A/N: This is... a long one. Am I proud of it? Meh. I had 21 bullet points written down and this is only 10 of them, so the other 11 will be the next chapter haha :D. I AM proud that it didn't take me a month until my next upload, though. Anyway, here's something probably no one cares about: I went to the Warner Bros Studio Tour on Friday! It was my 15th time going and it was the Celebration of Slytherin which was amazing! I went in my full uniform and I got a picture with every single Draco Malfoy mannequin there, even if it did annoy my family haha. I guess that might be what gave me the drive to actually write something :D. Once again, thank you for your reviews, and your endless love and support. It means so, so much to me 3. I hope you enjoy this chapter of And Malfoy Caught the Snitch :). Love, CrazyAsACupcake x
When Hermione wakes up on Monday, two days before Christmas, she realises that she still hasn't bought her parents any Christmas presents. She makes a quick mental plan as she grabs the clothes she had set out the night before, quietly slipping into the bathroom for a shower.
There is already condensation on the mirror above the sink, and someone has drawn a small smiley face in it. She doesn't know why she thinks 'someone' when it's so obviously Malfoy – Her parents have their own en-suite, so there isn't any need for them to use the main bathroom. For some reason, it makes her skin prickle to think about going in the shower that Malfoy has just recently used.
She turns the shower on and locks the door behind her, staring at herself in the mirror as she waits for the shower to heat up. There are huge purple marks under her eyes, though she doesn't know how, when she gets so much sleep each night. There are a few red patches on her cheeks – not like when she blushes, more like in random blotches every so often. She's more freckly than normal, too, which she hates, as it makes her look drastically younger than she is. She's not even sure how she can be freckly in the dead of winter.
She climbs into the bath and stands beneath the showerhead, resting her forehead against the cool tile in front of her, letting the water soak into her thick mane of curls as she hums to herself. Her hair gets lathered with shampoo not once, not twice, three times as she tries to make it feel clean – as she tries to make sure absolutely every possible strand of hair gets at least some shampoo. She then conditions her hair, shaves her legs and underarms, though she doesn't really need to. It's more of a habit than an actual necessity.
After about fifteen minutes, she turns the water off, watching as it drips steadily from the showerhead. She stands there for a moment, feeling the water dribble from the tips of her hair and down her back, before she finally steps out of the bath. She dries herself quickly, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror.
She hates to see her body in the mirror.
She wraps her hair in a second towel, quickly getting dressed in a rather cute, flowy, red dress, paired with black tights. When she's dressed, she lets herself look in the mirror again, and she laughs when she sees the red and the black together. The first thing that pops into her head is: I look like a witch! The second thing is: That's because you are a witch, you idiot.
She pulls a face at how bad she looks without her hair down. She rubs at the circles under her eyes with her fingertips, groaning to herself. She smiles at herself, then stops quickly (she still looks, as her cousins would say, 'tapped') and undoes the towel around her head, letting her still-damp curls drop down her back. She doesn't bother trying to brush her hair, just tucks it behind her ears as she brushes her teeth, twice.
Once again, she gags when she brushes her tongue.
Once again, she congratulates herself for not being sick in the sink.
She wonders if there will ever be a day where she won't gag when she tries to brush her tongue. She doesn't know why there would need to be.
She drinks a handful of water straight from the tap, gathers up her towels and her pyjamas, and leaves the bathroom. The clothes and towels get dumped into the washing basket on the landing, just next to the airing cupboard.
Malfoy is stood in the hallway, leaning against the door to the guest bedroom.
"Is the wet hair part of a new look, Granger?"
She rolls her eyes with a smirk as she turns to him. His arms are crossed, and today he's wearing black dress pants and a black button-up shirt. The black shirt looks much nicer on him than yesterday's white. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and she can see his bandage, which makes the smirk drop from her face.
"Maybe you should try it, Malfoy. It's quite in fashion in Muggle London, don't you know?"
He pulls a face, his nose scrunching up and his eyebrows pulling together. "I'd rather not, thanks very much."
She laughs, quickly going into her room to grab her bag from where it lays at the foot of her bed. She closes the door behind her and starts down the stairs, not even bothering to check if he's following her. "Have you had breakfast?"
He shakes his head as he pushes off the door and follows her downstairs. Her footsteps are so much lighter than his on the stairs, though she assumes that's because she's a foot shorter, and probably weighs less than him.
She drops her bag next to the settee as she goes through to the kitchen, her eyes darting to the clock above the stove. It's half past ten, which calms her panic. She has enough time for everything that needs to be done.
"What's the plan today then, Granger?" He asks from behind her, resting his elbows on top of the counter. She pulls the butter out of the fridge and sticks four slices of bread in the toaster.
"We are going into London to get my parents a Christmas present."
"You haven't bought your parents Christmas presents yet?"
She scowls at him. "When have I had the time to get them a present?"
He shrugs. "What are you thinking of?"
She leans forward onto the counter, holding her head in her hands. "I don't know. I honestly just don't have a clue."
The toast pops up, which makes Malfoy jump. She laughs as she butters the four slices and hands him his two.
"We need to go into Diagon Alley first," she says through a mouthful of toast.
"Don't speak with your mouth full, Granger," he taunts, taking a bite of his own.
"Anyway," she ignores him. "I need to get my money exchanged back to pounds."
"Should I get some of those?"
"Probably."
He drops his head backwards, his throat exposed, and groans in mock disgust. "Muggle money." He pretends to let a shudder run through him. "Disgusting."
She hits him playfully on the shoulder. "You've got Muggle germs now."
"I have not because you're a witch, not a Muggle."
"So you admit it?"
"Admit what?"
"That I'm a witch even though I have Muggle parents," she smirks at him, prodding him in his upper arm.
He frowns. "When did I say you weren't?" When she opens her mouth to respond he holds his hand up. "Actually, you know what? Don't answer that."
"So, you admit it."
"I acknowledge that you are a witch, but I am automatically better than you because I am me."
She laughs. "What on earth does that mean?"
"It means, Miss Granger," he taps her nose, and she blinks. "That I'm the best."
She shakes her head with a smile, brushing the breadcrumbs from her fingertips. "We'll have to agree to disagree on that, Malfoy."
"If you insist, Granger." He finishes his toast and claps his hands. "Right then. Are we off?"
She nods, smoothing the front of her dress and going to a cupboard Malfoy hadn't noticed the other times he'd been in the kitchen. From the secret cupboard, she pulls a thick winter coat, complete with a fur-lined hood. When she puts it on he stares at her for just a second, his eyes narrowed as he takes in the image of her in the dark red coat with the bronze buttons and the fur hood.
"What?"
"Nothing, you just look like a character from a story my mother used to read to me. The princess."
"What story?"
"Oh, I can't remember the details. I just remember the pictures. Some kind of Muggle princess who was saved by a wizard, or something like that."
Hermione's brows raise. "Your mother read you stories about Muggles falling in love with wizards?"
His nose wrinkles. "I never said they fell in love, just that he saved her. I think she died in the end, anyway. Or he did. One or the other."
"Well, thanks, Malfoy, for comparing me to the Muggle princess who dies in your favourite childhood story," she laughs, shaking her head once more.
"I didn't mean it like that." He glares at her, shoving his hands in his pockets.
She wants to pull his hands out and lace their fingers together. She wants to press her lips against the smooth skin on the back of his hand, just before his knuckles.
Instead, she just smiles at him. "Get your coat. It'll be freezing."
She listens as he runs upstairs – two at a time, by the sound of it – and into the guest bedroom. She goes into the living room to wait for him, and when he comes down, his black coat is draped over his arm. He grins at her through the doorway.
"Are we off, then?" He asks, sliding his black dress shoes on in the hallway.
"Yep, I think that's it." She picks up a set of keys from the coffee table, and her bag from where it sits in front of the settee, before going to meet him in the hall.
"Shoes on."
"I am, I am," she mumbles, pulling on a pair of boots. She struggles to get her first foot in, so she has to undo the laces just the tiniest bit.
The front door is already unlocked, and she mutters something to herself when she opens it. Her dad's car is gone from the drive, which is less worrying than the door being unlocked all night. She opens the door so that Malfoy can get out first.
"Thanking you, Miss Granger." He bows his head as he passes her, and she rolls her eyes at him.
She reaches behind the door and turns on the alarm – something Malfoy had failed to notice the other times he's passed it in the hall. When it begins to beep, she slips out of the door, locking it behind her and double checking the handle to make sure it doesn't actually open.
"Where to now?" He asks, shivering with his coat still over his arm.
"Put your coat on." She ignores his question to begin with, waiting until he has pulled his coat on as he dirty looks her. "We're going to get the bus to Kings Cross, then we're going to get the Victoria line to Oxford Circus, then the Bakerloo line to Charing Cross."
"Why are we taking the bus, why not just take one of those car things?"
"I don't have a license." She checks her watch. "The bus is in five minutes." She begins walking out of the cul-de-sac, Malfoy beside her with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. She regards him from the corner of her eye, and she wonders how he makes everything look so…perfect, even just walking with his hands in his pockets.
Suddenly, she remembers something. She pulls a purple purse from her bag, with a large M drawn on the side in a black permanent marker, counting through coins and notes as she walks. Every so often she murmurs something to herself, until she finally zips the purse back up and drops it back into her bag.
"We have enough to get us to Diagon Alley, and maybe a tea later on, but that doesn't matter because by then I'll have more money anyway." She stops at the bus shelter, not sitting on the bench as there is already an old lady with a walker sat there, and she is far too awkward to sit next to a stranger – especially someone who might initiate conversation.
"Are we actually going to see the circus?" Malfoy asks, leaning back against the glass of the shelter. "You keep mentioning the circus, and now I really want to go."
"No, we're not going to a circus. Why do you feel the need to lean against everything all the time?"
"Is there a problem with that? I enjoy leaning. Why aren't we going to the circus? You've mentioned it twice now – why would we go to a circus to not go to the circus."
"It's not actually a circus, that's why," she replies, suddenly aware of the old woman's eyes on them.
"Well, why's it called a circus?" He frowns, now confused.
"I-" She starts, then pauses. "Actually, I'm not too sure on that."
"I think it's stupid."
"Your main shopping district is named diagonally; you don't get to talk."
He makes a hmmph noise, crossing his arms over his chest. He squints in the December sun (why is the sun always so bright in December?), watching for the bus to come around the corner.
As he watches for the bus, she watches him – she takes in his perfect straight nose, his cheekbones, his jaw, the way his hair falls in any direction.
"Is that the bus?" He points at the red double decker coming towards them, and she shakes herself out of her thoughts. She leans past him, looking at the number. 91, Trafalgar Square.
"Yep, that's the one," she replies with a beaming grin.
As the bus approaches, he turns to look at the time table behind her, and the list of stops for the 91.
"This bus goes to Charing Cross," he points out. "Why not just go there instead of going to Kings Cross?"
"It's quicker to take the tube, really. We took the bus to Charing Cross when I was in first year, and we ended up wasting more time. Plus, the tube is more fun." She explains as she pulls her purple purse back out of her bag, removing a £10 note.
The bus pulls up, the doors opening. The driver gives them a smile, and Hermione waits until the old woman has gotten on first before going up to the driver.
"Where to, love?" He asks, and Malfoy frowns.
"Two to Kings Cross, please," she answers, smiling politely.
He taps something onto his machine, then looks back up. "That'll be £5.60, please, love."
She hands him the money, and he gives her the change and the two tickets, which she then hands to Malfoy.
"Do you know him?" Malfoy asks in a low voice as he follows Hermione up to the top level of the bus. The seats at the front are empty, and so they choose to sit there, where they will be able to see everything perfectly. She rests her feet against the bar in front of them.
"No." she frowns. "Why?"
"He kept calling you 'love'."
"And?"
"I don't know. I just thought it was odd." He is staring straight ahead as the bus begins moving, and Hermione laughs.
"Draco Malfoy, are you jealous?"
"Why would I be jealous?"
"How should I know? You seem jealous." She pokes his cheek playfully.
"I am not jealous," he snaps. "I don't have a reason to be jealous; it's not like you're my girlfriend or anything."
"You're jealous," she sings, tugging gently on the ends of his hair before pushing it out of his face. "Just admit it, Malfoy. You're jealous that the forty-year-old bus driver called me 'love'."
He frowns, the space between his eyebrows creasing as he stares straight ahead. "I'm not jealous."
"The more you say it, the less I believe you." She keeps running her fingers through his hair, right down to the nape of his neck, gently pulling the shorter hair there.
He finally turns to look at her, his lips twitching slightly as he struggles to keep looking angry. She grins, removing her hand from his hair. He wants to ask her not to pull away, to continue playing with his hair. He doesn't because that would be weird.
He doesn't want to seem weird.
"I wasn't jealous."
"Whatever you say, Malfoy."
He laughs, shaking his head at her. "If you don't want to believe me, that's your call, Granger."
They spend the rest of the half hour bus journey arguing about whether or not she should believe him, and eventually end giggling, and her leaning her head against his shoulder with a sigh.
He tenses up, his pulse beginning to go just a bit faster. It's strange, that even after the past two months of this…thing, she still manages to make his world stop by doing just the smallest of things. He wonders if that will ever stop. He wonders if he wants it to.
She sees Kings Cross coming up, and presses the red button that is attached to the yellow pole behind them. A bell rings out, and a sign that says Bus Stopping lights up in yellow just above the stairs they came up. Hermione picks up her bag and goes down the stairs, even as the bus is still moving. Malfoy struggles with this – he nearly slips down the stairs twice, his knuckles turning white as he grips the rail.
When he gets down, the bus is slowing, and Hermione is leaning against the luggage rack just behind the drivers box. She smiles when she sees him stood at the foot of the stairs, and when he stumbles as the bus stops, she laughs.
She thanks the bus driver politely as she gets off, and so Malfoy thanks him too.
Kings Cross station is busier today than it was when they came back from Hogwarts, and he follows Hermione downstairs to the tube station. She goes up to one of the windows and asks for two Zone 1 Day Travelcards, which costs her £27. She is luckily able to scrounge the correct amount of money, leaving her with only £2.40 left over, and she hands Malfoy one of the tickets with a beaming smile.
"Protect that with your life," she tells him, going to one of the gates and placing the paper ticket into a slot. It lets out a beep, spits her ticket back at her, then opens the gate for her to pass through. Malfoy steps forward to follow her, only to walk into the barrier. The people behind him groan, and he feels his cheeks burning; he wants to turn around and hex them.
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologises on his behalf. "He's not from here."
Amidst the groaning, a blonde woman in a tight black skirt and pink blouse comes up beside him. She gently takes his ticket, and shows him how to put it into the machine, and reminds him to take it before he passes through. As he thanks her, Hermione feels herself grow hot and cold at the same time, and she scowls, watching Malfoy watch this woman go down the escalator before them.
"Come on," she says in a huffy voice, standing on the right-hand side of the escalator. "Stand on the right. People walk down the left."
He nods, shifting himself so that he's stood behind her. She can feel his breath on the top of her head, and the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.
When they hit the bottom of the escalators, she reads the signs to find out which way goes towards Oxford Circus, and promptly begins walking in that direction. Malfoy, for once, is the one having to speed walk to keep up.
"So, Diagon Alley first?"
"Sure."
He raises his brows at this, taken aback by how snarky she is being all of a sudden. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Is this about that woman that helped me?"
"No." They've reached the platform, and Hermione squints at the board with the train times, pleased to see that the next train is only in one minute.
"Are you jealous?"
"What?" She spins around to face him. "Absolutely not!" She can hear the train, distant and close at the same time.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" The train begins to pull into the station, making her hair whip around her. "Why would I be jealous of her?"
"Why would I be jealous of a forty-year-old bus driver?"
"So you were jealous!"
"That wasn't my point!"
She moves towards the doors of the train, waiting as the people stream off of it, then quickly jumps through the doors and into the carriage. As Malfoy and twenty other people file in behind her, she remembers why she hates the tube so much – the feeling of being packed in like sardines, with nowhere to go, even if the worst happens.
"It's the third stop. Don't miss it," she tells him, taking a deep breath as the doors shut. "Hold onto something."
The train lurches off before he can grab the handrail above him, and he stumbles. Hermione puts her hand on his chest to help steady him, and beneath her fingertips she can feel his heart thudding faster. He reaches up and grabs the rail.
"Thanks," he murmurs, just barely audible over the whooshing of the train through the tunnel. "What happens if we don't manage to get off?" He asks, looking around at the people squeezed into the tight space.
She thinks for a moment, imagining the tube map in her head (that's one good thing about being incredibly smart). "Then we go to Victoria and get the Northern line to Charing Cross instead. But we won't miss it. I haven't yet, and I'm not going to start now."
He nods, watching the tiny lights attached to the tunnel walls flash by. He's worried in case they get separated. He's worried in case something happens to him. In case something happens to her.
The two stops between Kings Cross and Oxford Circus pass quickly, and when the train moves off from Warren Street, Hermione begins squeezing past people to get to the opposite doors, and Malfoy follows behind her. They get off the train as soon as the doors open, both of them panicking about being left behind on the train and having to travel alone. This makes them both laugh, and he holds his arm out to her ("So that we don't get split up.") and she takes it without question.
The tube from Oxford Circus isn't as bad, and they don't panic as much when they get off at Charing Cross. Malfoy gets stuck at the barrier, but not as badly as he had at Kings Cross, and Hermione buys a 99p map from a stall just outside the exit of the tube station which directs them towards Charing Cross road. The walk takes eight minutes, or it would have if they didn't keep losing track of where they were on the map; instead it takes them fourteen minutes, but it doesn't make them any less giddy than they were getting off the train.
They reach the Leaky Cauldron, and by extension Diagon Alley, at 11:51, which makes Hermione's fingers twitch. She feels like they're running out of time, that they won't get everything done in time.
They walk the cobbled street side by side. On one side is the empty, locked up Ollivanders, on the other is the half-destroyed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Diagon Alley is almost empty, which is odd considering it's nearly Christmas, and normally it would be bustling with Hogwarts students and their families. Hermione presumes it's because the majority of the wizarding population are too afraid to be in public, especially after the disappearances of Ollivander and Florean Fortescue.
They pass Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which is without a doubt the busiest shop in the Alley. Hermione peers in the doorway to see the twins in matching suits (one bright green and the other bright pink) as they demonstrate some of their products in front of an eager crowd. She smiles, shaking her head as they toss an unsuspecting boy a Nosebleed Nougat.
Gringotts is, surprisingly, empty. The goblins sit and scribble fervently into their books, not looking up as the two of them walk past. Hermione's and Malfoy's shoes clack against the marble floor, the noise echoing around them, wrapping itself around the columns and then shooting back towards them. One of the goblins, towards the end of the row on the right, looks up from his writing just before they reach him. Hermione stands awkwardly in front of his desk, looking up towards him. She fumbles around in her bag until she pulls out a blue coin purse, marked on the side with a W, opening it and counting all of the Galleons inside it.
"Please would I be able to exchange this into Muggle pounds? Please," she asks awkwardly, holding the Galleons up in her hand.
The goblin wordlessly holds out his open hand, and she gently drops the coins into it. He counts them quickly, scribbles something down into his book, then disappears. About a minute later, he returns and hands Hermione five £20 notes, a £5 note, and three £1 coins. She finds it strange that they give coins; when you go on holiday you normally have to round to the nearest five, or ten. She thanks him, then stands there awkwardly as she pulls out her purple purse to put the money in.
Malfoy gently nudges her out of the way, taking his own wallet (it's a coin purse, but he's far to masculine to call it that). He sifts through the coins there for a moment, nodding when he's pleased with what he sees.
"Could I exchange some money too, please?" He holds up the coin purse, and the goblin once again holds out his hand, where Malfoy drops a much larger amount of coins than Hermione had. When the goblin returns this time, he hands Malfoy eighteen £50 notes, four £20 notes, one £5 note, and one single pound coin.
Malfoy's eyes widen at the amount, and also at how light it is compared to the Galleon equivalent. He folds the notes up and tucks them neatly into the coin purse, then tucks the coin purse into his coat pocket. He thanks the goblin with a smile, then him and Hermione leave Gringotts, feeling slightly richer than they were before (even though they aren't – it's the equivalent – but they enjoy the feeling of having 'more' money than before, even if that's just in terms of numbers).
They walk back towards the Leaky Cauldron, not walking too fast or too slow. Occasionally one of them will stop to look in a window (normally Malfoy) and the other will stand behind them to remark on the time (normally Hermione). Just before they reach the Leaky Cauldron entrance, Hermione spots a flash of long ginger hair, and her heart drops.
Ginny Weasley stands in the doorway of Flourish and Blotts, sucking on an Edible Dark Mark from her brothers' shop. Her eyes narrow when she sees Hermione turn towards her, and she stalks across the street to confront them.
"Hello, mini Weasley," Malfoy greets with a smile. Ginny glares at him in response.
"You didn't tell them." It's not a question, it's a statement, and her attention is now solely on Hermione, who rubs her face with her hand.
"No." Hermione responds.
"And you're still hanging out with him."
"Yes."
"Unbelievable!" Ginny throws her free hand into the air, her eyes wide in disbelief. "You promised me. You promised you would tell them!"
"It's difficult, Gin."
"Have you even told him what you were meant to?" She points at Malfoy with her Edible Dark Mark. Malfoy can smell the sugar in it, even from where he stands behind Hermione; he's surprised Ginny still has teeth to grind in her anger.
"No." Hermione snaps, giving Ginny a look that says and you better not say anything either you little brat.
"Do you not remember how the only reason I was okay with this was because you were going to tell him that?"
"Yes."
"Do you also not remember how you assured me that he was going to play nice, and if he didn't you would tell the boys?" Hermione doesn't answer this one. "And he didn't play nice, did he? And yet you still didn't tell them!"
"Ginny-"
"I would be happier if you'd told him. Like you were going to. But now it just double sucks because – Merlin, Hermione – you're spending more time with him than us!"
Hermione opens her mouth to respond, then closes it with a frown. She's realised something. "I thought you were spending Christmas at Hogwarts?"
Ginny nods, sucking on the end of the Edible Dark Mark. "I am. I've come to see Fred and George for the day. You're lucky Ron's not here."
"How have you managed to get here?"
"I went to Hogsmede and asked if I could use their Floo and they said yeah," she shrugs, holding onto her left bicep as she twirls her lollipop around in her left hand. "It's not that difficult."
"I didn't think you were allowed to leave?"
"Special permission from Dumbledore. I told him I was depressed cause I hadn't seen my favourite brothers, so he wrote me a note."
"You cannot have a go at me for not telling Harry and Ron about my friendship with Malfoy, when you lied to Dumbledore's face to come see Fred and George!" Hermione snaps, flinging her hands up in exasperation.
"I never said I lied." Ginny shrugs.
"Look," Hermione drops her voice to a whisper so that Malfoy can't hear her. "I'm planning on… On telling him soon. Maybe. I think."
"I just don't get it, Hermione. You say one thing then do the complete opposite. No wonder Harry and Ron think you're off."
Hermione frowns, taking a step away from Ginny. "What do you mean they think I'm off?"
"I don't know, they think you're distancing yourself – which you are."
"Am I not allowed to do that?" Hermione snaps, suddenly angry.
"You should just tell them! Is it that big of a deal?"
"I don't see why I need their approval, or their permission, for every little thing in my life!" Hermione hisses, her hands clenched by her sides. She feels Malfoy wrap his hand around hers.
"Come on, Granger," he murmurs into her ear, eyeing Ginny with distaste.
"And, Ginny, if you tell them anything without my permission then so help me God, I will hex you into next September." Hermione glares at her friend.
"I wasn't going to tell them anything – at all," Ginny responds, stunned and annoyed. "I was telling you that you should, not that I was going to do it for you."
"I'll do it when I get back in January. Just leave it," Hermione sighs. All the fight has left her and now she just feels tired. She rubs her face again. "Please, Gin."
Ginny shrugs. "Okay." She holds out her Edible Dark Mark. "Want some?"
Hermione laughs, nods, then takes the lollipop from her. She sucks on it for a second before handing it back. "It's wet!"
"What did you expect! It has been in my mouth!" Ginny laughs, sticking the Edible Dark Mark back into her mouth. "See you next year," she says with a wink, turning to go back to her brothers' shop.
"See you next year," Hermione repeats at Ginny's retreating back. Then, she turns to Malfoy, who has stepped back once again, with his hands back in his trouser pockets.
"Shall we?" He asks, nodding towards the Leaky Cauldron.
"We shall."
They walk in silence for a while, until they hit the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione digs through her bag for her 99p map.
"What was she on about?" Malfoy asks as he watches her unfold and examine the map.
"Hm?"
"When she said 'have you told him what you're meant to'. What's she on about?"
Hermione's cheeks tinge red as she starts walking, still looking at the map. "Oh, that? Nothing. It's nothing, really."
"It didn't seem like nothing. It seemed like a very big something."
"She shouldn't be pressuring me to tell you, I'll tell you when – or if I want to tell you."
He frowns. "So there is a something?"
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose with the hand that's not holding the map. "Yes, but it's not important." She lifts the other side of the map so she's able to read it better.
"If you say so."
"I do. Say so, that is. I do say so."
He laughs, looking at the map over her shoulder. "Where are we going?"
"We're going back to Charing Cross, to go back to Oxford Circus-"
"To not go to the circus," he interrupts.
She ignores him. "To go to Green Park, to go to Knightsbridge, so we can get to Harrods."
"Let me guess, Green Park isn't actually green, and there isn't really a knight guarding a bridge in Knightsbridge."
"Actually, Green Park is very green. It's a nice place for a picnic in the summer. And no, there is no knight."
He shakes his head and she smiles. "What is it with Muggles and place names?"
"Again, your main street is called diagonally."
They reach Charing Cross, and Malfoy actually manages to get through the barrier. Hermione shoves the 99p map unceremoniously into her bag. She pauses while looking at the large tube map on the wall, tracing the different coloured lines with the tip of her finger, cursing herself for being an idiot.
This annoys Malfoy – her putting herself down for a simple mistake – and he scolds her. "Don't call yourself an idiot."
"It's easier for us to go to Leicester Square, then to Knightsbridge from there. There's no need for us to do so much train hopping," she explains, showing him the two routes on the map. "I should've figured that out before."
"It doesn't matter if you should've figured it out before, you figured it out now. That's all that matters."
She nods, chewing her lip as she stares at the map. "It was still stupid."
"You're not stupid, stop saying you're stupid."
She watches him from the corner of her eye for a moment before rolling her eyes, then starts towards the entrance to the Northern line.
By the time they reach the platform, the last tube is already taking off, the next one coming in three minutes. Hermione drops into one of the cold metal seats as Malfoy looks around the sparse (well, not really, but sparser than normal) platform, his mouth set in a line.
"Will this train be as busy as the others?"
Hermione rubs her forehead before attempting to run her fingers through her hair. She gives up when she accidentally pulls a bit too hard. "Probably. People will be doing last minute shopping, like us. Or they'll be spending the day with their family, or their friends. It's an incredibly popular time for people to do a day trip to London."
He watches the people around them: the group of girls in their matching coats, huddled together and giggling over something; the couple at the near the end sharing a cupcake; the mother with an iron grip around her child's wrist to keep them from getting too close to the edge.
"Why have they left it so late, do you think?" He asks, turning back to Hermione, who is now smoothing the 99p map out and trying to fold it properly.
"Maybe they didn't have the time. Maybe they haven't been able to find anything, yet." She looks up at him as the platform fills with the noise of the approaching train. "Why did I leave it so late?"
"Well, you had school, you couldn't go to a shop."
"Exactly." She drops the neatly folded map into her bag and stands, walking closer to the edge of the platform, just behind the yellow line. "Some people just don't have a choice."
The train pulls in, the doors stopping a foot away from Hermione. Not many people get off, but not many get on, either. The train is full enough, regardless. The doors close, and Hermione reaches up on her tiptoes to be able to take hold of the handle.
"It's the next stop, so don't get too comfortable," she tells him. He nods, watching the tunnel fly past, listening to the rattling of the tube on the tracks. It's very loud, louder than the Hogwarts Express. He wonders if that's because it's in a tunnel.
They get off at Leicester Square, then manage to just barely catch the Piccadilly line train before it leaves (Hermione doesn't know how; they must have sprinted from platform to platform). The four stops are spent in silence, not necessarily because they don't want to talk, more because they don't want to talk around people. Neither one of them wants to be the first one to speak, in case the other doesn't feel like talking.
When they get off at Knightsbridge – along with the approximately fifty million other people who want to be at Knightsbridge – they stand against the wall until the majority of people have left, both of them afraid of being caught in the crush. When there is only two or three other couples trundling towards the exit, they peel themselves from the wall, walking side by side to the exit, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other.
They walk to Harrods, trying to avoid getting jostled by strangers as they walk down the pavement. Malfoy clears his throat.
"Do you have any idea what you're going to get them?" He asks, sidestepping a man who just decided to stop in the middle of the path.
"My dad likes cufflinks, so I'll see if I can get him some of them. I don't know, for my mum. I'll probably just look around and see what looks nice." As she tries to pass a family taking up the majority of the pavement, one of her feet slips off the kerb, making her stumble. Malfoy grabs her elbow to pull her back onto the path and steady her, and she smiles at him in thanks.
When they enter the far-too-big building that is Harrods, Malfoy struggles to comprehend everything that's happening in there at once. There are so many different stands, so many different colours, all packed just into this one section, with tens of other sections branching out beyond it. He runs his hand through his hair, looking around for a map, a tour guide, anything to help give him just the tiniest sense of direction in this building.
"Where are the cufflinks?" He asks, meekly following Hermione as she weaves through the stands, politely declining every woman who offers her a tester of perfume. She ignores him, winding her way towards a set of escalators. Malfoy looks up, and sees them going for at least three floors. He waits to see if they move, but they don't.
Hermione looks down a list on the wall, her eyes reading each line quickly, before she nods and steps on the escalator going up, and he follows. They go to the second floor, weaving once more through the different sections, until they reach the Men's Shoes & Accessories department. Hermione stands around for a moment, looking into the cabinets, becoming increasingly more fidgety. Her fingertips tap against her sides, she bites her lip, her eyes dart anxiously from glass cabinet to glass cabinet.
"What's wrong?" Malfoy whispers, looking over her shoulder at the displays.
"I can't afford any of this," she whispers back, her eyes wide. "Why is it all so expensive? Who buys this?" She points at a set of cufflinks, each with a large diamond in the centre. "I mean, seriously! Who is going to spend £11,000 on cufflinks!"
Malfoy leans closer to look at the cufflinks she's pointing at. He lets out a whistle. "They are bloody nice, though, you have to admit."
She shakes her head. "It's disgusting."
"Why? If I have the money, why shouldn't I spend it?"
"Because £11,000 is the price of a flat in some places. £11,000 could help feed a lot of people. And instead people choose to spend it on tat like this." Her cheeks grow warm with her anger as she glares at the far-too-expensive cufflinks.
"What about over here?" He points in a different cabinet, at a pair of onyx cufflinks. "These aren't as expensive."
"They're still £3,000." Hermione groans, rubbing her face. "I just wanted to get my dad something nice."
The man behind the counter comes over to them, then. He smiles at Malfoy, and all but ignores Hermione as she stands beside him.
"Good afternoon, sir." His voice is warm, but the kind of warm where you can tell it is practiced and polished. Hermione knows that as soon as they leave this man is going to sneer at their backs. "Can I help you find anything in particular today?"
Malfoy looks to Hermione, who shakes her head at his non-verbal question.
No, I won't talk, because I feel like even if I do he will direct the answer to you.
"We were just wondering if you had anything a little bit cheaper?" Malfoy asks. The mans smile doesn't change, but Hermione knows that in his mind he's asking what the bloody hell is someone who can't afford the best doing in this shop.
"Of course, sir. Why don't you come around this side of the counter?" The man moves to a different section, and they follow him. He takes out a tray from inside one of the cabinets. "These are some of our…cheaper options."
The way he says cheaper sounds like the same way someone would say vomit. He keeps his plastic fake smile on the whole time.
Hermione ignores it, ignores the hot feeling in her cheeks and her stomach. She looks at the cufflinks on the tray, at the price tags beneath them. She looks at the snake and the eye and the skull. She eventually lands on the last pair on the tray. The cheapest pair. She points at them, swallowing.
"We'll take those, please." Her voice is barely above a whisper. She can see the miniscule change in the man's expression – oh, so they meant cheap-cheap – but he keeps smiling.
"Of course. Would you like a bag?" He takes them off the tray and places them inside a little black box. Hermione's heart thuds as she worries about it costing extra.
"Yes, please."
"The till is over here." They walk to the till, and he tells her the total, still with a smile. She thinks about how empty his eyes look. "That will be £76, please. Would you like a receipt?"
She swallows again. "No, thank you."
"Okay. Have a nice rest of your day!" The man hands her the bag.
"Thank you." She sounds so quiet and meek and it makes her angry. She takes the bag and walks away and she doesn't turn back.
How dare she let this man make her feel bad about herself? She thinks about whether he actually did anything wrong, but she thinks the whole thing is wrong. She has never been poor, her family have always been considered as well off, but that's because they are very financially aware. They don't spend money willy-nilly, they save up for things and they allow themselves treats every so often, but nothing like this. She finds it ridiculous that she is getting so upset about a pair of £76 cufflinks, when it is a luxury to be able to afford even that.
Rich people are a disease, she thinks to herself as they pass men trying on watches for £77,000, and shoes for £4,000. She looks over her shoulder to see if Malfoy is following her, and she sees him looking at a pair of shoes that cost £2,000.
He is rich. He is part of the problem. Don't you remember him bullying Ron for being poor?
She watches him wrinkle his nose at the shoes, then place them back. He looks up and smiles at her, and he just looks so goofy that even through her anger she can't help but smile back.
Wouldn't it be nice though? To not have to worry about money? To not have to be financially aware? To be able to buy what you want, when you want it?
He catches up with her, his hands back in his pockets. "You alright?"
"Perfect." She smiles, her cheeks still red.
"What now?"
"They have a Christmas grotto; me and my mum normally look around it together."
"Lead the way."
Maybe he's not as bad as the rest.
He smiles at her, and he rolls his eyes as they pass a men's bag priced for £23,000. They both giggle at each other.
Maybe.