The Worst Date Ever

The Bet

Hermione sneered at the unwelcome blond presence who stood in the doorway of her office, grinning like an idiot. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"It's the 31st. You know what that means?"

She groaned. How the hell had she ever allowed herself to be talked into this stupid bet?

It started the night Harry insisted the entire office go out on Valentine's Day to celebrate the fact that they were all "lonely, toxically work-obsessed adults who were still surprisingly single on the most romantic day of the year." His words. The fucker.

It was around tequila shot Numero Quatro that everything went tits up.

"You know what, Granger?" Malfoy drunkenly slurred as he slung his arm around her shoulders.

"Don't touch me."

He gingerly removed the appendage from her person. "You would be SO. MUCH. HOTTER. If you would just lighten up every now and then."

Another tequila shot. "Maybe I don't care if you think I'm hot. Y'ever think of that, Malfoy?"

He booped her nose. "Even when you're slushed...shlooshed...sl-o-sh-ed. Even when you're sproshed, you're kind of a bitch."

She covered his face with her palm. It was not entirely clear what she was going for, but Dutch wisdom can never truly be questioned. "I am NOT. A bitch." Hiccup. "You're a little prat. A littlllle...pratty little ferret thing. A sssstupid face. A stupid ferret with a stupid blond face and a ferrety head."

He laughed. "You're drunk."

"YOU'RE drunk." She was oh, so very drunk.

"Yup." Hiccup. "And I'm a better Auror than you."

"ARE NOT!" Drunk Hermione was an exclaimer.

"Wanna test it?"

"HOW?" A loud exclaimer.

Drunk Draco didn't seem to notice or care. "A bet. Whoever closes the most cases in March wins."

She winked. Or closed both eyes and squeezed, but hey, whatever. Drunk Hermione did not have the best command of her facial muscles. She clicked her tongue and shot a finger pistol at him. "You're on, Malfoy."

Arsehole.

He chuckled at her discomfort. She dearly wanted to pop him. What possible right did he have looking so comfortable in her office?

"You remember our terms, Granger?"

She grumbled. Yeah. She fucking remembered. If she won, he had to do all her paperwork for the next two months. But if he won, she had to go on a date with him.

Scratch that.

She had to go on the worst date ever with him. His words.

The fucker.

As of yesterday, she was ahead. But she could barely find the will to be smug about it when he stood there, eyes twinkling, like he had some great secret she didn't know about. "Of course, I remember, Malfoy. But unless you can close two more cases by the end of the day, I believe I win."

His grin spread menacingly across his face. Like a pox. Shit-fuck. What did he do?

"I knew you would be keeping track, Granger. But perhaps my math is off, you know, seeing as I'm an inferior being compared to Her Royal Swotness, Hermione Granger—"