Pickup Lines

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn't belong to me.

Summary: Every Sunday morning at the Three Broomsticks, when Hermione drinks her hot chocolate and catches up on the latest issues, a persistent blond man would always interrupt her routine by doing embarrassing things. "Can I borrow a Sickle? I want to tell my mother I just met the girl of my dreams." A series of meetings/interruptions. Dramione.

Dedicated to: Liv76, darknessxinxyourxheart, and Alli. Toxic

For encouraging me to continue this story :D

(Note: The orders of your names do not affect the amount of my gratitude)

*Pickup Lines*

Flying is simple. You just throw yourself at the ground and miss. ~Douglas Adams.

Hermione was determined to return to the Three Broomsticks.

Yes, no matter what. Wild horses wouldn't keep her away. A high fever wouldn't either. She could fall down the stairs and it wouldn't even deter her in the slightest; she could just crawl there, or limp, or… Maybe she should just get a wheelchair, for convenience's sake. It would be much quicker.

Back to the point – she had made up her mind to go to the Three Broomsticks as usual.

And yes, she really was going to go, despite the huge possibility that Malfoy would be there. She wasn't about to give up on her weekly routine she had done for four long years just because of a slimy Slytherin male. No, Hermione was definitely not the kind of female who let the male species walk all over her just because of prejudice. Just ask her friends. Wait a sec... How exactly did her train of thought find its way from the Three Broomsticks to feminism, anyway?

"Enough with the rambling, Hermione. Enough. And please, do not hyperventilate. At any causes."

Satisfied with her little pep talk, Hermione gave a small smile to encourage herself. She grabbed her purse, wallet and keys, then made sure all appliances, electrical or otherwise, were turned off.

Inspection completed, she proceeded to turn on the spot and vanish into thin air soundlessly.

*Pickup Lines*

A brown-haired young woman reappeared in front of the newsagent's, nipped inside to grab her copy of the Wizarding Gazette, then nipped back outside again to continue her walk to the pub in Hogsmeade, a short distance away. Instead of admiring the beautiful, peaceful scenery, listening to the carefree laughs of young children, or merely "appreciating the wonders of nature", as she called it, she occupied herself by fussing about how she would confront Malfoy, should he happen to be there. None of the imagined scenarios ended up well. A majority of them involved Malfoy revealing that he was actually still the same spoiled brat from Hogwarts, while the remaining ones involved her losing her temper and slapping him – again.

Not a good omen of the day ahead, right?

But then again, Hermione had never been and will never be a fan of Divination.

But that was of no concern. She had arrived – to her doom.

She peered in through the frosted window, trying to see the familiar head of pale blond hair. After a tense search, she determined the location of her target; he was in the soft, plush loveseat with his back to her. Thank Merlin Malfoy hadn't see her looking for him; that might inflate his head to the point of bursting. And she wouldn't want that to happen, would she?

Hermione pushed open the heavy wooden door to the soft chime of bells. After a rather hurried nod to Mister Radford, Madam Rosmerta's grandson, she stalked over to the loveseat and plopped down on the seat opposite the blonde, which just so happens to be a wooden chair – the one that always kept sticking into her uncomfortably despite her varied sitting positions.

"Malfoy," she greeted breathlessly, wiggling to find a way she could sit without getting her bottom numb. "Fancy seeing you here."

He looked at her over his newspaper. "I wouldn't have thought you would 'fancy' me in any way, Granger," he drawled lazily, setting down the Daily Prophet. "But you do learn something new every day, right?"

Hermione could feel a sense of dread; if this went on any longer, it would end just like her Imagined Situation Number 1. And that would not be a good thing.

"Look, Malfoy," she tried, still fidgeting. "I'm sorry for what happened last week."

That got his attention. "My, my, what have I done to deserve this? The Golden Gryffindor Girl, apologizing to me, the Malfoy!" Draco mocked. "This should be in the news."

"Look, Malfoy, I was wrong, okay?" Hermione sighed, and prepared herself for the truckload of snide remarks. Finding none, surprisingly, she continued her confession. "It's just… First impressions last. From the moment I set eyes on you, you insulted me. Called me every bad name on the planet. And after the War, I'm told out of the blue that you, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, was actually a spy for the Light? People's views don't change overnight. It just doesn't happen. And since I didn't really talk to you after that…" She shrugged. "You didn't give me the chance to see for myself if you've really changed."

She bit her lip, feeling vulnerable to attack after her speech. To give herself something to do and an excuse not to look into Draco's intense grey eyes, she squirmed some more on her chair, twisted around in her seat, and called for her favourite cup of hot chocolate.

"Stop moving, will you?" Draco's tired voice reached Hermione's ears, and she turned back to her companion. "You're making my fucking hangover worse."

Hearing his comment, her temper flared up once more. "It's not my fault, Malfoy," she snapped. "It's the chair's. It's just so… hard?" She finished lamely, knowing that she had probably made a fool of herself again by blaming the chair. Before she could elaborate on her answer, Draco stood up, came over, carried her bridal-style, and dumped her unceremoniously on the loveseat.

"There," he murmured, head slumped on the back of the sofa. "Problem solved. Good for you, good for me. And by the way, I accept your apology."

"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she took in the hushed coos and 'aww's inside the warm pub. "This is not good. People seeing us act like this will assume we are a couple. That is not good."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You don't want us to be a couple. I understand completely. Why don't we start slow? Friends?" He offered her his hand, and Hermione stared at it warily as if it was an UFO.

"Malfoy… I think it'll be better to start really, really slow. Acquaintances?" It was now her turn to beam and hold out her hand.

"Deal."

They shook on it.

A/N: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY! An update in about 24 hours later… That's not bad for me. :D To congratulate me and to act as motivation, I would like to invite you all to do any of the options below. Either:

Review (10 marks)

Read my other stories (7 marks)

Favourite (5 marks)

Alert (3 marks)

Anyway, people who were very good girls and did option A will get the next chapter dedicated to them! So… Choose anyway, folks!

Bianca tabbycat

P.S. Hopefully inspiration would strike tomorrow so I could type up chapter three. :)

P.P.S. I know there's no pickup line in this chappie… But give Draco a break; he has a "fucking hangover". However, I will force-feed him aspirin so he will feel up to it soon! (a.k.a. next chapter)