The ticking of the clock was loud in the silence of the room, Hermione glanced at it, sighing heavily. He was late. Outside, the sun was shining. The leaves of the tree that stood sentinel at the end of her driveway were painted gold, fluttering excitedly in the summer breeze. The whimsical smile that had blossomed on her face froze as she remembered, and she was tugged out of the beautiful moment and into the darkness of the past.
Cedric Diggory was dead. He was dead and she was glad it wasn't Harry. Guilt ate at her when she thought such things, but she couldn't help it. The fear she'd felt when she'd thought she'd lost him to the maze was almost too much to bear. Harry himself had been distant, brokenly speaking about what had happened always intercut with the mantra that Voldemort was back. She'd wanted to ask so many questions, her throat had burned with them as they piled up and nearly burst out of her, but she'd stopped herself, seeing the dark look that filled his eyes, all the ghost that haunted his gaze. To her shame, preserving Harry's sanity was not the only reason she kept her silence, the other reason was selfish, taller, and blonde.
She'd wanted to ask Malfoy about his father's involvement, to demand the truth. But when he'd pulled her to one side on the train home, he'd looked so unsure of himself. If she was honest, she'd expected some anger; in the weeks that followed Cedric's death, Hermione had remained close to Harry's side, fending off malicious accusations and obviously the Skeeter woman, who she hoped had learned her lesson from her stint in the bug jar. But Draco hadn't been angry, hadn't been cruel. He'd simply pressed a small rolled-up scroll into her palm - his handshaking with the nerves - and hesitantly told her to keep in touch over the holidays. Draco had babbled on about it being a new spell he'd worked on using his ancestor's wand, all the while scratching the back of his neck, his cheeks flaming. Hermione was sure she'd been seeing things because no more than a few seconds later he'd found his composure, making dry comments about it all being too much for her to comprehend when she'd blinked up at him dumbly.
'Fraternising with the enemy.' Ron's words made her stomach knot. It was true that she was a little suspicious when she'd first received the scroll. Perhaps it was some nefarious plot to get to Harry. But all such thoughts were overshadowed by the thrill she'd felt when he'd first reached out to her. She hadn't actually expected him to use the Protean Charm, but there she sat, perched on the windowsill, waiting for his arrival. They'd passed ideas back and forth over the weeks that followed, talking about anything and everything. She couldn't say for sure when it happened, but eventually, she found herself living for the tell-tale burn in her pocket, anxiously awaiting his replies and grinning like a fool when they finally arrived.
Hermione heard the tell-tale whoosh of Floo powder and turned, wringing her hands nervously as Draco stumbled out of the fireplace. His hair was a blonde mess and his expensive jacket was covered with soot.
"You're late," she said with a smirk, biting back laughter as he noticed the state of his jacket and, with a high-pitched squeak, began to try to clean it. Expletives followed when he had little success.
Draco looked up at her and scowled, a black streak across his cheek. "Do you know how hard it is to get fireplaces hooked up to the Floo network? Lucky for us my family has clout," He stated, concentrating on trying to remove the dirt off his jacket so he didn't have to think about how good Hermione looked in shorts. "Do you ever clean that?" He pointed at Hermione's fireplace accusingly. Hermione shrugged, hoping she came across as nonchalant even with butterflies pummeling the inside of her stomach. He'd only been there a few seconds and already she was feeling better, happier.
"We don't usually expect guests to come through the fireplace," Draco huffed, pulling off his jacket, and assessing the damage.
"No other way for guests to enter if you ask me. Do you realise how expensive this is? Do you?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"Expensive, very expensive. Well beyond your means expensive." Hermione rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to hand her the jacket.
"I'll put it in the washing machine, it will be fine," She said slowly as if talking to an infant.
"The what?" Draco pulled it closer to his chest, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.
"The wash...oh look never mind, just give it here and I'll get it clean for you. I promise." Slowly, Draco handed over the item of clothing and Hermione strode into the kitchen, a worried blonde close on her tail. Quickly she threw it into the machine, closing the door, and twiddling the knobs to the same settings she used for her robes. She tipped some powder into the tray and shut it, stepping back with a sigh and turning to the Slytherin, who looked horrified.
"What...what have you done? What is that thing?" He said pointing at the metal object that was growling and rattling away happily.
"That is a washing machine, seriously, have you never seen one be…" Hermione paused as she realised who she was talking to. This was Draco Malfoy, muggle hater extraordinaire, of course, he'd never seen one. Hermione groaned as she realised the day was going to be slightly more stressful than she'd thought.
"Of course, you wouldn't -" Hermione let her head fall into her hands, taking a deep breath before looking up. "Okay, we need a plan." Draco glanced up from the swirling vortex his jacket was sloshing around in, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"A plan? We're going to a library Granger, not cracking into Gringotts."
"A muggle library, it may as well be Gringotts, trust me," Hermione pointed out, retrieving a pad and pen from the counter and holding it poised.
"Is that some sort of featherless quill, I haven't heard of?" Draco asked, taking a tentative step closer.
"No this is a pen, like a quill but without the inkpot," Hermione stated, scribbling down an idea quickly, before tapping the end of it against her chin. She sighed in exasperation when Draco reached and took the pen off her.
"So where is the ink?" He asked, closing one eye and looking down the end of the nib.
"Inside it." She snatched it back off him and jotted down another idea.
"Inside," Draco mumbled to himself, wandering away from Hermione to inspect the rest of the room. His eyes caught sight of what looked like a black jug tethered to the wall by a thick black cable. He approached it slowly, noticing that a small lever protruded from the base of the handle. Hesitantly he reached out and pressed it, jumping back when the lever fell, and the whole base of the black jug glowed blue.
"I didn't do anything." He started quickly, holding up his hands. The jug began to hiss, and growl. "I swear, I didn't do anything." He stated again, turning to Hermione, only to find that she was shaking with laughter.
"I don't see what's so amusing, Granger."
"I know," Hermione gasped, struggling for breath, "That's what's so funny." Draco shifted uncomfortably, in spite of it being directed at him, Hermione's laughter was still the best thing he had ever heard.
"Have you worked out a plan yet?" He snapped.
Hermione sobered, lifting the pad off the kitchen table and clearing her throat. "Okay, first things first, the suit needs to go." She pointed at Draco's attire of white shirt, black trousers, and black tie. Draco smirked.
"Call me old-fashioned, but I have to be taken on at least one date before I'm getting my kit off."
"You - you know that's not what I mean, Malfoy. Honestly, why on earth you wore a suit is beyond me," Hermione looked buried her head in her list, hoping it would hide her blush.
"I'm a Malfoy, we always look our best," Draco shrugged, fiddling with his tie. Hermione peeked up at him, she had to admit he did look good in it.
"Someone your age though?"
"Yep."
"Wearing that?"
"What else would I wear?"
"During the holidays?"
"I'm aware of the time of year, Granger."
"You'll stick out like a sore thumb," Hermione shook her head, "It's no good, we'll have to find you some other clothes. Maybe a charity shop?"
"I hope you're not suggesting what I think you are."
"What's that?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
"That I wear muggle clothes?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting."
"Nope."
"But…"
"No."
"You haven't even..."
"No."
"They're exactly…"
"By all the magical and mystical ways of Merlin, Granger, no!'
'Fine!' Hermione sighed, exasperated. "You can at least get rid of the tie."
"It completes the outfit."
"We're going to a library. A library."
"Yes, we are, and the suit is staying."
Hermione huffed, resigning herself to letting him keep the suit, even if it did bring them unwelcome attention. Hers was a small town, and Draco's striking features and tailored suit would be like beacon. Hermione noticed, with relief, that he was at least removing his tie, stuffing it unceremoniously into his pocket all the while muttering under his breath.
"Right, next on the list; you can't overreact if anything weird happens." Draco's eyebrows rose as she said this.
"What sort of weird things should I be expecting, Granger?" His smile dropped quickly when he saw Hermione pointing smugly to the black jug tied to the wall. Steam was rising softly from the strange contraption and the blue light had gone out.
"Fine." He sighed, begrudgingly, digging his hands into his pockets. Hermione nodded before turning back to her list. With a flourish, she tore the page from the pad and handed it to Draco.
"What's this?" He said, taking it gingerly.
"Prohibited words." Draco's eyes bugged out of his head.
"You cannot be serious; I'm not allowed to speak? What kind of library is this?"
"A normal one, just don't say the words on that list." Hermione tapped the paper with her finger.
"Merlin? Why in Merlin's name, can't I say Merlin?"
"Because Merlin isn't that big of a deal…"
"Not that big of a deal? Are you crazy?"
"No, but I think you might be.' Hermione stated, interrupting whatever tirade he'd been about to get lost in. "Look, you're just going to have to accept that muggles do things differently, and if you want to blend in, you're going to have to listen to me." Draco eyed her for a moment, before nodding his head in consent.
"Fine."
"Oh, and don't pay for anything, let me," Hermione called over her shoulder, walking into the lounge to grab her bag. Draco followed close behind.
"What?"
"Well, unfortunately, muggles don't take galleons, so just let me pay for stuff." Hermione wondered why, out of all of the things, this seemed to offend Draco the most.
"Anything else I should know, am I allowed to breathe?" Hermione didn't dignify his question with a response, gathering her things together. Though she knew they wouldn't really need them, she packed several magical books.
"They aren't moving." Hermione looked up and bit back a laugh. He was stood in front of a picture of her parents on their wedding day; her father in a suit, her mother in a white dress, both wearing matching smiles. Draco tapped the glass.
"Oh, they don't." Hermione walked towards him, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. Draco looked at her shocked.
"Never?" Hermione shook her head, and Draco stepped back. "Creepy."
"Yeah, I suppose it is," She mumbled.
"Is that – is that you?" Draco spluttered, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter as he pointed to another frame. It was her. At five Hermione had not quite grown into her teeth or her thick mane of hair.
"Don't laugh," Hermione spat.
"I can't help it, you're all hair and teeth," Draco spluttered. Hermione whacked him, which only served to make him laugh more.
"I was in my first year of school," Hermione said defensively, hitting him again. Holding up his hands, the blonde struggled for breath.
"Okay, okay, I get it, Granger, no laughing at the weird un-moving pictures of you."
Hermione frowned at him, but turned away, casting one quick glance around the lounge, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The last thing she wanted was to have to come back and risk Malfoy running into her parents.
"Right, I suppose we should go," Hermione mumbled, pausing when she noticed a car pulling onto the drive.
"What in Merlin's name is that?" Draco said astounded, staring at the metal beast with wheels, gaping in horror as two muggles emerged from it.
"It's my parents," Hermione groaned, wishing that magic wasn't forbidden so she could attempt to apparate the both, risk be damned.