Hermione waited patiently outside the changing rooms for Ron, Harry, and Ginny. Not being a massive Quidditch enthusiast, she wasn’t cut up over the result, but Harry looked as if someone had told him Voldemort had been resurrected for a second time. Ron had been strangely quiet about it all. Usually, he’d be ranting about Slytherin’s underhanded tactics and about the foul ferret in general, but he’d just been pale and a little clammy.
She wondered if it was because he was worried she was going to shout at him for his disgraceful eying-up of Astoria Greengrass. Once upon a time, she might have cared, but she was used to Ron’s inability to keep his eyes to himself or on his girlfriend. It was something she’d had to put up with every time they’d gone to Diagon Alley over the summer and girls had fluttered their eyelashes at her susceptible boyfriend. Hogwarts was slightly better in that the pool of girls was a lot smaller, but Ron had flirted with several girls right in front of her. She wasn’t sure why she was continuing to give Ron a chance, but she wasn’t one to give up and she had always wanted him, hadn’t she? It just seemed easier this way.
Hermione was wrapped in her own thoughts, and she didn’t notice Malfoy until he was standing directly in front of her. “Hello, Angel,” he said.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, I guess it’s an improvement on Mudblood. What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked.
She really wasn’t in the mood for whatever crap Malfoy wanted to spew right now. She’d also kept her distance from the snarky blond since they’d returned. They shared many of the same classes, and she’d found her eyes straying in his direction once too many times for someone who was meant to be in a committed relationship with someone else.
Hermione perked up as she saw the door to the Gryffindor dressing room open. Surely the appearance of Ron and Harry would make Malfoy scarper pretty quickly. However, Malfoy spotted the door opening also and just smirked. He put his arm up to rest alongside Hermione’s head in a gesture that was far more intimate than she appreciated, especially as her eyes drifted to the way it pulled his jumper tight over his upper arms.
He smiled down at her. “I just wanted to tell you to be waiting outside the Headmistress’ office next Saturday night at seven,” he said.
Hermione frowned. “Why would I be waiting there and for whom?” she asked, confused.
“Why for me, of course. For our date,” he explained, as Harry and Ginny came over.
“What are you talking about, Malfoy? What date?” she asked, beginning to suspect that the blond had taken a Bludger to the head.
“You might want to ask your boyfriend about that. He made a bet with me, and you’re my winnings,” the Slytherin said, gesturing over to a hovering and clearly unhappy Ron Weasley.
Her eyes flashed back up to Malfoy’s as he leaned in a little closer and whispered in her ear, “Make sure you wear your nicest dress, Granger.”
He straightened up as Hermione’s eyes flashed with her mounting rage. “Oh, and Angel, make sure you do something with that hair of yours. I’m taking you somewhere classy,” he said with a wink before departing.
Hermione looked helplessly at her two friends who were looking bemused and puzzled before her gaze settled on her shuffling boyfriend. He looked guilty and scared. “Ronald Weasley, what have you done?” she asked in a menacing hiss.
