A/N: Shorter chapter today, just because I want to get the first night at the Grangers out of the way so that I can get onto the main reason he joined her for Christmas :D I hope you enjoy this chapter, regardless of it's length. Love, CrazyAsACupcake x
By the time Paul and Jean came back with their dinner, Malfoy was completely immersed in the movie. He still didn't really understand the obsession with Prince Eric, and he didn't understand why she so desperately wanted to leave everything she knew for him. When Paul slammed the door shut behind him, Hermione groaned into the pillow she was hugging to her chest. "You've ruined my concentration now!"
"Well you need to pause it anyway; I'm not going to let this go cold." He ruffled her hair with his free hand before going into the next room – which Malfoy could now assume was their kitchen.
Hermione groans again, pressing a button on the remote next to her, stopping the cartoons from moving. Malfoy frowns at the screen, at the red crab grinning at him as he sang about life under the sea.
"That's… that's not it, is it?" He asks, looking over to Hermione as she stretches her legs.
"What?" She looks from him to the screen, then smiles. "Oh, no. We can finish it after we've had dinner. There's still another hour left."
"So why did it stop?"
"Because I stopped it."
"You can do that?"
"Sure." She taps her fingernails against the remote. "Muggle technology is something special."
He regards the television once again, at the way the crab seemed to flicker on the screen. He supposes it is.
"Come along, chicks," Paul calls as he comes in, drying his hands with a tea towel. "Don't leave it paused while we eat, Hermione. You'll burn the image onto the screen and we'll be stuck with Sebastian staring at us forever."
Hermione rolls her eyes, sliding off the sofa and landing on her knees on the floor. She shuffles over to the television and turns it off, the crab vanishing as the screen (for lack of a better word) blips into black.
Malfoy lets out an annoyed noise – something that sounds like 'eyyeh!' as he gestures at the screen.
She laughs. "Don't worry. When it turns back on it'll be right where we left it." She pushes herself to her feet and pads to the kitchen. "Come along, chick."
He follows her, like a puppy.
In the kitchen, Paul points Malfoy to a seat at a round, four-person, wooden dining table, and he sits without a word. He doesn't want to accidentally offend them, so he sits in silence, watching as Jean and Paul work around each other as they plate the food up, picking at the skin around his nails underneath the table. Hermione drops rather ungracefully into the seat next to him, her hair bouncing madly around her.
He thinks it's strange that she has such wild hair when her parents don't.
She turns in her seat, watching her dad pouring everyone a glass of Coke (Diet, of course (Dentists are allowed to have some fun, you know)). "You don't understand how much I've looked forward to this, dad."
"You only had one in September," Paul laughs, handing her a glass, which she takes with an extra-wide grin.
"Which was three months ago. Three months is a lifetime." She takes a sip, practically moaning at the drink. "And I've missed this too!"
"You know the rule."
"Only two glasses."
"That's right." He laughs, handing Malfoy his own glass. Malfoy takes it with a small smile, then places it onto the table in front of him.
Malfoy doesn't know how to describe the kitchen; the only word he can think of is chaotic, but that's not entirely correct. It's more chaotic than what he is used to – with the loud chattering of the three of them trying to speak over each other, all of them having so much to talk about, all of them worried they won't be able to say everything before they say goodbye again. There are no placemats, no coasters, and Malfoy worries about getting water stains on the table, even though from the countless others decorating the top it's not really a problem.
He can tell just from looking at the table that the Grangers are a world apart from his family.
For one, his mother would never allow a table to have so many water stains. There are other stains, too – pen doodles, paint splatters, even some dried nail polish. The varnish has been peeled off in some places, either from being picked at or from Sellotape being stuck down and pulled off (he doesn't know why there would be Sellotape on the table (or what that even is), but it's evident there had been), leaving some patches of wood exposed and a shade lighter than the rest.
This is the table of a lived-in house.
This is a table owned by a loving family.
This is not a table you would find in Malfoy Manor.
That is not to say that his parents don't love him. That would be a lie; Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy love their son very much – they would even say more than life itself. But they would not put their love for him over the presentation of the house.
He runs his thumb over a bad pen drawing of a pig – a fat round head with a rounder nose and two triangular ears. He can feel where the pen has carved into the wood; even if the pen was washed off, the image would remain. Hermione watches him watching the pig.
"I did that when I was fifteen," she blurts as Jean places a bowl in front of her. She smiles over her shoulder. "Thank you, mummy."
Malfoy snorts, pretending to cough to cover it. "You drew on the table at fifteen?"
"I was bored."
He rubs his thumb over the pig once more before Paul hands him his own bowl. "Thank you."
Paul takes a seat opposite Malfoy. Paul smiles fondly at the ruined table. "It's just a table, and an old one at that. Our whole lives could probably be told on this table." He points to a splodge of green paint. "This is from two summers ago; me and Hermione were trying to paint cups."
Malfoy frowns. "Don't you clean it?"
"Oh, we do. But by the time paint has dried there's not much you can do, unless you scrub it. We don't really want to take any more of the varnish off, though – and, hey, it gives it character."
Hermione twirls her fork around in her curry (Paul did try and teach Hermione how to use chopsticks, but that – like flying – is something she could never master). "Strangely, they aren't a fan of sterility, despite being dentists."
"Strange," Malfoy agrees, although he is still not sure what a dentist is.
Jean finally takes the seat to Malfoy's right, and everyone digs in. Hermione is practically vibrating from excitement on his left, shovelling large forkfuls into her mouth. Jean and Paul are much more conservative, cutting delicate bites before eating them. They each savour their meal in their own way. Malfoy prods cautiously at a piece of chicken.
The smell of the dish makes his stomach grumble, although he is still afraid to try it. There's a slight hint of aniseed (and he's proud that he is able to distinguish that ingredient). Before he can chicken (pun intended) out of eating the meal, he quickly skewers a piece and shoves it into his mouth. Surprisingly, it's not horrible – not that he thought it would be – and he tentatively eats more. It's mildly spicy, and seriously moreish. Before he even knows it, his bowl is empty, and he chases the last few pieces of rice with his fork. Only when he's finished does he realise his mouth is hot, and he's faced with another task of trying the bubbling brown liquid in front of him.
Hermione laughs beside him as she puts her fork down in her (also empty) bowl. "Did you enjoy that, Malfoy?"
"It was delicious, thank you." He notices how his voice is scratchier than normal. He clears his throat, hoping to relieve the heat without trying the drink.
"Have a drink." She nods at his glass as she lifts her own. "It's not going to kill you."
He does as she says.
The sweet coolness of the drink shocks him, but he is glad as it soothes his throat. He finishes the glass.
"Better than pumpkin juice, isn't it?"
He wrinkles his nose in response, smiling at her as she watches him. "Pumpkin juice is a delicacy."
"A delicacy that I'll bet is also full of sugar," Paul pipes up across from him.
Malfoy shakes his head. "I used to make it with my mum. For four litres we only used about half a cup of sugar."
Paul makes a mhm sound in the back of his throat. "It's all good in moderation, of course. But it adds up if you're not too careful, and soon you've got no teeth."
This jars Malfoy; why are they talking about teeth?
Hermione must be able to read his confused expression, and makes a noise of understanding. "Dentists are doctors for your teeth. So my mum and dad make sure that people are taking care of them, and they fix them if they need to."
"Do… Do my teeth need fixing?" Malfoy asks, now worried about his teeth.
Paul shakes his head with a laugh. "Your teeth look healthy and white – and really straight. How often do you brush? Have you ever had braces?"
"I brush my teeth twice a day. I used to do three times but…things got in the way. And I don't know what braces are."
"You've got nice teeth. And I suppose we should thank you for what you did to Hermione's teeth – I'd never seen her so happy until she came home with shrunken front teeth."
The tips of Malfoy's ears turn red. "I'm really sorry for that."
"You did me a favour," Hermione interrupts, picking up her bowl and placing it in the dishwasher. She takes Malfoy's from in front of him. "If you hadn't have hit me, I would've been stuck with braces for at least three years, and that doesn't even impact the size."
"I'm still sorry."
"It's nice to know that you know that word."
Malfoy is certain his ears turn redder than they were, if that is at all possible. "I say sorry to you all the time."
She pats him on the head as she walks past him, and he doesn't miss the way her fingers linger in his hair, the way she runs her fingers through it gently. "Come along, Malfoy."
He stands awkwardly from the table: he doesn't push the chair back far enough, and he has to practically climb out. "Thank you very much for the dinner."
"Oh, you're welcome." Jean beams at him, and he follows Hermione out of the kitchen. Behind them, he can hear Jean hissing at Paul under her breath.
"Really, Paul? You had to put him on the spot like that? He's nervous enough."
He curls back up on his end of the settee, watching Hermione turn the television back on. The crab grins at them once more. She drops next to him and nudges him with her toes.
"You okay?" She asks.
"I'm perfect, Granger," he smiles at her, and she smiles back. She seems like she's a world away from him as she's curled up on the other side of the chair. He wishes she could sit closer to him.
She starts the movie, and her hand lingers on the cushion beside him.
He reaches out and takes her hand in his, their fingers lacing together. He wonders about how their hands fit together perfectly, like she's the missing piece of a jigsaw he couldn't finish until now.
They don't speak. They don't need to.
They finish the movie – all fifty-five minutes – with their hands still connected.