A/N : The title of the chapter should be enough of a warning to those who absolutely abhor D/Hr. The contents of the Chapter is a necessary evil.
If you want to skip it but still want to be relatively in the 'mystery' loop, you may go to the very end of the chapter and read about Harry.
Chapter 8. Dinner with Draco
Hermione got to her flat and had about twenty-five minutes to get ready for dinner.
She sighed, muttering to herself, "This is painful."
Having been with Ron for almost ten years, going out on a date was never a problem. She wore what she liked and if Ron disapproved, tough. And here she was, looking at the magical parade of dresses from her closet, irritated at herself for fussing too much about what to wear during what would be her fourth date with Draco in five days.
Too long.
Too colourful.
Too skimpy.
Too stuffy.
Too old.
She banished the last one to garbage bin, deciding she wasn't wearing it again even if it went back in style. Hermione remembered why she did not have this conundrum the three other times they went out; they went straight from work.
Now feeling totally ridiculous, she grabbed the next one that came out, a green dress that she had not worn for quite some time but loved because it reminded her of…
Bollocks! And she sent it to the rubbish bin, too, shutting off that train of thought as quickly as it formed and before further related unpleasant emotions could surface.
Black. Going with black. When all else fails, black. She wore the first black outfit she saw, too immersed in thought to recognize that it was one that showed a lot more of her than she would have wanted and that wearing it could be misconstrued as highly suggestive to a more sensitive man.
She was staring herself down on the mirror.
Fourth date in five days. And yet you say you don't really want to go out with him.
Right.
It's just dinner.
Right.
But you care what he thinks.
Not really. It's just that this is something I haven't done for quite some time.
Go out for dinner?
Prepare for a date. Well, except for Ron and Har-
Too late. She drew a deep breath in and allowed the hurt to pass, wasting precious time that could have been put to better use.
And now, the hair. As she took the bottle of Sleekeazy and used some to tame her brown mane, another potion in the bathroom cupboard caught her attention.
If you're stupid enough to really think that you're going to need to drink that for tonight, then you're so stupid you might as well get pregnant.
That was clear.
The rest of her preparations went by uneventfully as she tried not to make a big deal out of it. Ginny was certainly doing that enough for her. Her best friend's parting shot after the Magorian trial earlier that morning said it all. Hermione had to promise Ginny that by the end of tonight, she should have an honest answer to a somewhat important question.
"Why, of all the dregs of humanity, do you choose to continue to go out with the worst of them?" was Ginny's exact question. And her answer better not be because she was falling in love with Draco Malfoy.
Ginny knew her only too well that after the debacle of her one and only casual physical encounter, any future relationship was unlikely going to be about that. And both of them were certain that even though the older Draco Malfoy admittedly did exhibit a significant amount of sexual magnetism, it would take more than physical attraction to overcome whatever repulsive history there was between them. That left her with very few plausible and acceptable answers to the question. What if the honest answer at the end of tonight was illogical, incomprehensible, so unlike her? What if the honest answer was she didn't have a clue and for the moment, that was fine?
She was definitely losing it.
At promptly seven that evening, Draco appeared at her door looking very dapper in a dark blue suit. Hermione flinched as he brushed against her arm while assisting her into the passenger seat of his blue MINI convertible. Again, like the other times it happened, it was a mere reflex, a recurring thing that she still could not prevent. She met his gaze with an apology which he acknowledged. Like hearing him say her name, physical contact with him or by him was something that she still needed to get used to.
They decided to go to a rather well known Muggle restaurant in Downtown London, feeling there was a real cause for celebration. After all, they did free an uncooperative and resistant Centaur from possibly the gallows. It was strange to her and she just noticed. During their drive to their destination, she had to inquire.
"You prefer dining in Muggle restaurants?"
"You don't like dining in Muggle restaurants?" Draco asked.
"I don't mind," she replied, wondering if he thought she preferred it. It was a dance, "Wizard restaurants are fine, too, if you prefer them."
"Actually, I do prefer Muggle restaurants," he admitted, intensifying her curiosity.
"You do?"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"It's just odd because you grew up with magic," she did not say that this sweeping generalization came from the fact that Ron hated going to Muggle restaurants. "What about it do you prefer?"
"The service," he said cautiously, turning to her briefly, "Particularly here in London, nowadays."
She guessed what he was referring to.
"Is it that bad?"
"Since coming back three months ago I've felt either I haven't lived up to the Malfoy name or not disowned the family enough, depending on present company," he tried to explain matter-of-factly.
Hermione understood. She thought about Ginny not believing Draco had changed and Umbridge disappointed that he had.
"You must have expected that to happen."
He stayed focused on the road, "Sadly enough, yes, and I still chose to return."
"So, why did you come back?" she finally asked having wondered for quite some time.
"I keep asking myself the same question."
Hermione noted that she didn't get a straight answer. Maybe, he was not ready to share the reason he was back in London.
"Do I detect a tinge of regret?"
"I admit, sometimes I do regret coming back," he answered, a bit too serious for comfort, "But at this exact moment, I have no regrets whatsoever."
Thankfully, they arrived at the restaurant and she could pretend not ever hearing that last bit. She hated it when her questions brought about unforeseen answers. He seemed to have let go of it, too.
They were greeted at the door by the manager who apparently knew Draco from a recent case and they were quickly ushered to a quiet, private nook. Hermione had the fish, as he recommended, and it was truly excellent. He had the lobster, as she recommended, and he said he had not tasted anything like it before. They got to talking about food and where in the world they tasted best, and that set off a conversation about travelling.
She was surprised at how relaxed and light-hearted their chat was. Time flew and she didn't know how but as they were having desert, she was asking him why he went into Muggle Law.
He smiled, as if remembering something funny, shaking his head, "You really don't want to know."
"I do," she smiled back, amused at his reaction, insisting on an answer.
"Actually, the answer is pretty obvious."
"What? Your mother suggested it?" Hermione half teased, deciding to hold back on the initial 'obvious' answer that came to mind. Most lawyers and solicitors bent and twisted truths to serve an end, something that the old Malfoy would have done well.
He shook his head, "I loved Mother dearly but I wouldn't do something stupid like that for her."
Did he just say he loved his mother 'dearly'? Even she couldn't say that about hers, much less keep a straight face while saying it.
Hermione, focus. This isn't about you and your mother.
"So, why?"
"The money, of course," Draco said to her, "Lawyers in the States make loads of money."
That wasn't it, though he was definitely a good fibber.
"Liar," she accused him playfully, "The most senior public defender in the Detroit area makes less money than a full time truck driver anywhere in the States."
"I know my limits. I can argue all day but I cannot drive a truck."
She was not going to let him off the hook, not that easily, "Come on, tell me the truth."
"The PD job was just temporary," he reasoned, still trying to sell his lie, "I was waiting for an opportunity for private practice."
She was prepared for this, "I guess that explains why you have turned down the top three North American law firms each time they tried to recruit you since your graduating year at Ann Arbor."
Draco laughed, "What did you do? 'Google' me or something?"
She was busted. His laughter was infectious
"As a matter of fact, I did."
And actually, more. Both she and Ginny did a meticulous search prior to meeting with him about the Magorian trial, looking for anything that would resemble the old Malfoy they knew. Ginny used her Prophet and political connections. They knew everything he did from the time he and his mother got to Detroit until he volunteered for the Magorian trial. Well, everything that was on record and available for public viewing, anyway. At the time, they were both frustrated that they did not find what they were looking for. For a split second, she thought about the file in her briefcase at home.
"I'm surprised I haven't been fingerprinted yet, or illegally searched," he joked, the 'illegal' part a bit more meaningful to her. "Do you always do back ground checks on your dates?"
"This is the first time I've ever had the need to do it," the smile on their faces spontaneous and seemed to last longer now, taking less effort to produce, "But come to think of it, that's not a bad idea at all."
"To tell you frankly, I expected you to do this."
"Is that right? Then you should also expect that I haven't forgotten. You have yet to answer my question truthfully. Why Muggle Law?"
Draco paused, still beaming and looked as if he was debating with himself.
"Fine," he finally said to her, "But you'll just laugh."
"No, I won't," came her instant denial.
"I bet you will," he challenged her.
"I'm ready," she said, preparing not to express any amusement if that was the last thing she would have to do to stay alive, wiping the grin that wanted to creep back on her face, "Give it to me, straight."
"I met this girl, I should really say 'woman' and was absolutely smitten by her. She was signing up for law school so I signed up with her."
The flippant way he said that last part was just so funny that she absolutely had lost control and started cracking up.
"See?" Draco was right, she did laugh.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously," Draco was still smiling. He was not offended at all that she laughed about it.
"And this 'woman' dragged you all the way into the PD's office?"
"I know, hard to believe."
This woman, if she did exist, intrigued her.
"Tell me about her. What was her name?" she asked.
Surely, he wouldn't stop now. And if it was a lie, she would know.
"Mia. I met her at a peer counselling session, she being a counsellor, of course, assigned to one of the other troubled youth. She was a volunteer, a do gooder, one who wanted to save the world."
"You must have hated her," she felt comfortable saying things like that to him now, trusting he knew her intentions were not to hurt.
"Actually, I did find her quite annoying, at first," he admitted. "I didn't and actually still don't believe in counselling or in saving the world. But did I mention she was striking, physically beautiful? I could not not look at her, really. And when I said smitten, I was 'eighteen year old' smitten."
"You wanted to get in her knickers. I understand," Hermione said, knowingly.
He nodded, chuckling, "So I asked her out, she immediately said yes. And we went out a few times, and unfortunately for her she fell for my natural charm, too. Her saviour complex helped me out a bit. By then I had gotten into her knickers but found out I wanted something else from her. I liked the way she made me feel. I felt good about myself when I was around her. Hence the following her through Law School thing."
"She didn't know about your past," Hermione suspected and she asked.
Draco shook his head, reminiscing, his grey eyes glazed over as he did, "No, she didn't. And it bugged me that not once did she ask me why I was in peer counselling or where I came from or what horrible things I did, if any. Mia was quite content with what I was willing to share about my past, which was not much because I feared I would lose her."
"So I asked her, why didn't she, and her reply was that it didn't matter. She didn't want to know. She said I had to figure out who I was going to be not from who I was, which she knew was troubled, but from who I wanted to be, and whoever that person was, we would deal with. Basically, she gave me a clean slate. A real second chance. She was a bit crazy."
"Obviously," Hermione concurred and wanted to say something like that even earlier. A real second chance. And here she was, with an illicit confidential medical file about him; such contrast.
As she listened to Draco talk about her, his tender expression and soothing voice said it all. Hermione knew that this woman did exist just as he described her. And the way he talked about this 'Mia', she sensed that Draco was smitten for real. Who would have thunk that could happen?
"She also told me not to take myself too seriously and to use less hair products," he said with a glint in his eye and grinned widely, making her laugh.
"A sensible woman. So where is she now?" she asked innocently, curious.
A momentary cloud flitted across Draco's face and Hermione noticed him swallow hard before answering wistfully, "She died over a year ago. A tragic accident really. Totally unexpected."
"I'm so sorry," was all she could say as her left hand instinctively reached out towards his on the table but fell short of touching it. "I shouldn't have…"
"No, it's okay," Draco quickly dismissed her awkwardness for prying into what obviously was still a sore wound, taking and holding her hand in his, for whose reassurance she couldn't say for sure, giving it a light soothing squeeze, "We move on, right?"
By 'we', he was obviously talking about her and what she went through after Ron died. Not wanting to complicate things, she did not argue how it was different.
"Yes, we move on," she answered him.
He lifted his wine glass with his free hand and toasted, "To lost loves."
"To lost loves," she chinked his glass with hers, and tried to drink down the aching lump in her throat as she remembered her lost love, cross at herself, feeling guilty that she wasn't really thinking about Ron, barely noticing that Draco was still holding her left hand and that it gave her some comfort.
XXXXXXXXX
When Harry got back to the Auror office on Queen Street, chaos and mayhem welcomed him. He found Andy at their desk and her colourful greeting said it all.
"Fucking slavedriver," Harry guessed she meant Muller and she had one of those don't-talk-just-listen expressions.
"Something's going down. Jack got an anonymous tip and whatever it is, it involves the friggin' conference and it's happening tonight. He's having us check every microscopic lead and every informant's crevice."
He did not like the sound of this.
"Potter! Marsh! Get in here!" Muller was at the entrance to his office at least twenty-five feet away but Harry swore he felt a bit of a shower reach him.
He did not like the sound of this at all.
Harry and Andy exchanged concerned looks as they made their way to his office. Before they could even sit down, he said to them, "Tom Floyd's name keeps popping up in this plot about the meeting."
Tom Floyd. Harry wasn't surprised. He made an effort to control his temper.
Andy sensed his struggle and spoke for them, "So what's Greasy up to?"
"We don't know yet. But you two have done a lot of work on him so I'm counting on you to find out," Muller stated their assignment clearly. "I'm calling a briefing in three hours and meeting with a bunch of scientists and conference security personnel later tonight. No ifs or buts. I want both of you there."
Harry rarely did, but he had to swear.
"Problem, Harry?" Muller glared at him.
"I had dinner plans."
"I guess you'll have to cancel," Harry heard him say.
Andy gave him a sympathetic look. She knew what it meant. As much as he wanted to see and talk with Hermione, London would have to wait.
For a brief moment, Harry seriously considered burning another bridge and just leaving. And if not for Greasy being involved, he probably would have.