A/N: Happy Friday update! I hope you've all had a lovely week :) A fair warning before you get started: this does start to enter into more "adult" territory, so heads up for strong language and mild sexual content (no lemons yet) toward the end. As always, I love hearing what you think!
Shoutout to TheOtterAndTheDragon for working her beta magic on this chapter!
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Hermione had gone home the night before and crashed. She hadn't allowed herself to think about the fact that Draco had asked her on a date the night before. She definitely did not allow herself to think about the fact that he'd basically propositioned her. However, that meant that she'd awoken hours before her alarm the next morning and laid in bed fretting about the impending evening.
He'd seemed genuine enough, but she couldn't help but worry that this was some kind of elaborate prank to get back at her. She'd be lying if she said that she wasn't curious about him though. Her embarrassing tendency to seek out articles about him and the other Slytherins in the Prophet contradicted that.
Hermione groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. It was only eight in the morning—just under eleven hours until he would pick her up for their date—and her nerves were already frayed.
A quiet tapping from the window was the only thing that pulled her out of her self-imposed breakdown half an hour later. A small tawny owl sat on the window sill with a small piece of parchment tied to its leg. Reluctantly, she threw back her quilts and crossed the room to let the little owl into the room. It hooted happily as she untied the note with handwriting she recognized as George's from its leg and accepted the treat she offered it. The little bird hopped to the ledge and flapped away. Just as Hermione was closing the window, a speck in the sky began to grow closer, and she recognized two owls flying awkwardly toward her flat. She opened the window further and stepped back as both owls struggled through the window carrying a box between them.
Puzzled, she offered the two new owls treats. They accepted and swept out the window with sleepy hoots.
She studied the box trying to place it. She hadn't ordered anything through owl post recently, and her birthday had already passed. Suddenly it hit her—Malfoy had said he was going to send her a dress for their date that night. That little git—
Her rant was interrupted by the roar of the Floo. Cursing, she pulled her discarded pyjamas on and opened the door, so she could greet her uninvited guest. "This had better be important," she groused. She paused at the sight in front of her.
George was pacing back and forth in the middle of her living room, his hair a mess. He wheeled around when he heard her door open and a great sigh gusted out of him. "Thank Merlin you're here. We have a problem."
"What's going on? You know that I don't like visitors before nine, George. I have a very specific routine in the mornings and—"
"Something went wrong with the potion, Hermione."
The words went straight to Hermione's stomach, and she felt an all-too familiar anxiety rear its ugly head. "What do you mean, 'something went wrong'? Explain what happened."
George scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well, last night after the speed dating game, Angelina and I decided to go back to my flat, and one thing led to another, and—you know, she does this really fantastic thing in bed where she—"
"Whoa! Okay, no!" Hermione stuck her fingers in her ears and shook her head. "I do not need to hear about my ex's brother and his lady's sexual exploits." She took her fingers out of her ears when she saw his mouth stop moving. "Are you done now?"
With a cheeky grin, George rushed out in one breath, "Angelinadidthesplitsonmydickanditwasawesome."
"Ugh, seriously?" Hermione grimaced. "I'm super happy that you guys are back together and better than ever, but now I'm never going to be able to be around you two without blushing."
George's grin only got wider. "You're welcome. Anyway, after the bloody fantastic shag, I did something I've wanted to do forever."
"George, if you're about to tell me something else you guys did in bed, then I'm banning you from my flat," Hermione warned, fingers ready to plug her ears.
"No, no, no. We did that afterwards." He waggled his eyebrows at her groan. "No, I accidentally asked her to marry me. When we were naked. With my grandmother's ring."
"You proposed?! And what did she say?" She ran to George and enveloped him in a hug.
"Oi, witch, I am an engaged man!" he beamed. "She said yes, of course!"
"Oh, George, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" Hermione grinned up at him. "Wait, you said something went wrong with the potion. I don't see what you mean so far."
That wiped the smile off George's face. "That's the thing. I was ridiculously nervous to see her yesterday, so I took the Felix variant. I just jumped out of bed and told her everything I loved about her this morning and asked her to marry me, and I wasn't nervous at all."
Hermione stared up at him. "You're still feeling the effects of the potion this morning… but it was supposed to wear off last night!"
George stared at her. "Exactly. I'm not sure what happened, but the potion's effects last longer than we anticipated and intended. I'm also ridiculously honest. It's like whatever I'm thinking and want to say but don't have the guts to just spills out unless I really focus on it; it's like a demented version of Veritaserum for the things you most want to tell someone. I think— I think it might have been the extra peppermint. It might have thrown something else off in the potion."
"Have you noticed anything else? Any physical symptoms?"
George shook his head. Mind racing, Hermione stepped away from him and picked up the pen and pad of paper she kept on her side table. She quickly jotted down all the information that George had given her: confidence lasting over twelve hours, no physical symptoms.
"Has it gotten any better as time passes?" she queried, pen tip in her mouth.
George thought for a moment. "It does seem like it might be going away, but I didn't have the whole vial. I only used about a quarter of it. And I didn't take it until half past nine, just before Angelina came to my table."
Her heart sank as she remembered both her and Harry knocking back the entire vial of the potion the night before. If just a quarter of a bottle lasted twelve hours, then a whole vial was likely to last two whole days—plenty of time for her to be overly honest and confident for her date with Malfoy. She groaned.
George looked crestfallen. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't think anything would happen if I added more peppermint. It just seemed so innocent, and I wanted to be as confident as possible when I finally got the chance to talk to Angelina again."
Hermione sighed. "It's okay, George. It's just—I have a date with Malfoy tonight. So now I'm going to have very little filter and be super confident about it."
"At least it could be worse?" he looked like a kicked puppy.
"It could be worse," she grinned up at him, trying to cover her newly revived nerves about her date that evening. "Now, you get home and enjoy time with your fiancée. Owl me if anything changes or when the effects of the potion wear off."
"You got it. Thanks, 'Mione." George swept in for a hug despite her complaints of the nickname. Moments later, the Floo roared as he disappeared back to his own flat and his awaiting fiancée.
Later, Hermione glared at the box that had arrived at her flat earlier in the day. It was exquisitely wrapped in deep crimson paper. A gold bow adorned the package, and she just knew that Malfoy had wrapped it in a nod to her house colours on purpose. She still hadn't opened that package, and he was due to pick her up in an hour. She was still a little miffed that he'd actually sent her a package of clothing to wear. As if she didn't know how to dress herself.
She glared at the package once more before she turned to glare at herself in the mirror. She'd been warring with herself over exactly how dressed up she'd get tonight, but she'd pulled out all the stops on her hair for once. Though she hated to admit it, she had young Malfoy's voice in her head the entire time she'd tamed her curls into beautiful ringlets that fell past her shoulders elegantly. She'd be damned if she let him have any ammunition to tell her she didn't look utterly shaggable tonight.
She'd originally decided that she was only going to put in minimal effort for the date; after all, she couldn't seriously date Malfoy. She'd only decided to go through with the date because she had made a deal with George, and Malfoy had been adamant on taking her out. In the end, she'd decided that she might as well take the opportunity to let the Malfoy heir see everything he'd missed out on after years of bullying her. She was a bona fide babe, if she said so herself.
She stepped closer to the mirror to scrutinize her makeup. She hadn't wanted to put on too much to begin with, but she'd somehow left fresh-faced behind for sultry-eyed vixen. If she weren't honest, she wasn't too broken up over the extra makeup. She'd opted for a classic red lip paired with a subtle smoky eye. All-in-all, she was satisfied with her appearance, and she was glad that she'd let Ginny drag her to the Muggle makeup counter for lessons.
With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and picked up the little black dress—her go-to for dates. She used to love the dress so much, an impulse buy that Ron had pressured her into trying on when they were walking around Muggle London one afternoon. She'd loved it and had bought it. She smiled sadly at it and looked back at the box. Though she hated to admit it, she didn't want to go out in a dress that was weighed down with old memories. She placed the dress back into her closet. Nothing else was suitable for a date, so she turned back to the box that Malfoy had sent her.
Running her fingers over the beautiful packaging, she knew that she'd end up wearing whatever it was that he had sent her. With that thought, she carefully peeled back the wrapping paper and opened the box.
The first thing she noticed was an envelope addressed to her atop a pair of heels. She was prepared to find ridiculously high heels, but the little black satin pumps featured a modest heel and a peep toe. They were, in a word, adorable. She nearly fainted when she noticed the unmistakeable red bottom of Louboutins. Of course Draco would buy her shoes that cost more than her rent. She'd wear them tonight and then insist he take them back afterward. With that thought in mind, she opened the small envelope.
The note inside was simple. Hermione, it read. Thank you for agreeing to this date. Since I knew you wouldn't come out in an emerald dress, and I couldn't bear any more maroon than the packaging, I settled on a compromise. A nod to both of our interest in knowledge. I'll pick you up at 7. D.M.
Puzzled, Hermione peeled back the tissue paper. Nestled within was quite possibly the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. It was a deep blue, nearly black, sheath gown. It featured one sleeve and fell in gentle waves of silk when she picked it up. Upon closer inspection, the dress had just the slightest hint of sparkle to it. As Hermione inspected it, she realized that it wasn't just any sparkle. It was charmed, she realized, to mimic the night sky. The sparkle was stars charmed into the very fabric of her dress.
She was momentarily stunned. The dress was beautiful and exquisitely made. It must have cost Draco a fortune, and she wasn't sure she could wear something so beautiful and do it justice.
She bit her lip and stared at the dress. How had he known that she'd want something so understated? The bastard was undoubtedly good at this, and she conceded to the fact that she would, indeed, be wearing his dress out tonight. She pulled the dress the rest of the way out of the box and watched the fabric cascade to the floor with not a wrinkle in sight. She unzipped it and only slightly reluctantly stepped into the dress.
With a wave of her wand, the dress zipped itself up, and Hermione turned to inspect herself in the mirror. Oh, he's good, she thought as she looked herself up and down with more than a little bit of pride. The dress hugged her in just the right places, and the deep blue deepened her already dark eyes until they were nearly black. She stepped into the pumps and admired herself in the mirror.
She was still admiring her reflection, turning this way and that, when she heard the Floo in her living room roar to life, signalling Malfoy's arrival. She cursed inwardly at getting lost in inspecting herself and shouted out to him that she'd be out in a moment.
She raced over to her jewellery box and retrieved the pair of small sapphire earrings her parents had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Fighting back the wave of emotions that the jewellery welled up in her, she slipped them into her ears and took one final look in the mirror. With a nod of approval, she summoned the clutch she'd applied an undetectable extension charm to and slipped her wand inside. She steeled her nerves and opened her bedroom door.
She must have been quieter than her racing heart led her to believe because Malfoy had his back to her still, examining the photos she had lined up on her mantle. He was in a classic black suit and loafers, and his hair was impeccably coiffed. Hermione could see the appeal of him even from the back side—especially from the back side, her inner teenager crowed—and she studied him curiously.
He was remarkably relaxed in her space, perusing her photos with his hands in his pockets. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and checked his watch surreptitiously. Hermione coughed a little to get his attention. He turned halfway to her and froze, his gaze roving over her. When he didn't say anything, she cleared her throat to dispel the tension. "Hi," she said.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Hi," he said, his gaze still locked on her figure. A herd of hippogriffs roared through Hermione's stomach when he finally met her eyes. "You wore the dress I sent you. I have to admit that I'm a little surprised."
Hermione bit back the retort that threatened to spill off her tongue, but her reply was still sassier than she normally was. "Well, it seemed silly to waste the galleons that you spent on it, and I do make the dress look good."
She didn't miss the way that Malfoy's gaze swept over her once more, nor did she miss the slight darkening of his eyes as his tongue darted out to wet his lips once more. "Yes, you certainly do make it look good."
Caught off guard by his genuine compliment, she didn't say anything when he crossed the room to her. "Ready?" he murmured.
Hermione nodded mutely. The only thing she could register in that moment was his steely eyes staring at her and the fact that he was tall, taller than he'd been in Hogwarts. The thought echoed around her mind—just when had she noticed Malfoy's exact height in Hogwarts and why was his stature now strangely attractive—when Malfoy spun on the spot, disapparating them with a pop.
When her feet touched the ground again, Malfoy's grip on her arm tightened to keep her from stumbling. She righted herself and glanced over at him, surreptitiously pulling her arm out of his hold. He straightened his suit jacket, and Hermione glanced around at her surroundings.
She wasn't sure where they were, but she knew it was an upscale Muggle district somewhere, judging by the expensive cars lining the street. A Mercedes Benz pulled up to the curb next to them and Hermione had to stifle a gasp when Julie Andrews stepped out of the back seat. Draco's clearing throat caught her attention again as she stared at the woman strutting toward the entrance. She rolled her eyes at his snarky smirk. "Oh please, as if you wouldn't have gotten a little starstruck if one of your favourite Quidditch players had stepped out of that car."
He cracked a smile at her comment and shook his head. "No, Granger, I would have walked up to them and said hello. Maybe tell them how much I admire them. You know, like a normal person?"
Hermione didn't deign his comment with a response, but instead turned to survey the building before them. "Well, I believe I was told that we were going on a dinner date?" She looked at Draco pointedly. "This is the point where you take my arm and escort me into the building to the maître d′, you know, like a normal date."
"Oh yes, indeed, Hermione. I apologize for my atrocious manners," he drawled, holding his arm out for her. Hermione took it and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes lest they pop out of her head and roll away. He led her to the ornately cut doors of the building and waited for the attendants to open the door for them. Hermione bit her lip, unaccustomed to such treatment. If she were honest, she preferred to stay at home and cook a meal in, but Draco had insisted on the date, so she was following his terms.
The doors opened into an ornate foyer where the maître d′ table stood. A disgruntled couple sat at a bench next to it where they argued with each other about reservations. Malfoy, however, strolled right up to the counter and exchanged a few hushed words with the maître d′, who led them to a secluded table in the back. Like the gentleman his mother had no doubt tried to teach him to be, he pulled out her chair and helped her into her seat.
She took a few moments while he arranged himself in his chair to survey the room around her. The closest table to them was far enough away that they would have plenty of privacy for their date. Soft jazz music played on the speakers and several couples danced near their tables. Most of the lighting came from small candles lit on the centre of each table in the middle of pristine white table clothes. It was all so elegant, she thought, not like the kinds of dates Ron would take her on. Though it was a restaurant, she had the distinct feeling that the few seats and dimmed lighting was meant to create a romantic and secluded atmosphere.
Their waiter, a man a few years older than herself, approached the table and asked for their drink of preference. Hermione panicked momentarily and blanked, but Malfoy, who had been watching her quietly, smoothly intervened and ordered a vintage wine older than she was—and likely ridiculously expensive—and the waiter flitted away to retrieve it. Silence settled over them like a blanket, and Hermione fought the urge to fidget.
More than anything, she was curious why Malfoy had asked her for the date. He'd seemed so sure that he wanted to take her out and he'd implied that he wanted much more than just a date. She could feel his eyes on her as a thousand questions that she hadn't let herself ponder over the last twenty-four hours battered around inside her head, and the malfunctioning confidence potion searched for the correct one to ask.
"Why?" slipped out unbidden, and she watched him blink in confusion. He reached for his glass of water and took a sip while Hermione waited for him to answer. He placed the water back on the table and traced the rim with his finger while she watched. If Ron and Harry had taught her anything, staring at men quietly unnerved them enough to get an honest answer if one waited long enough.
He finally looked up at her a few minutes later. "I assume you're asking why I asked you out, since there's a hundred other things you could ask me about." She nodded, and he licked his lip. Hermione fought her small start when she realized that the small action was a tell; he was nervous.
He sighed. "As I'm sure you've read, my friends and I have suffered from quite a deserved tumble from grace. It would be inaccurate to say I was a hundred percent behind Voldemort while I was still in school; I guess my beliefs started cracking when he lived in my home, and I saw how truly horrific he was." She nodded and waited for him to go on. "The truth, Granger, is that I've always been a little fascinated with you."
"With me?" she asked dryly. She felt her shoulders tighten "Did that fascination drive you to call me a Mudblood all the time or antagonize my friends?" The words came out sharp and cold.
Malfoy had the decency to look ashamed. "I never claimed to be the most wonderful person in the world. I was downright horrible to you and your friends, and I believed in the pureblood dogma for longer than I like to admit. But by sixth year, I knew it wasn't right. I just was too far in to get out. He had the one thing that he knew would keep me in no matter what he forced me to do: my mother."
"So, you saw the light in sixth year and only did the things you did because you didn't want anything to happen to your mother?" She couldn't help but sounds sceptical. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but you'll have to forgive me for not believing you."
Malfoy opened his mouth to speak when the waiter returned with the wine Draco had ordered. He presented the bottle for Draco's approval, then poured a small amount into a glass for him to test. Once Malfoy had nodded his approval the waiter filled both their glasses. Only after he had asked what they would be having for dinner that evening did Hermione realize that she hadn't once looked at the menu, as she was too captivated and confused by the man in front of her.
Malfoy looked across at her. "Do you have anything in mind?" She shook her head and he replied, "Then I'll order for you, if you don't object." When she didn't, he named a couple of dishes and the waiter nodded. Once he had retreated, Malfoy studied her once more.
His gaze was piercing, so she squirmed in her seat, pulling the sleeve of the gifted dress down a bit. She suddenly felt too exposed with the satin covering only one arm. She felt his eyes linger on her exposed collarbone and the column of her neck. Unbidden, a flush rose to her skin where his eyes travelled, and she fidgeted more in her seat.
"You're beautiful, you know?" Malfoy's voice broke the silence, and Hermione snapped her head up to gape at him. She pinched herself to ensure it wasn't a dream, but she was still in the restaurant with the man who'd hated her as a child. The man who had just called her beautiful and who was currently smiling at her gently. It was an expression she'd never seen on him before, and it unnerved her, but not in a way that she was entirely uncomfortable with.
"I'm sorry, but what did you just say?"
He shrugged. "You asked me why I asked you out on a date tonight. Part of the reason that I asked you out is because you're beautiful. That's not the entire reason, of course," he hurried on before she could voice her displeasure that he asked her out based purely on aesthetic attraction. "No, at some point in time, I realized that I tormented you so much when we were kids because I was fascinated with you."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's rich. I thought you might be above pulling the 'I only bullied you because I liked you' card, but I guess not."
"I never said I was a very bright child, did I?" Malfoy scoffed. "You were so different from everyone I knew and everything everyone had ever told me about Muggle-borns. You were this ball of self-righteous intelligence all wrapped up in the bushiest hair I'd ever seen, and I couldn't be friends with you even though I wanted to know you. So I improvised. Not the brightest thing I've ever done, but you did notice me." He shrugged cavalierly.
"Alright, Malfoy." Hermione leaned forward and steepled her fingers under her chin. She didn't miss the lingering glance he gave the newly accentuated line of her bust. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to have a nice dinner, on you. You're going to be a gentleman, and I'm going to be the perfect little Muggle-born date. You're going to compliment how beautiful I am—because we both know that I look damn good in this dress—and I'll bat my eyelashes in all the right places. At the end of the night, you'll escort me back to my flat."
Draco had leaned forward through her speech, and his eyes flashed when she mentioned her flat. "What are we going to do when we get back to your flat, Granger?"
The waiter interrupted them once more as he brought a plate full of squared cheeses—one of the appetizers Draco had ordered. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes after the waiter had left them again. Thank Merlin for this potion, she thought, and she sipped from her wine glass. A drop of wine lingered on her upper lip, and she watched Malfoy's eyes follow her tongue as she swiped her lip clean. She had him right where she wanted him. "When we get back to my flat, I might let you kiss me." She fluttered her eyelashes. "I might let you come inside."
Malfoy had leaned forward, hanging on her every word.
"And if you're a good little snake, I might let you fuck me."
Heat flared in his eyes and she watched him swallow thickly. He reached for his wine and took a large drink. When he placed it back down, he tried to hide his slight squirm. He shot her a sexy smirk—his attempt at regaining the upper hand in the conversation. "You're much more forward than you used to be in Hogwarts, Granger. It's good to see you're not the goody two-shoes you used to be."
He was impossibly handsome, and she had to admit that he'd apparently polished the very rough edges he'd sported at Hogwarts, but she wasn't about to give in to a sexy smirk and impeccably fitted trousers. He could have her tonight, but it would be on her terms. "But for now, Malfoy, I'm going to tell you exactly why this won't work after tonight."