In order to remain correct with time regarding movies in 1998, I did not have as much choice as I expected. The one I found, however, seemed very appropriate and also happens to be a movie I like, so I hope you are not disappointed in my choice!
At first, some of the boys (and Ginny) balked at the title. Shakespeare in Love indeed sounded, for those who did not know Shakespeare, as a not so promising story.
"It sounds boring!" Ron summed up what they all thought.
Draco, however, seemed intrigued, and for the first time since the ketchup-incident looked at his wife with anything other than loathing. Hermione could freely admit to herself that her reasons for picking this particular movie were mostly selfish; it was the movie she wanted to see most, and she was sure that Draco would appreciate her picking the one Muggle he actually knew something about. Considering it also had great reviews, the rest would just have to shut up and deal with it.
The movie was absolutely wonderful, in Hermione's humble opinion. When she noticed Draco murmuring some of Shakespeare's lines along with the actors, however, she found it dreadfully difficult to keep her attention on the screen.
"This may be my first movie," he whispered at a certain point. "But I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be watching me all the time."
"Sorry," she answered, blushing. "Did you know that Muggles often go to the movies for a date?"
"You mean like the snogging couple over there?"
"Yes, I suppose." She couldn't help a chuckle. "Merlin, have they no shame?"
"It is a rather disgusting spectacle," Draco agreed. "Pass me the popcorn." He proceeded to throw some at the kissing couple, who seemed to have figured out a way to survive without oxygen.
The boy startled, detaching his lips from his partner, and looked behind him. Draco had already given the popcorn back to Hermione, and now looked at her disapprovingly.
Of course, the boy took this to mean that Hermione was the devilish popcorn-thrower, and glared at her so fiercely she could distinguish his features despite the darkness of the room.
"Seriously?" she hissed. "What is wrong with you?"
The people behind them shushed her almost aggressively, and she instinctively leaned towards Draco and hid her face in his neck. "I have now officially become one of the people I used to hate, thanks ever so much, Draco."
He chuckled and wrapped his arm around her, allowing her to get even closer to him. "Sorry, sweetheart, but it was either throwing popcorn at them or following their example. I figured that option would make you even more uncomfortable, considering your ex is sitting a few seats further."
Suddenly, Hermione couln't help but regret, just a bit, that she hadn't had the foresight to bring only Draco to the movies. His words combined with his smell and his arm around her brought forward some thoughts that she should probably not be thinking at that moment. When, moments later, Draco not so subtly put his hand on her thigh, slightly higher than was proper, she knew their minds were on the same track. His thumb caressed her leg,sending shivers down her spine, and she was certain they would both have forgotten themselves and done something unforgivably stupid had not someone passed them to go to the bathroom, making them jump apart.
Hermione was grateful for the darkness in the movie theatre, hiding the scarlet color of her cheeks, although why the theatre suddenly was a great deal warmer than before was a mystery.
"We should probably pay attention to the movie," she said.
"Which I was doing," he pointed out, "until you distracted me."
"Oh, hush," said she. It was a good thing that the movie was good, and she was sucked back into the story quickly. And if she leaned against Draco and took hold of his arm, he made no comment of it. Although he couldn't help but realize that it was rather remarkable how she tended to hold onto him when she was unaware of her movements.
At the end, Blaise, Pansy and Hermione couldn't help but tear up a bit when the lovers were forced to part, Draco was actually smiling, not smirking, and as soon as the movie was over Ginny and Harry set out to recreate the swordfight scene with the straws from their drinks.
All in all, going to the movies had been a wonderful idea.
They all went to a bar for a drink and Harry and Hermione laughed at the pure-bloods' reacion to the music.
"It's incredibly how much less prudish Muggles are," said Blaise, upon hearing the lyrics. "I mean, there were some scenes in that movie that would make many of the older generation witches and wizard close their eyes in shame!"
"And you haven't even been to a Muggle party yet," Hermione commented, sipping from her glass of wine.
"Can we go?" he asked, immediately enthusiastic.
"Perhaps another time," Hermione answered, not really in the mood for a party.
"Did they really sink a ship for the movie?" Ron then asked. "It seems a bit dangerous."
"What? No!" said Harry, laughing. "They use special effects and the like. I'm not sure how it really works."
All eyes turned to Hermione, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "What makes you think I am so well versed in how movies are made? I've hardly spent more time in the Muggle world than you, these past years!"
"Granger, watch it," Draco said, looking around to make sure no one noticed her choice of words. "Who thought it was a good idea to give her wine? By Merlin, you're a lightweight."
"Oh, nonsense, Draco," she replied. "I'm no such thing. And that was not an answer to my question anyway!"
"Well, I just assumed you knew everything," Pansy said with a shrug.
"That's ridiculous!" Hermione said. "Knowing everything is impossible."
"Yes, well, can we go back to the subject of parties, please?" said Blaise, leaning towards Hermione and subtly refilling her glass. "What are they like?"
She looked down at her glass, then back up at Blaise, then at Draco, who smirked, then back at Blaise. "What is it with you people and trying to get me drunk? Ginny, was this your idea?"
"What? Of course not, Hermione, how could you even think that?" Ginny said dramatically.
"Why would Ginny have anything to do with Blaise?" Harry asked, surprised at Hermione's line of inquiry.
"Well, she knew about the bet!"
All Slytherins and Ginny groaned.
"What bet?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Shit," Draco muttered. "Shit, I need to get out of here."
"Nothing, Harry dear," Ginny said with a sickly sweet smile. "Right, Hermione?"
"Right," Hermione answered, finally realizing her error. "I must be drunker than I thought, don't pay attention to me!" She waved her hand as if she could make them all forget with only a gesture, but it was too late for that. Harry was nothing if not persistent.
"Ginny, what is she talking about?"
"You know these bets between Blaise and Parkinson, the ones they were talking about this morning?"
"Yeah."
"Blaise asked me about something to confirm who won their latest bet. It's really nothing important, it had to do with the evening in Vegas." Draco held a new-found respect for the youngest Weasley; she'd come up with a perfectly good explanation that was technically not a lie. Impressive.
"Are you reffering to the bet regarding when Hermione and Draco would have sex again?" Luna aske innocuously.
A painful silence fell over the group.
"YOU WHAT?" Ron yelled.
"When, not if?" Harry asked, perplexed.
"I think I need to go to the toilet," Hermione mumbled, before standing up.
"Don't you dare leave me alone," Draco protested. "This is all your fault!"
"Maybe we should all leave," Pansy said. "Before we make an even bigger scene."
Everyone agreed with that, and Harry and Ron were quickly ushered outside. Ginny dragged her brother with her, Luna had a firm hold on Harry's arm, and the Slytherin's walked in between them and the Malfoys, making sure Ron couldn't suddenly attack Draco.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione mumbled. "I wasn't thinking."
Draco shrugged. "They would've found out anyway, I suppose."
"So you're not angry?"
"They're your friends, not mine. As long as you make sure they don't harm me, it's really not my concern. My friends already know, because they're not total idiots."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but said nothing. They all walked in silence until they floo'ed back to the Three Broomsticks, where Ginny convinced Harry, Ron, Luna, Daphne, Theo and Blaise to stick around for another drink. Draco and Hermione were all too eager to return to the castle and forget all about this, and Pansy walked with them.
"Are you alright?" Hermione couldn't help but ask the unusually quiet girl.
"You're such a Hufflepuff," Pansy said. "Always worrying about other people's feelings. How do you stand it, Draco?"
"I've learned to tune it out," he answered with a grin, throwing his arm around Hermione's shoulders.
"Shut up," Hermione told him. "Pansy, there's really no shame in having a proper conversation sometimes."
"I'm just tired, Granger," Pansy said. "Drop it. I have a lot of new information to digest."
Even Draco grew serious at her downtrodden tone. "They won't hold it against you forever," he said gently, bumping his fist against Pansy's arm without force. "You know that, right?"
Hermione observed the two friends with keen interest. It was rare to see a moment of genuine concern between the Slytherins, as they always pretended to be so tough.
"Oh, Salazar," Pansy said, with a horrified expression. "The Hufflepuff is catching on! Run for your lives!"
"You're not running," Draco remarked. "You look like an idiot when you say that but can't even be bothered to run yourself."
"Shut it, Draco. I don't run, it's unladylike."
"Not to mention you're probably immune to any and all sorts of niceness, so you don't have to worry anyway," Draco added.
"No offense, Draco," said Hermione. "But a couple of months ago I would have said the exact same thing about you."
"Granger, if you're not going to be on my side, then please refrain from intruding in this conversation between old friends."
"No, no," Pansy protested. "We can't exclude her when she's walking with us, that would be unforgivably rude. Please, Granger, keep talking."
"You're both ridiculous," Hermione said. "And you need to stop calling me Granger."
"Apologies, Mrs Malfoy," Pansy said theatrically. "Old habits die hard."
Both Draco and Hermione shuddered. "Don't call her that."
"I'm far too young to be a Mrs."
"You should have thought about that before you married him," Pansy said. "Although there's something I've been wanting to tell you."
"Oh?"
"Thank you," Pansy said earnestly. "Thank you for saving my friend from an arranged and never-ending marriage to that bitch Astoria Greengrass, because he would have been the unhappiest of people if that dreadful event had happened."
Both Draco and Hermione were shocked at this unexpected declaration.
"Pans," Draco said. "Did you, perchance, recently have a disagreement with Astoria? I can't recall you being this vehement on the subject before."
"I assure you that my personal feelings towards the girl have little to do with it. I've never liked her, although the fact that the little upstart tried to take my spot in front of the fire just last night reminded me of the as of yet unsaid thanks I owed your wife, Draco dear."
"She dared to try and take your spot?" Draco exclaimed. "How on earth did she justify that?"
"Something about our year of Slytherins having fallen out of grace and not being important anymore. I've set her right immediately, of course."
"You ought to tell Daphne."
"She'll be no help. As soon as her mother hears about her latest affiliation with the Lovegood-girl she'll be disinherited, and Astoria won't listen to her."
Hermione was listening to the rather perplexing exchange, bewildered. "I don't understand what's happening," she blurted out.
"In Slytherin where you can sit depends on your rank, birth and age," Draco explained. "Trying to take someone else's place is daring and usually not well received."
"I am so glad that I am not a Slytherin," Hermione said. "That's ridiculous!"
"Ah, yes, I'm sure that in the Gryffindor common room you can sit wherever you want, and you all braid each other's hair and sing songs all the time. Too bad you're now forced to spend your time with Draco," Pansy said.
"Shut it, Pans," Draco retorted. "I happen to be amazing company."
The two girls shared a meaningful look, and then burst out in giggles, ignoring an affronted looking Draco.
When they finally reached their dorm again, Draco immediately picked up Hermione and proceeded to throw her on the bed.
"At last," he said. "Next time we go to the movies, let's buy out the entire theatre so we have it just for ourselves. I've never detested other people more."
He smothered Hermione's laughter with a passionate kiss, one she could feel in her toes, and she quickly forgot all about everything else. He kissed his way down her body, divesting her of her clothes along the way, until he reached the place she so desperately wanted him to touch.
He licked up her slit and sucked on her clit, inserting first one then two fingers inside her, and she could feel her orgasm building and building, until she was mumbling incoherently.
"Yes, yes, please, don't stop, oh don't stop!"
He stopped.
"Wh... What are you doing?" she managed to articulate, breathing heavily.
"Tell me I'm amazing company," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Unless, of course, you don't think so?"
"Are you serious?" she exclaimed. He didn't move. There was a part of her that didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but then the other, far bigger part of her really wanted him to get on with it. "Yes, Draco, you're amazing company, when you choose to occupy your mouth with something other than talking, at least."
This suffised, apparently, and soon she was coming loudly, her fingers buried in his hair and her thighs clamping around his head.
"No more hair-pulling," he told her when her body slumped back against the mattress. "It hurts."
"Sorry," she said, a pleased smile on her face. "I'll make it up to you."
And so she did.
That night, laying in bed next to Draco, Hermione had quite a lot of things to think about. The succes of the excursion in the Muggle-world (because yes, she considered the day a succes, up until her unfortunate slip-up), her growing affection for the prat she called her husband, the fact that Pansy Parkinson turned out to be rather likable, and how on earth was she going to face her friends the next day?
She had no choice but to conclude that it was rather nice to worry about things without having to fear for your life. Sure, her situation could by no means be described as normal, but the difference was still remarkable. Good riddance to you, Voldemort.
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