Dramione One Shots

22. Escapism

This is a long one (I posted as 2 chaps on AO3) but didn't feel like splitting it up here. Just a heads up. 

H & D are in their 20s here but the story is set in a modern era.

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It takes a solid five thumps on the back before Theo launches the potent Courvoisier XO from Draco's battered larynx.

"Alright, mate?" Immediately, he shoves another drink into Draco's hand. The highball glass is cold and drippy, bits of crushed ice spilling over its ribbed surface.

"Don't you recognize her?" Draco sips deeply, recovering from shock and probably lung displacement.

"Hermione? She's out once a week. Minimum." Theo grins, gaze following her appreciatively.

Just like there are Clean Sweeps and there are Firebolts, there are dancers and there are dancers. Unfathomably superior in curves, polish and undeniable style, Granger is the blazing Firebolt in a sea of glitzy mediocrity. She dances with her eyes closed and her throat arched long. Zero inhibitions. Lost somewhere in the bass, tempo, and hip-rocking Latin vibrato.

A dark-skinned fellow in navy trousers and cherry red suspenders joins her in the next song, his long legs moving forward when she slides back. Together, forming a cage of limbs that glides in perfect harmony. The entire dancefloor has one eye on them, unable to ignore the storm that rages among the wooden bodies attempting to keep up.

Theo drawls on with a smug air, knowing something Draco doesn't for once. "She's still with Weasley. But instant heart-stopper, hey?"

"Since when does she dance like that?"

"Two words for you, mate: pent-up rage."

Draco snorts. "And you know this because?"

Just then a string of barely eighteens emerge from the dancefloor, clasping hands as they strut towards the toilets like it's a group activity, leaving an opening in the crowd that reveals Granger breaking loose from her dance partner. Recognition flashes over her eyes when she sees them, and then she's beaming. At Theo.

"Took your sweet time getting here!" She strides over to their booth, throwing her arms around Theo, who stands to greet her. "I'm parched. Have you got anything to drink? Oh, Malfoy. Hi."

Draco acknowledges her with a nod, suddenly terribly awkward. He waves his hand over a tray of overpriced refreshments. Theo ordered every cocktail on the menu because he was 'curious'. He has a tendency to order with his appetite and not his brain. Which also explains why they have an ice bucket stuffed with premium bottles of liquor. Just for the two of them.

"Pick your poison," he says, pleased it comes out smoothly and not condescending. Something he's been working on.

"You're sure?" Her hand hovers over a bottle of tequila, like they can't afford whatever it takes to quench all of Granger's five foot three inches.

Containing the urge to reel off a snarky comment, Draco merely nods and twirls his fingers in a get-on-with-it gesture.

Her hair has always been devastatingly... disastrous. But now? It's wild wild wild, and all Draco can look at until he spots her abs.

The instant he catches that first ripple of muscle peeking out between her cropped vest and high-waist trousers, his jaw must have hit the floor. Luckily, her hair, puffed up like a thundercloud, tossed this way and that as she speaks and fans the sweat from her neck, conceals him from her line of vision.