III. Payday
By the time Hermione got back from Paris, a parcel was waiting for her at the lodge. Long package covered a beautiful tulle, corset dress, in a deep emerald shade. The girl couldn’t help, but think, that it would go well with her emerald clips. As usual, a ticket was attached to the gift.
“Wear it on Halloween, so people know that you are taken. DM”
The day before, before departure, Hermione received an invitation, also by post. Elegant, printed on high quality stiff paper. Black and green stationery was decorated with Art Deco gilding. On Saturday there was a Late Halloween Party at the Serpent Club.
Over a cup of cappuccino, with the Eiffel Tower in the background, she listened to Draco, as he talked about how he met his inner circle. How he became their inner circle. How through their youth they've never spent a day apart. Same private schools. Same university. Same job. But now they saw each other less often outside of work. So they held these meetings every last Friday of the month. To make sure that they remain a family until the very end. So that they didn't have to remove their tattoos.
"On Halloween weekend, we had to work late," he said. "So we postponed the party. And I’d be delighted. if you’d come."
She took a short sip of her cappuccino. Cream settled on her upper lip. She licked it with a unhurried movement.
"I'd love that too."
In that very moment he realised, that she was a sin itself.
"And what is your family like? Your real family," she continued.
"This is my real family. But my parents, well... They’re busy. My father was the youngest junior associate in his first company, thanks to his impeccable work ethic, that he has to this day. Mother simply calls it workaholism. Which is funny, because she herself hasn’t missed a single charity event, she’s been invited to. And Narcissa Malfoy was the most desirable guest of any charity gala. After all, she could afford generous donations. But God forbid, don’t feel sorry for me. Every minute they devoted to work instead of me, I was rewarded with more and more elaborate gifts. I was thrilled.
"Haven't you been the least bit lonely?" She asked doubtfully.
"Not at all. After all, I had my real family with me all the time," he took a sip of coffee, glad to have made his point. “Our fathers have been friends since Oxford. Their story is very similar to ours. Theo is only three months younger than me. There has never been a day in my life where I felt lonely."
"I'm glad you have friends you can always count on. Unlike you, I’ve never had them. But you don't have to feel sorry for me either," she added quickly, seeing that the man was about to interrupt her. "Because my parents were always my best friends. They always made me feel loved."
"So what's your recipe of a fortune? If not old money, nor workaholism."
"My father set up a laziness fund."
"The laziness fund?"
"Every year, my parents checked the rent in the area where they would live, if they were lazy. Closer to the center and work. Less time in traffic jams. Alarm clock set later. They used to say that, they would pay for convenience. Half of that rent they invested in my education. The other half in the company and training. Thanks to it, we have money now.
"Your parents seem to be on the ball."
"They are," she smiled in confirmation.
He could almost see the memories flashing behind her eyes.
They ordered more coffee and cakes, because the conversation seemed endless. However, the sun was far from setting, when they had to head back at the airport.
They were walking, their fingers intertwined, his thumb stroking the circles ever so slightly, in a soothing manner. When the first drops of rain fell, she knew there would be no better opportunity. That there would be no more beautiful memory. She stopped, blocking his way. Her hands gripped the lapels of his coat, and she stood on her tiptoes.
She was still too low. Her gaze met his smirk, the one she hated so much. The one she's grown so fond of. He bent down a little, but did nothing else. He waited. She wasted no time. Still, her movements were cautious. Careful. Delicate as the brush of a butterfly's wings. Exploratory. Self-doubting almost. Draco always had this unshakable confidence. The second her lips touched his, his left hand was on the nape of her neck and the other was at the small of her back, pressing her tightly against him. Nearly crashing. She tasted like cappuccino. She smelled like flowers. And it felt like happiness. But he knew it would be perfect. After all, he knew she loved to romanticize life.
Oh to have your first kiss with someone (so bloody handsome) in Paris, in (not so) pouring rain.
***
On Friday afternoon, she met Ron and Harry at a coffee shop. She wondered if their Friday coffees would turn into monthly meetings, too. She caught herself doing it again. No matter on what subject her thoughts deviated, with whom and where she was, since Paris she was able to reduce every situation to one thing. Draco. But she couldn't help but feel hot just thinking about it. She could still feel the bites on her lips, and the fingers digging almost painfully into the sides of her neck.
"So here's the thing. There's this guy I wanna sleep with," she interrupted Ron mid-sentence. But she's not been listening for way longer. Almost since sitting down, and putting her laptop in front of her.
Ron hasn't missed a beat. ‘Basketball’ after the first syllable smoothly turned into ‘banquet’.
"Banquet guy?" She nodded. "Seems like a decent lad."
" Yes, we've already established that, thank you. But we've only been on like two dates."
" Who cares?" Harry asked. "Does he?"
" I don't think so. Quite opposite I think."
"Is there supposed to be any limit?" Ron added.
"So, that's settled. How was your lecture Harry?" She changed the subject. And the conversation kept flowing, with awful amount of "bloody" "old" and "fucker" in it.