And It Was All Going So Well
Hermione stood in her flat’s living room, thoroughly lost. She once again ran through her mental list, counting off what she needed for the date. Dress, shoes, makeup? Would makeup be too much? No, no makeup. Tidy up her flat? What will Draco think if he sees the dreadful way she decorated? Merlin, this was useless. Start with one at a time, she decided. Dress.
She owned a grand total of four dresses. One business-attire dress with a pencil skirt and a waistline she felt slightly insecure in. Two cocktail dresses she employed for various weddings, baby showers, and wedding showers. So many wedding showers. The only dress left was a floor-length gown Hermione rarely wore. It had been purchased for one of the ministry’s various balls, and it had only seen the daylight twice. Hermione still cringed when she remembered the price tag which accompanied it.
Four dresses. Four options. Hermione cocked her head and studied them as if they were a wayward potion. The business-attire dress was too plain, she decided. Too plain for the Rising Phoenix, at the very least. Hermione knew the restaurant's clientele and she would be laughed out of the door. The ballgown was quickly discarded. Layers of tulle and beading may be a bit overkill. She considered the cocktail dresses once more. Almost identical shades of blue, they had seen their fair share of use. Either would do, she decided.
She shrugged to herself, deciding on the once hanging closest to her. It was a deep, royal blue with a v-neck line. It cinched her waist and accentuated her bust. It was nice enough, she supposed. She quickly pulled the garment on, pausing only a moment to look at her reflection. Hermione didn’t consider herself pretty. Sure, she wasn’t repulsive to look at, but magazines weren’t having her grace the cover. Still, she deemed herself as ‘passable’ and looked to her next to-do.
Three pairs of shoes. An everyday pair of flats she frequented the office in, a pair of trainers she bought with good intentions but which rarely saw the light of day, and one lonely pair of heels. The heels were a neutral brown and would compliment the dress well. It was an easy choice.
Lastly, makeup. She made the last-minute decision to apply a light amount of blush and mascara. She was allowed to take pride in her appearance, after all. It had nothing to do with Draco, she reassured herself. Nothing at all.
Hermione once again stood in her flat’s living room. She had cut it close with five minutes to spare, but she was ready. Her hair was magically tamed, her cheeks were rosy, and her flat was tidy. Another thing that had nothing to do with Draco, she reasoned. She had simply needed to clean her flat. Nothing more.
She was pulled out of her musings by a sudden woosh at her fireplace. A sleek-looking Draco gingerly stepped through, dusting off his white button-down shirt and slacks. His gaze landed on Hermione, and he visibly froze.
Oh Merlin. She had known the makeup was overkill. He was probably rethinking the whole deal and she would never get the promotion and-
“You look, um, well, you look quite nice.”
Draco had spoken, finally seeming to gain his countenance back. He was still drinking Hermione in, but had managed to regain movement in his limbs. He held out his hands and Hermione’s gaze was redirected to a bouquet of flowers. Tulips, to be precise.
“Flowers? Oh you didn’t have to get me flowers, but-thank you. Tulips are my favorite.”
She futilely tried to fight the blush creeping up her neck. He had gotten her flowers. Her favorite type of flowers.
He quickly looked away, suddenly interested in one of her many tomes.
“Um, yeah, you mentioned you liked them once.”
He coughed, and Hermione remembered her manners.
“Here, come in, come in. I’ll just take these-”
She plucked the flowers out of his hand, turning around,
“and you can make yourself at home.”
Get it together Hermione, she thought, this is your co-worker. This is a business meeting. You’re acting like a third year all of a sudden.
Having placed the flowers in a vase, she once again turned to Draco, who looked completely at home among her stacks of books. Already he had cracked her copy of Anne of Green Gables open, paging his way through it. She questioned,
“Are you a fan of Muggle literate?”
He looked over to her, an easy smile on his face.
“Oh, quite. I picked a few titles up after the war, curiosity and what not. However, I'm still growing my collection. You seem to have yours thoroughly established. He flashed her a teasing grin and replaced the book to its spot. Holding out his arm, he asked,
“Well, shall we?”
Again, Hermione fought the rosy hue overtaking her face. You aren’t some fifth year, she reminded herself. Get it together.
Moving purposefully, she took his arm. Together they strolled towards her fireplace. She threw in a hearty handful of floo powder as he called out,
“The Rising Phoenix!”
The green flames engulfed them, tilting them off-balance and spinning them through the floo network. Upon their landing Hermione quickly doubled-over, feeling distinctly sick. She had never taken well to floo travel.
“Hermione? Are you alright?”
It was Draco’s concerned voice meeting her ears, and she straightened to look at him. His face was contorted into worry, his eyes searching her face.
“Don’t worry, I’m quite alright. Magical travel has simply never agreed with me. “
He hadn’t dropped the worried look, and Hermione hastened to continue,
“Really, I’m fine. It was just a spot of discomfort but I’ve got it under control now. Come, let’s get a table.”
She determinedly strode forward, pulling Draco with her. Another glance at his face revealed his slightly wary expression. Still, he didn’t voice his thoughts and obediently followed her to the hostess stand. The hostess, unaware of their recent conversation, pleasantly greeted them.
“Welcome to The Rising Phoenix! Do you two have a reservation tonight?”
Hermione started to reply to the negative, when Draco cut her off.
“Yes, under Draco Malfoy. A table for two.”
Hermione looked to Draco, shocked, who nearly shrugged.
“Being obscenely wealthy and connected does help sometimes, Granger. I called in a favor with the owner.”
She was dubious.
“You bribed him?”
Draco was unapologetic, grinning at her. He quipped,
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
Hermione fondly rolled her eyes at him, huffing out a breath. He was incorrigible. The hostess interrupted their moment, saying,
“Ah, here it is. Table for two, please follow me.”
The hostess quickly led them to a secluded corner of the restaurant, their table being the lone one. Confused, Hermione asked,
“Where is everyone else?”
Draco’s eyes had a mischievous glint as he took his seat. He took on an innocent tone, saying,
“Oh, I didn’t mention? I rented out the restaurant?”
Hermione was shocked-or in shock, she wasn’t sure which was correct. He had rented out the entire bloody building. For their business meet-date. For their date.
“You rented out the entire thing? That must have cost a fortune!”
He casually perused the set-out menu.
“Oh, it did. Good thing I have a couple of those.”
Hermione wanted to be upset. He conspired and went behind her back. He should have consulted her. Instead, she was loath to admit her admiration at the gesture. Instead of doing something she would regret-like thank him-she too looked at the menu.
Altogether, it was a lovely date. Conversation had not run dry once during the two hours they talked, and ate, and talked some more. Hermione was just about to inquire for the check when Draco snapped his fingers, whistling. The restaurant’s front door started to open as he said,
“And now for the entertainment-it’s called dinner and a show for a reason-a unicorn!”
He finished his proclamation by relaxing into his seat and fixing his gaze on the front door, where a unicorn-a bloody unicorn-was entering. Hermione choked on her drink.
Unicorns aren’t very common in the Wizarding World. In fact, they only had one known habitat-the Forbidden Forest. She hadn’t the faintest clue how Draco had procured one. Money does go a long way, she cynically thought.
The unicorn slowly made its way to their table. Hermione looked on, flabbergasted. Draco, for his part, looked very self-satisfied. He started,
“One of the only domesticated unicorns in all of Britain. Docile as a puppy.”
It was as if Draco's words had provoked the unicorn, for it suddenly reared onto its front legs, immediately crashing down onto the table-and Hermione herself.
‘Docile as a puppy my arse’ was her last coherent thought before the unicorn’s hooves found purchase directly on her chest.