift in the time-space continuum?" He leans forward, using his Auror questioning voice on her. "I didn't think so either! Go on, you know you want to tell me anyway."
Hermione is immensely amused by Harry's probing. While she knows that he masks curiosity behind comedy, he actually really, really, wants to know. She is about to retort that even if she wanted to tell him, which she doesn't, she would never do so in a public setting when an interdepartmental memo zooms towards her face, circling around her head in a waiting pattern. She absent-mindedly reaches for it as the damn thing will not stop looping until picked up by its intended recipient. Hermione internally huffs, wishing they still used owls in the Ministry instead.
The moment she gets hold of the paper airplane, it vanishes in a puff of smoke then transfigures into what appears at first to be a red leather jewelry case, no bigger than Hermione's palm. With a puzzled look on her face, she opens the case to find a coin nestled in the middle of cream-coloured silk.
Harry leans forward to inspect the case over her shoulder. "Isn't that a muggle coin? How odd!" He squints attempting to read the markings on it. "Five pounds? That's unusual, I've never seen one like that before … Is there a sender or a note?"
Hermione picks it up and flips it to observe the head, yes indeed it's Queen Elizabeth II right there. It feels heavy in her hand, must be silver she guesses. She turns it back around to look again, "1999-2000, Anno Domini … in the year of our Lord…" she mumbles to herself. The coin is absolutely beautiful, sparkling even in the low light of the Ministry café. The tail represents the face of a clock striking midnight with an engraving of the British Isles and Greenwich at its centre. "You know, I think I recognise this, it was issued by the Royal Mint to celebrate the new Millennium! Who would be sending this to me, and why?"
The coin suddenly warms up, making the witch yelp in surprise. Her eyes widen in instant recognition of the protean charm, of course. She had studied the spell extensively during her Hogwarts years to create the Dumbledore's Army galleons and communicate meeting dates with the group. Back then she had to spell every single galleon herself. The work had been slow and laborious, but ultimately worth it to keep the D.A. a secret for so long. She stares back down noticing the hands of the engraved clock sweeping around in a clockwise motion revealing words etched in their wake.
"I hate it when a wizard owls a witch uninvited." The hands continue sweeping around the face of the coin, erasing the words as they move forward while making space for the rest of the sentence. "So this is me not owling." The hands stop moving.
Hermione gives a little incredulous laugh, looking up at Harry. He has been able to read the message over her shoulder and is giving her one of his piercing gaze. She takes her wand to call out her reply whispering the protean incantation.
"Yes, you're right." The clock sweeps her words around. "This is much less invasive."
The coin heats up again "I've been thinking about that sign on your forehead." One revolution on the clock, "And I was wondering if you'd mind taking it down for dinner Friday night." The hands finally still. Harry looks up to ask a question, mouthing it as if the conversation was happening right here and he didn't want to interrupt. "Who is this?" Hermione almost giggles back, mouthing "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." His stunned look is his only response.
Hermione squeezes the coin, replying "I can't. I have a work function I must attend."
The hands swing around once more. "The Ministry never rests, does it?" They pause for a second before starting again, "Saturday?" and coming to a stop.
Hermione cringes visibly, staring at Harry with a question in her eyes. "What do I do?" She asks wordlessly. He mouths back a potential answer "You have a date?".
Hermione sighs, closing her eyes to cast her response. There is no way Malfoy will believe her evasive tactics "I have a date."
Indeed almost no time passes before the coin warms up yet again. "Do you know the definition of perseverance, Miss Granger?" The hands stop after his question.
She smiles at his formality. "An excuse to be obnoxious?"
Heating up in her palm, the clock sweeps around seemingly faster than before, "Continuing in a course of action without regard to discouragement, opposition or previous failure." finally resting in place.
"Okay, Malfoy, how do I get rid of you?"
"Brunch, Sunday." The hands spin around. "And you can barely even call that a date. You do that with distant relatives you don't even like."
She looks up to see Harry giving her a wide grin. "Gryffindor courage with Slytherin cunning, what's not to like?" She rolls her eyes at her friend, knowing full well of his newly acquired bias towards Slytherins. On one hand, her interaction with Malfoy the other night had been spellbinding. She enjoyed their verbal sparring so much that she keeps on replaying it in her head in quiet moments. The fact that he looked dashing in his dark suit hadn't hurt either. She had always had a soft spot for sharply dressed men, and Malfoy had never been ugly. Even as a mean schoolyard bully, she had not been blind, he had always been good looking. The Malfoy she met that night was attractive, put together and silver-tongued to boot.
On the other hand, she knows that romantic entanglements can never be for her. Yet something deep inside tells her she has to give it a shot, that she has to try. Is it hope she feels when she remembers their encounter? It bubbles inside her chest, causing a sensation of euphoria. Is it happiness? Is the pursuit of happiness ever futile, no matter how hopeless? She wonders briefly whether seeking the essence of happiness would actually make up for the differential in her equation? Coming back to her senses she realises that whether she accepts or declines his invitation, Malfoy and his dark suits are never going to leave her in peace, therefore she might as well accept. She is in trouble, isn't she?
With great reticence for predictably falling in the trap Malfoy had so clearly laid out, she replies. "Okay, I guess I could do Sunday. When and where?"
"Primrose Hill, 10am. Top of the hill." The hands stop permanently. The coin grows colder in her palm, 'Anno Domini' reappearing in place of the last message.
Upon which the leather case that Hermione had momentarily forgotten about but was still holding transfigures into a shearling jacket, warm and heavy in her hands with a note stuck to the collar.
"What if I had said Friday?" She wonders aloud as she reads the note in a mixture of awe and astonishment. "Dress warmly, it's cold on a broomstick this time of year."
Hermione shrieks. "Broomstick? BROOMSTICK? Is he crazy? I don't do broomsticks!"
Harry guffaws next to her, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Sunday? Be thankful you're not going to church!"
Draco couldn't wipe the smile off his face, even if he tried. He can imagine Granger's reaction in his mind as clearly as if he was in front of her at the Ministry. She must be raging about now, or at the very least her eyes must have that sparkling intensity that he has only ever seen in her.
Of course he remembered she wasn't particularly fond of flying, anyone who knew of her at Hogwarts knew two things: she loved books and disliked flying. Taking her to a library would have been expected, even most assuredly lovely, but he wants to surprise her.
He wants to destabilise her a little, have her drop her guard. He also wants her to unconsciously associate her surprise with the date to a surprise with him as a person. Turning a new leaf, being a new man. The coin had also been chosen purposefully with the symbolism of a new millennium: leaving all that happened before in the past.
He walks over to meet Gregory Goyle and check in on his progress wooing Lavender Brown. Greg had his first date with her the night before but against all unambiguous instructions from Draco, had been seen dancing with Lavender like a cornish pixie sucking on a hiccough sweet. Not a pretty sight. Although the Maitre d' at the restaurant had told Draco that the lady hadn't seemed to mind, he was still petulant that Greg hadn't followed his recommendation to the letter.
"Tell me how this happened. I had made an unequivocal rule of no dancing!"
"It's just one dance." Gregory shrugs it off.
"No. One dance, one look, one kiss. That's all we get, Greg. Just one shot to make the difference between happily ever after and 'Oh, he's just some guy I went to some thing with once.' All right?"
Draco looks squarely at Greg, his tone has grown wistful as he puts as much emphasis on this concept as he can. It is very important, especially when dealing with Gryffindors: first impressions are all it takes to forge their undying approval, one must never relinquish their control over a situation or risk facing trouble. Greg has to step up if he wants to solidify his position with the witch over their next date tomorrow and steer this courtship back on track.
"I need you to wrap your head around this: tomorrow night, Lavender could have her last first kiss." Draco gently grabs Greg's shoulder, squeezing it to give more weight to the moment. "All right, come on, just show me what you got."
"What do you mean?" a startled Greg replies.
"Just show me how you would kiss me."
"I wouldn't kiss you." Greg answers back defensively, rather quickly.
"I'm not me, I'm Lavender."
"But you're really not, so…"
"Okay, Greg, end of the night, you're walking me back to the apparition point. Show me the magic."
Gregory is staring at Draco, wondering if this is a prank or whether his friend has gone mad. "You know I'm really not comfortable with this."
Taking a falsetto voice, Draco says "Gregory, I had such a wonderful time with you." Then switching back to his own voice. "You see what I'm doing? This is a signal. I'm fiddling with my wand. A woman that doesn't want a kiss takes her wand out and apparates straight home. A woman that wants to kiss, she fiddles." Draco takes his wand out, passing it back and forth between his fingers. "I'm fiddling..."
Seeing the dumb look on Gregory's face, Draco resolves to amp up his kissing demonstration and invades abruptly his friend's personal space.
"You see what I'm doing? This is what most wizards do. They rush in to take the kiss. But you're not most wizards. See, the secret to a kiss is to go ninety percent of the way, and then hold."
With Draco's face still very close to his but no longer inching closer, Greg swallows audibly, asking timidly. "For how long?"
"As long as it takes for her to come the other ten." Draco smiles widely, confident that Gregory has finally learnt the lesson.
"Okay, ninety/ten. Got it." Greg nods to himself.
"Okay, come on mate. Shake it off. It's your turn." With a falsetto voice again: "I had a really nice time tonight, Gregory." Draco ostensibly fiddles with his wand.
"I had a great time tonight, too, Lavender… sporting a stubble." Greg advances timidly then stops awkwardly all the while squinting at Draco's lips.
Draco cannot temper his frustration anymore. Salazar, how can one ignite the fire under the wizard's cauldron? "I'm not feeling like you want it!" Draco says irritably in a rising voice. "Look, I'm Lavender Brown, the witch of your dreams. The witch whose green eyes are limpid pools of desire. Now, show me the magic, Gregory."
And the cauldron boils over alright. Gregory launches himself forward, landing his lips on Draco's mouth. Only his seeker's reflexes save him from a full blown kiss from Greg.
Shrieking and wiping his mouth on his sleeve Draco is in disbelief. "What the fuck was that?!"
"I'm showing you the magic!" responds Gregory defensively.
"No! I said come ninety and then I come ten! You don't go the whole hundred! My mouth was open, Greg. You overeager son of a…"
Draco walks away in a huff to keep Mrs Goyle out of this. Crossing Diagon Alley, Gregory still hollers after him inquisitively:
"Other than that, how was it?"