The Worst Date Ever

The Date

The following Monday, Hermione alternated between banging her head on her desk and refreshing the Silencing and Locking Charm she cast on her door. Its purpose was dual: one, the faint residue of its magical presence signaled to would-be visitors that they should walk away, and two, nobody could hear her curse.

And curse, she did.

The reason? At some point during the remainder of the weekend following her disastrous date with Malfoy, she had come to the unfortunate conclusion that she, inexplicably, had a crush on him. A big one.

It made no sense. She had gone over the variables repeatedly and had examined it from every angle. She made a pro/con list that was easily one of the top three best pro/con lists she had made in her lifetime. When that brought her no clarity, she had even made a pie chart representing the makeup of his attributes that made her inner feminist hurl at the knowledge that she still somehow liked this guy. Despite all of this, she still didn't have a satisfactory answer as to why she suddenly fancied the git after he had successfully taken her on the worst date of her life and generally made her existence a living Hell.

She felt gross and foreign in her own skin. She wasn't certain how to be this person. Who was she really now? What other new surprises could Fate throw her way? Did she actually enjoy UFC fights? Perhaps Paul Ryan had some good ideas after all. Who even fucking knew anymore?

Knock, knock, knock.

Whoever it was would sense the Charm and go away.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Granger? Are you in there?"

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit! She should have known that her little trick would only work on people with normal social skills. It was no match for Draco's preternatural levels of entitlement.

And she definitely wasn't ready to see him yet. She had only just transitioned from the denial stage of her crush to the part where she wanted to murder several boxes of Honeydukes chocolates. Seeing Draco wasn't supposed to happen for another several phases—somewhere between drunken Floo calls and intermittent office-stalking.

"Uh..." She began rifling through several papers of rubbish-bin-level importance to make it seem as though she truly was busy. "Just a second!" She lifted the Charm. "Um...you can come in now."

The door opened, and Hermione stifled a groan as he walked in. His hair resembled Leo circa Titanic, and he looked to be sewn into his trousers. How did she never notice before that he was really, really fucking gorgeous? Again, it made no sense. She had certainly seen him wear those exact same clothes and comb his hair in that precise way dozens of times before. And out of nowhere, today he looked like the last slab of sugar on Earth. She licked her lips. "Hi."

He swallowed. "Hi."

She shifted in her seat. "Um...do you want to sit down or something?"

"Sure." He sat, biting his lip and staring at a spot on her desk. "So, did you get home alright the other night?"

"Yup." She fidgeted with her quill. "Just dandy, thank you."

He nodded. "Good. Good. Um..." He coughed into his hand. "So, I wanted to apologize."

"For what?"

"For everything. The dress, the pet names, the fight. Everything."

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Draco, that's nice of you, but you really don't need to—"

"Please." His eyes met hers for the first time since he'd sat down. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to say. "I liked it, okay."