Chimera

Chapter 27

Draco sat alone at a booth in the muggle pub. Perky Christmas music crackled through the speakers and grated on his nerves. Hermione had dashed home to change. He'd been waiting long enough that the ice in her martini was melting. He worried her friends would arrive before she did. The last thing he wanted was unsupervised confrontations with the Gryffindors. Only the prospect of spending time with her had brought him here at all. Not that he'd admit it.

The top couple of buttons were undone on Draco's black shirt and a few blonde hairs peeked through. He'd rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He told himself it was because the busy pub was warm. It had nothing to do with the overheard conversation where Hermione and Ellie discussed how attractive turned-up sleeves were.

Draco looked down at his forearms. He wondered if they were 'well-defined', as Hermione had mentioned liking. Certainly they were more toned and muscular than that freckled git Weasley, or the scrawny, spindly-armed Potter. Still, his lip curled as his eyes fell on the Mark that branded his pale skin. He quickly tucked that arm under the table.

"Can I get you another one?"

Draco glanced at the waitress. She had a full figure and her dark eyes smiled at him under long lashes. Her black hair had streaks of red twisted through it. Hermione called them crochet braids when she had a similar style a few months ago.

"Sure. Put it on my tab."

Draco's third whisky was almost gone when the door swung open. Hermione rushed in with a burst of cold air. She spotted him and her face broke into a smile. Draco tried not to stare as she hurried over. A pair of black jeans clung to her curves in all the right places. A satin, scoop-necked top fluttered as she moved. The bright blue fabric contrasted beautifully with her dark skin.

"Sorry I'm late," Hermione gasped.

She slid into the booth opposite Draco. Her foot brushed against his leg as she settled onto the cushioned bench. Draco's breath caught in his throat. It took him a moment to manage a response.

"It's fine," Draco said, flashing her a charming smile. "You said a dry martini, right?"

"Perfect, thank you!"

Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear as she picked up her drink. She sipped it, her eyes fluttering closed as the alcohol slid down her throat. Gold powder dusted her eyelids and bangles jangled at her wrists. Draco's gaze drifted from her sparkling nails to the bare skin of her arms. A long, gold necklace disappeared into her top. He followed the delicate chain up to the smooth curve of her neck and her rosebud lips. His cheeks warmed as he realised Hermione was watching him.

"You look nice," Draco said, lamely.

Absolutely incredible, he wanted to say. Gorgeous. Even more stunning than usual.

It crossed his mind that maybe she'd dressed to impress the Weasel. A sick feeling churned in his gut at the thought. He forcefully reminded himself that they split up almost a year ago. She'd recently confided that they hadn't been happy for awhile before that. Draco believed her, but jealousy still squeezed at him.

"Thanks," she whispered. A shy smile quirked at her lips. "So do you."

Her eyes seemed to linger as she looked him up and down. She grabbed her drink and took a large gulp.

"I always look like this," Draco teased. She flicked his arm as he smirked at her.

Seeing her drink was almost empty, Draco ordered them another round. He sipped his whisky slowly. He could handle his alcohol, but he didn't want to risk making a fool of himself in front of Hermione.