Friends don't
Their dance had been going on for weeks now, a step here, a touch there, a flurry of repartee that left them breathless and flushed. If anyone were to ask Hermione, she’d explain it all away as a long-held chemistry of rivals, that cocktail of volatility they’d shared from the start as first years. If they were to ask Draco, however, he’d give a very different answer.
“We’re not students anymore, Hermione. Draco hasn’t bullied you for years,” said Pansy, as she fluffed the kitchen’s floral arrangement.
“He literally ended our last face-to face with an insult.” Hermione resisted flicking the spatula at her. As irresistible as the image of an egg-covered Pansy was, she still valued her life.
“To be fair, you were being an insufferable know-it-all…hey!” A dainty hand rubbed at her stung arse.
Hermione brandished the towel with a raised brow, ready to snap it at her friend once more. “Even if Snape’s his godfather, nobody else is allowed to call me that!”
“Okaaay, but think about it. Friends don’t act the way that you two’ve both been acting lately. The sexual tension is thickkk.”
“You might have an eye for art, but this time you’re definitely blind.” Hermione tossed her curls in dismissal and turned back to the stovetop, setting her shoulders into a stubborn line.
“Mhm…you keep telling yourself that, darling. Where’d you get these flowers, by the way? They’re lovely.”
“Malfoy left them behind since he mis-ordered too many for Mother’s Day.”
Pansy hummed in understanding. She would keep the meaning of gardenias to herself, a language Draco knew very well but Hermione obviously didn’t. Who was she to point out the gaps in her knowledge?
“Does he do that often?”
“Do what?”
“Give you flowers.”
“It’s not like he’s going out of his way to give them to me,” she admitted, “he just happens to come across them more than others thanks to Narcissa’s gardens and his…fans.”
Interesting that Hermione was on a first-name basis with the Malfoy matriarch. Pansy could remember a time not that long ago where she was still Lady Malfoy.
“I suppose that’s nice.”
“It is! They already donate so many bouquets to St. Mungos—I’m really just an afterthought. Here, taste this.”
Pansy accepted the spoonful thrust in front of her, moaning at the explosion of flavor on her tongue. “How are these scrambled eggs? What kind of magic did you use to make it so creamy?”
“Just a bit of salt, fat, acid, and heat. Hand me those plates, would you?”
As the two women settled down for a bit of brunch and a lot of gossip, Pansy lamented the idea of these days soon coming to an end. She’d been friends with Draco long enough to know that flowers were just the first step to what had to be a master plan to woo Hermione Granger. The only question now was how long she had left to hoard the Golden Girl to herself.
“Vegas. Let’s do a girl’s trip to Vegas!”
Pansy should have remembered the city’s reputation for gambling and impromptu weddings. She should have expected Draco to crash their plans in favor of his own. She should have done a lot of things, but right now, her mind was filled with neon lights, music shows, and lots and lots of champagne.
Draco had a plan, and it wouldn’t stay secret for long.