The Gralfoy Affair (or, The Oblivious Ones) - Dramione

Chapter Eight

No more stalling, no more preliminary preparations. It was time for Hermione to pay a visit to Wilkins Family Dentistry. Neither she nor Malfoy had ever seen the place before, making apparation next to impossible. Instead, they used the driver's license Monika and Wendell had insisted she get back when they were the Grangers, rented a car, and drove of the city into Halifax County, rolling along the wrong side of narrow, twisting roads. The countryside had the rough beauty the British expect and admire overseas, wildflowers on the roadsides, grey slate faces breaking through moss, and so many trees.

They obeyed the sweet lady's voice speaking driving directions out of the Muggle-wand, until the voice told them to stop inside a small town called Upper Raleigh, outside a pink stucco building, the Wilkins's clinic.

"I don't understand it," Malfoy said, reading the sign mounted on the building. "Why do they have separate doctors just for teeth? Do Muggles not consider teeth part of the body?"

"Never mind that, Malfoy. And don't get my father started on it. Where's your wand? Clean your teeth. Your appointment is in ten minutes."

"My appointment? You're the one who needs to talk to them."

"Well, that's the thing about dentist appointments, Malfoy. It's impossible for patients to talk. We need to be clever," she said. At the door of the building she took his arm, leading him toward the reception desk.

"Why do you need to hold me up?" he asked. "Am I meant to be unwell?"

"No, you're meant to be anxious, and reluctant."

"Should I make a show of resisting?"

"No, of course not." She said nothing of it, but it was herself she was holding up with Malfoy's arm, clinging to it as they stepped into the clinic and the smell of the place engulfed them. The scent of latex, antiseptics, artificial fruit and peppermint -- this was her parents' smell.

It might have been overwhelming if Malfoy wasn't such a pratt. He was asking, "What about my face, is it right? Not too miserable? You don't need to -- you know -- again?" He tapped his own cheek, bending slightly toward her.

"No, Malfoy. If we use the secret Granger family method too much, it'll stop working -- Hello!" she was singing to the lady behind the counter. "Draco Malfoy for Dr. Monika, please."

They waited in a dental exam room, Malfoy tense, seated in the apparatus he was calling the Azkaban armchair, and Hermione pacing in the metre square of floor left open in the space. The clinic was busy, noisy with suction and running water, whirring unseen machinery it was best Malfoy didn't understand. Hermione strained to discern voices in the racket.

"Granger," Malfoy said, snagging her wrist to try to stop her pacing. "Take a deep breath. You're just going to see her and talk a little. It's not like much can go wrong. We're just evaluating where your spell has left them so we can decide on a next step."

Hermione blew out a breath. "I should have booked with my dad. Less emotional. No, harder to read. No -- I don't know."

A laugh rang out from just outside the exam area. It was her. She was coming.

"Breathe, Granger."

Monika Wilkins rounded the corner, eyes down, reading a chart labeled with Malfoy's very odd name, singing out in exactly the same cadence Hermione had used to greet the receptionist, "Hello!"

Malfoy kept his hold on Hermione's wrist, his grip tightening at the sound of Monika's voice. The doctor was talking quickly, eyes still down, reading from the chart. "Draco, coming to us from Wiltshire. Lovely to meet you," she said, glancing up from the paper, extending a hand in greeting, but finding Malfoy already holding someone else's hand. "Oh," she said, "you've brought a friend."