Project 137.43.M.D.

IX. | CONTRA FACTA NON VALENT ARGUMENTE

IX.
CONTRA FACTA NON VALENT ARGUMENTE
(arguments are not valid against facts)

Malfoy was incredibly exhausting.

After all the mistakes Hermione had made when she had picked him up from the hospital the week before, she had actually resolved to be all the more friendly, patient and helpful on their first outing together, which was now proving to be an almost impossible task. Although she remembered from their time at Hogwarts that Malfoy was an arrogant, self-righteous and overly provocative prick, she couldn't have imagined a shopping trip with him being any more nerve-wracking. Not only did he glare at her the whole time, but he had also been unreasonably petulant ever since she had set foot in his flat. And with that, he managed to irritate her to the breaking point.

After he had changed clothes, they had set off straight away. For a few minutes, he hadn't so much as glanced at her, then he had started complaining about literally everything.

For his liking, Hermione had first been too fast ("Is this a competition, Granger?"), then she had been too slow ("At your pace, we'll never get there!"), she had chosen the wrong means of transportation ("The Muggle train? Seriously, Granger?"), the sun had been too bright ("Merlin, it's only May!"), he had been too cold ("Because you made me change. Fuck!"), the walk had been too long ("Why the hell do I live on the goddamn outskirts?"), there had been too many people on the streets ("We could have just Apparated, you know?")... and so on and so forth.

When they had finally reached Diagon Alley, Malfoy had insisted on visiting his Gringotts vault first. However, he had left the wizarding bank even more grumpy than he had entered it. Hermione, who had been waiting for him outside the huge double doors, had had a hard time keeping a straight face when he had venomously informed her that he certainly wasn't going to lower the standards he was used tojust because a bunch of bloody healer bastards thought he was incapable of managing his own bleeding gold.

"And if I can't afford what I need, you'll help me out, Granger," he had hissed threateningly before marching off. Of course, she had hurried after him (she could hardly let him out of her sight during his very first public appearance, could she?), although she would rather have Disapparated on the spot and ordered three glasses of Firewhisky in the next best pub.

Long story short: Malfoy did everything he could to make her life difficult.

Meanwhile, she was sitting on a stool in a boutique for magical fashion, her chin resting on her right fist. It was the sort of shop without price tags on the displayed garments, and she fervently hoped that the Ministry had deposited enough gold in Malfoy's vault so that she wouldn't actually have to draw her own purse at the end of the day.

She used the brief moment of pleasant silence to dwell on her thoughts.

How could she ever have hoped that this project would be a peaceful affair? It was probably due to Malfoy's reserved and comparatively meek behaviour during their second meeting on the morning of his discharge from hospital. But now, just a few days later, it seemed as if he had done a 180 in the time he had been alone in his new flat. Only his physical constitution seemed to have improved a little, because at least he hadn't spent the whole way to Diagon Alley struggling for air.

The loud rustling of a curtain snapped Hermione out of her musings. When she looked up, her eyes fell on Malfoy, who was strutting out of the changing room and stopping in front of a full-length mirror. She scrutinised the clothes he was now wearing and came to the slightly reluctant conclusion that he had good taste. He had opted for a pair of black denims, which finally fitted him properly, and a dark grey shirt with a concealed button placket, the sleeves of which he was just beginning to roll up. She noticed how critically he regarded his own reflection in the mirror. Merlin, he was so vain.