#hpdrabbles

When he had finally left, leaving behind her in the beautiful velvet, thigh-long dress she had been certain would keep his attention fully on her the entire night, she had sighed in relief. Actually sighed in relief. She acknowledged - and accepted - that their tumultuous, on-again off-again relationship was at it’s final breaking point. Eight years of arguments, fights, shagging, family dinners and Ministry parties had all boiled down to her sitting at the kitchen table with a half-drank bottle of wine, in a green dress.

It was shortly after nine when she heard the Floo activate in the parlour, and she wasn’t surprised when she heard Ginny call through the house.

“You better still have on that damn dress, Hermione Granger.” The redhead came into view from around the corner, her smile wide as she found her friend in the aforementioned dress. “Perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, “You and I are going out!”

Ginny had seemed surprised by just how little convincing it took to get Hermione out of the house; less surprised, when Hermione stated she had one condition.

“Muggle pubs only. No wizards, no one we know, and definitely no press.”

Which was easier said than done, apparently, because as Hermione picked up drink number I’ve-lost-count from the bar, she almost dropped the fruity, girly muggle drink when her dark eyes met bemused grey ones.

“Merlin - I must say, I never thought I’d be so inclined as to compliment you for just how much green is your colour, Granger.”

Hermione could feel her heart sink into the pit of her stomach, the heavy beating drowning out the music from the club as she processed Draco Malfoy standing in a muggle pub. He shot her his trademark smirk, lifting a beverage to his lips with eyebrows raised, shoving his freehand into his pocket.

“The fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?” she finally snapped.

Draco seemed genuinely surprised by her response, pulling his hand from his pocket and motioning for her to keep it down. “Language, Granger. Since when do you curse so vulgarly? Weasel finally rub off on you, then?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, tipping her drink back and finishing it in one go, immediately needed more alcohol if she was going to be forced to talk to him. He still carried his amused grin, and when she lowered her glass he took it in his free hand.

“Come on, then, looks like you need another.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what in the world possessed her that caused her to follow him as he led her back towards the bar, but she did. A quick glance to her right saw Ginny coming back in her direction from the loo, and she glared at the redhead who froze at the other side of the bar. With a mischievous grin, Ginny waved back at her friend before turning towards the door.

She was going to be lucky to make it through the week, or so Hermione thought, her eyes narrowing as she continued to push her way through the crowd, the blonde man ahead of her.

When they reached the bar, Draco set both glasses on the counter, ordering two more.

Hermione took the time while the bartender mixed the drinks to properly survey the young man in front of her. She was surprised to see how easily he blended in with everyone around them; he wore fitted blue jeans and a black button down shirt that he had the sleeves pulled up slightly on. As he handed the bartender bills from a leather wallet, however, she caught a glimpse of the Mark on his arm, and she went rigid.

What the fuck was she doing?

He turned back to her, handing her the drink he had paid for, and his face fell slightly. “You see?” he said, “That right there. That is exactly why you have found me, Draco Malfoy, hiding away in a muggle pub.”

The words hit Hermione like a well aimed bombarda; she frowned, confused as he pushed past her, his feet carrying him as fast as they could while still trying to look casual, to a booth not far off the bar that was miraculously unoccupied. Sighing, she followed him, sliding in across from him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about what it must be like for you.”

“Of course you didn’t, why would you?” he snapped. “Life is grand for you, isn’t it? War hero, successful Ministry official, likely on the road to marriage with another bloody hero. Why would you even think about an ex-Death Eater, some fool of a man?”

“My life isn’t all grand, I’ll have you know,” she told him. “I mean, I don’t think - I never thought…” She looked up from her drink, her eyes meeting his, and she reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “You’re not a fool, Malfoy. You were a poor, unfortunate boy whose father forced him into deep waters when he couldn’t swim.”

Draco frowned at her, surprised at her words, looked down to where her hand sat over his own.