"I thought I was clear enough when I said I will not be spoiling you this evening."
Not that she couldn't afford a nice dinner, of course. But this was not a date and she was definitely not trying to impress anybody.
"What makes you think you weren't?
"Goodness, Malfoy, you look like you've a photoshoot for Witch Weekly's "most eligible bachelors" page!"
Draco looked down to his attire, naturally all black apart from the light gray shirt, slightly unbuttoned from the collar down to his sternum. On their own, the garments would have seemed endlessly simple and ordinary but there was something about how they sat on him and the tangible confidence he wore as an accessory that caught the eyes of a few nearby witches (and one wizard!). His hair was let loose from the usual sleeked-back fashion, a few strands falling freely on his forehead, framing it nicely. It annoyed her to no end.
"I'm afraid I don't own anything that fits your absence of taste."
She stabbed his arm with an elbow but he didn't seem hurt at all. Just the opposite, he had the audacity to start laughing. Out loud. Like the human being she had a hard time remembering he was. He managed to collect himself.
"If you could just see that pout of yours in a mirror. But no, honestly Granger, you look beautiful."
"Nice save."
Hermione did appreciate the compliment, though. She'd even asked Ginny for a hand when it became obvious help was needed. She chose to keep her choice of a dinner partner to herself, Ginny being Ginny, translating in the biggest overdramatizer ever. It was no easy feat to tame the wild readhead's ideas of "formal" and "conservative enough", but in the end (two and a half hours later) they both agreed on a chic sleeveless jumpsuit in burgundy that went a bit above her ankles and a pair of black pumps that made her legs look miles long.
They were walking side by side along Diagonally, to a place he refused to name, something about "the element of surprise".
There was a sense of comfort and lightness between them, a familiarity she couldn't quite place the origins of. Their bickering was half-hearted and the silence while they strolled was from the pleasant kind. She almost felt sorry for the man, having no other business tonight but to indulge her pretenses.
"Do you think I could be on top of the list?" He asked nonchalantly.
"Sorry?"
"Britain's most eligible bachelor. Front page. Millions of women swooning after me and my money. Goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger caught by the paparazzi on a dinner with me. Sounds about right?" He was smirking in the most irritable way now.
"You're impossible. For your information, I'm already quite familiar with what it's like to be associated with the leading numbers from that despicable list. Harry and I've both received death threats just because we've had lunch together a couple of times. It's really not that glorious."
"You and Potter–?"
"Best friends and nothing more. Ronald on the other hand was an entirely different story I will not discuss with you."
"Wasn't dying to hear about Weaselbee anyhow. Change the subject?"
She immediately went for the most obvious question.
"How and why did you know where my flat was? And why did you decide it would be casually un-stalker-like to wait for me to come out, right at my doorstep?"
"Ah, the secret ways of a true gentleman. We never set a meeting spot, did we? Where would you have gone if it weren't for my thoughtfulness and good manners?"
"I– well, I suppose I was going to try in the Ministry and, given you weren't there, go to your home."
She hadn't anticipated a visit to the Ministry but she also feared he had reconsidered her offer and would leave her hanging. If hunting him down meant getting her answers, then so be it.
"Fairly straightforward, but I expected nothing less from you. Granger, you do know that a man is supposed to treat you like a lady, not make you run laps in search for him?"
"I prefer to think a lady can run a lap or two."
"I prefer to not cause you such discomfort, especially not in these shoes."
"Well, that's very kind of you but I'd rather be warned before you decide to come by."
"Was that an invitation now?" He winked at her. Where did this boyish flirtatious Malfoy come from? She was positively bemused.
"A mere warning if you value your health." But her threat came out as a joke, voice trembling with laughter.
"All words and no actions, Granger. Typical Gryffindor. At least my house acted on our words."
"I will hex you to your dungeons and back."
"You'll have to wait until after dinner because we're here."
He stopped abruptly forcing her to trip on her own feet and lunge forward, Hermione merely managing to not fall face-flat on the pavement. She threw him a dirty look but regained her balance.
"Such a klutz for a medic."
"So insufferable for a gentleman!"
They entered the nondescript little door, a wave of warmth and the scent of freshly cooked food hit their faces and enveloped their cool bodies. The view from the outside was nothing like the interior. The place turned out to be a tavern called "The Eolian", as the sign read, big enough to fit more than a few dozen customers. A small stage formed the center of the hall, a boy no older than 15 was tuning the strings of his lute, apparently preparing for a performance. The tables were full but not stuffed so they easily found a spot close enough to enjoy the music but remote enough to hear each other clearly. She was hypnotized by the atmosphere of the place, it had nothing in common with the pubs and inns that filled each and every gap in Wizarding London. If Hermione had to guess, she would probably say she was no longer in the same city nor country.
"I hope you don't think you'll evade my questions by distracting me with music for the entire time."
But she was pretty sure she'd be too entranced to even remember said questions.
Instead of answering, he just said:
"You'll see."
The next hour was a time to be alive. The second the boy touched the instrument with the intention to play, people forswore their conversations and fell into a trans. The soft, slow sounds became one with the air in the room, resonating, whirling, at times jumping around in a mystical dance. It wasn't a pretty, romantic song, it was demanding and provocative. It became fast and then reverted back to slow in no particular order, yet at the right time. But Draco wasn't looking at the show, instead his eyes laid on Hermione's face, her eyes transfixed and yet so very focused on the musician, lips parted and hands tightly held in a knot in her lap. He wanted this particular moment to never end, just to be able to look at her dreamy expression, so lovingly meant for the boy with the lute.
It was all over far too fast, the music ceased and her consciousness came back into place.
"That was the most exquisite music I've ever heard in my entire life, and I've heard plenty."
"I'm glad you agreed that I am the best business date you've had."
"You're the best going-out I've had so far, to be completely honest."
He stared at her disbelievingly. Now, that was new.
"Who knew a little music could tame Granger-danger. Almost like a Cerberus."
"Oh, shut it before you ruin this."
He probably really should shut up before he messed up.
The food tasted exactly as it smelled – homemade and unpretentiously delicious. Pots of porridge and pans of paellas came full and left empty, both of them completely oblivious to manners or etiquette, simply enjoying a meal as if they were the oldest friends or the oddest couple.
They stopped only after their stomached could fit no more than a glass of butter beer each.
"So– what do you feel comfortable talking about?"
She decided to fire a safe shot first.
His eyebrows did a little dance that said enough of what he meant.
"Merlin, Malfoy, you're like a third-year. Come off it and answer so we can get this over with."
"I didn't know you were so eager to "get this over with"."
Draco felt a sting in his chest. It mostly started out like this. Where did he mess up this time?
"Don't get this the wrong way, Malfoy, I agreed to this on clear terms. I need to do my research so I don't have purebloods trying to kill me every once and awhile."
His anger began budding up in the back of his mind. She always had to have a big, flooding mouth.
"You could use a bit of your endless sodding compassion and throw it our way sometimes, you know."
"Don't speak of things you don't understand! I've seen nothing but cruelty and occasional civility from your family and friends. My compassion only goes this far. Did you know, the scar still stings sometimes."
She pulled her wand from a charmed pocked on her thigh. He nearly jumped back in an attempt to defend himself but she just aimed it at her left arm, lifting a glamour charm and revealing his worst nightmare, only it was worse in reality. That day still haunted his dreams and his vision, uglier and more grotesque than he remembered it, or maybe he chose to forget the details that his subconsciousness tried to remind him of. People from neighboring tables were now looking at the couple of them and he felt such embarrassment and shame, because that scar was from him, his own hands that did nothing to stop the words being carved in Hermione's flesh. Draco grabbed her good arm tightly, threw a load of coins on the table and apparated.
"What the f–"
"Obliviate!"