Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, well, my own made up ones, but that's it.
Draco Malfoy was pleased that he now had an extra job to do; despite the fact that it was tiring, it now provided him with enough money to have a decent breakfast on mornings and a real dinner at night.
However, despite all this, at home that night, he was watching his ring. The Gold Dragon. Its eyes watched him warily, almost as if it was real. But that was no surprise. The surprise was when Miss Granger had slid it on her finger. Because she was lingering on his ring, not by scent, which just lingered, but just by her slipping it on.
He wondered if she knew that.
He doubted that she did. He slipped it on his finger, and admired it anew, proud of his handiwork, and trying to ignore the fact that only a few hours ago she had worn it, no matter how briefly . . .
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Arriving at work for the next few weeks as early as he did was a bit of a chore. But he'd promised Nott that if they survived, that he would make the ring. Nott and Zabini were two of the most intellectual Slytherins besides him.
He was silently thanking them. Hogwarts would have been dull without them.
Draco was in early, of course. He was never a morning person, and probably never would be either. With out much ado, he let himself into the building and noted that Hermione had driven today. She usually Apparated. Odd.
Climbing up the stairs in the silent jewellery store was a strange feeling. Inside was almost ghost like, a mere shell of the place that he was accustomed to seeing. On the top level, he slid through Weaslette's office, and was about to place all his paper on his own desk when he heard the frustrated French exclamation—and curse words that would turn most people's ears pink if they'd understood what she said—he laughed silently, and pushed open the door with a free hand.
"Langue, Mademoiselle Granger," he said, smiling at her. She was off guard, with her bare feet up on the desk as she hastily shut the little black sketch book that he'd stolen the page from. He still had it, somewhere in his apartment.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy. Why were we speaking French so early in the morning?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow at his messy portfolio.
"You started it after all. You really ought to watch your language. Some people just might understand it."
Hermione sighed and threw up her hands, on the way brushing back one of the unruly tendrils of hair that drove him mad. "I wasn't aware that you were in the building."
"Never assume that you're unwatched," he said, in a solemn tone. "You are watched all of the time, whether you like it or not," he said, merely flashing an easy grin at her in response to her frustrated, and outraged expression. "You just never know who by . . . now, I really must complete the marketing section of my job, oh and here." He handed her several pieces of paper in random order.
"Oh sorry," he said, and waved his conveniently appeared wand at them. They instantly began sorting themselves into some sort of a way.
She rolled her eyes quite expressively, and dismissed him, quite calmly.
He was in a good mood. It wasn't that he hadn't been when he woke up, but he was in a better mood right now. Something about Hermione always put him in that sort of a mode.
He sat down, fiddled, checked and noted all sorts of things that he was supposed to, include a few appointments with people who were old, annoying, and probably, quite fussy.
He sighed. Then when Ginny poked her head in through the door, he considered several things at one time. He didn't want to do this, but he wasn't only a cold blooded bastard. There were times when he had his good moments. It was small, but still . . .
"Yes, good morning, Ginny." He couldn't believe that he'd just called her Ginny. Decades of loathing and he'd called her Ginny.
He was changing.
She looked suspiciously at him, and then said in a voice not quite as frosty as it usually was, "Good morning, Malfoy. I was reminded you that you have an appointment at eleven—"
"With Mr. and Mrs. Delmont. Thank you very much."
She clearly was somewhat unnerved by his relative joviality, relative being the key word, when she said "Your Welcome, Draco." Then she had disappeared as if something hot was on her tail.
Mr. and Mrs. Delmont, at eleven.
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Mr. Delmont was one of those stiff, ironed out men that reminded him of Barty Crouch. Mrs. Delmont was a snob, plain and simple. Her nose was turned up at everything.
Her eyes took in every detail about him, from his grey eyes, which were as bland and cool as he could make them, his longish hair, which he was wearing in a ponytail that particular day, to his office, which was still green, plush and quite masculine. It was also immaculate.
He wondered, quite off handedly if she was one of those Mudblood witches who thought she was everything above normal Muggles. His smile was outwardly warm and helpful. His inward was a cool, icy sneer.
"Please sit, Sir and Madam." He had conjured two chairs for them prior to their arrival.
"So. Mr. Malfoy you say your name is? Yes, well we have come to you to have this stone here appraised. Possibly for sale in this jewellery store." The tone suggested that she didn't think much of the jewellery store.
"Very well. Could you please give it to me for evaluation?"
The box was not large, a little black box which she calmly handed to him, reluctantly letting it go.
He opened it. It was a colourless diamond that was not of the highest standard at all. Even in this dim light, it did not reflect with the fire that all good quality diamonds should. He pulled out a magnifying glass, of the tiny size, and switched on a lamp that he'd bought for himself. Normally, he would go downstairs, but he didn't need to do that.
"I'm afraid, Madam, that this diamond is not a high standard diamond. It is not worth as much as many. The diamond cutter did not utilize the original shape of the diamond and therefore did not use it to his advantage. However, it can still sell—"
"What do you mean it is not high quality? It is one of the finest that can ever be found! It was an old heirloom of my side of the family?"
"Oh? What was your family?"
"They were wizards, my boy."
Malfoy suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a wand. And something told him his memory would be wiped quite suddenly.
He'd had it. Enough was enough . . .
"No need for the Obliviate charm, sir, you see, my family, was probably older than yours," Draco said, ice undercoating his voice. As the man sputtered when Draco quite calmly escorted them to his office door he continued, "If you've never heard of the pureblood Malfoys, then obviously you are not as good as you seem. Here is your diamond. Miss Granger is there."
Hermione listened to them shouting indignation in a minute. What had Draco done now?
"Preposterous! He says our family diamond is not of good quality, and that our family does not outdate his! Our family outdates almost all families! We have purest of pure blood."
Hermione spun around. "If Mr. Malfoy says it is what it is, then it is."
"You trust that little upstart?" asked the woman incredulously.
"Draco's is one of the oldest, most pureblooded wizarding family's in England. He is of the Malfoy blood line, and if you must know," she said, her voice cool, "I'd trust him with my life. If you do not like what you have heard in this store," she continued more dangerously, "kindly get out of in here. I have an appointment in half an hour."
They left, noses in the air.
He was there before she called. "I'm flattered Hermione. You'd trust me with your life?"
She was furious with him. "You have just offended a client there! What do you think that you're doing? You are not, as I constantly remind you, the Prince of Slytherin here! You are an ordinary, human, Muggle, man!"
He snorted. "Me, Muggle? I doubt it very highly."
"That's all you care about? Your blood? How about your job?"
"Funny you should mention that," he drawled. "Here."
Another list. And she stared. Because what was on the list was a huge list of clients, wizarding and Muggles that would easily pay up over five grand for something that the shop had.
"Satisfied?" he asked, sarcastically. "Also, I would like to point out that self defense counts. If some mad idiot tells me I'm wrong, and then points a wand at me, what do I do?"
She was speechless. She looked up to apologize.
"Also, my dear Hermione," he said, "If I cared about the purity of blood, I would never have kissed you." His eyes were the chips of granite she knew best, and the ones she hated most.
"Good morning. I am taking my lunch break, as M.J. says that she'll cope for the day, as I worked late last evening."
He disappeared suddenly.
Hermione was left in numb shock at what he'd just said. His reason, which she hadn't listened to, she, who prided herself on being open. She'd accused him of only caring about purity of blood.
And then the point that he'd so kindly pointed out, with its cold, unfeeling, uncaring insult. But the worst part was, somehow it hadn't been unfeeling. He was hurt. She could tell. She knew.
She checked her clock, and saw her appointment was in fifteen minutes, here.
How was she supposed to survive it?
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She still felt bad, when, after the appointment she couldn't find him. He was taking a one hour lunch, she remembered. And he didn't have to go to Le Café. So she drank her coffee alone. It hurt. Badly.
If I cared about purity of blood, I'd never had kissed you.
It was ringing in her head, almost too painful to bear. She felt disgusting, lower than low. Even the coffee didn't help. And when he told her that he worked late . . .
Ginny had been looking for her friend. Not her boss, her friend Mione. When she found her in the corner, she couldn't believe what she saw.
Hermione looked remarkably depressed, all her hair just flung in no particular way, and smudges of black on her napkin. When she touched her arm, Hermione started up so suddenly that she spilled part of her coffee.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" she asked her, putting down her own fruit tea.
"Hi Gin. What do you mean what's wrong?"
Ginny sent her friend a glance that told her what she meant.
"Oh. Well, I've offended Dra-Malf-Draco oh whatever. Him."
Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Hermione told her why Draco had looked so stone cold when she saw him gather his things and disappear down the stairs. She'd wondered. Now she knew.
"Well Hermione, why on earth did you say that?"
"Because I was upset!" snapped Hermione, through the watery voice. "Because they are the most important clients we've had for a while. I guess I was silly."
"Rather," said Ginny unfeelingly. "I don't particularly fancy Draco myself. But even the lowest of the low deserves better than that. That was mean. I'm pureblooded. But he doesn't like me . . . and as for him being Muggle! What was that about?"
Hermione looked at Ginny. "Whose side are you on?"
"No one's," then she admitted, "alright, his."
Her friend looked stunned. And the red head finished off "Could you be Muggle? No? I thought not. That was a stupid thing to tell him."
"So what do I do?"
"Hope that he's not avoiding you for the rest of the day, or rather purposely ignoring you, or leaving in the middle of your sentences, and being him, well. You'll be lucky if it's the first."
Privately, however, Ginny was wondering something. Because despite the fact that her best friend had loved Ron . . . Malfoy. Hmm. He seemed decent enough now. Then again, she was probably influenced by the fact that he'd used her name.
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He had walked home, and despite the fact that it was raining, he really didn't care. The result was that when he went inside the building, he was yelled at for dripping water. He'd merely looked disgusted, and was left alone quite quickly.
He dripped water all the way inside, dried himself off, and with his usual finesse, he dumped the work on his table and sat there designing what M.J. had asked him to design.
Finally, he threw down the pencil. He knew very well what was annoying him . . . Hermione. Because that was the most insulting thing that anyone had ever said to him. And it touched the part of him that was hurt when his father was disappointed in him.
It hurt worse than any curse he'd had placed on him—and that was what scared him.
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Yeah! Update done! Please tell me what you think. Is it too dramatic? I hope not. So this is for you nice reviewers who DEMAND updates! Yeah!
Moonlight on the Water