"You're in the wrong seat…again."
Like a lazy dragon basking atop its treasure trove, Malfoy stretched in the seat he'd taken to her left and settled in.
"Am I?" he asked with feigned concern. "Funny that, as my ticket says otherwise."
She waved her hand down at the empty seat to his left. "Just move one more down, please. You tend to hog the arm rest."
Rather than comply, he inclined in his seat. "Didn't we go over this last time?" he asked in a rhetorical fashion.
Hermione wasn't going to let his insolence lie, however.
"For heaven's sake, no one else showed up last time!" she reminded him, irritated that he just wouldn't do as she asked. "The statistical likelihood of them doing so today, as this is a scrimmage match, is-"
His broad shoulders gave a negligent shrug. "Not good odds, I'm aware, but all the same, I don't fancy having to tell some bloke why I've decided to pirate his chair." He gave her side-eye and a grin guaranteed to send her blood pressure soaring. "Stealing is bad, Granger. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
She counted to ten in her head.
"If you take the arm rest, I'm beating you up."
He laughed with real delight and withdrew from within the pocket of his robes another of those enigmatic paper bags, this time filled with chocolate-covered pretzels. He held it in his right hand as an open invitation for her to partake, too, as he purposefully monopolized their shared arm rest.
"Tell me something, Granger: are you always such a violent harpy when you don't get your way?" he asked as he munched down on his snack.
No, she thought as she fumed and turned back to the stadium, something about Slytherin's dodgy princeling had always riled her up in ways that not even Ron could manage. It was as if they'd been born to be adversaries, opposites clashing in every way…
"I can be," she threatened as the teams took the field below and she reached into the snack bag, pillaging the pretzels.
~.~.~.~.~
"Look, I don't care if your ticket says you're assigned seat 2A, you are not sitting next to me!"
Once again, Malfoy plunked down into the seat to Hermione's left, this time carrying a bag of roasted chestnuts, the smell of which made her stomach growl with ravenous hunger. She hadn't eaten since the crack of dawn, and here it was nearing one o'clock and the game still hadn't kicked off, and she was literally starving to death one cell at a time.
She eyed the bag with something akin to lust.
"'Fraid I am, Granger, and there's nothing you can do to stop me," he challenged her.
Despite having thrown down the gauntlet, he held his goodie bag out to her once more.
It was a bribe to mollify her no doubt.
Although her need to gnaw on the furniture to keep her hunger at bay was an enormous drain on her energies, she refused the bait. The first time, she'd practically swallowed the whole bag of pear drops, and this last time, she'd cleaned him out of the chocolate-covered pretzels, leaving only crumbs. Her lack of control where Malfoy's snacks were concerned was embarrassing! Who would have guessed she was such a junk food fiend? Outside of this private box, away from him, she never engaged in the temptation to cheat her diet!
This time, however, she vowed she wouldn't give into him and his delicious offerings of bite-sized nosh. She did thank him for the offer however, for no matter his intentions to provoke her, she was determined to remain civil, at least.
"You're sure?" he asked in a final tempting bid to win her over.
"Quite," she reassured him and turned her attention to the field below, where the teams were just beginning to file out of the locker rooms.
The crowd went wild as Puddlemere did a run of the pitch, showing off their fancy new uniforms for the fans. At some point, Harry whizzed by the private box without stopping or acknowledging her, but she knew it was all a part of the show. He had seen her, most likely, and that was what he'd been after anyway—proof of her support. She gave it enthusiastically by waving at him through the glass. Ron, she knew, was in the coach's box, watching the action with an eye for strategy. He'd proven to be much more adept at planning Quidditch manoeuvers than in catching dark wizards.
She was glad they'd both decided to quit the Ministry after capturing the last of the Death Eaters three years prior, and that they'd decided to pursue their love of Quidditch instead. It had been clear to Hermione for years that Harry and Ron had only gone into the Aurors to continue serving the public's needs, not their own wants, and that the burden was simply too great for their war-weary souls. Quidditch was freedom; it was a job without the albatross of guilt hanging about their necks. Besides, their thrill-seeking personalities were simply not suited for government bureaucracy and mundanity, which is what their positions had become once their primary task had been completed and the last Lestrange had been put in Azkaban.
When Harry had been scouted by Puddlemere three years ago, Ron had put in for Strategic Aide to the team's coach. Over time, they'd both risen in the ranks, with Harry finally taking first-string Seeker this year and Ron taking on the role of Assistant Coach.
And then her boys had finally come out as a couple at the Burrow over Easter dinner, and everyone had been happy for them. Things had simply clicked into place, and the rightness of it had settled over her.
She smiled, thinking how life had a funny way of working out…
As the teams took their places on the field, preparing for the Snitch to be released, the sound of Malfoy's snack bag rustling as he reached in brought her back into the now. The scent of vanilla and sugar filled the air a second later, making her mouth water.
"Are the chestnuts…candied?" she dared to ask, unable to resist the temptation to know.
"Mmm," Malfoy acknowledged with a nod as he swallowed one down. "With a dusting of sea salt."
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Really?"
That did sound delicious…if not terribly unhealthy.
His eyes slanted in her direction and then he held the bag out to her again.
"I shouldn't," she weakly protested. "They're probably bad for the teeth."
Lips twitching with amusement, he shook the bag at her. "Live a little," he coaxed. "You deserve it, too."
With a stomach rebelling against her best efforts to keep it from taking over, she reached in and took one. A quick pop into her mouth and she was moaning at the delicious flavours that rolled over her tongue as she chewed.
"Oh, that is-"
"Sinful."
She glanced over at him, surprised at his choice in words. "Decadent, I would have said."
"Same thing in the world of snacking," he teased. "Want another?"
"Yes, please."
They shared the bag in silence, and occasionally their hands would brush as they reached at the same time. She would stammer an apology and he would smile. It was all very civilized.
…And exciting and strange.
"Thank you," she said as she ate the last one upon his offer. "That was delicious."
He called the box's house-elf over and ordered proper lunch for them both.
"You needn't have-" she began.
His warm, masculine laughter cut her off. "Granger, between your hair and your stomach, I'm not sure which will attack me next. Best to get one of the two out of the way, at least."
She elbowed him off her arm rest.
He stole a chip from off her plate once the food arrived on their serving trays.
They spent an amicable afternoon that way, ribbing each other in between watching the game.
TO BE CONTINUED...