Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot of this story.

Chapter Two

Like A Dance

October 17, 2000

"Hermione Granger! Is that really Hermione Granger?" a man asks aloud. I try to pretend I'm reading a very interesting book. I'm at Flourish and Blotts on a lovely Sunday morning (which I'm quite certain, will soon change).

As I predicted, the man doesn't hesitate to come over.

"Excuse me, Ms. Granger?" the man inquires.

I look up as if it's the first time I've noticed him. He then gives me a huge smile and offers me his hand. I take it, holding the book in my other hand and give him a polite smile in return.

"Hello Ms. Granger, I'm a big fan, big fan!" he says enthusiastically shaking my right hand with both of his hands. "Oh! Forgive me for being rude. I'm Hamish Fuller and this is my lovely wife, Layla."

A small woman gives me a small smile. But her husband doesn't stop talking.

"I've heard so much about you. We're visiting from Wales and we were really hoping to see the Trio. Oh, I'm so glad we met you. We're supposed to leave this evening and we were somewhat disappointed for leaving without seeing any of you. But this must indeed be fate, for us to bump into you here," he says holding my hand all the while.

The Trio is the most common name people have come up with to refer to Harry, Ron and I.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Fuller," I say as nicely as I could.

I try to slowly extract my hand from the Mr. Fuller's. He has big, sweaty hands.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Call me Hamish," he says, beaming. "Please, tell me all about it. I've been dying to know the details of the War from you, yourself. You have yet to tell your side of the story."

This is what I've been dreading. I've refused to tell anything for two years, saying that Harry's and Ron's accounts of what happened were enough. It isn't that there is something new I could say either. I just don't like the feeling of being asked about such… personal questions. Because these people, they don't stop at technicalities. They'll try to scrub you until your red, squeeze you until there's none left to squeeze and hang you dry for everyone to see.

"I…" I start to say when someone suddenly interrupts us.

"There you are. I've been waiting for half an hour already," a smooth voice says calmly.

I turn to look at him. I don't know what this person's talking about – oh. There standing between tall stacks of books is Draco Malfoy. I'm so stunned, my mouth hang open, speechless.

"Are you coming?" he says, blond eyebrows furrowed, now sounding impatient.

I blink once, twice. Yep, it's Malfoy. I realize then what he's doing and turn back to face Mr. Fuller. He too is dumbfounded to see Malfoy here, most of all, talking to me.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Fuller. I forgot I had an appointment. It was really nice meeting you. Have a safe trip back to Wales."

He seems to snap back into the present and smiles again at me, albeit nervously. I'm guessing it's his first time to be face to face with a former Death Eater.

"Of course, of course," he says. "Well then, I hope to see you again Ms. Granger."

I smile at him and at his wife for the last time before I walk past Malfoy. When I do, I get a whiff of his perfume. He smells exactly like what you'd expect a rich person would smell like – expensive. I hear his light footsteps behind me. After a second, he sighs.

"Are you getting that," he asks me from behind.

"Oh," I stop for a moment, remembering the book I'm holding, and he halts his step just in time.

"I'll just return this quickly." I don't wait for him to reply before I hurriedly put the book back in the Magical Creatures section. When I get back to where I left him, he's gone.

When I step out of the store, I feel the sun on my face and I can almost smell the grass outside the Burrow. I've spent a few summers at the Weasleys' and they were one of the bests. I smile, feeling nostalgic all of a sudden. Then I hear a cough and I turn my head.

"Malfoy," I gasp. "I thought you already left."

"Sorry to disappoint you," he says.

"No, no. It's just that when I came back, you were gone."

"Yeah, well…"

There's an awkward silence that follows with me looking at his perfectly shiny shoes. Then I remember –

"Thank you," I blurt out. "For saving me back there."

I try to smile, a little apprehensive – not Hamish-Fuller-apprehensive but this-is-all-new-to-me-apprehensive.

"Saving's a little too big a word. But… I guess you owe me one," he says in an indiscernible tone.

I laugh at this, it's just so... Slytherin of him to say that. It seems for people like him, there's no concept of altruism, only a fair system of give and take.

"Okay."

This time, I give him a genuine smile.

I don't know what to make of this version of Malfoy. With him, it's like a dance between oddness and familiarity. He throws something really bizarre at me then suddenly, he's like himself again. I don't know which is the real him. Maybe it's all him. I've got a feeling, I will find out sooner or later.