Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: I'm embarrased to ask this... I feel bad because you don't have time :( But, could you write the moment when Draco asked Hermione to go out in a date, and then the date itself. We read Ginny's perspective, and I'm intrigued to see it in direct person. I understand If you can't write, thank you anyway :)"

Hermione: Part 1

Spring 2004

"That's completely preposterous," Blaise was saying, in the middle of their political debate. "In fact, it's so preposterous that I'm going to need to leave and get myself another drink so that I can inebriate myself to an appropriate level to engage you."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him as he got up, moving away. Leaving her alone with Malfoy, who was as odious and awful as ever.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

"Granger," he said, suddenly, and she sighed through her nose. Here we go. Let the insults begin.

Stiffly, she glanced at him, waiting.

He looked unsure of himself, which was something she'd never seen out of him – at least, outside of the early years of school. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Did you hear about the new air and space museum opening?"

Stunned, Hermione stared at him. "Of course I did. Did you?" she asked, squinting. That was Muggle stuff, and as far as she knew, Draco Malfoy did not bother himself with Muggle stuff. Especially when it was science-based Muggle stuff. She supposed he could pull the stick far enough out of his ass to frequent an art museum, maybe, but a flight one?

"Yes," he said, a little testily. "I like to keep apprised of what's going on."

She shook her head a bit. "But it's a Muggle museum," she pointed out, frowning a bit. It was just so out of character for him.

"Well, I'm thinking about going," he said, suddenly – almost a little flatly, like he was offended at the notion that he wasn't the sort to go to Muggle museums. "You like museums, don't you? Maybe you should go, too."

She laughed. "Malfoy, that opening has been fully sold out for months," she said, regretfully. She would have dearly loved to go – if the tickets hadn't cost nearly two hundred pounds and everyone hadn't snapped every single one up the second they were for sale. It was supposed to be a blow-out event, fancy dress-style, completely financed by some posh bloke who was one of the museum's financiers. All the greatest academic minds in London were supposed to be going.

He reached into his inside breast pocket, and produced two rectangular pieces of paper, holding them out. Hermione's eyes widened as she took them, feeling her jaw drop. "How did you get these?" she demanded.

"I have my ways," he drawled, a bit smugly.

Ugh. He really was a prat. Hermione stared at the tickets covetously for a moment before passing them back to him. "Well, you're lucky," she said, trying to not sound too openly wistful. "Who are you going to take?"

He blinked at her, momentarily at a loss, and then chuckled, tucking the tickets back into his breast pocket. "I was going to take Astoria," he said, and she didn't know him well enough to detect the lie. "But she canceled. You should come with me. I'd hate for the ticket to go to waste."

She started laughing at the very notion, sure he was just making fun of her again. "Yeah, sure," she said, sarcastically. He could probably go outside and throw a rock and find a new date to that thing.

"I mean it," he said, more seriously.

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, suspicious. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?" she asked, bluntly.

"What?" he scoffed. "Nothing."

"You're being nice. You're never nice," she accused. "What are you doing? What, you're going to make me go there in a nice dress and then show up with someone else, or something? Leave me outside?"

"No!"

"Get me alone somewhere and jinx me? Are those tickets even real?" Hermione demanded, leaning away from him a bit. It was all just too suspicious; Draco Malfoy was never a decent person.

He glared at her, his nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to summon some patience. "Of course they're real. I'm not planning anything."

She didn't believe him. "No, thanks, Malfoy," she said, firmly.

"I'm not planning anything," he repeated.

"I'm busy that night," she said, primly, as she stood to join Harry and Daphne across the room.

His glare intensified when he realized he was being rejected. By her. "What, washing your hair?" he asked, nastily. "Does the water even penetrate to the heart of that mess? Does your scalp actually get wet?"

Shooting him a dirty look, she growled, "Sod off, Malfoy," and stalked away.

"Owl me when you change your mind," he snapped.

Distantly, she heard Blaise re-join him and ask, in a mild tone, "What did you do this time?"


She agonized over the letter after her talk with Ginny. She really didn't want it to sound like she was crawling back or anything. Malfoy was a git, through-and-through, and he'd likely lord it over her for the rest of their miserable time as forced friends together.

Hermione had already resigned herself to the fact that Malfoy wasn't going anywhere. Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne all seemed to like the ponce, for some ungodly reason.

Of course, she could just keep going as she'd been, avoiding him as much as she could and leaving before the verbal spats became magical ones.

But the thing was, she really wanted to go to that opening.

Steeling herself, she grabbed a quill and began scratching a message out on the parchment:

Malfoy,

I talked to Ginny and she seems to think you don't have any awful intentions. Against my much better judgment, I've decided to trust hers.

Is the extra ticket still unaccounted for?

Sincerely,

Granger

It still sounded a bit tetchy. But she didn't want to grovel only for him to respond that he'd gone and given the ticket to one of the long series of gorgeous women he was dating. It would be far too mortifying.

She expected an answer in the next few days, since Malfoy seemed like the kind of arsehole who liked to make people sweat.

So she was surprised when her own owl returned with a response.

Ticket's already yours. I knew you'd change your mind. I'll pick you up at six.

M

"M," she muttered, rolling her eyes. That was so annoying – like he was a spy or something. Still, she was relieved that the ticket was still free. Maybe Malfoy was finally trying to bury the hatchet or something. Which meant Ginny would be right.

She supposed it would be a relief to not be constantly fighting with him.


When she opened the door to Malfoy's knock, she expected some sort of comment about her dress or her hair or her inexperienced makeup. She'd done her best with the eyeliner and mascara, but the eyeliner was crooked and the mascara kept gooping everywhere. The dress was one of her favorites, even if Ginny kept bothering her to at least get it tailored.

And her hair was her hair. Nothing she could really do about that.

Shockingly, though, all he did was silently extend his elbow. Blinking a bit in surprise, Hermione took it, feeling it would probably be rude not to. She realized that she recognized this pose – it was the one he and his dates were usually photographed in by the Prophet photographers.

This wasn't a date, though. It couldn't possibly be.

They walked out of her flat in silence, then down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron. After about a minute, she said, "Alright, the lack of mean comments is actually starting to creep me out. I know you have unflattering thoughts about my appearance. Just say them."

"I think you look very nice," he said, woodenly, sounding almost strangled.

She almost burst into laughter. "Malfoy," she chided.

He managed to hold it in for a second longer before the dam burst. "Those shoes don't even match your dress, which is hanging off you, by the way. I think I could have done your eyeliner with a steadier hand. Your hair is already coming out and going everywhere. Please tell me you bought this dress within the last year and I'm not actually seeing uneven fading at the collar."

"Fading?" she asked, pulling her collar out from her neck and trying to crane her head down to see it. "Where? There's not any fading, it's perfectly fine."

"How old is that thing?"

"None of your business!" she retorted, putting her collar back. "It's fine. It's not fading."

"More than three years?" he pressed.

She was stubbornly silent.

"Merlin," he muttered, shaking his head a bit. "At least get the waist pulled in."

"It fits fine," she insisted.

"I've never seen anything so ridiculous," he assured her. Through all this arguing, though, she noticed that he hadn't once threatened to leave her, nor had he removed her hand from his arm. It was drawing some looks, them walking together, although he steadfastly ignored them.

She was pretty sure she saw a shutterbug creeping along behind them as they headed out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Muggle London. She decided to ignore them.

Now that the ice was broken, they spent the cab-ride (Malfoy knew how to hail a cab, she discovered) sniping at each other. The dynamic didn't feel as tense, though, maybe because she was so excited to go to the opening. His insults felt less barbed, and she found herself laughing at them more often than not. In return, her retorts usually earned a stifled smile, pressed into the palm of his hand as he leaned against the window and watched her from the corners of his eyes.

At the opening, of course, she completely forgot to insult him. Her eyes lit up with wonder as she walked into the foyer and her gaze was drawn to the massive World War One fighter hanging from the ceiling.

She spent the rest of their walk through the opening – which was just one big cocktail party, from what she could understand, no one was even really looking at the exhibits – being needlessly excited about everything. She didn't let go of his elbow, wanting someone to be excited with (or at, as it usually turned out), and as the first hour slowly passed, she was surprised when he didn't shake her off.

Eventually, when she was sure he wasn't going to leave her side, she did release him, flitting from exhibit to exhibit like an excitable child.

There were cameras all over, so she barely noticed the one flashing as she pointed across the room, her free hand slamming onto his forearm and squeezing. "Look! An actual space shuttle and– you can go inside," she exclaimed, grinning madly.

She turned towards him. "Did you want to go in–?"

He was close, she realized. That was her last thought before his lips were on hers.

Eyes widening, she froze up. He let the kiss linger a minute, and there was a sense of regret when he finally pulled back a bit, his eyes searching hers. Searching for what, she had no idea.

She reached up and pressed the backs of her knuckles against her lips. They felt like they'd been seared with a branding iron.

"Is this a prank?" she asked, softly, searching his expression for any hint of amusement.

His smile was brief, torn somewhere between amusement and remorse, and he shook his head. Then it faded as he leaned in again, pausing just for half a second before contact, giving her a chance to pull away.

She didn't.

Draco finished the lean, pressing his lips more surely against hers. He made a soft noise in his throat that reminded her a little of a whimper, and she softened against him, gingerly pressing back. She realized she didn't know what to do with her hands, and moved them around uncertainly before finally grasping the edges of his jacket.

When the kiss ended, she knew she was as red as a single person could be before actual combustion. At least he looked a little pink, himself.

Almost vulnerable, actually.

"Was this a date?" she asked, quietly.

He winced a bit and shrugged. "It was if you didn't slap me when I did that," he admitted.

"Why?" she asked, still unable to let go of her paranoia. She was not Draco Malfoy's type. She knew that with as much certainty as she knew anything. Malfoy dated leggy, jaw-dropping Purebloods, not swotty little bookworms.

He shrugged again. "I don't know," he said, honestly. "But, hell, why not?"

She couldn't help it; she laughed, softly, and a dumb grin spread across his face in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "We're going to drive each other mad," she predicted.

"I can't think of a more interesting way to spend my time," he returned.

The dumb smile didn't quite leave her face the rest of the night. At least, she thought, it seemed like his couldn't be controlled, either. She wasn't sure what the future held for the likes of them – they'd certainly kill each other before the year was out, right? – but she realized that she was sort of interested in finding out.