Mr. Granger and Mrs. Malfoy
Chapter Three: Cottage Cheese
by princecharmprincesswit, now freedomgeneration
The usual disclaimers apply, and will be applied to the rest of the story: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all the idea, characters, worlds, spells, -what have you- pertaining to it. Ideas that are not recognizable are mine.
A/N: It has been more than awhile since I last updated. I am sorry. I seem to have lost my drive and am working on getting in back. Nevertheless, the quality of this chapter is not in anyway diminished, I do assure you. Have fun! (Okay, before that, here's a supremely short recap.)
The Supremely Short Recap:
Hermione and Draco bump into each other in a crowded street, one and a half years after graduating from Hogwarts. They become friends. Read on to discover how.
Chapter Three
Hermione glared at her assailant, unwilling to back down. Draco still looked on at her frowningly, to the point that Hermione felt she was willing to throw the books she had purchased from Flourish and Blotts at him.
Gradually, Draco's brow cleared, and he took her elbow and (Hermione felt) dragged her aside, away from the hustle and bustle of the street, where they were earning reproachful and annoyed glances.
Hermione didn't know what made her allow him to drag her off, but she found herself returning the curious look Draco was giving her.
"I admit this is a surprise." Malfoy began. "So, how have you been?"
How have you been? As if Hermione's every sneeze wasn't documented in The Prophet. She spared him a baleful glance, dropping the same glance to the firm clasp at her elbow. He promptly dropped his hand.
"Fine, Malfoy." She looked at him closely. Surely this wasn't Malfoy, if he was willing to talk to her, let alone hold the arm of a person with her blood.
"Look," he said forcefully, "I'm no longer the stupid little shit I once was, Granger." He said glaring, as if the intensity of the glare would reinforce his newfound belief.
Oops. It seemed she had said that aloud.
"Really?" Now it was Hermione's brow that became furrowed, while she drew out the syllables of her question.
Malfoy looked so offended, like he was about to stop wasting his time on another disbeliever, as if she was another person who gazed at him with such hate and bias that Hermione relented.
"Are you busy?"
Malfoy goggled at her.
"I mean, I haven't had lunch yet, and-" and what? It would be great to catch up? Hermione nearly snorted, then remembered she had to finish her sentence, only to find her mind draw a blank. She resorted to gesturing with the hand that held her books instead.
"No. I haven't had lunch yet." Malfoy, thank Merlin, for whatever reason that took hold of him, rescued her floundering.
"There's this little bistro by the corner. They serve decent food." She led the way.
As he followed her, she asked over her shoulder "So are you sure your views have changed, truly?"
"I don't say things I don't mean, Granger."
"Why not go to muggle London, then? I know a place that serves more than decent food, and it's quite near."
Malfoy nodded his acquiescence.
As the pair stepped through The Leaky Cauldron into muggle London, Hermione could feel unease radiating like the sun off of Malfoy.
She felt him step nearer to her. They were receiving looks that implied "You're crazy," and not in the funny way, either. She did not know how she came to forget that they were wearing Wizarding robes. Her only defense was that she had never expected Malfoy to say "yes" to muggle London of all places, and that they'd arrive quite so instantly. She decided to ignore the looks, and looked at Malfoy instead.
He was silently craning his head at the sights and the noise. The way he held himself absolutely still, as if he might be trampled on at any moment, and the way that his head swiveled to every scintillating muggle stimulus: the red bus, the beeping of the mobiles, the lit signs everywhere, opened Hermione's eyes.
She turned to him.
"You haven't ever been here, have you?"
Malfoy's nearly reverent whisper confirmed it: "No."
"Come on, Malfoy. The restaurant I told you about is a little away from here."
They walked the three blocks in silence, with Hermione deliberately keeping her pace slow to accommodate Malfoy's wondering and inquisitive gaze.
To Draco, it seemed as if every step they took led them to a quieter place, with less people, and shop-fronts that had more and more glass. When Hermione paused and waited for him, looking at what Draco assumed to be the restaurant, he felt that he had walked through an alternate universe, and considering his upbringing, he had.
He paused beside Granger, and gazed at the restaurant that served more than decent food. The white wood letters proudly read "Cottage Cheese" and underneath it, in smaller letters "Fine Home Dining." Draco decided he might like to keep an open mind, since, as far as he knew, this will be the first fine home dining aside from the fine meals he had at home.
They entered the threshold, and at the hour of four, the lobby seemed to be empty. Then, a man in severe black came striding to, and Draco was forcibly reminded of his godfather Snape. The man looked at Draco and Hermione so superciliously, and Draco, wholly unaccustomed to being so belittled, decided that he could show the poor man how it was supposed to be done.
Draco drew himself up to his impressive height, and looked a long way down his aristocratic nose and curled his lips in disdain.
"A table for two," Draco said. "Please" was not in his vocabulary, not when he decided to be forthcoming with his knowledge on how to be aptly disdainful.
Hermione just about cringed. She had heard from her mother that Cottage Cheese was an exceptional fine dining experience, with a very comfortable spin, and she didn't want to be thrown out just because Malfoy wanted to act haughty.
"What do you mean you can never get in again?" Her mother might ask. She'd be mortified to answe,r "Because I'm blacklisted there. My companion and I were not dressed appropriately and nobody could contest otherwise, except us."
Snape-impostor had to bow to greater superioty, and stiffly motioned the pair forward, not after a very mean gaze at the prospective patrons' attire: Robes that could have passed for the 1800s cloaks, even if the material looked sumptuous.
The maître d' led them forward, and seated them in an innocuous, yet sunny alcove. Draco once more curled his lip in distaste at being put in such a bad seat that Hermione quickly sat down, smiled sunnily and said, "This will do marvelously!"
The maître d' withdrew, with a murmur that a waiter will be shortly by with their menus.
After being served their food, Hermione took a happy bite from her plate. The food had been arranged exquisitely, and she was happy to note, did not disappoint apropos the taste.
She looked at Draco as he cautiously took a bite from his plate. His face looked comically cautious that Hermione was prompted to tell him "It's still just food, Malfoy."
He ignored her, and continued chewing. Hermione approved of his mastication, having been with so little people with appropriate decorum form her own age group. Ron. Cough. Ron.
"This is actually quite good, Granger," he said with a nod of his blonde head.
"I'd say it's better than good. Most fine dining restaurants prefer to serve one-fourth of what's on our plates, usually," she replied with a tentative laugh.
Draco's face returned the small smile.
"What made you change your mind, Malfoy?"
"About what, Granger?" he asked, knowing full well what she meant, intending the question to be rhetorical.
"About how, even if you have no magical ancestry, you're as human as I? Of course, some might want to contest my being human," he gave a soft, delf-deprecating laugh.
"How do you think it feels to grow up in a society so convinced of its uprightness, only coming to realize its evil manipulations when you're ten, and suddenly, you're cast a near-criminal? It was crazy, and we, that is, my friends and I, grew up scewy, shall we say?
Hermione listened in fascination as each cynical confession fell from Draco Malfoy's pureblooded lips.
"When I was thirteen, it became obvious that the Dark Lord had more than a few screws loose. But what was my family to do? Turn tail and die? Everybody dead. Easy, isn't it?"
Hermione couldn't believe that Draco continued to eat as if they were having a casual lunch, and decided to pick up her utensils as well.
"But then it isn't so easy. Slytherins, contrary to popular culture, aren't cowards. Malfoys particularly are not. We are just so selfishly, cunningly survivalist that nothing else matters, don't you see?" he even placed his utensils down and spread his hands to show his point.
"Malfoy, okay. Your family's primary goal was to survive. Why did you guys- plural- have to commit such atrocities then?"
"We didn't." He spared a glance at her, and smiled softly.
Hermione looked incredulous.
"We avoided torturing and excessive violence whenever possible. I know, this does not absolve us of all crimes. What could we do? It had been generations of Malfoys, about two, I reckon, before my father came along. By that time, the family had been so entrenched that it was impossible to climb out. My father could not stand to spy, he was so brain washed to the Dark Lord's power that he felt incapable- his only rebellion was to be as gentle with prisoners as he dared."
"And yet, you became a spy," Hermione said.
"I became a spy," he agreed, nodding.
"Not to be a hero- I'm not Potter, nor have I any wish to be. I had to, if I was to save my family."
"They're all you really cared about, then?"
"Don't forget my friends, Granger."
"Of course."
As they polished off their meal, Hermione had to digest a lot more than food.
The time to pay came and the waiter presented Malfoy with the cheque and left them.
Malfoy read it, and could not fathom how to pay in pounds.
"Granger, I only have Galleons with me at the moment. Where do you reckon we can have it changed to this currency?"
Hermione let out a gentle laugh.
"Consider this as my treat to you, Malfoy." She placed what appeared to be a slim hard card on the cheque. Draco took it and held it up to see.
"What is this?" he asked, flipping it this way and that. He found numbers on it, along with "Hermione Granger" embossed upon it.
"This is a credit card, Malfoy. Basically, its my line of credit that shops extend to my account in the bank," she explained.
"Hm." She took that to mean "Muggles have good ideas occasionally," especially when Malfoy continued with
"How conveniently portable to be sure."
Hermione signed the cheque and she walked back to The Leaky Cauldron with Malfoy in tow, understanding the creature beside her much better.
Leave reviews! :) Thank you very much for reading.