Bring Him To His Kness

4.

Hermione tugged Pansy to a stop under a streetlight, gesturing Harry to go on without them. He glanced back once, then shrugged and disappeared around the corner. "Are you sure I look all right?" Hermione said. "Should I have done something—" She gestured at her face. "More?"

"Granger, you look fine. More than fine." She reached out and took a piece of Hermione's hair, pulling it over her shoulder to dangle by her cheek. "Your hair's down. That's all he's going to care about."

"He did say he liked it like this," Hermione said. Not exactly that, she thought. He'd said he wanted to put his hands in it. The way he'd said it had been to give a little more detail to their imaginary first flirtation, true. But—

The way he'd looked at her when he said it was what she couldn't get out of her mind. His eyes had been dark and distant at the same time, almost—

She'd say almost wistful if she didn't know better.

She took a deep breath and ran her hands down her arms under her cloak, smoothing the sleeves of her velvet dress. Pansy had attempted to convince her to wear one of the dresses they'd bought at the boutique, but she had refused. She was not prepared to debut any of those purchases on a double date with Harry. He'd never be able to look her in the eye again.

She'd fought Pansy on the spiked shoes, too, sticking with low, plain heels. She'd surrendered on the violet perfume, though she hadn't been able to find something else she thought Draco might like and had gone without.

She touched her chest under the cloak. The dress was more low-cut than she usually wore and it exposed the top two inches of the purple curse scar across her torso. It wasn't the one scar she insisted on keeping covered, the one on her arm and the reason for her long sleeves, but she was still a little nervous about leaving it on view.

Pansy spotted her movements and snorted, reaching into the cloak to pull her arm down. "He won't pay the slightest bit of attention to that," Pansy said. "Do you spend all your time looking at him and saying 'ew, look at those scars' or do you stare at him and think 'dammit, why am I not banging that man right now'?

"Pansy!"

"The latter, then." Pansy grinned at her. "And regardless, if he did actually notice, he's far too much of a gentleman to say anything. I let you have long sleeves and a swingy skirt, so you have to give me the sweetheart neckline. Or I'll pout. Do you want me pouting?"

"That depends. If you're pouting, will you stop making those puff pastries for weekend brunch?"

"Absolutely. There will never be a pastry in the house again."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, all right. I'm convinced. Can't live without your pastries."

Pansy drew another bit of Hermione's hair over her shoulder. "He'll love it, Granger. Relax. We're here to have a good time."

"If you're sure I'm—"

"Granger," Pansy said with a huff. "Stop fussing." She stepped behind Hermione, put both hands on her shoulders, and pushed her around the corner of the building.

The doors of the restaurant stood open, a bright golden light spilling out onto the pavement and outlining the two men waiting. Hermione barely noticed Harry. All her attention was on Draco. He had one foot propped on a decorative white stone, both hands tucked into the pockets of a black top coat, collar turned up around his jaw, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and—