Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Not even the chapter title.

Author's Note: Please read and review J, hope you like it.

Thank you to Jilla de la Rio for a really encouraging review. J And thank you for the smiley Draco Improbus, even though I'm not sure what you meant... J

A Summer's Tale

Chapter 2

Comedy of Errors

Draco Malfoy was lazily strolling through Diagon Alley. He still hadn't overcome his father's words from the night before and he could feel his stomach churn with anger and humiliation. Today, his father had ordered him to accompany him on some errands instead of leaving his son behind at the Manor as usual. However, Lucius Malfoy had been so engrossed in his own dealing that after a while he hadn't even noticed that Draco had wandered off bored by his father's businesses.

Right now, he was casually leaning against a wall of Florish and Blotts, the bookshop right across from Gringotts. It was the perfect place when you wanted to watch by passers without being spotted by anybody else yourself. Who would care about a bookshop anyway? In the shop window were displayed the latest editions of Hogwarts, A History and a few other books that he suspiciously assumed to be on the new list of school supplies for next years pupils. He wouldn't miss his old school, well, maybe he would if he had to stay with his father a couple of more weeks, he certainly would wish himself back to his old dorm in the Slytherin Dungeons. Things had definitely taken a turn for the worse since his father had decided to talk to him last night.

Despite the fact that it was early morning and most of the shops hadn't been open for longer than an hour, wizards and witches in colourful robes passed him by, some walking through the street, already burdened with parcels and shopping bags. Others stormed hurriedly through the crowd and some looked as if they just couldn't decide in which shop to go in first. There was nothing unusual about the scene in front of him, in fact, Draco soon got bored and his bad mood threatened to turn even worse as raindrops started splashing on the ground. Randomly at first, splish, splash, then, within seconds, the heavenly floodgates seemed to have fully opened and rain was hammering down upon London. Great. A typical English summer.

It didn't take long for the streets to be deserted. Most of the shoppers crowded in the shops and cafes, none of them keen on getting wet and neither was Draco, but at the moment he just didn't feel like being amongst others. He preferred to stay outside all on his own.

Grumpily, he kicked a pebble and watched it jump across the alley until it landed in a puddle of muddy rainwater. Splashing tiny drops of dirt on a pair of shoes.

Looking up, he recognized the only too familiar face at once. None other than Hermione Granger stood at the entrance of the bookshop, ready to buy more books to resume her sorry excuse of a life.

"I know you didn't mean it that way, Ron," Harry said with a sigh and patted his friend on the shoulder. The two of them were sitting in the Weasley's kitchen, slowly sipping two steaming hot mugs full of hot chocolate with Bertie Bott's Magical Marshmallows.

"I don't have anything against Muggles and not a word of what I said was in any way racist…" Ron trailed off.

Harry had arrived only minutes after Hermione had left the Burrow. He and Ron had stayed up all night in the company of half of the rest of the Weasley clan, waiting for Hermione to return. It wasn't before midnight that Mrs. Weasley had sent Ginny and the twins upstairs to go to bed ("You may be of age but as long as you put your brooms into my broom shed, you do as I say, whether you like it or not!"). Then, she had made Ron and Harry write a letter to the Grangers, telling them that their daughter had been at the Burrow, but disapparated in a fury, and inquiring if she had returned home in the meantime.

Against Ron's wishes to use Pig, his mother had insisted on sending Errol as he was the more experienced owl and would certainly behave better towards a Muggle family then Pig would. Unfortunately, the result of this decision was that now, even a good nine hours after they had sent him, they still hadn't got a reply.

Twice, the noise of arriving owls swooping into the kitchen through the wide-open window had startled them already. First it had been an owl delivering the Daily Prophet and afterwards a Hogwarts School owl had brought both Harry and Ron their N.E.W.T exam results, but the only person in the house paying the letters attention at the moment, was Mrs. Weasley. Every time she would come in the kitchen, she would glance at them lying untouched next to the sink. Once, she even made a desperate attempt to get her son and his friend to open them by reminding them how important the results were for their future lives, but as soon as she was about to say something, she caught a sad look of Ron, sighed and clamped her mouth shut again.

"That stupid owl probably collapsed on their doorstep and needs to be brought back here by Hermione's parents," Ron grumbled and threw another Marshmallow into his mug, so violently that some of the steaming chocolate was spilled on the table.

"She's probably gone back home, mate. I mean, it's Hermione, she's the most sensible person on this planet. She might have been in a fury when she left, but by know she'll have come back to her senses, I'm sure," said Harry. "Besides," he added, "she knows how to take care of herself."

"Yeah, I guess she does," was Ron's weak reply. He felt guilty. After all, it had been his fault that she had left, but he really hadn't meant what he had said. Well, he had, but not in the way Hermione had interpreted it.

"Look whom I found on the doorstep!" Mrs. Weasley announced swiftly entering the kitchen from the living room and interrupting the boys' conversation. Putting Errol right down on the middle of the table, she continued, "I told you he would be here with a reply soon!"

The old owl hooted indignantly and nibbled on a marshmallow, while Ron and Harry nearly knocked their mugs off the table, so hurriedly did they jump to their feet and try to untie the piece of parchment from Errol's leg.

It was Ron who read the short note first with Harry nervously glancing over his shoulder.

"Dear Harry and Ron,

We so hoped that Hermione would be with you. She still hasn't come home yet and it is already dawning. Since she is not at the Burrow anymore, we have no choice but to inform the police if we don't hear from her.

Mrs. Granger"

Ron put the letter back on the table. Despite the remains of his sunburn, his face had turned quite pale.

"She didn't go home, Harry," he said wearily, but didn't get an answer.

In the meantime Mrs. Weasley had picked up and read the note as well. Placing the innocently looking sheet of paper back on the table, she assumed her usual, rather composed and practical attitude, even though a soft shimmer of worry gleamed in the corners of her eyes.

"Well, maybe Hermione went to one of her other friends. Don't worry dear, Hermione is a clever girl. Who else could she have gone to? What about any of her other school friends?" she suggested and indeed, Mrs. Weasley's suggestion sounded convincing, only that both Harry and Ron knew that Hermione didn't have any other friends she would rely on in such a case. Sure, she had shared a dormitory for six long years with Lavender Brown and one of the Patil twins, yet they had never been close friends and, to be honest, Hermione had been more than glad when she was made Head Girl and got her own dorm.

The boys looked at each other worried and alarmed. Their best friend had disappeared out of her own accord, which was something none of the two would have ever thought to be possible. Unspoken questions hung in the air between them. Wasn't Hermione too grown up to do something of the likes? What if something had happened to her?

It was Harry's voice that suddenly cut through the silence, sounding flat and concerned.

"We've got to go find her."

Ron only gave him a tight nod. A cold hand seemed to have gripped him by his throat and wouldn't let him speak anymore.

As soon as Hermione had stepped out of Gringotts, she could feel the raindrops beating down on her head and shoulders, soaking through her jeans and her t-shirt. She hadn't bothered to put on a robe or her coat, because the Leaky Cauldron where she had spent the last night, was right across from the huge wizarding bank anyway. She felt quite awful that she had stayed in the inn without any Wizarding Money at hand to pay Tom, the inn-keeper. So first thing in the morning she had gone straight to the bank and gotten enough money to pay for her room and a decent breakfast and later on she would go and console herself by buying a few of the latest books on the History of Aurors. Then there would always be time to go and think about what she would do next.

The instant she had arrived in the pub yesterday and dropped her bag in her room for the night, she had started crying, feeling betrayed by both her family and Ron. For a split second she had thought about paying Harry a visit, but what good would it do to turn up on the Dursley's doorstep? She knew that Harry planned on moving out of his aunt and uncle's home to start living in Grimauld Place in a couple of days anyway and then she was sure that he would take her in. Right now, Hermione felt that she could not go back home to her parents. She had always tried to keep the gap between her parents' life and her wizarding one as small as possible, but over the years the break had become more and more visible, she only had been too blind to see it. She should have seen yesterday's éclat coming. Now, she had made her decision. Magic was an essential part of her life and she was not willing to give it up, whatever her parents might think would be best for her.

Hermione was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice that her feet had unconsciously taken her to Flourish and Blotts, until she was just about to enter the bookshop. By now, her clothes were soaking wet and her usually unruly hair was plastered flat on her head.

A brief smile flashed across her face. Oh, she loved books and it looked as if there were as a new edition of her old History of Magic schoolbook as well. But there would be time for that later. First of all, she had to get back to the Leaky Cauldron, change her clothes and have breakfast, and then it would be time to give her parents a call. They would be worried to death since she hadn't returned home last night and it was time to get things straight with them.

Turning, she quickened her pace and practically ran back to the inn, unaware of someone following her through the rain.

He didn't know what exactly had made him follow the Mudblood. Perhaps it was just out of habit, because where ever the beaver-teeth girl would go, Potter and the Weasel were sure to be quite close and if he could get to hexing all three of them, it would surely brighten his day a lot.

However, he had been quite disappointed once he had found out that the Mudblood obviously was on her own. She had headed directly to the Leaky Cauldron and while he had seated himself at a table in the far corner of the pub and ordered a butterbeer, she had gone upstairs only to return a few minutes later, still wearing ordinary muggle clothes instead of decent robes. Now, she was having breakfast, sitting at a table in the middle of the room. The Daily Prophet was propped up against a water jug in front of her and she was reading the paper while alternately nibbling at a piece of toast and eating bits of scrambled eggs. He could remember that already in school she had always been reading when she was having breakfast. Then again, when hadn't her ugly nose been buried in a book or paper anyway? He snorted. Some things just didn't change.

Draco observed her closely, contemplating whether she had noticed his presence or not. Bit by bit a plan began to form in his mind. At first, he had dismissed the mere thought of it as ridiculous and stupid. Yet, the idea kept popping into his head, prodding him until he started to think about it again and again and the more he thought about it, the more appealing it sounded to him. The Mudblood was on her own. No one was there to look after her. Perhaps this was a way to show his father that he was indeed worthy to be a Malfoy.

Twirling his wand idly in his hand he saw her stand up and walk over to Tom, handing him money to pay for her meal and if on cue, he watched her smile and walk off through the door, right into the heart of Muggle London.

Casually, he threw a galleon on the table to pay for his butterbeer, before he, too, strode out after her.

There had to be a phone booth somewhere near the inn, Hermione had been sure that there had always been one around the corner. Everybody else here in London probably had their own mobile phone, some might even own more than one, but Hermione had it never thought necessary to have one herself. After all, it wouldn't have worked in Hogwarts anyway and, besides, she wasn't particularly good when it came to handling electronic devices. A good, old-fashioned phone booth still worked quite fine for her. As she turned around to walk back to try and search in the other direction, she was greeted by a wand aimed directly at her face.

"Hello there, it's been quite a while, hasn't it?" he drawled lazily.

It took Hermione a second or two to process what was going on.

"Malfoy," she said, her tone icy and her eyes glaring at him. "When it comes to meeting you, eternity couldn't be a long enough wait for me." As if to underline her words, she pushed his wand away from her face and tried to shove past him.

"Uh-uh uh-uh uh," Draco mocked her and blocked her way. "Not so fast, Mudblood. Where do you think you're going?"

Hermione didn't bother to answer his question. Rage was welling up inside her and her hand went down to the waistband of her jeans where she had hidden her wand. She wasn't in school anymore and she surely wouldn't let him insult her any longer. She wouldn't hex him, no, the wand in her hand would be threat enough to make him back away. The wood felt smooth and cool in her fingers.

"Stupefy!" The word cut through the air without warning.

The curse hit her before she even had time to draw her wand. Immediately, her body stiffened and she fell forwards, right into the outstretched arms of one Draco Malfoy.

On the outside, he appeared as cool and immaculate as always, but inside, Lucius Malfoy was fuming. How dare his son run off? He had given him explicit orders to stay by his side and what did this little Muppet do? Defy him! Again! Oh, Draco was going to pay for this.

Already, the older Malfoy had nearly searched the entire Diagon Alley, starting with the Quidditch Supply Shop and then even considering to have a look if his son hadn't walked down Knockturn Alley, and now he paid the Leaky Cauldron a visit. Still, no sign of Draco. Suppressing a sigh, he left the pub. This time stepping into Muggle London and just as he was about to return into the safe haven of the Wizarding World, he caught a glimpse of silver-blond hair that was turning the corner, walking hurriedly down Elm's Street.

Who else could it be but his son? The hair colour was a dead giveaway. Determinedly, he went after the boy. However, as soon as he, too, turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. Only a few yards away from him, there indeed was Draco Malfoy, yet, he was not alone. His son, his pureblood son, was hugging a girl! And not any girl, but Hermione Granger! A Mudblood!

If Draco's father had been angry before, he definitely was surpassing this feeling now. His son in the arms of a Mudblood, holding her so tightly as if she couldn't stand on her own two feet! A Mudblood, and even worse, Potter's Mudblood! The mere thought of it was revolting! His hand had already gone down to his cane and he was about to draw his wand and hex the two star-crossed lovers into oblivion, when suddenly, the Knight Bus appeared out of thin air in front of Draco and the Granger girl. The next second, they had vanished.

Lucius Malfoy was trembling with rage. Obviously, his son had flagged down the bus only seconds before Lucius had discovered them.

How long had this relationship been going on behind his back? How long had his own flesh and blood been planning to deceive him?

Never, never had he hated his son. He might not always have been proud of Draco, but still, he had been his son, a Malfoy, his heir. Now, Draco was nothing but a Mudblood lover.