Disclaimer: I don't own anything..
Previous Chapter:
"Do you always get your own way?"
His smirk was all the answer she needed.
She gave in, but darned if she'd let him win!
Chapter 3: Let's Get it on!
There was nothing Draco liked less than waiting for a woman to get dressed—except, of course, looking for a wife he didn't want.
He told Hermione he'd wait at the chairs outside her flat while she changed her torn dress, but he was too restless to sit. He stood up from the bench and started pacing in a broad circuit in the front area as soon as she went inside her ground floor apartment.
She lived in one of a hundred or so units in the brick complex, all with individual entrances either on the ground level or the second-floor balcony that ran the length of each building with stairs at both ends. He approved. He liked a floor plan that allowed tenants their own private entrances and didn't waste time at the lobby.
The apartments were thirty or forty years old, built when buildings were still laid out on rectangular patterns with straight service roads. Today builders, with or without a wand, favored curving roads and cul-de-sacs for an illusion of spaciousness and privacy, but the place was well-maintained and still looked good.
He'd rate Hermione's place as ho-hum, a haven for singles and young couples with a smattering of seniors who'd given up their homes in favor of easy maintenance and social-security living. At least she didn't live with her Muggle parents.
Stopping to look at his platinum and green diamond plated wiz's watch, Draco thought about his evening so far.
The reception had been about what he expected—a bunch of casual acquaintances and a few strangers pretending they lived in high life all the time. At least no one had challenged his presence.
He even got propositioned. Mrs. Pucey wanted to give him a tour of the mansion, promising she knew some hidden niches where no one ever went. She'd conveniently forgotten that she is friends with Mrs. Malfoy and that he'd played Quidditch with his son back at school. He politely declined!
As for the younger women, he'd had a hard time separating school girls from Azkaban-bait. Except from seeing Hermione again, the evening had been a bust, but it forced him to be realistic. He wasn't going to find the girl of his family's dreams at a party or a bar, which pretty much eliminated his usual stomping grounds.
Maybe Hermione would open some doors for him, not that he deserved her help after the rough time he gave her in school. But they were both adults now, right? Fortunately, she didn't seem to hold any grudge. She was the kind of lady who could be a good friend without all the game playing that went with relationships. He was best friends with Pothead and Weasel for Merlin's sake! And she was the only person he knew who could help him meet some good girls.
First he had to beat her at Wizard's chess. He'd be sporting, though, and not in win by too much. He couldn't expect her to help solve his problem if he humiliated her.
"Malfoy, where are you?" she called, managing to startle him, because he'd expected to wait the typical half hour most women require for a simple change.
"Here."
He walked towards her from a row of rose bushes.
"Where were you? You can't go around other places you know. That's trespasi…" It was her turn to get startled. Right in front of her gate was a White Victorian carriage.
"Get in." He opened the door of the carriage for her.
"Where did this come from? I thought we'll just apparate so that you won't have to bring me home."
"Get in. I'm tired, I don't have the energy to apparate, and we just might get lost. I don't mind bringing you back."
In the light of the carriage, she looked more like her old self, only better. Much better. Low rise jeans and a form-hugging white tank top did a lot more for her than the bridesmaid get-up. She'd pulled all the sausage curls back into a ponytail that bounced as she walked or moved.
"I know a place not too far from here where we should get a table without a long wait," she said.
He shrugged and let her give him instructions.
"It's not a tie-and-jacket kind of place," she warned.
"All the better. Where did you learn to play wizard's chess?"
"Ron loves it. What did you think we did in our common rooms? Fight with swords?"
"Now I'm getting worried," he teased.
"Yeah sure. How many times have you lost at anything?"
"Well, I'm still single. I certainly haven't won the girl of my dreams yet." And he wouldn't be looking for her if it wasn't for his grandfather.
"About what you want me to do—not that I plan to lose," Hermione said, "you actually expect me to fix you with a blind date?"
"Maybe several."
"You're serious? I mean, you're not going to break any of my friends' hearts just for fun, are you?"
"I'm serious." His answer came out sounding grim.
"Why now?"
"You have a mother. You know how they get when the grandkids fever hits them," he said, giving her the first plausible reason that came to mind. The truth was too bizarre to lay on someone he hadn't seen for eight years.
"I guess, but my mother is still thinks that I'm five years old. So more or less, I am off the hook for now. You want to meet a god girl to make your mother happy?" She sounded puzzled but not disapproving.
"I promised to give it a try, but working at a Quidditch place, I don't meet any girls I'd want to take home to mum."
He didn't like this conversation, and the chess restaurant wasn't as close as he'd like it to be.
"Well, I hate to disappoint your mum." She patted him on his arm. "But I'm looking forward to seeing a sneak preview of your Boutique's new line. My shop is getting a reputation for handling the latest."
He urged her to tell him more about her store without paying much attention to what she said. His interest in pouting lip gloss and sparkling robes was non-existent.
They got to the restaurant's hall. Pawn's Knight wasn't the kind of place he would've expected Hermione to like. It was a drunk man's tavern with thick black glass windows and a neon store sign over the door. He left his jacket and tie in the carriage and followed Hermione into a murky interior that reeked of smoke and boilermakers.
"Hi Hermione! How's my sweetie?" A bearded man little man who'd never see seventy again called as she walked in.
"Doing great, Danny."
"Gotcha self a live one?" another grizzly man asked from the brass-railed bar.
"Ready for plucking."
The regulars were territorial, and the stools belonged to old timers, mostly men and a few women with faces that didn't match their vivid hair colors. What Draco saw at the tables helped explain why Hermione felt comfortable here. They'd largely been taken over by twenty-somethings, young professionals and ministry workers trying to dress down and still look cool in designer jeans. The two groups seemed to tolerate each other well enough, with the possible exception o a few tough looking young guys probably looking to improve something by hitting on classy witches.
Hermione waved at a few younger people but headed directly toward the rear of the building. The chess tables were behind swinging Dutch doors in a back room with an old-fashioned metal ceiling. She'd chosen well. She scrawled her name on a parchment, but they were the only one in the waiting list for a chess table.
"What can I get you to drink?" He asked rather casually.
"A butterbeer please."
He fetched a couple of brews and stood with her watching the heat of the play. Finally, a couple of giggling girls abandoned their table and left with some guys in nimbus2010's.
"You're the challenger," she said.
Hermione positioned herself on beside the wall facing the bar. She commanded her pawn and soon it was moving. He liked the way she leaned over the table and studied her options. She had a loose, casual style, but once she committed to a move, she went for it like a pro.
She impressed the hell out of him. This bet wasn't the sure thing he'd expected.
"Nice move," he commented.
In fact, it was too nice. Beating her was going to take some off-table strategy. He stepped behind her and leaned when she leaned, reaching over her to take her small wrist as she tapped her fingers on the wooden board.
"Maybe if you lined your pawn with my knight……" He began coaching rather sensually.
"Draco Malfoy!" She used her lips like a pair of cannon balls and knocked him away from the table. "I do not need lessons!" she said, confronting him like a raging rhino. "If you touch me again, the match is off."
"Understood," he said feeling like a jerk. "Some girls appreciate a few pointers." And a little touchy-feely to go with the sport, he thought, vowing not to forget Hermione was different from most women.
He walked to the other side of the table so he wouldn't have to watch the little tail twitch she used unconsciously when she was ready to take her move, and then he made his shot. She might play killer match, but she was still at square one in the boy-girl game. Men challenged each other for the competition, but it was a whole different contest to play with a woman.
I'm a chauvinistic jerk, he thought when she made a mistake move. He could win this game without rubbing againsther backside or distracting her with thinly disguised hugs. After all, this was Hermione. He still owed her forgetting him through Charms.