Draco spends far too long planning something that essentially is nothing but a publicity stunt, though he would never admit it. No less than four plans fall through, due to 'unpredictable circumstances' and 'unfortunate mishaps regarding the reservation' Draco scoffs; he knows how to read in between lines. He still hasn't learned to predict the duality with which he is treated, never really sure who the person in front of him expected. The Malfoy heir or a disgraced Death Eater? He isn't sure who is supposed to be anymore.
It takes more generous favours than he'd initially expected, but Draco manages to find a suitable place...eventually. He reckons people wouldn't have been so quick to turn him away if they had any inkling of who was going to be accompanying him.
He isn't nervous. Draco paces in front of the fireplace, checking his pocket watch more out of habit than anything else.
It's not because he's nervous, really.
Though perhaps he took a bit longer than he needed to while getting ready, but damn it all, Draco isn't going fuck this up.
Whatever this is.
After all, it isn't every day that a bloke gets to take Hermione Granger out on a date.
Breathe in.
He isn't going to blow this. No, today all unpleasant thoughts are tied up neatly and stowed away in their places. He has a job to do and a part to play and he is determined to do it well.
It might be the only chance he ever gets.
Hermione Granger is not his to covet.
So, Draco adjusts the lapel of his charcoal suit one last time before walking through the Floo to 'Granger's Residence.'
Breathe out.
The flat is somehow exactly what he pictured and nothing like his expectations at all. It isn't awash in crimson trimmings with gold accents but there is something indisputably Gryffindor about it all. It's something in the pastel decor against the bright while walls; something in the way there is a maroon knitted blanket draped haphazardly across the couch with mismatched pillows. It's a sort of warmth that radiates through the place, enveloping him in welcome.
It's nothing at all like the Manor but Draco finds that it feels like a home anyway.
"I'll be right there!" Granger's voice calls out from somewhere down the hallway.
"All right!" he calls back, vaguely in her direction before taking a few steps forward, eyes roaming the well-kept place. He turns around slowly, taking in the clean lines of the flat as he waits.
The cluttered mantel catches his attention with its large array of mismatched knick-knacks. Draco smiles as he takes in the reckless positioning of her Order of Merlin, First Class. Make the girl a prefect and she thinks she runs the world, but obviously any proper accolade holds no worth. He's never once seen her prefect badge not perfectly polished and yet it seems like she couldn't care less about the Order of Merlin.
His gaze slides over to a little snitch settled right beside it and he wonders who it belongs to. It's certainly not hers—anyone could attest to that. After all, a fan of Quidditch Hermione Granger is not. Perhaps it is a little keepsake given as a gift; offered by either Weasley or Potter.
Draco isn't quite sure who he'd prefer it be.
An empty crystal vase and surprisingly, a pile of tarot cards. His eyes narrow in skepticism because he is sure she isn't the Divination type. Hadn't there been rumours of her storming out of Trelawney's class? Or maybe it had been just that-a rumour.
YOU ARE READING
And She Was Golden
Fanfiction[Dramione Fic] Their eyes meet just for a fraction of a moment, and that's all it takes. All his boxes and walls come crashing down. He's always been weak in the face of her reality- no matter how furiously he would deny it. Breathe in. Draco Malfoy...
