Saturday, May 17th, 2003.
Part one: Fortuitous (?) encounters.
Astoria's notes had provided Hermione with a working Saturday she was beyond grateful for. With the events of the week, she'd dreaded the perspective of spending a week-end alone with her thoughts. Thankfully, she'd managed to extend her work to the middle of the afternoon.
It was only then, when there was nothing left for her to do but read for the hundredth time her perfectly corrected notes, that she decided to just get out of her crappy apartment. Right, she'd just run a few errands before heading to Hog's Head.
Apparating to Diagon Alley, she walked to the apothecary. She bought what she'd need for a batch of pepper up, and taking her time in the deserted aisles, she also grabbed a few things to try reproduce that hangover solution Astoria had given her once. There was no Blaise Zabini in sight this time.
Hermione only hoped that her night out wouldn't be interrupted again. Although she had to admit that meeting Zabini or Malfoy after what Astoria had told her, would probably give her the occasion to try understand why they'd meddled. She still wished to have a good time though.
Thinking about it, until Malfoy screwed it up the last time, she'd had a relatively good evening.
It was with this thought that she got out of the apothecary, and bumped right in someone. Someone with red hair.
"Ouch! Careful! Oh. Hermione."
Draco took a deep breath in front of his mirror. The last button of his collar was giving him a hard time. Since when everything he did had become this difficult? After spending a whole day working, he'd ended up thinking about what Blaise had told him again. He'd read the contract another time.
No bloody loophole. An heir or nothing.
Maybe if she was pretty enough, he could see if Sherry ... Err. He was too tired.
Passing a hand through his hair, he practised one last time the slightly bored expression his mother had taught him, at a time she still spoke to him. He needed practise nowadays. Keeping his composure had become harder and harder with time.
Giving up, he sighed, and apparated to Hogsmeade. There, he walked as slowly as possible to the dreadful tea shop.
He was a few steps away when someone got out of the Three Broomsticks at his right. The Weaslette, tightly holding her little ugly brat in her arms, saw him right away. She was with one of her brothers, Draco recognised him from the three wizard tournament. He didn't know his name but knew that he worked with dragons.
"Hey Malfoy! Here Charlie, hold him." She gave her brat to her brother and Draco stopped in his tracks. What the hell did she want?
"I'm in a hurry Potter." He snarled defensively, realising that her stupid husband had probably told her about their Ministry civil conversation.
"I don't give a shit. Just mind your own business from now on, okay? Stay away from my family. And from Hermione." She warned, turning red. He almost laughed at her presumptuousness. Who the hell did she think she was? He snorted in starting anger:
"Like your lot cares about Granger." He cut her as she was about to answer, her nostrils widening. "Maybe you should mind your own bastard of a husband, Potter. He's the one making Granger cry, not me." Apparently she hadn't known that precise detail. Good.
Half very angry and half satisfied with the effect he'd had on the ginger female, he entered Madam Pudifoot's, nowhere near ready to face Sherry. And it was the least to say that he wasn't in a very good mood.
George. Hermione had no idea what to say. She hadn't seen the tall thin ginger man since the last Christmas party. She had no idea what he thought of her and his face didn't betray in anyway what he was thinking.
"Err ... Hi George." He cocked his head to a side, inspecting her, his face devoid of any emotions. Hermione started to feel uncomfortable and as he didn't say anything, realised he was probably taking his brother's side. She gave a quick false smile and moved to his side to go away.
"Wait." She turned around only after taking a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever was to come. She hadn't expected his words:
"I'm sorry for what happened between you and Ron. It's a shame he's too thick to understand what it's like." A slow and sad smile creased his mouth. She knew that smile by heart. Except when he was laughing, it was the only way he'd smiled since Fred's death. Hermione didn't doubt his words for a second. Even if she'd never been very close to the Weasley twins, she still knew George enough to know when he was genuine. And George was talking about loss. About losing a part of himself, as she had lost parts of herself too. He understood.
"Thank you George." He winked then, his way to lighten the mood.
"No biggy." He dismissed. "Now come to the shop when you've got a moment. We'll have a chat, alright?"
"Alright." She conceded, not really sure if she would.
"See you then Mione." He squeezed her shoulder as he passed her, making his way in the apothecary.
Hermione absent-mindedly apparated to Hogsmeade, her thoughts somewhere along a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Again, support had come where she had never expected it. Zabini, Malfoy, Astoria and George.
As she passed the Three Broomsticks, she hurried her pace not to be seen. She only slowed down when she saw Madam Pudifoot's. Reaching Hog's Head, and ready to apologise to Aberforth, she could swear she'd caught a flash of ashen blond hair in the mushy tea shop. She dismissed the idea right away though, Malfoy setting foot there was unthinkable. Ludicrous. She'd just been thinking about him, was all.
Draco couldn't say that Sherry wasn't pretty. It would've been lying. Her blond hair was slightly wavy and fell around her face nicely. Her eyes were a bit too wide but a nice shiny green colour. Round features softened the portrait.
The only stain in the picture was that even if she seemed averagely smart – which would have done - she talked way too much. She didn't give him time to formulate more than two words for answers.
Not that he complained, he wouldn't have bothered anyway.
Her cleavage, although nice to look at even if a bit too exposed to his taste, couldn't trigger his interest to more than a certain extend, and around eight fifteen, he realised that this was the most boring date he'd ever been to.
Plus, she wore long jiggling earrings that were irritating to look at.
Their plates finally made an appearance and when she excused herself for a minute he sighed. What in Salazar's name was he doing there? He was about to rub his face in his hands when something caught his attention at the window. Something bushy.
"I'm back!" Sherry sat down again, making a whole fuss about righting her chair in front of the table. Draco almost rolled his eyes. As she grabbed her fork for the first time, pushing a strand of her wavy hair behind her ear with her other hand, he noticed a hairy mole on her left temple.
He had to refrain a gag.
Plus, her sodding earrings were very much still there, and as she smiled before starting to babble again, they jiggled. He wanted to rip them off her ears violently even before they took the first bite.
Hermione had hidden herself in the corner of the dim lit room. Her dinner had ended up as appetising as Polyjuice, and she'd only remembered once facing her chipped plate, why she never ate what Aberforth served. The worn lettuce that poked out of the club sandwich he'd levitated to her table resembled a dying bowtruckle.
She bit in it closing her eyes. It was edible, if insipid. Well, she'd better eat if she didn't want to end up dead drunk after only a drink with Astoria. She took her time doing so, bitterly berating herself for being easily distracted by George. She would have gone somewhere else if she'd thought clearly. She forgot her annoyance at herself though, when the door slammed open and Malfoy walked in.
Fortunately, he didn't look her way as she was too startled to think of lowering in her seat to hide. He strode to the counter and muttered something to Aberforth, who nodded with a knowing gaze he was the only one to know the secret of.
Hermione forgot about the last third of her sandwich. She hadn't hallucinated earlier. Malfoy had been at Madam Pudifoot's. She didn't know if she should laugh or remain frozen. The very thought was … disturbing. At every level.
She watched him swallow his first glass with a hiss, and sign for another, unbuttoning the collar of his expensive tailored robes. He seemed so stiff it was sickening to watch.
Once his lips touched the rim of the glass a second time, his shoulders slumped and he sighed, passing long fingers in his hair.
It didn't take a genius to assemble the pieces of the puzzle. Probably a bad date.
Any woman willingly forcing Draco ferret Malfoy to drink and eat from floral printed tableware, all the while surrounded by scented candles and heart-shaped picture frames, was mad anyway.
Imagining the scene had obviously been a bad idea. Hermione felt like laughing again. She managed to stifle it into a low chuckle. Malfoy's face snapped up to her the instant. Damn.
His eyes grew wide for a millisecond before his slightly bored expression returned. He managed to erase all tension from his face, but not his neck. Hermione wondered if she'd ever seen him this tense. Since he apparently had the ability to hide behind a disdainful expression whenever he saw fit, maybe he'd hidden it well in front of her. Actually she remembered the way he'd held the regulation papers the first time she'd seen him again.
He only confirmed her thoughts when his bored expression morphed into something she was more familiar with.
He watched her up and down loftily, a slow smirk, that didn't reach his eyes, creasing his mouth.
Of course, she was alone, eating in Hog's Head, she probably didn't look any better. She shook her head out of habit, only to find him raising his glass to her, his smirk slightly flattened. She didn't have a drink to give the gesture back though. When she turned her gaze to Aberforth to remedy the situation, a glass of firewhiskey was already coming her way.
It got a smile out of her, one Aberforth gave her back with a tad of warning in his eyes. Apparently he hadn't completely forgiven her about the carpet incident.
She silently raised her glass to Malfoy too, which only had the effect to vanish his smirk completely, and after a brief nod, they both returned to watching their hands.
Hermione didn't dare lift her face from her plate, just in case she'd catch his eyes again. Madam Pudifoot's. Apologies and warnings. Hidden stress.
She realised that she had no idea who Draco Malfoy was. The only expected thing that had happened until then, was the fact that he hadn't joined her. Astoria would though, in less than thirty minutes. Maybe he was waiting for Zabini. At least she'd have a chance to understand then.
This man, sitting a few steps away from her, a man she'd thought she knew, was a complete stranger. The more she thought about him the more she realised the boy she'd known had gone. The boy she'd known would never have taken her side, even against Harry. He'd never have raised his glass to her either. He'd never looked this ... Bad? Since sixth year. Damn. Something was off.
Draco took another sip at his drink, his thoughts returning to hairy mole Sherry. Blaise had been partly right, dumping her before the end of the meal had been an idiotic move. Although she'd sworn never to talk to either of them again, she'd still made a scene that would surely end up being told everywhere.
Those sodding earrings.
Maybe his encounter with the younger and only Weasley female hadn't helped his impatience. He was always angry anyway, Weaslette or not.
Sighing, he turned his gaze to the lonely woman he'd again defended, at the other end of the room. Having Hermione Granger mock him first was something quite new. Finding her alone in a bar, something he'd kind of expected. Her tired and worn face, and her drinking ability, had been sufficient hints. Although he would never have imagined her anywhere near a glass of firewhiskey before that day prior commemoration, the day she'd said she had a hangover.
Draco realised he didn't know her at all. All he had were assumptions coming from school memories and gossip papers. Bossy know-it-all, always trying to look bright. Those were definitely outdated. It was clear that she didn't care what people thought of her.
Plus, all he'd learnt about her in the last couple of weeks had only wrecked havoc in his mind. It was all too ... horrid. Who could have thought that she'd become as hollow and careless as he was? And she'd caught him gloomily dwelling on his thoughts with a drink. Good thing she wasn't looking any better.
He tried to have a look at her, see if she seemed better than the last couple of times he'd seen her, but the dim light wasn't really helping. Her face was drown to her plate anyway.
Not knowing exactly why, but telling himself that Blaise would be late anyway, he stood. After a step, he snatched the bottle of firewhiskey from the counter-top, attracting a frown from his old school master's brother, and walked to her table. She didn't even see him coming until he sat.
She blinked a few times as if to make sure he was really there. If he hadn't been in desperate need of a way to forget about this whole week, he would have done so himself. What the hell was he doing?