Chapter Text
Harry Potter hammered on the door at 8AM and Hermione, pretending to have no idea what was going on, rolled over in bed and shoved at Draco. “Go deal with that,” she ordered. “A pureblood princess needs her beauty sleep.”
“Blaise can get it,” he groaned and pulled a pillow over his head as the hammering continued.
“He’s at Gin’s,” Hermione said. “And whoever it is isn’t going away.”
“Fine,” Draco said at last and he grouched his way out of bed, pulled on a pair of trousers, and stomped to the door.
Hermione propped herself up on one elbow and listened to hear what happened.
“Potter?” Draco’s voice had all sleepiness stripped out of it. She could hear him put his mask on and hear the arrogance and conceit of his defensiveness settled into the timbre of his voice. “What do you want?”
“Merlin, did you just get out of bed?” Harry didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Fortunately the game doesn’t start for an hour so we have time to stop and pick up some coffee and donuts.”
“Game?” Draco asked. “What game? You are you going on about, Potter?”
“The Quidditch game,” Harry said. “Get dressed, grab your broom, and let’s go.”
Hermione put a hand over her mouth to try to hold in her laughter as Draco said, “What?” She tiptoed to the door and peeked out. Harry was leaning up against the wall, glasses askew as usual and his hair looking as if he hadn’t even bothered to try to brush it. He had a takeaway cup of what she guessed was hot chocolate in one hand. Draco, in nothing but trousers, was staring at him.
“Pick-up Quidditch. You’re on my team which is, I admit, a bit rough for you since Ginny Weasley and George are planning on playing on the other side today so we’ll probably get our arses handed to us but winners have to buy the drinks at lunch so it all works out.”
“Potter,” Draco said, “No one will play Quidditch with me. Death Eater. Remember?”
“Most pathetic Death Eater ever, maybe,” Potter said. “If there was a Hall of Fame of evil, Malfoy, you wouldn’t be getting voted in, trust me. You’re the water boy of the Death Eater world. You’re the kid whose dad signed him up for youth sports because he wanted to coach, not because the kid was any good at it.”
“I weirdly feel like I should be offended by that,” Draco said.
“But Quidditch,” Harry continued, “Quidditch you’re good at. I should know.”
“Get your broom,” Hermione said from the doorway where she stood. Draco spun and looked at her. “Go on,” she said. “No one will tell you no, Draco.”
“It’s always no,” he said.
“Is he always this slow?” Harry demanded, looking across the room at Hermione. “And put some clothes on. What is this? The Malfoy-Granger peep show? One of you with no shirt. One of you in just a shirt – “
“And knickers,” Hermione said. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“ – It’s like the world hates me.”
“Potter,” Draco said, “No one will play with me. Just… it’s nice of you, if peculiar as hell, to invite me but if I come then we won’t have a game.”
“Then it’ll be you and me vs. the Weasleys,” Harry said with a shrug, “and they’ll probably still beat us but at least the lunch bill will be lower.” Draco didn’t move and Harry added, his voice so kind as to be almost unbearable, “Don’t you get it, Malfoy? Anyone who won’t play with you isn’t welcome.”
“Get you broom, you idiot,” Hermione said. “I’ll see you after lunch at my place and you can bore me senseless with Quidditch talk.” She added, “Blaise and I have a coffee date.”
“A coffee non-date,” Blaise corrected, pushing past Harry to enter the flat. “Ginny kicked me out thirty minutes ago; aren’t you lot supposed to be off?”
“You’re not playing?” Draco asked.
“This early?” Blaise gave an elaborate shudder. “No, thank you. Hermione, why aren’t you wearing clothes? We can’t go out for coffee with you looking like that.”
. . . . . . . . . .
The coffee that was not a date mostly involved Hermione making sympathetic noises as Blaise asked why she’d been so cruel as to introduce him to Ginny in the first place, that it wasn’t fair to meet the perfect woman and have her only interested in sex.
Not, as Blaise hastened to assure her, that the sex was bad. Far from it.
“You know,” Hermione said, “aren’t there some things you probably aren’t supposed to share? Pureblood rules and all?”
“I’m not suppose to have anything to share,” he said. “But she’s glorious.”
“Funny,” Hermione said, “she’s said much the same thing about you.”
Blaise leaned forward across the table, clearly hoping she’d elaborate but Hermione just laughed. “You could try asking the woman if she’d be interested in more than your –“
“Stop,” Blaise said, holding up a hand. “I cannot endure Theo’s sister saying certain words to me. Even if you and Draco have a dozen curly-haired blond brats running around I’m going to pretend you are somehow conceiving them via immaculate conception.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very strange?” Hermione asked.
. . . . . . . . . .
Ginny stretched her legs out in front of her and dipped her spoon into the ice cream carton again. “It’s not that,” she sighed. “I didn’t expect to actually like him, you know? I mean, I expected to enjoy a good shag because Merlin knows the man’s been around, and… but he’s just adorable. That hilarious fussy concern about proprieties ten minutes after he’s had his mouth on my – “
“Some details you don’t need to share,” Hermione pointed out.
Ginny laughed. “Fine. And the coffee thing? I gave him a bunch of wild mustard plants my mother had ripped out of her garden because the things are bloody invasive this year and he acted like I’d laid the wealth of the world at his feet. It’s just the most… but you know how he is about purebloods.” She dug her spoon back into the container and shoved it in her mouth before saying, her words partially muffled, “He’s got that good girl/bad girl thing going on in his head and you know which one I am.”
Hermione sighed and yanked the ice cream away from Ginny. “Would you go over there right now and tell this to him? Because I had to listen to him complain over coffee you only wanted him for cock and now you’re whinging that you want more than cock and, for the love of Merlin, if you two would just talk to each other about something other than cock, maybe you wouldn’t need to eat an entire pint of this without sharing any.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“We’re doing what?”
Hermione squinted at Draco in something akin to disbelief. She wasn’t sure what had happened at that Quidditch game but the man had come over to her flat nearly bouncing with happiness. He’d picked up the ice cream container Ginny had left on the counter and thrown it away without paying much attention to what he was doing because he was so busy prattling on about some move he’d made, something he’d never managed to pull off in school, but he’d done it and passed some ball or other to Harry – not, she noted, Potter – and the man had feinted and at that point Hermione had stopped paying attention and had just pulled her feet up on the couch and watched him talk. Had watched him be happy.
It was good to see.
She foresaw a lot of making encouraging ‘mmm” noises in the future while he talked about this ridiculous game and she thought about other things. Still, not paying attention sometimes didn’t work out for a person, especially when that person’s fiancé said what she could have sworn sounded like, “We’re going out to dinner with Harry and Pansy, I assume that’s okay.”
“Pansy?” she asked. “Harry and Pansy?”
“She was at the game,” Draco said, either ignoring or oblivious to her tone. “They’re still together and she suggested we join them and I thought you’d like – “
“We’re going on a double date with Harry and Pansy?”
Draco stopped talking and blinked at her a few times. “Was I not supposed to do that?” he asked.
Hermione sighed and rubbed her face with one hand. “No, it’s fine. Where?”
“Some new place called Pensamiento. Spanish food, I think. She was very smug about being able to get a reservation so I assume it’s trendy and hip.”
Hermione began mentally flipping through things she could wear that counted as trendy while still covering knees and shoulders. “Tonight,” she muttered. “We’re doing this tonight. In a few hours.”
“Were we doing something else?” Draco asked.
She sighed at how stupid men were. “I’m going to go wash my hair and try to figure out what to wear. Just… read or something.”
Draco looked confused as she stalked out of the room muttering about trendy restaurants and pureblood rules and the impossibility of combining the two.
. . . . . . . . . .
She settled on a pair of silver capri pants, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket to keep the chill of the early evening away. Draco eyed her and said, “Shiny.”
“Metallics are in,” she said.
“If you say so,” he muttered, holding the door for her.
Pansy’s reaction was much more gratifying. She ran her eyes over Hermione and said, “Vogue. 3 month ago. Nice. At least I won’t be ashamed to be seen with you.”
“It’s shiny,” Draco said again.
“I assume you keep him around for reasons other than his astute observations,” Pansy said to Hermione before yanking a camera off the neck of a man hiding the in shrubbery outside the restaurant. “I think we’ve had this discussion,” she said to the man as she opened the camera, incinerated the film, and then threw the entire mess to the concrete where it broke into several pieces.
The photographer made a squawking noise and said, outraged, “That’s destruction of my property!”
“And stalking’s a crime,” Pansy said, “And I have a better lawyer than you do. Now go off and harass someone stupid enough to put up with you.” She looked at Harry who had a bemused expression on his face and said, “Well, are you going to get the door for me or not, Potter?”
“Of course,” Harry said, and opened the black door that was set flush with the black painted front of the windowless restaurant.
“This place looks like it’s out of a Halloween story,” Draco muttered to Hermione as he eyed the blood-red lettering spelling out the name of the restaurant with no other clue as to what might be inside. “Are we sure they aren’t luring people in here to drain their blood for a coven of vampires or something? Are we sure this is a restaurant?”
“Merlin, you’re so conservative,” Pansy said before she flounced over to the maitre-de and gave him her name. She turned back around and said, “Live a little, Malfoy.”
The inside of the restaurant was as black as the outside, with black walls that had been covered in black and white photographs of Spain and dim lighting that would have made reading the menu nearly impossible if Pansy hadn’t waved a waiter over with an imperious gesture, fired off a series of what sounded like complicated orders in Spanish, and then leaned back in her padded seat and smirked at the befuddled Draco. “Honestly, Hermione, is he always this staid?” she asked. “There is life outside ice cream parlors and sedate French institutions, you know.”
“Give him a break,” Harry said, watching the man approaching them with a bottle of red wine with the air of a man who’s been marooned on an island and just spotted a rescue boat. “He’s not used to you.”
“He should be,” Pansy said. “He’s known me since he was still peeing his pants at parties.”
“My gratitude that I didn’t meet you until I was housebroken has just increased,” Harry said as the waiter poured a sample of wine into Harry’s glass. He passed it over to Pansy who sipped it, nodded, and then, as the waiter stood there still waiting for Harry’s verdict, said, “You can pour for the rest of them. Potter wouldn’t know a good Spanish red from Tesco boxed wine and Draco’s still reeling from the idea that his girlfriend has better fashion sense than his mother.”
“Fiancé,” Hermione said.
“Did you make it official?” Pansy asked. “I mean, it was just a matter of time but I would have expected you to make the bastard suffer longer. You’re a disgrace to your vagina.”
Harry made a choking sound and put his wine glass down and blinked a few times.
Pansy continued as if he hadn’t made a sound, “Will you get a photo of Narcissa’s face when you tell her? I wonder if the news her baby boy is marrying a princess will make her come on the spot. She was afraid he was gay for a while with the way he was always going on about you in school, you know.” She took a sip of the wine and glared at the waiter. “Are you still here?”
The man scurried away.
“She thought I was gay?” Draco asked, flabbergasted.
“Well, that’s what she told my mother though the way these old biddies gossip who knows if it’s what she really thought. You did kind of drone on about Potter when you were a kid.” Pansy eyed Hermione. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for a foursome? I’ve always wondered if girls eat pussy better. And Malfoy really did seem to have a thing for – “
“Are you drunk?” Hermione asked, cutting the other woman off.
“Not yet,” Pansy said cheerfully. “Give me time and I will be.” She raised her glass. “This is a fabulous vintage but, like all good things, should be consumed with vigorous enjoyment, not with prissy little sips.” She took a generous swallow and then added, “which means I will be quite pissed shortly.”
Draco eyed Harry and mouthed, “Are you sure?’ while tipping his head toward Pansy. The bespectacled man gave Pansy a look that was very nearly doting and Draco groaned. “Better you than me,” he muttered as the waiter, eyeing Pansy nervously, slipped a platter of toasted bread slices with a dish of anchovies and a dish of chopped tomatoes onto the table.
“You’re the one who took up with Hermione,” Harry said, reaching for a starter. “Ask her about house elves some time.”
Hermione picked up one of the slices of bread and mimed throwing it at Harry while Draco swallowed a laugh.
“You’re going to throw food?” Pansy asked as Harry spooned toppings onto the bread he’d picked up and handed it to her. “Is this some Muggle no-manners thing?” She took a bite and made a purring sound. “This is so good. Almost better than sex.”
“I’m glad it’s only almost better,” Draco said as he took a bite of his. “Because if you were losing out to a starter, Potter, well, I think I’m just going to be grateful I wasn’t really in love with you in school.”
“My heart is broken,” Harry said. “Still, I will endeavor to move on.”
“I thought good pureblood girls weren’t supposed to have premarital sex,” Hermione said.
Pansy gaped at her then kicked Draco under the table. “What have you been telling this poor girl?” she demanded. “Oh Merlin, Hermione. Good pureblood girls do anything we want. We have the power and the money and everyone else can go hang. We just don’t get caught. Do you not know how to do a contraceptive charm?”
“I do,” Hermione said, sipping her wine. “I’ve just been subject to a little much Blaise hysteria – “
“Oh Blaise,” Pansy said, as if that explained everything. “Well, he has issues.”
“And Theo…”
“Well, he’s your brother. You can’t expect him to be encouraging you to jump into Malfoy’s bed. That would be creepy.” She held her hand out expectantly and Harry passed over another little toast with tomatoes and anchovies.
“How come you aren’t making my little toast things for me?” Hermione asked Draco who sighed and began spooning toppings onto a slice of bread for her.
“I was under the impression that any man I so much as touched in public could march over to Theo’s and demand a betrothal contract,” Hermione said.
Pansy shrugged. “They can ask but what do you care? ‘Oh noes,’” she said, her voice a ridiculous whine, “’I’ve hurt widdle Graham Montague’s fweelings. Whatever shall I do, poor baby thinks I led him on.’” She snorted. “Some of those patriarchal idiots could use a good kick in the assumptions.”
Draco sighed. “Pansy,” he said as he handed a starter to Hermione, “Theo might not appreciate having to fight duels defending her honor. We’ve had a hard enough time getting her to even try to play by the rules. Could you not - ”
“Oh, don’t be absurd,” Pansy said. “No one’s pathetic enough to actually insist on a duel anymore. And if they did Theo’s capable of handling himself. Remember when he – “
“Enough,” Draco said in a choked voice. “This is all a moot point because if Graham Montague hits on her I will personally punch him in his miserable face.”
“So violent,” Pansy said. “Your Muggle-raised hellion is rubbing off on you.” She smirked at him. “I like it.”
“What did Theo do that Draco doesn’t want you to tell me?” Hermione asked, taking a sip from her wine.
Pansy grinned at her as she leaned forward onto her elbows. Harry looked interested and Draco horrified. “How much is it worth to you for me to keep my mouth shut?” Pansy asked Draco. “Because I still have the photographs.”
Just then the waiter brought over a large platter and plates and the table was momentarily distracted by the need to shift glasses around to make room for the new additions and to spoon food onto their plates. After the waiter left Draco hissed, “I know about Marcus and if you don’t keep your mouth shut neither will I.”
Pansy smiled beatifically. “Theo never did anything,” she said. “I’m just yanking Draco’s chain.” She took a bite. “Hermione,” she said. “We should go shopping sometime. Just us girls.”
“Pansy,” Draco said in a warning tone.
“What?” she said. “I’m changing the subject. Honestly, there’s no pleasing some people.” She tossed her hair. “Thank goodness I can keep Potter here happy with just – “
“Pansy!” Harry said in a strangled tone.
“How was Quidditch?” Hermione asked in a desperate need to keep from knowing anything about Harry and Pansy’s sex life. Draco grabbed onto the lifeline with enthusiasm, as did Harry, and the two of them talked nonstop about obscure Quidditch rules until dessert.
.