The Worst Date Ever

The Outfit

Hermione stood before her closet, clad in a fluffy pink robe with a slightly damp towel wrapped around her freshly-showered head as she evaluated her wardrobe choices. What did one wear on a fake date with a bloke one despised?

Camouflage, perhaps? A nice dagger holster? A poison ring?

"GRAAAAAAN-GERRRR!" A male sing-songy voice penetrated the quiet of her home.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she muttered.

Approximately ten seconds later, a chipper Malfoy wearing an expensive gray suit popped his head into her room. "Are you naked?"

Hermione instinctively pulled the edges of her robe closer together. "Would it matter if I was?"

"Not a bit." He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized her appearance. "O-kaaay. So...that's what you look like when you're off the clock." Draco wrinkled his nose. "It truly baffles me that you are still single."

"Oh, zip it, Malfoy. I just got out of the shower."

He snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Damn, I missed it. I knew I should have left two minutes earlier."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Two minutes ago? You're already twenty goddamned minutes early. It's bloody rude."

He patted her towel-clad head. "Worst date ever, Granger. Don't expect me to act like a gentleman tonight."

"Charming."

"Now. I feel compelled to tell you that you look like Baby Umbridge in that ridiculous outfit—"

"I was in the middle of getting ready, you arsehole!"

"—So, you'll be happy to know that because you are totally incapable of dressing yourself, I brought you something." He held up a garment bag.

She groaned. "Please don't tell me you get to pick my outfit."

"I get to pick your outfit." He thrust the garment bag into her hands. "I'll just wait outside while you put it on." He craned his head slowly towards her. "Unless you need some assistance. Zippers can be awfully tricky."

"Get the fuck out of my room, Malfoy."

He raised his hands in faux surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm going. Keep your knickers on. Or don't if you'd like to make this awful date a lot more interest—"

She slammed the door in his face.

The fucker.

Hermione sheepishly opened the garment bag Draco had brought, hoping against hope that he had not selected anything too dowdy or, in the alternative, too slutty, but realizing such a wish was futile. A tasteful middle ground was not the theme of the evening. This was to be the worst date ever. Which meant that...

Oh, hells.

"Mother fucker," Hermione murmured.

It was the shortest, smallest, shiniest, greenest dress Hermione had ever seen. The material looked to be a cross between cheap velvet and a polyblend satin. Either way, it wasn't cute. Merely holding it up to her body, she could tell that it wouldn't fall even mid-thigh on her. And the neckline was a joke. Was it a "U"? Was it a drunken "V"? It appeared to have no structural integrity whatsoever. She doubted she owned a bra she could wear with it, as the dress was unlikely to cover any of them completely.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Granger. I want to see."

"Go away, Malfoy. I'm still getting dressed. And fuck you, by the way for making me wear this. I have tea towels that would cover more of my body than this."