#rebelsaurus29

Just before two on Friday afternoon Theo turned up at the Manor. “If you don’t go then I will,” he threatened, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, “And I’ll lay claim to your genius and then you’ll be sorry.”

Draco sniffed pointedly and adjusted his cuffs, but allowed himself to be dragged to the fireplace.

Eyes tracked his distinctive hair as they made their way down Diagon Alley towards the coffee shop that Editrix had suggested, but it wasn’t as bad as a few years ago. There were no hissed insults; no sneers; and if parents held their children’s hands a little tighter as the two men passed, they didn’t cross to the other side of the street.

Draco was loth to admit it, but he was burning with curiosity about Ali’s star editor. He had appreciated her bluntness, and the incisive, witty comments that she had scrawled all over his manuscript. It had been a long time since a stranger had been frank and open with him, and her willingness to engage with the subject matter and give him honest feedback had surprised him. 

He’d caught himself wondering what she looked like, and had made the mistake of confessing as much to Theo. When she’d suggested a meeting in person his tawny-headed friend had threatened to hex him if he refused.

Outside the bright, modern coffee shop (one of a number of new additions to Diagon Alley over the last few years that had brought it screeching into the 21st century) Draco stopped, abruptly terrified.

“She’ll recognise me, and then that’ll be it,” he hissed at Theo, who rolled his eyes.

“She probably will recognise you, yes. You’re Draco Malfoy.” He shrugged,  “Bu-ut she’s read your book. She knows you’re not the shit everyone thinks you are.”

Draco glowered at him, “I am a shit though.”

Theo laughed, “Yeah, but not in the way everyone thinks.” He stood on his toes, peering into the shop, “OK, I can see there’s a girl sat there with Hogwarts: A History…”

“What does she look like?”

Theo squinted, then frowned and rocked back on his heels. “She’s err…she’s very pretty.”

“She is?” Draco could hear the hopeful note in his own voice, but at that moment he didn’t care.

“You know,” Theo said, tipping his head to the side, “She kind of reminds me of Hermione Granger.”

“Granger?” Draco’s eyebrows shot up in confusion, “As in Potter, Weasley, Granger?”

“Yeah,” Theo turned to look at him, pursing his lips. “You did have a raging crush on her, didn’t you?”

“So?” Draco said, “Why are we talking about Granger?”

“Uh,” Theo said, “Well if you’re not bothered about Granger anymore then you’re not going to give two hoots about this girl.”

“Why not?” Draco huffed, stepping up to look through the window, just as Theo clapped him on the shoulder.

“Because it is Granger.”

Hermione sipped at her tea, trying to calm her nerves. She rearranged the sugar bowl, the large book, and the neatly tied manuscript sat on the tabletop for the fourth or fifth time, and then performed a subtle tempus charm. 

He was late. The maddeningly dry, wickedly smart biographer of Voldemort was five minutes late.

She sipped at her tea again and realised the cup was empty. Raising her hand she signalled the waiter, just as the door swung open to admit Draco Malfoy.

Hermione cringed, grabbing Hogwarts: A History and attempting to hide behind it. A pale, long-fingered hand appeared over the page in front of her nose, and then Malfoy was pushing the book down to the table. “Well,” he said, “Look who it is.”

Glowering, Hermione wrenched the book away from him. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he affected a look of innocent concern, “Are you waiting for someone?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” she said primly, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

Rather than leaving her alone, Malfoy slid elegantly into the seat opposite, “Well why don’t I keep you company until they arrive? After all, it’s been years.” His pale eyes sparked as he looked at her, “I’m sure we’ve got loads to catch up on.”

“Can I get you something sir?” The waiter who arrived at Draco’s elbow was giving him a wide smile, clearly none-too-bothered by a shady past when presented with razor-sharp cheekbones.

“Thank you, I’ll have a macchiato,” Draco said, ignoring Hermione’s squawk of protest.

“You can’t be here,” she hissed once the waiter had gone. “I’m meeting someone important.”

“Blind date is it?” Draco asked blithely, sipping the coffee that had appeared on the table in front of him.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but he felt a little thrill of triumph when he saw that she’d gone the slightest bit pink. “It’s a business meeting, actually,” she ground out.

“Mixing business with pleasure, are we,” Draco purred, “My my, Miss Granger.”

“Well since I doubt anyone takes pleasure from doing business with you, you’d hardly know, would you?”

He went perfectly still for a moment, and Hermione felt remorse flood through her for the barb. “Malfoy,” she started, “I didn’t mean-”

“Oh but you did,” he said, setting his cup down and rising from the seat. “And you had good reason to mean it.” His eyes dropped to the manuscript under her elbow, then flicked back to hers, “Fear and misery make monsters of men, after all.”

He was halfway back to the Leaky before she caught up with him, her hand in the crook of his elbow. “You wrote it,” she said, a statement of fact, her fingers tightening on his forearm when he made to pull away. She sounded a little out of breath.

Draco grimaced, “Yes, well. Now you see why the desire for anonymity.”