It Was The Bacon
The downside to having his life blown up in his face, the love of his life running off with someone else, and living with his childhood nemesis– aside for the outstandingly obvious heartache and the awkwardness of living with someone who absolutely refuses to die (not that he was actively trying to kill him, it was just an unnerving fact, that was all)– was having to put up with his flatmates insufferable friends.
Or, Potter’s insufferable friend (because the fucking weasel still hadn’t shown his face since the news broke.) Hermione Granger, on the other hand, had been over every single day since she returned home from wherever the fuck it was she had gone off to– Australia if he remembered correctly and he desperately wished he didn’t remember that tidbit correctly. Which had nothing to do with the fact she had confessed to being at a nude beach (because it didn’t), and had even less to do with the fact he had pictured her on said nude beach (because he hadn’t).
But if he had… it was only because he was a bit sexually starved, she was a…. completely normal witch (not at all extraordinary), and because it was a normal response.
It had absolutely no other meaning whatsoever!
Especially because it was Granger! Extremely exasperating and highly unlikeable Hermione, freaking, Granger!
It wasn’t as though he still harbored the same prejudices of his past (because he didn’t! Really!). In fact, he had even apologized to her roughly two years ago (in the form of a letter and at the behest of Astoria but that wasn’t the point). He had attempted to make amends with those he had wronged, which as it had turned out, was a very long list.
Both Granger and Neville had been at the top of that list and each got very elegantly worded apology letters. Even Potter, the wanker that he was (and still is), got an apology– in person thanks to the constant mingling of their friend groups. Actually, Potter had gotten three apologies. Once when Draco was very drunk so Potter claimed it didn’t count. Another when he bucked up enough courage to try again. And a third when they were both drunk and living together and the two of them had taken it upon themselves to spew nonsensical apologies.
As an unspoken rule, neither of them talked about that night.
Then there was Neville, who had written him back. A long wordy thing that started with “Malfoy, I hear you’re a skilled legilimens, so perhaps you locked away some of these memories and haven’t had the time to retrieve them and reflect upon them. No worries, I remember them all. So here are a few things you, oh so conveniently, left out of your apology .” immediately followed by three pages worth of grievances that painted a rather evocative image of exactly how much of a blighter Draco had been in his youth. Or, for most of his life really. Yet, by the end of the letter, and by some fucking miracle, Neville wrote that he forgave him.
It was more than he deserved, he knew this, but he wasn’t going to turn it down either. Especially not after Pansy and Neville started a budding relationship. While they would likely never be friends, Draco did take him up on his offer for a smoke from time to time.
It took two weeks for him to receive Granger’s replay. Not that he had expected one, but when it had arrived he was shocked to see it wasn’t a whole bloody book worth of grievances levied against him. Instead of a masterful and scathing manuscript that would likely take him a lifetime to read through, she had only sent two words.
That was it. Just two. Written in delicate and pretty calligraphy, in smooth golden ink that glittered, were the words “Thank you” and nothing else.
Not that she owed him anymore more than that.
She didn’t owe him anything.
Except for maybe some peace and quiet in his own damn home!
She was loud, very loud. All the bloody time! As though she didn’t understand the concept of a whisper or even the appropriate volume one should speak with while inside and not stuck in the middle of a fucking windstorm! If Granger had ever heard of such a concept, she most certainly didn’t practice it– and in the spirit of not practicing it, she also didn’t exercise any decorum when it came to her obnoxious questioning.
The insufferable know-it-all that she was, she had asked a ridiculous amount of questions that had absolutely nothing to do with anything important. Like how she inquired after a toy of Atlas’s instead of asking why the fucking hell he was living with Potter. Or, where the bloody hell the Weasley girl was. Or why Potter’s breath smelled very strongly of whiskey every time he returned from ‘checking on dinner’. All great questions that would have yielded better answers than whether or not his dog got along with strangers!
She hadn’t even asked a single question about how their little arrangement had come about. Like she already knew all the answers and had just accepted the fact Draco was living with her supposed ‘best friend’ without an ounce of worry or hesitation. Which was odd.
Very odd.
But even that was nothing compared to the sheer irritation he felt every time he saw her coat she had left thrown across a chair somewhere despite the perfectly capable coat hanger Draco had purchased. Or the shoes she always took off at the door but never put on the rack, leaving them tossed about readily waiting to trip someone walking by (oftentimes it was him). Dishes left on the table, tea cups in the drawing room, books everywhere– honestly it was surprising how much of a mess she left in her wake.
As vexing as all that was, the moment Draco called her out on any of it Potter would shuffle into the room and apologize for her and clean up her mess, whatever it may be. She would extend her thanks of course, but never apologized. For someone who detested the use of house elves and their enforced labor, she didn’t seem to have any qualms about deploying Potter to clean up after herself instead.
He would have said something himself, called her out on her hypocrisy and her utter lack of consideration for their home, had he not noticed the small smile Potter wore every time he picked up after her. The idiot seemed to like it, which was extremely confusing. Judging by the faint (very faint) smirks he had caught on her face a handful of times as Potter bustled about cleaning up after her, made him wonder if she knew this about Potter.
And, alright, fair. She was rather intelligent, and had known the idiot a long time, so she probably knew her leaving mess everywhere was giving Potter some type purpose. Even if it was incredibly boring and depressing to know hanging up a coat made the tosser happy. Or, happy-ish. So all in all, Draco really couldn’t fault her for that.
What he could fault her for, and completely and explicitly hold against her until the day he perished (no, he was not being dramatic thank you very much!), was the fact that she had stolen his dog from him! Which was completely inexcusable!
He was always right on her heels when she was there. Waging his fucking tail and looking up at her with his adorable puppy-dog-eyes. He did not eat her left shoes, though she left them about for him to, he completely ignored them. He did not try to nip at her sun hat she had worn over the other day, not even when she had tossed it haphazardly onto the settee.
Heartbreakingly, when she left for the evening, it took him a good thirty minutes of crying at the door waiting for her to come back before he would sulk his way into his room. The whole thing was rather offensive and he could not understand what his dog found so amazing about her.
What was it that she had, that Draco did not? Besides the obvious female parts, which Atlas would have no interest in so that couldn’t possibly be it. Was it her hair? Her fucking maddening hair!
It had always been that way though the once wild and untamed disarray of curls, now seemed less like chaos and more like a crown of defiance. Like each individual strand was rebelling against the others in a disarray of madness. No longer a forest of frizz but a tumultuous jungle of rich chestnut and honeyed gold tendrils that had a habit of catching the light in a rather remarkable yet magical sort of way and they framed her face like a lion's mane– mirrored perfectly by her insufferable, yet fierce, personality.
Bold, unrestrained, unyielding in nature and annoyingly impossible to ignore. She was a whirlwind of relentless determination, infuriating righteousness, and unmeasurable inquisitiveness! An enigma Draco couldn’t seem to decipher, or an arithmancy equation that was wrapped in so many layers he was sure he would never be able to solve them all.
She was a rose, beautiful in her own right (if he really thought about it) but not without sharp pricks. Her words often laced with nettle stings, and her arguments precise and piercing, leaving no room for rebuttal. Her mind was sharp and ready to challenge, yet she was too eager to flaunt her knowledge in the most annoying ways imaginable.
But her worst offense out of everything, was the simple fact that she was quite impossible to forget.
Sometimes he wished he could forget her. Or rather, that she would forget Potter and by extension him. He couldn’t for the life of him remember why he had even once considered reaching out to her to help with Potter’s downward spiral.
Extremely exasperating and highly unlikeable! That was what she was…
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about that one comment from weeks ago?
He knew it wasn’t because of who had said it, he would have the same type of thoughts (not that he was admitting to having those) about anyone of the female persuasion who actively talked about going to nude beaches, indicating their body was perfectly tanned… everywhere. If for no other reason than to imagine what a perfectly golden body would look like. It had nothing to do with the fact that Granger had been the one to inspire that particular imagery.
Nothing at all!
And yet… he spent a significant amount of time trying to ignore the images his mind conjured every time he allowed it to wonder. It was a huge inconvenience, one he was ready to put an end to. Which was his only explanation for storming into the kitchen where he could hear Potter puttering about, and declared loudly (possibly a bit too loudly) that they were going out tonight.
A pub, preferably muggle so no one would recognize either of them, and the chances of bringing home a one night stand were higher. But even if they didn’t, Draco would settle for a pretty face that could replace Granger’s every time he thought about a perfectly tanned body.
It was extremely amusing, knowing how much she got under Malfoy's skin just by simply existing. Not because she was a Muggle-born; she truly believed he had outgrown that particular aspect of his past. However, other areas he was not so fortunate. Like his constant need to keep things orderly, hating when she didn’t put her shoes away or hang up her coat. And his disdain for not having control over everything, like his dog Atlas liking her over him– and oh, how that vexed him.
Or, like now, when he came barging into the kitchen without a single thought for anything or anyone other than himself as he loudly and proudly declared "We're going out tonight!" without realizing she was even there. Though, to be fair even if he had noticed her, he likely would have ignored her.
At least at first. Eventually she would annoy him enough to interact with her.
That was sorta his thing.
Their thing?
It was hard to say exactly, and maybe it wasn’t so much of a thing as it was a game?
At least to her it felt like a game and she vaguely wondered if he would agree. Probably not, because he never agreed with anything she said. Not even if he knew she was right, which was most of the time. Part of her wondered if that was just who he was as a person, some type of character trait he just couldn’t help.
Sorta like his ridiculous height, or the fact he was perpetually stuck in a state of broodiness— because she was positive he couldn’t control that particular trait either. Not like his other ones. He was quiet, pensive, witty and yet he could be rather snarly when provoked, and oh boy did she provoke him. Not on purpose! Or at least not at first.
She wasn’t sure when she had started playing along or what the rules were exactly, but winning consisted of a very flustered Malfoy, a possible slammed door (this solely depend on where he stalked off to in a huff after losing whatever verbal sparring match they had), a playful bark from Atlas, and an eye roll from Harry. Losing meant Malfoy walked around preening for a few hours while she shared secret looks with Harry and pretended not to be amused.
It was odd and a bit fun no matter the outcome, though only because she knew it made his day. Even if he would never admit to it. He was like Harry in that way, actually he was like Harry in a lot of ways. Aside from their shared heartache that neither of them ever talked about. They were both quiet, and refused to admit that they were in need of help.
It had taken her a week to get Harry to stop secretly drinking by giving him little distractions to occupy his time with instead. Malfoy, on the other hand, had only taken two days to get irritated enough with her to distract him from his own woes. It was easy really, she just needed to make friends with his dog.
The colossal bundle of exuberance and muscle and utterly adorable Great Dane whose paws were as big as his heart, had taken to her almost instantly. And she had known the moment she met him that she was in love with the rather large whirlwind of energy. And for reasons beyond Malfoy’s comprehension, Atlas was completely and irrevocably in love with her.
It was the bacon.
Atlas loved bacon! Which was fortunate for her. However, Harry had caught her feeding him some, which was unfortunate, though she promptly sworn him to secrecy. It became her routine then, and Atlas knew it. The only one not clued in was Malfoy. Which explained why Atlas was a slobbery mess of begging enthusiasm at present. Hoping and waiting for her to drop some food for him, which she was about to do when Malfoy had barged in.
Thankfully he was a bit distracted and totally missed the passing of food to his dog. He also missed when Hermione cocked her head to the side and asked “Like, romantically?” Though, to be fair, Harry had also said “Oh? Where are you taking me to then?” Which was the question Malfoy had decided to focus on.
A pub, it turned out. Muggle, as to not be recognized. “We can even get you some dinner.” Malfoy said with a nod before actually inquiring if Harry had eaten, which he had not. The whole thing sounded an awful lot like a date, even if it was worded in the form of a demand.
It didn’t surprise her, he had already admitted to being possessive of those he was with so of course he would also be a dominant who didn’t spew poetry to get a date. No questions, no doubt. Just a simple, this is what we are doing, and that was that. If Harry took any offense at the lack of romance, it didn’t show on his face.
“You sure it has to be a Muggle place?” Harry asked, popping a crisp into his mouth.
“Yes, I like the lack of notoriety.” he said rather curtly, because of course he would. “Which is something you should be thanking me for, Potter.” and then for good measure, and just in case Hermione was still wondering what type of relationship the two of them had, he scolded Harry for ruining his dinner with something as mundane as crisps. He concluded his scolding by adding “Honestly, I’m not paying for you to eat only part of a meal, Potter.” All while playing with his fancy cufflink and clearly feigning his disinterest in the matter.
Now it really sounded like a date, a fact Malfoy seemed to register a few seconds after she had for he suddenly snapped to attention and spun to look at her. A sneer already on his perfectly sculpted face as though he expected her to say something snarky– though she had only just been surprised that he taken note of her at all.
“ Romantically !” He said it like it was a curse. He most certainly looked like he had been hit by a curse.
And in response her lips quirked up into a smirk. She leaned against the counter (hiding the food she had been giving to Atlas), and folded her arms across her chest. Giving her head the slightest of tilts she asked (innocently) “Was that a question, or an answer?”
He scowled. And oh boy, what a scowl it was. “Why are you always here?!”
Oh, she was definitely going to win the game today. If she had to guess, she was about three sentences away from him storming off after a failed attempt to call his dog to him. He’d likely stomp his way to the makeshift Library he had been working on, slamming the door and warding her out. Not that she ever went after him, that wasn’t part of the game.
Besides, he would stew over their conversation for a bit (sometimes it was minutes, other times it took him hours, and once it even took a few days to come up with his retort), then he would track her down and pick up whatever argument it was they were having. At which point she would typically concede and allow him to ‘win’ and bite back her smile as his already overly inflated ego grew to a dangerous size.
She didn’t always let him win the second round of verbal sparring— sometimes he was just wrong and she couldn’t condone him believing otherwise. But he was clever enough not to pick too many fights he knew he couldn’t win. This one, was likely not going to end up in his favor no matter how big of a tantrum he threw. He would either need to confess his feelings for Harry, or deny it flat out.
Honestly, she would be happy with either. At least then she would finally know what kind of relationship they had without actually having to ask.
She could have… asked… but something held her back.
She wasn’t fully sure why or what, and she told herself she was only curious because it was in her nature. That, and because Harry was her best friend and deserved to be happy. Even if it was Draco sodding Malfoy who was making him happy.
“I like it here.” She shrugged, finally answering, her eyes never leaving his. “Also, that wasn’t an answer.”
“Why the fuck–”
Harry, bless him, butted in with a warning. “Oi, play nice mate.” It was a pity too, as it set her back a bit, drawing Malfoy’s anger towards him as he grunted out his usual denial of not being his mate .
“You know, the word mate could have other meanings besides just friends .” Malfoy snapped his attention back to her so quickly at her words that she was worried he might have dislocated his head from his neck. He most certainly tweaked it, judging by the wince that followed.
“What the bloody hell are you on about?”
“You know, the word mate.” He looked at her like he most certainly did not know, so she (oh so helpfully) elaborated. “Each of a pair. A fellow member of-” she looked him up and down before adding “- of a specific thing.”
He growled, actually growled at her. But she was not to be deterred and continued on. “It could also mean someone you copulate with.”
“Copulate with!?” He scoffed, sounding rather affronted.
She was enjoying herself, exceedingly so, so she continued “Or perhaps form a… mechanical… type of connection to.” She gave him the sweetest smile in her arsenal before adding the striking blow. “I wonder, Malfoy, which version of the word are you so opposed to?”
Malfoy, unsurprisingly, glowered at her while Harry laughed. “Awe, Draco, I had no idea you had such feelings for me.”
“Oh piss off Potter!” It occurred to her then that Malfoy might be trying to cultivate a death stare and he was pretty close to mastering it.
“He is not my mate .” he said it rather low and quietly, yet his words almost felt as though they were thundering around her. “In any sense of the word.” he added.
“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem sure.” Which was a lie, but it was worth it to see the look on his face.
“Yes, Granger. I’m rather attuned with my body and what it does and does not want, and Potter is definitely on my ‘fuck no, not ever’ list!”
“Curious that you have a list though.”
“You’re extremely unlikable, did you know that?”
“You seem to be the only person who thinks so.” as if to prove her point, Atlas gave a happy bark and licked her hand.
He was licking off the food residue, but Malfoy did not need to know that. Judging by the glare he leveled at him and the softly mumbled “traitor” proved to her that he still had no idea why his dog liked her so much.
“I know of the perfect place for you two to go, by the way. I might even tell you if you’re nice to me and say please.” Hell would likely freeze over before he ever said that word to her. Unless it was immediately followed by ‘shut up’ or ‘fuck off.’ Or maybe he’ll branch out and say them both together.
“There’s no need, Granger, I will not be going to a gay pub.” His nose gave a sudden twitch, like he had smelled something foul.
“Why not? They’re fun.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, doing a very slow track of her body from head to foot. His scowl deepened as though he was sizing her up and not liking what he was seeing. Which… okay, fair. She knew his opinion of her, and she knew it hadn’t changed much over the years. Not the mudblood nonsense, but his dislike of her hair, her clothing, and her general being really.
It was rather uncomfortable, having him look at her like that for so long. She didn’t quite care for it and was in no hurry to ever have it repeated.
Thankfully he put her out of her misery by saying “The whole point of us going out is to clear our heads–”
“My head’s just fine, thanks.” Harry interjected, but it went ignored.
“-if we show up with you, I’m positive we will only attract the wrong sort of crowd.”
She wasn’t a hundred percent certain what he meant by that, but she could sure as hell fucking guess. And it wasn’t nice. Having never been bothered by his opinion of her before, it was rather unreasonable to have his words sting so much now. But they did, and she couldn’t figure out why. “I’ll have you know, Draco Malfoy , I am an excellent wing-woman.”
She was, just ask Ron, or Dean, or pretty much anyone other that Draco fucking Malfoy. Not that she was going to argue her point, though it would have been an excellent argument. Mostly because it was true, and partially because it wasn’t like he could form a rebuttal. Though he tried by giving the most un-gentleman-like and undignified sound she had ever heard him make. And she had once heard him cry “it’s killed me, it’s killed me!” while flailing around on the ground as though he was actually dying. Yet even that was more flattering than the snort he gave her.
“That’s enough you two.” Harry stepped forward, standing directly in the middle of them as if that would prevent whatever might happen next. She would have gladly reached around him to cast a hex or two at Malfoy if the occasion called for it. However, she was not prepared to shrug off Atlas, who was now whining at her feet and clearly upset.
She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he was still wanting food and she was not providing it, or if it was because of the tension in the air. Either way, she bent down and gave him some good rubs and reminded him what a ‘good boy’ he was. When Atlas seemed happy again, and she was done seething from Malfoy’s previous words, she straightened. Then she foolishly attempted to brush off some of Atlas’s fur (giving up after a few swipes), squared off her shoulders and looked directly at Malfoy.
“It’s not a gay pub, by the way.” not that it would have mattered if it was. Everyone knew they were more fun and significantly safer for women. Not like Harry and Malfoy needed to be worried about that. “Just one owned by a friend.”
“I do believe I said I wanted a muggle pub.”
“It is possible for me to have other friends besides wizards, Malfoy.” She snapped, pointing at herself, “Muggle born, remember?” As if he would ever forget.
His eye twitched somewhat aggressively before he looked away from her with something akin to shame scattering across his face. Which was… curious.
“But you are right.” She gritted her teeth, really loathed to have to say those words. “It is owned by a wizard.” She clarified when his gaze snapped back to her. It appeared, she might actually lose this game after all.
The giant ponce clearly had some type of kink for being told he was smart, correct, intelligent… or whatever the hell it was that made him preen like a damn peacock. She vaguely wondered if it was praise in general or if it was specific to his intellect. Of course all thoughts of that fluttered away when he opened his stupid mouth again.
“If you are going to insist on butting into our conversations, then I must request you listen to the whole thing. I would rather not be recognized.”
It was her turn to narrow her eyes, wondering briefly if she could ricochet a spell off of the stove so it would go around Harry (who was annoyingly still in the middle of them and requesting they ‘calm down’ which was obviously being ignored) and hit Malfoy instead. “It just so happens, Mr I-think-I-know-it-all , to be in Muggle London.”
He opened his mouth, likely to say something idiotic, but she cut him off. “And he happens to be a mutual acquaintance of yours! So forgive me for thinking you might actually be interested in visiting him!”
There was a slight crackle, a bit of a shock that tempted the air around them, and she knew without actually having to look in a mirror that her hair had puffed up to a laughter-induced level of ridiculousness. It was a curse of hers. She was always too passionate, and it always seemed to make her hair come to life. A fact Malfoy seemed rather amused by all of a sudden, though he had enough sense about him not to mention it.
But of course, he was still a giant prat and couldn’t help but saying “Now I know you’re barking. I don’t know anyone who owns a pub, let alone a pub in Muggle London.” She was pretty sure he also mumbled ‘daft witch’ at the end of his smug little sentence.
“That’s enough.” Harry warned again, a bit louder this time. “Hermione.” He pleaded, likely knowing she was the more intelligent one and therefore could be reasoned with, and because Malfoy was an idiot!
So of course she listed, and just like that, she deflated and Malfoy fucking won.
At least this round.
He immediately lost the second when Harry extended the invite for her to join them. She agreed despite the blonde prat’s protests, for many reasons. One, because she knew where the pub was. Two, she was looking forward to seeing Malfoy's smug face when he realizes he does in fact know someone who owns a pub in Muggle London… and to be honest, her third reason was because she really, really , wanted to piss him off by going.
But first, she needed to head home to change. Preferably into something that would change the way he was looking at her. For her own, personal, self esteem of course…
( For those of you wondering what Atlas looks like, here you go! )
