Beauty From Pain

Chapter Eighteen

The atmosphere of the office was still, the only sound was the crackle of the fire in the fireplace and the muffled footsteps of Draco's pacing. An empty glass of firewhiskey sat on the mantle with an equally empty bottle perched next to it. A thoroughly unimpressed Blaise lounged in the armchair across from the fire, more interested in the empty glass in his hand than his friend's plight.

"A tragedy," Blaise grumbled quietly.

"It's not a tragedy," Draco replied absentmindedly, still prowling from one side of the room to the other. "It's merely a complication."

Blaise rolled his eyes and laid his head back against the armchair. "Not everything is about you, Draco. I was talking about our more immediate problem: we're out of liquor."

Draco gave him a bland look. "I hardly think more liquor is going to help up solve my predicament."

"Us," Blaise echoed with a scoff. "I'm not drinking to help you, mate. I'm drinking so I can handle you and your dramatics."

"You're certainly one to talk about dramatics."

Ignoring the quip, Blaise lazily waved his wand and opened the liquor cabinet. The contents came floating out in single file, hovering past him and returning to the cabinet one after the other as he discarded them.

Draco resumed his pacing.

Woo me.

Hermione's words echoed through his mind, the phantom of a chill running down his spine at the memory of her breath in his ear, the enticing tone of her voice as she whispered those words to him. Wooing a woman was an art he had mastered long ago in his years at Hogwarts, at least he liked to believe he had. He prided himself in his ability to ensnare any female who caught his fancy, but this was Hermione Granger. The Gryffindor Princess and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. He might as well throw his entire book of gambits out his office window.

Blaise plucked a bottle of liquor from the air with a triumphant smile, but the smile fell when he heard a low growl come from the direction of Draco's pacing. He sighed, shook his head, and muttered, "Not strong enough." The bottle floated out of his grasp and went to join the others.

"It shouldn't be this difficult," Draco said. He ran frustrated fingers through his hair and caused the blond locks to stick up at odd angles.

"You're right," Blaise agreed. "It shouldn't be. You're one of the most desirable bachelors in England, second only to myself of course. Wooing a witch should be second nature to you, mate. Flirtations as easy as breathing. And yet," Blaise trailed off and threw a condescending look over to Draco, "here we are."

The corner of Draco's lip twitched in irritation. "You are the least helpful bloke I've ever met."

"I can't be useful all the time, it's bad for my image."

The room fell into silence once more as Draco lost himself in his thoughts. His mind raced with possibilities, each discarded more quickly than the last. Hermione was too unique for any of the usual methods to work. She would either be unimpressed or insulted and revoke his second chance. He would need something far more clever than any trick before and brilliantly romantic. His pacing halted mid step, foot held suspended in the air.

Tricks.

That's where he was going wrong. No mere trick would work because this was no fling to be sought after and then discarded. Draco resisted the urge to hit himself for his own stupidity. "By Salazar," he groaned and stuffed his fingers back into his hair.

Ignorant to his friend's revelation, Blaise finally contributed, "We could always call on Pansy to help. She's a witch."

Draco snorted at Blaise's brilliant observation and shook his head. Finished pacing, he made his way to the office window overlooking a small garden and said, "I would rather leave Pansy out of the loop on this one."