Official Chapter Dedication: Tom's Riddles for her glowing review, and for telling me that she's beginning to work on her own fanfic! Best of luck to you, love – I'm sure your story will be awesome!
Millionaire Blues
Hermione marveled at her own audacity as she rested her hand on top of Malfoy's. She felt a weak form of adrenaline pumping through her body and was grateful for the inky blackness that covered her intense embarrassment. However, her troubled mind refused to calm down, dwelling instead on the fact that she had probably just mortally offended her sole companion for the next god-knew-how-many hours.
That was a low blow, 'Mione. No matter how abhorrent he's been to you in the past, you should not have said something so inexcusable. Merlin knows what your cruelty forced him to remember...if you're not going to think from the psychological point of view, then at least consider the human aspect!
She swallowed to clear the lump of nervousness from her throat to crack the silence. "Er...did I say something wrong?" He had not opened his mouth after her final statement.
Malfoy retracted his hand, and Hermione found herself wishing for him to put it back. The cold granite floor was not nearly as pleasant. She brought her knees close to her chest and folded her arms on top of them – it seemed like he was in no mood to talk.
This is the first time I've ever seen him so reserved.
"It's just strange, Granger," he sighed finally. "I'm not used to being like this with anyone, much less someone like you. It's hard to digest that you just apologized to me."
"Well, would you rather I unleash my acid tongue and rapier wit once more?" she asked with a small smile.
He hesitated. "...No. I guess this is a nice change. Believe it or not, I don't exactly enjoy dodging your talons every second I'm around you."
It's not my bloody fault you force me to be that way.
"Can I ask you something, Malfoy?" It was so much easier to be brave in the dark with no light to expose your fears or misgivings.
"Sure."
"Did you...I mean, have you ever..."
"Have I ever snogged a girl? Why, I have, in fact. Would you like a demonstration?"
She could practically see him leering in her direction and rolled her eyes. "No, shut up, that's not it."
"House-elf got your tongue, Granger?"
She reflexively stuck out her tongue at him, a habit she'd retained since childhood, before inhaling deeply and trying again: "What I was trying to ask was, did you ever consider the possibility that we could be friends?"
He made a weird noise, probably trying to gauge whether or not she had a screw loose. "Huh? Friends? You mean, like...friends?"
"Oh, yes, very astute, Malfoy," she replied sarcastically. "When I say 'friends,' I do indeed mean 'friends,' as incredible as it may seem. I don't mean 'two people who value nothing in each other apart from carnal benefits.'"
"Are you propositioning me right now, Granger?"
Color flooded her cheeks as disturbing mental images suddenly bombarded her brain. "What! No!"
"No need to throw a hissy fit. It was just an unexpected question, the friend thing."
She chose not to comment, hoping he would use this opportunity to answer her last question. Once again, he complied.
"Friends, you say," he mused. "I don't think I ever thought of it that way."
Hermione failed to erase the disappointment from her voice as she mumbled, "Right. Of course you didn't. Stupid question."
"What, did you expect me to say yes?" he scoffed. "You know very well that our families hail from completely incompatible backgrounds. Friendship between you and me was a laughable concept. If my father or any one of his cronies had gotten a whiff of such a development, Dumbledore would be scraping our bodies off the road before the Sorting had even started!"
"You used past tense," she whispered. Her arms anchored her knees tightly to her torso. She squeezed tighter as she felt a certain overwhelming emotion consume her from the inside.
"What?"
"You used past tense when you said that our friendship was a laughable concept."
His words began spilling forth like water bursting from behind a dam. "Tell me something, Granger, do you actually want to be friends with me?" She imagined him to be sitting straight up with his forehead wrinkled as he said this.
"Would that be wrong?" she continued to whisper.
"Wrong! What are you saying? Are you even listening to yourself? You hate me, goddamnit!"
She didn't know why, but she could feel tears burning in her eyes. The damned lump had returned to clog her throat, and at that moment, Hermione hated him for wielding such power to weaken her resolve.
Why am I crying? What the bloody hell is wrong with me? Why is he having this effect on me?
She struggled to resist the urge to sniffle, but in the end, that treacherous little sound made it to his ears.
Damn it.
"Granger, are you crying?" She almost released a watery laugh at the shock she heard in his voice.
No. What are you talking about? Lay off the drugs, Malfoy. Those magic mushrooms will screw you over if you don't watch out.
She vigorously pawed at her face in an attempt to clear off the traitorous tears. "N-no," she protested in a quavering voice. "Of course not."
There was a sound of movement, and then his fingers were gently probing at her cheek. He felt the moisture on her skin and then drew back his hand. She didn't dare breathe; if she breathed, it would mean that she was still alive and that this was all very real.
Malfoy noted with astonishment, "You are crying!"
"Sh-shut up, you idiot! Who's bloody crying?"
"Granger, you're scaring me."
"Ha!" she hiccuped. "Draco Malfoy (hic) scared of a poor, defenseless witch (hic) like me? You've lost it!"
Stop crying, you nitwit. STOP CRYING!
But it was useless. You'd think she'd unleashed the bloody Thames from her face. She sat there on her aching backside, cursing herself for being so foolish and subjecting Malfoy to her histrionics. She held her breath for ten seconds and then let out a small sigh of relief. At least the hiccups had stopped.
"It's not your time of month, is it?" he inquired unabashedly. Hermione nearly choked on her own spit at the outrageous question.
"Excuse me? I'll have you know that this is exactly the sort of male chauvinism that woman hate the most, the idea that the only justification for a girl's bad mood must be her freaking menstrual cycle as opposed to, oh, I don't know, human emotions, perhaps!"
"Calm your knickers, Granger. I was joking."
Hermione irritably blew some hair out of her face with an angry huff. She hadn't meant to launch into such a diatribe, but really? If she had a Sickle for every time a man attributed a woman's feelings to PMS, she'd be a bloody duchess by now.
"Hey, Granger?" Malfoy asked abruptly in a quiet voice. "Why would you want to be friends with me?"
Hermione buried her face in her arms, causing her answer to be muffled. "Because I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of sparring with you like this. I don't have the energy anymore."
Another awkward silence ensued.
God, just say something, Malfoy. Don't make this anymore painful than it already is.
"And you think we could be...friends?" The word seemed to be difficult for him to say. "Despite the fact that we can't go more than ten minutes without baring our teeth at each other?"
Damn, but her head was really beginning to hurt. "I mean, yeah, I suppose. It's radical, but..."
"It's an era of reconciliation," he finished for her flatly.
"I guess you could say that."
He exhaled, surely planning to dash her thoughts to bits with one vicious insult. She braced herself for the inevitable attack. It had been ludicrous to think that he would bother to take her up on her offer. Burying the hatchet was certainly not in his plan of action, and it was far more likely that he'd prefer to see the hatchet firmly embedded in her skull.
"Let me think about it," he murmured.
It was her turn to ask that most common of questions: "What?"
"I said, let me think about it. This is entirely new territory for me, Granger. I don't know what it is about a dank supply closet that made you extend an olive branch my way, but in any case, I'm a bit disoriented right now. And of course, there's also the risk that you just have an ulterior motive, and that's why you're putting on a charade to throw me off guard."
Hermione began indignantly, "I don't-"
"Wait!" he exclaimed suddenly. In a flash, his hand covered her mouth and she could feel the tip of his tie dangling on her nose as he leaned over her to press his ear against the door.
"Wumph bhew eer?"
Ah, as articulate as ever, my dear. Who could refuse friendship from as charming a creature as yourself?
"I thought I heard some voices," he whispered urgently.
She tore his hand away from her and scrambled up to flatten her own ear against the door. Sure enough, a cluster of babbling voices seemed to be getting closer.
"Hey!" she began shouting as her fists of fury emerged once more. "We're in here! Over here!"
Not long after Malfoy had joined in on the yelling, the door flew open and both Hermione and Malfoy nearly tumbled to the ground in their haste to escape. As she hurtled forward, Hermione turned towards Malfoy and saw that his clothes were slightly rumpled and his cheeks were tinged pink.
Whereas I probably look like a wounded raccoon.
Mei Lin quickly turned to the waiter who had accompanied them and said with a smile, "Thank you for your assistance. Please excuse us for a moment."
Hermione took this chance to try to fix her disheveled appearance, but Eric did not waste a second in rushing to her side. He held her firmly by her forearms and peered into her face. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly. "What the bloody hell did that wanker do to you?" He glared at Malfoy menacingly who coolly stared back over Mei Lin's shoulder.
"I'm fine, Eric. Nothing's wrong."
He looked down at her again, those hazel eyes closely examining her current disaster of a countenance. "But then, why do you look so...out of sorts?"
Yup, that confirms it. I definitely resemble one of the undead.
Hermione blinked up at him and managed a half-hearted smile. "I'm fine," she reassured him. "Really, there's nothing wrong." She watched as his expression changed from one of anxiety to...guilt? In the next second, he had dropped his hands from her arms and shoved them into his pockets, his cheeks red and his brow furrowed. Hermione stared at him, nonplussed, as he scowled down at the rug and muttered something to himself.
At this point, Mei Lin scurried over with Malfoy in tow. Hermione remembered the feeling of a certain someone's hand in hers and swiftly averted her eyes from a pair of silver ones.
"Oh, Miss Granger!" the pretty girl cried out in dismay as she absorbed Hermione's blotchy complexion and mussed hair. "You look absolutely dreadful! What happened?"
"Yes, I'd like to know that myself," Eric growled as he directly faced Malfoy. It seemed like his bizarre behavior had ended, and his hands now lay threateningly by his sides with the fingers splayed out rigidly.
"It was nothing, you guys," Hermione repeated, desperately hoping to avoid a second version of the nightclub fiasco.
Suddenly, Mei Lin darted up to Hermione and drew her close, whispering, "Miss Granger, there is something of utmost importance that I must tell you."
Hermione pulled back and stared at the other woman in confusion. Behind Mei Lin, the two men stood frozen, glaring at each other with mutual, unbridled hatred. "Important? Why, what is it?"
Mei Lin shook her head and solemnly replied, "No, it is not something I can speak of here. We must discuss this alone somewhere, woman to woman. All I can say now is that while I was waiting for you, I realized that-"
A menacing voice cut across Mei Lin's words and distracted Hermione from whatever it was the woman had been about to say. Eric hovered close to Malfoy and spat, "Why don't you just drag your pureblooded ass back to the gilded hovel you crawled out of?"
"Watch yourself, Crawford," Malfoy drawled. The flush had entirely receded from his skin, and his steely eyes were narrowed with suppressed fury. "We don't want to have to crack any skulls, now do we?"
Eric laughed scornfully and took a step forward. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe that it was your skull that got the cracking last time."
"All the more reason, cupcake, for you to back off while you still have a chance. Of course, I'd like nothing better than to plant my fist in your face, but I'd like to avoid contamination, so..."
Enraged, Eric started forward with his arms already beginning to swing and cried, "You effing son of a-"
"STOP!" Hermione shrieked as she firmly stepped in between the two fools. Her eyes flashed from Eric to Malfoy, both of whom remained in their fighting stances. "Didn't you hear me? Back off. Now."
"I don't think you quite understand," Eric said through gritted teeth. "This bastard's had this coming to him for a while now."
"Save your threats for someone who cares," Malfoy sneered. "I'm not going to bother hurting you, but that's only because it's 'Be Kind to Animals' Week."
Hermione swiveled around with her hands on her hips and regarded Malfoy with an exhausted expression. "Really? Was that necessary?" She spun back around to address Eric who now had a number of veins bulging in his forehead, throat, and arms. "Eric," she cajoled gently. "Let it go. It's not worth it. Let's just go home."
After emitting a sound of disgust, Eric allowed Hermione to lead him away, and the pair hurriedly crossed through the busy restaurant until they were back outside. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the other two were nowhere to be seen. The air outside was cool and pleasant, but unfortunately her companion refused to change his stony demeanor.
"I'm sorry, Eric."
That shook him out of his sullen musings. "Sorry? What for?"
She shrugged and smoothed down the front of her dress with her hands. "I managed to ruin our first date. I feel awful knowing how much you must have prepared for this."
He looked pained as she said this, and ran his fingers through his hair with guilt written all over his face. "Hermione, you know...it shouldn't be you apologizing. It should be me."
"You? What on earth for? You didn't do anything wrong!"
He tugged at his collar and coughed. His body language indicated that he was extremely uncomfortable, but for the love of Merlin, Hermione had no idea why. He seemed to be debating something in his head, but then cleared his throat and pulled out his car keys from his pocket.
"Er, here," he suggested. "Why don't we talk as I drop you off the Muggle way?"
They strolled over to his impressive sports car and sat on the luxurious seats; once both seat belts had been fastened, Eric smoothly turned out of the parking lot and drove into the highway. Hermione glanced at him from time to time as he silently steered, wondering when he was going to say something, and soon realized that she would have to be the one to open a new conversation.
"So, erm, about that thing you were saying before..."
His hands immediately tightened on the steering wheel. "Oh, right."
"What were you apologizing for?"
"I've been meaning to tell you something. Something I should have said a long time ago."
The night sky was peppered with stars, but dark clouds loomed overhead and gradually obscured the twinkling dots. Hermione chose not to respond quickly, and instead let her eyes roam around to observe the flashing lights and nocturnal crowds that emerged in the urban world. "Does it deal with something dangerous?" she asked finally.
He chuckled humorlessly with his eyes fixated on the car in front of him. "No, I wish. It's more of a...a personal confession, if anything."
She gazed at him expectantly and nodded. "Go ahead."
He opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and then exhaled in disappointment. "No, damn it," he said as he shook his head. "I can't do it. I can't do it right now."
Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder and felt his muscles tense under her palm. "Eric," she said softly. "You don't have to confess anything if you don't want to. I don't expect you to pour your heart and soul out for me yet, considering this is just our first date. So don't get hung up on it, all right? You can tell me when you're ready."
He seemed to be practically on the verge of tears as he grappled with the air-conditioning dials. "No, you don't understand. I need to get this over with. I just...I just can't..."
"Shhhh," she murmured. "Like I said, you don't have to say anything now. We have time. You can tell me later."
By that time, they had arrived at her apartment complex, and Hermione stepped out of the car and waited for Eric to join her. He approached her with his head bowed and said, "I guess this is good night."
She smiled at him encouragingly. "Yes, it is. I had a good time."
He shrugged. "It could have been better," he remarked sourly, "if it hadn't been for a certain spoiled brat who managed to ruin yet another perfectly civil occasion."
Something inside Hermione reared up at this comment, and she bit back the defensive retort that danced on her tongue.
Blimey, now I'm getting defensive about the bloke? I need to make sure I didn't inhale any paint fumes while I was inside that locked room!
"Malfoy will come around someday," she said neutrally. "He's not all bad. He just needs someone to guide him from time to time, I suppose."
Eric raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you actually backing up that blighter? After all he's said and done to you?"
Hermione tossed her hair over one shoulder and bit her lip. "It's not really that he's a foul little cockroach all the time, Eric. He, er, can be quite normal if he thinks no one's watching."
"And I suppose you gathered all this from the quality time you spent together in that black hole of a closet?" he inquired snidely.
Calm down, Hermione. He's got every right to be rude about the man who nearly busted him up the first time he ever met him.
"Partially, yes," she answered solemnly. "You'd be surprised how some people act in public as opposed to private."
A prime example would be myself, of course, because you see...I go around violating my rival's personal space whenever I find myself entrapped in black holes at the backs of restaurants.
Eric coughed again and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Er, yes," he agreed. "People do act very different when they, er, are not in public."
"Well, it's late," Hermione said as she stifled a yawn behind her hand. "I've had a long day, and I have to slave through a stack of textbooks in the morning before I leave for work."
"Oh, um, yeah, you should go then." His charm had morphed into sheepish disquiet since the semi-enjoyable dinner. "I should also be heading for home."
Hermione took a step forward and tilted her face upwards. "Good night, Eric," she said softly as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
He jerked back and grabbed hold of her hand with his. "Er, yes," he babbled as she stared at him, stung. "Thank you for everything tonight, Hermione. You looked absolutely splendid and I really had a fine time. The food was delicious, and the ambiance of the place was superb. I had a fine time, a fine time indeed." He supplemented his words by forcefully patting her hand and shaking it, basically treating her like a newly formed acquaintance or some intolerable great-aunt.
Without further ado, he released her hand, threw himself into the driver's seat, and tore off in a hurry. He'd accelerated so abruptly, his tires had left black burn marks on the road.
Hermione just stood there and blankly stared at the road in front of her, haltingly attempting to register what had just happened.
An elderly woman who'd been walking her dog nearby approached Hermione under the streetlight and patted her kindly on the back. She then extracted the cigarette wedged between her lips, tossed it to the ground, and mashed it with her foot, using Hermione as a support to lean on for balance.
When she was satisfied with the pile of ashes underfoot, the old woman began walking away and called over her shoulder, "My condolences, sweetheart. Rejection's a bitch."
…
When Draco woke up the next morning, he felt utterly drained. The night had passed fitfully, and all he'd managed to do for about seven hours straight was toss and turn on his sheets until his bed resembled a remnant of a shipwreck. But it wasn't his fault, damn it! How was he supposed to lie in peaceful slumber after what that...that woman had said to him back there? A certain part of his universe had crumbled when it became clear that his biggest rival wanted to patch things up, and he was sure that after that episode, things would never be quite the same again.
With a sigh, he wearily swung himself out of his bed and trudged over to where dark velvet curtains shielded his eyes from the merciless sunlight. Slowly drawing back the curtains, he gazed out through the giant bay windows at the rising sun steadily ascending amidst misty, dappled hills.
And that was when he saw it.
An enormous gray cloud speckled with browns, golds, and whites was quickly making its way over to him. Upon closer inspection, the mass turned out to be a flock of owls, each one saddled with a cream-colored envelope. Draco hastily threw open his balcony doors and watched as owl after owl swooped into his room and deposited its cargo before making an about-face and soaring straight out. However, there were a few little buggers that took the liberty of nipping at Draco's earlobes and fingers, despite his attempts to swat them away.
When the scourge had departed, Draco plopped down on the carpet and reached for a letter at the top of the formidable pile. The instant he opened it, he was engulfed by a burst of sweet-smelling powder, and he struggled to read the contents with watering eyes:
Dearest Mr. Malfoy,
You are, without fail, an absolute god. You are the embodiment of the perfect man, and you drive this point home every time you expose your angelic face to the public. I worship the ground that you walk on, and do hope that someday I get the chance to encounter you in all your divine glory.
Your most ardent devotee,
Patricia Hopkirk
P.S. My aunt's name is Mafalda Hopkirk – she works at the Ministry as a chief officer. Perhaps I could have her arrange a little meeting for us?
Draco stared down at the parchment in disbelief before flinging it aside and snatching another one. This time, after he gingerly opened the envelope, something fell into his lap. He picked up the object and saw with abject horror that it was an extra large condom! He hurled the condom away with all his strength and hazarded a glance at what was sure to be a sickening message:
DRACO MALFOY MARRY ME I WANT TO HAVE YOUR CHILDREN I WANT TO BE THE VESSEL OF YOUR OFFSPRING I WANT TO BE THE MOTHER OF YOUR SPAWN JUST TAKE ME I BEG OF YOU
I AM UNCONDITIONALLY, IRREVOCABLY, IMPENETRABLY, HETEROGENOUSLY, DISREPUTABLY, AND GYNECOLOGICALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU!
VELMA CARTWRIGHT XOXOXO
Draco shuddered and tossed that aside as well before reaching out for a bright red envelope. He had hardly brushed it with his fingers when it flew up ten feet and morphed into the shape of a pair of lips.
Oh, for the love of Salazar.
"Mr. Malfoy!" the Howler screeched. "We, the undersigned members of the Witches for Feminism Society, hereby declare that you, sir, are a most abominable creature who is a detriment to the welfare of young witches everywhere! Your blatant disregard for feminine principles and undisguised contempt for the modern woman's portrayal in society has been highlighted yet again, and you can rest assured that not a single person in our group will ever stoop to purchase your company's products! We earnestly wish that you see reason and post a public apology as soon as possible for your immoral actions. Signed, Theresa Knight, Jane Harris, and Cornelia Fitt."
And with that, there was a small explosion, causing the rancid epistle to dissolve at his feet. Draco sat there, motionless and mightily perplexed.
What could I have done that's pissed them off so much? I didn't recognize those names, so I don't think I've slept with any of them...
Sure, he got his fair share of fan mail on a weekly basis, but what had he done now to warrant such an inundation? Not only that, but this wasn't even all fan mail – apparently he was on the receiving end of hate mail as well.
And for fuck's sake, what on earth did I ever do to the fucking "Witches for Feminism Society?"
As he pondered all this, Blaise's handsome owl rocketed in like a missile and dropped off a note covered with Blaise's "emergency scrawl." It read:
Hurry up and get to the office. I'll talk to you there and explain everything.
B
Releasing a potent string of curses that did nothing to alleviate his sour morning mood, Draco performed a few fast grooming charms, threw on whatever clothes his hands found first, and stalked into the fireplace with a bundle of letters clutched in his hands. A minute later, he was striding down the short aisle that connected his office to Blaise's and stormed through the heavy double doors only to find someone else already giving Zabini an earful.
"What is the meaning of this?" Granger cried as she waved two fistfuls of letters in Blaise's face. "Why am I suddenly on the hit list of every bloody female in England?"
Her hair, Draco noted with amusement, seemed to crackle with electricity, and he truthfully could not blame his friend for discreetly backing away as if faced with a ticking time-bomb.
He ambled over to Blaise's desk next to the irate woman. "I'm in the same boat, Granger, except in my case, there's more nauseating adoration than anything else." He studied the dark circles under her eyes and thought that her haggard appearance probably mirrored his own. "Rough night?" he grunted.
She replied in a clipped tone, "Yes, my day started at around four o'clock this morning. I thought I'd get some studying in until these despicable things flew in."
Draco nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blaise about to blow a fuse from elation at the fact that he and Granger had undergone a nonviolent verbal exchange. "So," Draco began grimly, "would you care to explain the situation, mate?"
Blaise cleared his throat and gestured towards the two comfy armchairs that faced him. "Why don't you both have a seat?"
The two immediately complied and perched on the edges of their chairs. Draco couldn't speak for Granger, but he knew that he wasn't leaving before Zabini had given a satisfactory answer.
Blaise sighed. "So, about these letters. As you're both aware, we had conducted a photo shoot earlier this week, and Foxworth wanted to release photos as soon as possible. Yesterday, a small team including myself compiled a compact portfolio of what we considered the best shots, and we sent the package to Foxworth who blew them up for billboards in various locations."
Granger stared at him incredulously. "What you're saying," she said slowly, "is that right now, as we speak, there are billboards with me and Malfoy plastered all over them?"
"That's right," Blaise said laconically.
Draco shot up from his chair and slammed his hands down on the desk, causing Blaise's paperweights to wobble. "You mean to tell me you proceeded to work on the ads in my absence?"
"It was necessary under the circumstances," Blaise said. "Besides, you're never interested, nor can I trust you to judge anything objectively. You'd probably have been more of a hindrance than anything else."
Draco reached for a nearby paperweight, ready to chuck the thing at Blaise's big, stupid face, when a small hand reached up and tugged lightly on his shirt. Without turning her head to look at him, Granger muttered, "Sit down and be rational, Malfoy. Bashing his head in won't get you anything other than a blood-soiled shirt and a fun-filled stay in Azkaban."
Fuming, Draco reluctantly withdrew his hand and sat back down.
"My, you've certainly tamed the beast, haven't you?" Blaise observed wryly. "Usually when I try to coax Drake into doing something, he makes some derogatory comments about my mother's apparent chest hair and then ends the discussion."
Draco made to dart out of his chair again, but Granger firmly held him down by planting her hand on his knee. He glared at a picture frame ahead and tried to ignore the heat from her palm seeping through the fabric of his pants.
Focus, damn it!
In a composed manner, Granger said, "I have no interest in taming anyone. I'm far more concerned with the fact that I am facing an onslaught of furious feedback from women demanding to know where I got the idea that I was an equal of Draco Malfoy!"
Curious, Draco leaned forward to grab a few wayward letters that were lying in front of Granger. She started to rip them out of his grasp, but he reflexively jerked away from her and began reading delightedly.
"Look at this!" he crowed. "'Ms. Granger, you are a cow! Just because you helped vanquish You-Know-Who, you think you can snag the hottest man alive? Screw you!'" He flipped to another sheet of parchment. "'Hermione Granger, you do not deserve to have your paws all over Merlin's own personal masterpiece! You are not pretty enough for him, nor are you his type!' Ha! As if this bint knows what my type is." A crisp page of stationery peeked out from behind similarly worded messages, and Draco read:
Miss Granger,
I find it my duty to inform you that you have far overstepped your boundaries and have entered dangerous territory indeed. Despite the fact that much of the wizarding community has recently undergone a myriad of changes, there is still an intrinsic hierarchy that must be maintained. Remember that you are not one of us, and that it will not bode well for you if you taint Draco's pure heritage with your besmirched background. As such, I have already contacted Blaise Zabini about canceling these advertisements and am awaiting his response this very moment. I doubt I will have to sully myself by contacting you again.
Signed,
Pansy Parkinson
Draco's eyes widened as he stared down at the flowery signature and ornate Parkinson family emblem stamped at the bottom of the letter. "Parkinson?" he sputtered. "What the hell is Parkinson doing, writing this sort of shit?"
Blaise neatly plucked the letter out of Draco's hand and read the damned thing for himself. When he finished, he gazed at Granger, appalled. She, however, stared ahead in stony silence, her hands folded resolutely in her lap.
"Hermione, I can assure you that-"
"I have no desire to allow the words of a pretentious pug dog to hurt me," she interjected crossly. "Why she even bothered at all is beyond me, but I certainly am not about to sob into my pillow every night because of her."
Draco held up the letter with two fingers as if he were dealing with a rotting animal corpse. "I find it hard to believe this is really Parkinson's handiwork," he said in disbelief. "I didn't know Parkinson was literate, much less that she's capable of using words like 'intrinsic' and 'besmirched.'"
"Be that as it may, Malfoy, her rant is not my primary concern." Her eyes flashed as she addressed Blaise. "Why didn't you warn me about this earlier? How long should I expect to be accosted like this?"
"I know I should have mentioned this possibility before," Blaise said regretfully. "I just forgot who we're really dealing with here. You both are celebrities in your own ways, and to pair you together..."
"So we're canceling these ads and working separately, I presume," Granger demanded as Blaise's voice trailed off.
The man looked stunned for a moment before he got to his feet and cried vehemently, "Bloody hell, of course not!"
"You want us to keep working together? Do you have a death wish, Zabini?" Draco inquired sardonically.
Blaise shook his head and loosened his tie. "No, look. We can't cease your shoots. Do you know, I've been checking our sales stats, and we've got sky-high numbers! If the trend continues, we'll be sold out in nearly three days! Women are going mad over this product, and it's all thanks to you two."
Granger made eye contact with Draco and gave him a crooked, sarcastic smile. "You hear that, Malfoy? We're a big hit! Why don't we just go ahead and tie the knot right now? That'll probably do wonders for your company – profits might even increase by three hundred percent!"
"Ooh, yes, let's!" Draco exclaimed as he clapped his hand in a show of glee. "I've got a man in Aruba who could help us out with the nuptials and honeymoon. Just say the word, darling, and I'm yours!"
What the fuck did I just say?
Blaise sighed and closed his eyes. "Okay, okay, you guys can drop the act. I must say, it's awfully refreshing to see you two on speaking terms. More than speaking terms, really, considering you're joking around at my expense..."
Draco and Granger yelled at the same time: "ZABINI, SHUT UP!"
Blaise raised his hands in defeat and laughed nervously. "All right, all right, calm down. Merlin, you both act like you've got sticks up your arses."
"It's not that there's something up my arse, it's more about who's the one doing the sticking," Draco offered sagely.
Granger wrinkled her nose in distaste at the mental picture he'd provided. "You really do have a remarkable talent for spewing the most absurd nonsense out of that mouth."
Blaise chose to ignore Draco and spoke to Granger. "About what you were asking before...listen, I can't do anything about the mail, so you'll just have to bear it for the time being. It's annoying and tiresome, I know, but like Parkinson, half the global female population wants to shag this idiot, so I've really got no say in the whole matter."
Granger raised an eyebrow as Draco preened at the backhanded compliment. "I have to just deal with every damn Howler and dangerous object that gets to my apartment? Is that what you're saying?"
"It'll be a pain," Blaise reasoned sympathetically. "But if you want, you can just toss the pieces of crap into the fire and watch them burn to ashes."
Granger scoffed but sank into her chair for the first time, a sign of acquiescence.
"Speaking of women, Draco, how was your date last night? Went swimmingly, I suppose?"
"It was a bloody pain in the neck. Next time, you can be the one to entertain our business partners' airhead daughters."
Not that I spent more than a half-hour with her, but you don't need to know that.
Blaise let out a low whistle. "Wow, that bad, eh? Hey, Hermione," he said, now turning his head to Granger. "You went out too, right? How was it with Crawford?"
Granger forced a cough into her fist and avoided making eye contact with anyone. "Yes, er, it was fine. We had a good time."
"Charming. Oh, did you get a good night kiss? Word on the street is that young Crawford's a bit rusty when it comes to that stuff."
Her cheeks grew ruddy as she determinedly gazed down at her shoes, failing to notice that even Draco's interest had been piqued. "I don't see how that's any of your business," she mumbled.
"Hm, you're right, it's not," Blaise conceded. "Well, enough chit chat, lady and gent. We've all got work to do."
With that, he swiveled around and busied himself with a file cabinet, but not before shooting Draco a poorly disguised look of mirth. This left Draco and Granger to stalk out of the room side by side, both equally put out by the knowledge that thus began a long and difficult journey through heaps of public torment. As they paused out in the hallway, Draco turned to her and attempted to voice a thought that he'd been mulling over for a while.
"Listen, er, Granger," he said awkwardly. "Don't take what Parkinson – or any stupid woman for that matter – said seriously. Wenches like her have nothing better to do with their pitiful excuses for lives."
Oh yeah, mmhmm, this is fucking perfection. You're really exuding that Malfoy pizzazz today, eh? Here's a thought: why don't you just give up your cushy office job and make a living writing fucking romance novels? The words that spill out from between your lips are sheer poetry!
Granger burst into peals of uproarious laughter at this gallant declaration. While she was laughing and clutching at the wall for support, Draco found himself wanting to laugh too. Something about the way her face lit up like the dancing flame on a candle stirred him inside. The sounds ringing from her mouth were nothing short of infectious.
Bugger it all, mate, snap out of it!
"Malfoy," Granger said, breathless after straightening up. "Are you really giving me a pep talk?"
Laugh at me, will you?
"Did you really ask me to be friends with you?" he retorted as he crossed his arms over his chest.
That changed her expression in a heartbeat.
"I'm still not quite sure what happened back there," she mumbled abashedly. Draco almost didn't register what she'd said because he was suddenly distracted by the blush that suffused her cheeks.
"What's there not to be sure of?"
"I'm sorry, are you telling me you're accepting my offer?"
"No."
Was it just his imagination, or did she look crestfallen?
"You're right," she said, recovering quickly. "Can't have you tainting your pure heritage with me, right?"
A spark of anger flared up within him. "Don't put me in the same category as Parkinson, Granger. We are not the same!"
She waved a hand through the air and rolled her eyes. "Right, right. She has the vagina, and you're the one with the dangly thing between your legs. You're definitely not the same."
"You kiss your mummy with that mouth, Granger? I'm surprised she hasn't died of heart failure yet, considering the way your mouth shoots off. She must be ashamed that she has to call you her daughter!"
Granger turned pale as he said this and Draco could see her eyes growing moist. "Don't you dare," she hissed, "speak about my mother that way!"
No. Why did I say that. It's like my words are programmed ahead of time. Bloody fucking hell, why did I say that?
"I take it back, Malfoy," she spat venomously. "I can never be friends with you. You are undoubtedly the foulest creature to roam this planet, and I'd rather slice my arm off than join hands with you! You're never going to change. Never!"
Draco remained still as she charged past him, the staccato sounds of her heels erupting along the walls. He hadn't meant to hurt her like that. He didn't realize she'd blow up like this...
He wished he could take it all back.
He hadn't budged when she appeared again. She stood in front of him with her shoulders hunched over and shaking. Her hands trembled at her sides and her lips quivered as she tried to form words, tried to stave off the earthquake threatening to unleash itself within her. After a minute, she spoke in a voice that was so low and raspy, Draco had to lean in to hear her properly.
"There are many things I do not envy you for, Draco Malfoy," she choked. "I do not envy you your house, large and opulent as it may be, nor do I lust after your fame. I do not envy you for your wealth, your status, or your legacy because I know that I can be happy even without those things. But there is one thing I envy you for, Malfoy."
He found himself gazing into a pair of large, brown eyes drowning in tears as she fought to keep her voice from breaking.
"At least...at least you have a mother who can still recognize you."
…
*Kudos to you if you picked up on the Twilight reference in Draco's part of the story. Let me know in a review if you caught it, and the first one to tell me will earn the next chapter dedication! Here's a hint: it's a parody version of a famous Twilight quote - if you're still confused, try reading the backs of one of the books. ;)
Hello to one and all! Here it is, chapter ten at last! Sorry for the delay, but I've been busy preparing for a big dance performance I have next Saturday, and there's been other stuff going on too.
As always, please take the time to review, put me on alert, favorite me, whatever! It makes me feel so warm and mushy inside, knowing that people actually look forward to reading this thing, haha.
One more thing: I read each and every review I get, so please don't think I'm blowing you off if I don't reply to your review! I appreciate every bit of feedback, good or bad! Ok, now I'll let you guys get on with your lives...see ya soon ^_^