Banana Pancakes [PG-13] for punchycat
Title: Banana Pancakes
Author: sunnyjune46
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I possess not the Potter known as Harry, that privilege belongs to JK Rowling. Nor do I possess the song henceforth known as “Banana Pancakes”, the honour of which belongs to Jack Johnson. Nor do I own any rights to ‘The Tempest’ which solely belongs to Billy Shakespeare.
Warnings: Excessive use of the ellipsis and questionable British slang.
Summary: After a magical accident, Hermione and Draco find themselves trapped in a room together and must suffer in the dark. Draco is keen on quizzing Hermione on her love life whilst Hermione just really wants out of there.
Notes: A thousand thank yous to my fabulous beta yesterday4 . . . Punchycat, I hope this story meets your expectations. I know it’s light on the Jack Johnson lyrics, but I tried to incorporate its theme as best I could. :-)
Earlier that morning . . .
“Malfoy! Stop, give it here!”
“It’s my find, Granger, I want to look at it!”
“It’s not your find, you found it by accident! Malfoy! Careful with that, those pages are over five centuries old!”
“I know! Quite your squawking, it’s fine . . . Look! See? I told you it was - Stop pulling on it, Granger, you’ll break it!”
“You stop pulling on it! It isn’t yours! Give. It. To. Me!”
“Granger! Granger, you’re going to knock over the - LOOK OUT!”
. . .
. . .
. . .
An indeterminate length of time later . . .
I came to with a splitting headache and a dull throb in my shin. The former could be attributed to banging my head soundly on the stone floor I found myself sprawled upon; the latter could only be due to the fact that someone was repeatedly kicking me in my leg.
“Ow!”
“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice deadpanned.
“Granger?”
“Who else did you expect?”
“Where are we?” I sat up slowly, clutching my head and rubbing my leg, expecting to see anything other than nothing. It was literally pitch black, wherever it was we were.
“Unless you believe I’ve mysteriously acquired the ability to see in the dark, your guess is as good as mine.”
Jeeze, tetchy.
Being a paragon of wisdom and logic, I said, “Cast a lumos, then.”
“I’d love to but I haven’t got my wand. I dropped it when you shoved me.”
I rolled my eyes, an action lost on her due to the darkness, unfortunately.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I said, reaching for my wand. “And I didn’t shove you. You pushed me.”
“Oh shut up and give the spell already.”
I patted my trouser pockets, then those in my robes. “Err . . .”
“You haven’t got yours either, do you? Brilliant . . .” I heard a sigh and the sound of a person sliding down a wall to sit, followed by a small, “Ow!” and a sotto voce, “I guess I’ll stand then . . .”
Curious, but I couldn’t be bothered if Granger stubbed her toe in the dark. What I needed to know was where we were and what we were going to do about it.
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, precisely, but I’m sure it has something to do with the flask full of the Sands of Time that you knocked into the vials of Translocation Potion and that rather frightening explosion that followed!”
“You can’t give me all the blame. If you hadn’t have tried to grab the book out of my hands, none of this would have happened!”
Granger snorted. “Typical! You’re not even part of the R&D department; you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. Why were you there?” Her question was accompanied by a shuffling sound.
“Uh, my head hurts. All this talking is giving me a headache.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve got a serious pain in my - err . . . You didn’t answer my question.”
Blast. I thought I had distracted her.
“Don’t you think we should figure out where we are? For all we know, we could be in medieval Germany, if you were right about the Sands of Time thing.”
“Well, if you’d get up off your lazy arse and help me, we could find a door that much faster.”
That would explain the shuffling noises. I stood and held a hand out until I felt the wall. Running my hands along the smooth stones, searching for a door, window, cat flap, whatever, I asked, “Which direction are you moving in?”
“Right.”
Right, which meant I should go left and - “Oomf!”
“And by right, I meant that you should go right as well so we don’t run into each other!”
Granger was really moody for a small, soft, curvy little, um . . . maybe I should remove my hands from her very huggable person lest I forget her prickly personality. She didn’t mention anything about the questionable place where my hand had “accidentally” landed, and for that I was thankful.
“Well, that’d be a bit redundant, wouldn’t it? Did you find anything?”
“No, but as you’re so much taller than me, you would be able to reach a possible window that might be out of my reach. I thought logic was a prerequisite for being an Auror?”
“Just in the same way that being waspish is a condition for Research and Development,” I retorted.
“I am not waspish!”
“Of course not, as clearly shown by your gracious welcoming of my assistance this morning and as evidenced by your usual cheery behaviour.”
“What were you doing in my laboratory this morning, Malfoy?”
I decided radio silence was the order of the day and ignored her.
“Malfoy?”
“How’d you hurt your arse, Granger?” I snickered. Misdirection, the first thing you learn in sneaky-bastard school.
“Oh, shut up you jerk!”
“You say the sweetest things.”
She harrumphed; something she did with the same frequency that most people breathe with. “I managed to find the book we were arguing over. You didn’t find anything whilst searching, did you?”
“Other than this bucket,” I said, kicking the object, “not a dicky bird. How about you?”
I didn’t relish feeling up the wall when there were much more interesting objects in the room worth copping a feel of but I figured we a) wouldn’t find an escape hatch, nor b) would I safely get away with putting my paws all over Granger.
Therefore, I settled down for a long, albeit interesting, wait in our box of gloom.
. . .
A few minutes later . . .
“Malfoy, are you using the bucket?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Could you pass it to me so I could sit on it?”
“I could . . . I won’t because I can’t be bothered.”
“Must you be so petty?”
Yes, yes I must.
“Too good for the floor, Granger?”
“No, I just don’t want to put any pressure on my, err, coccyx and as I don’t have a doughnut to sit on, the bucket will have to do.”
“A doughnut?”
“It’s a Muggle thing.”
“I could always rub it for you; make it better,” I leered in her general direction. I was probably lucky that she couldn’t see me and that I was out of kicking range.
“I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Your loss, Granger. I’ve been told I have . . . magic fingers.” My smirk was also lost on her. I really was lamenting the loss of my non-verbals; they really added an important dimension to my personality.
“Oh, spare me. I’ve heard the rumours, thanks.”
“All true,” I boasted.
Oddly, she chuckled. “That explains so much.”
Intrigued and a little worried, I asked, “What does that mean?”
“Oh nothing,” she replied coyly. Normally, a coy Granger would make my blood boil but this time it was running a little cold.
“What are people saying about me?” My voice pitched a little higher than normal. Not cool, Malfoy. Not cool.
“It’s not a big deal, Malfoy. Just that your fingers are so . . . talented . . . to make up for a deficiency in other departments.”
“What departments?” I felt sweat gathering on my brow. So not cool. I loathed unnecessary sweat on my body.
“Err, the trouser-snake department,” she said hurriedly, “but not to worry, Malfoy. It’s not about the size of the err, bat, but the strength of the, uh, beater . . . Oh Merlin . . .”
If I wasn’t so mortified by that deplorable despicable LIE, I would have been amused by her obvious discomfort discussing my favourite body part.
“For the record, these rumours are categorically untrue and I am prepared to demonstrate how abominably disproportionate these misrepresentations are; if it weren’t for the dark, I’d show you right now -”
“No! Just drop it, Malfoy. The subject I mean, not your trousers.”
“I just want you to know . . .”
“I get it.”
We settled into an awkward silence. After a moment, I shoved the bucket towards her.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly as she arranged the bucket to suit her needs.
“Granger?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you so knowledgeable about my sexual prowess and my alleged, and completely false, I must stress, handicaps?”
She remained silent.
“It might indicate, and especially given your predilection for obtaining knowledge and passion for studying, a particular interest in the subject? Hmm?”
She snorted. “You give yourself too much credit, Malfoy. It’s just idle gossip, that’s all.”
“Mmhmm,” I said. “We’ll see about that.”
. . .
Twenty minutes later . . .
I might have dozed off, because I woke to the sound of Granger chuckling to herself.
“What?”
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking.”
“Care to share with the rest of the class?”
“Well, I was considering a puzzle.”
“A puzzle?”
“Yes. Men, to be precise. As I grow older, I find I understand them less and less. Have you any advice for me?”
I knew she wasn’t looking for a serious answer, but I gave her query the consideration it deserved.
“It’s simple, really. Men are gods and we should be worshipped appropriately . . . Ow! You didn’t have to throw your shoe at me.”
The only sound I heard was a very feminine-sounding snicker.
. . .
Some time later . . .
“I’m bored.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” Granger replied.
“Let’s sing a song.”
“I don’t want to sing. What I want is for you to be quiet so I can figure out how to get us out of here.”
“C’mon, you’ll love it. It’s Muggle. I picked it up the last time I went by the park . . .”
“Oh dear . . .”
“This is a song that never ends; yes it goes on and on my friends. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just bec-UGH!”
And that is when I became acquainted with Granger’s other shoe.
. . .
Ten minutes later . . .
“I have an idea.”
“Here we go.”
“No, hear me out. We don’t know each other very well -”
“We’ve known each other for fifteen years.”
“Yes, but what do we know about each other? Do you know my birthday? Do I know yours? What’s your favourite colour? What’s mine? When did your gran die, what’s the name of my favourite sweater, when did you lose your virginity -”
“Malfoy!”
“- All pertinent things that friends know about one another.”
“You think we’re friends?”
“You think we’re not?”
“Well, sure, we see each other a lot around here, you do come by my office quite a bit more than an Auror should, but we don’t socialize outside of the Ministry.”
“That’s not true. We saw each other at Potter’s Christmas party and we were both at Ron and Lavender’s joint hen and stag do.”
“Oh, well, I suppose we could be close acquaintances then . . .”
“Fine, if you don’t want to be my friend, just say so.”
“No! It’s fine. We can be friends.”
“I don’t think you mean it.”
I heard her growl and smiled with satisfaction to myself. I loved giving her a hard time.
“Malfoy,” she growled, “we’re friends. Leave it.”
“Okay-dokay. So, about my idea?”
“I’m not telling you when I lost my virginity, Malfoy.”
She didn’t have to. May 25th, 1999. Weasley, the girl one, for all her annoying habits (I’ll never forgive her for that bat-bogey incident), was a veritable font of information once you got a few Tom Collinses in her. I put her to good use at Potter’s Christmas party last year and got all the goss on Granger.
“No worries, we’ll start with something simple. What’s your favourite position?”
“Malfoy!”
“What? Mine’s obvious - Seeker -”
“Ohh, quidditch. Right . . .”
“. . . but I quite like Beater too - those little bats are brilliant. Sometimes, I just want to thwack a bludger right at Potter’s nose . . . Wait, what did you think I meant?”
“Pardon? Mean what?”
“Before, just then, about positions?”
“Oh, err, nothing.”
. . .
One minute later . . .
“Granger, you saucy minx.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
. . .
Fifteen minutes later . . .
“I have another question.”
“Are we still playing that?”
“We stopped?”
“Well, I figured, since you were quiet for the last fifteen minutes or so. I thought you’d fallen asleep again.”
She was close. I had been lost in a seriously wicked daydream about Granger, a quidditch post, and some hot sauce and had probably lost consciousness for a while.
“No, I was just ruminating on something. Anyway, my question.”
“Wait! You’ve already asked one. It’s my turn now.”
“That’s fair. Proceed.”
“Hmm . . . If you were lost on a deserted island and could only have one book to read, what book would you choose?”
“What a naff question, Granger.”
“No it isn’t. It’s perfectly valid.”
“Fine. I’d choose a book of spells that would get me off the island.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Why not? I could choose any book; you didn’t specify that there were limitations on what I could choose.”
“Just answer the question. Seriously.”
“All right. I would choose . . . The Tempest.”
Granger gasped. “Did you know that’s my favourite Shakespearean play too?”
Yes, I did. Bless Ginny Potter, nee Weasley.
“It’s very fitting isn’t? Being stranded on a deserted island and everything . . . I always felt that Prospero was correct in making it difficult for Ferdinand to have Miranda, making him prove his love. Things are always more worthwhile the harder you work for it. ‘Too light winning make the prize light’*, isn’t that so?”
“Yes,” she said distractedly.
I gave her a moment to mull things over.
“My turn.”
“Let’s have it then.”
“Another simple one. What is your dream date?”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear that.”
Oh, yes I did.
“Why not? You can tell a lot about a person by their idea of a dream date.”
“Fine. Well . . . It’s really simple, actually. I don’t need any fancy surprises or expensive meals, a take-away would be fine. I would just like a comfortable space with good conversation.”
“Oh please. How boring! There must be more to it,” I hedged.
“Well . . .”
I could tell she wanted to share more.
“Go on.”
“My absolute dream date would start with a light meal, a curry perhaps, and wine, over which we would talk and get to know one another. Afterwards, we would stop at Flourish and Blotts and discuss our favourite books. And I know you’re rolling your eyes, but I love books and therefore the man I’m interested in would love books too.”
She was wrong; I wasn’t rolling my eyes, but nodding my head. All good, so far.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Granger. Continue.”
“After that, we would stroll through Diagon Alley, talking and taking in the sights. We might even venture into Muggle London and take a moonlit stroll through Hyde Park. If things went well, I’d invite him back to mine . . .”
Now it was getting interesting. I scooted closer to the sound of her voice, eager to hear more.
“ . . . and we’d cosy up by the fire, where we’d read to each other from our favourite books.”
“Oh.”
“And,” she added coyly, “If things went really well, I’d make banana pancakes.”
“Banana pancakes? For dinner?”
“No, Malfoy,” she chuckled, “for breakfast.”
Niiiice.
“Interesting dream date, Granger. I’ll have to file that information away for later.”
“If you insist.”
Oh, I did.
. . .
Some time later . . .
Granger was mumbling something to herself. I couldn’t quite make it out, but every now and then I’d hear her growl and say something along the lines of, “No, that won’t work either.” I had once again gone off into that beautiful place where Granger was covered in hot sauce, but instead of the quidditch pitch, I was imagining cosy fireplaces, pillows, and banana pancakes. Her incessant mumbling was seriously disturbing my daydream.
“Granger, what in Merlin’s tight grey pants are you muttering about?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
She took a deep breath and I immediately knew that was the wrong answer, as Granger only breathed deeply before she embarked upon ‘educating’ whomever was in the vicinity. This time, I was the poor sod within hearing range.
“Originally, I was going through all the possible spells that don’t necessarily require a wand to channel their magic that might get us out of here, but I was unsuccessful in my attempts. Then I reconstructed our altercation this morning in my mind, taking inventory of all the possible magical elements that could have effected our translocation, and I concluded that we did not cross through time, but merely space. I know this, because although you knocked -”
“Ahem!”
“ - err, although the bottle of Sands of Time was knocked over, which, as you know, is the primary component in Time Turners, there wasn’t any thyme on my workbench, which is the necessary catalyst. Therefore, I am certain that we did not travel through time, but merely space, due to the unfortunate Translocation Potion spillage.”
“So,” I drawled, taking my time to make sure I understood her correctly. “We’re not in medieval Germany?”
“No. In fact, I strongly believe we haven’t even left the Ministry.”
Stuff and bother. I was really hoping for some authentic bratwurst when we got out of here.
“Well, I suppose that’s good news then. If we’re still in the Ministry, then why hasn’t anybody found us?”
“Do you know how big the Ministry actually us?”
“Um, ten levels, seven departments?”
“Close, but not quite. The Ministry building is actually composed of thirteen levels that cover nearly ten square miles. The unoccupied space is a veritable warren of hiding places. We could even be stuck between walls. I’m honestly not surprised that we haven’t been discovered. I’m just hoping that it happens some time in the near future as I have a very important presentation for Monday that I need to prepare. I would have been done already if it weren’t for somebody being somewhere he wasn’t meant to be!”
“I’ve heard that sob story already, it’s tired.” At this point in time, I wasn’t convinced Granger was ready for the real reason why I was down in R&D.
Granger huffed, sighed, or harrumphed, or any combination of the three.
After a moment, I said, “You work too much.”
“I do not. The time I spend working is proportionate to the job I hold.”
“From my understanding, as the director of research and development, you have the ability to delegate work to the employees entrusted to you. From what I can see, you do the work of three assistants, plus your duties as director.”
“That’s not true. I happen to be very efficient and can handle a larger workload than somebody who doesn’t possess equal multitasking capabilities. That doesn’t mean I work too hard. I can’t help it if I have a hundred people popping into the office who need help with one thing or another. Hardly anybody pops in just to say hello. Somebody always wants my time, therefore, yes, I have a lot to do when I’m at work.”
The tone of her voice told me that she’d rather have more visits of pleasure than of business, but that was something to focus on for later. “When was the last time you had fun?”
“Other than now? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m having a rollicking good time.”
Gasp! What was that? Was that? “Granger, did you just use sarcasm?”
“Yes, Malfoy, I did. I do have a sense of humour, you know.”
I did, in fact, know. Anybody who would be best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley must be batshit crazy, have the patience of a saint, or have a seriously twisted sense of humour.
“And in reference to your question, the last time I had fun was last weekend when Harry and Ron and I went out for a drink.”
“Was Ginny Potter there?”
“Yes.”
“And Lavender Weasley, was she there too?”
“Yes. What are you getting at, Malfoy?”
“Who was your date?”
“I didn’t have one.”
“Aha! See. Case and point.”
“I see nothing! No case, no point. You’re making no sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense. You went out a on a weekend with two married men and their wives, sans date. It’s pathetic! You spend all your time with unavailable men. It tells me that you’re either afraid of commitment, and therefore surround yourself with ‘safe’ men, or you’re insecure and surround yourself with ‘safe’ men so you don’t have to fear rejection. In both cases, the company you choose tells me that you’re unhappy with being single but afraid to put yourself out there.”
I was right. I was so right, I couldn’t be more right if I was a right thing in a right forest, eating right berries.
“You are completely wrong. All your summations are totally without merit. I’m not afraid of being single. I love being unattached and I’m certainly not afraid of dating. In fact, I have a date tonight.”
“Oh really? And with whom?”
“Marcus Belby,” she said oh-so-matter-of-factly.
“Marcus Belby? Marcus Belby! The ‘Chinless Wonder’? Are you serious?”
“And why not? He’s a well-respected champion of werewolves. He’s lobbied fiercely for pro-werewolf legislation initiatives and -”
“And he has a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle!”
“You’re so vulgar, Malfoy! And he’s not that unattractive.”
“Aha! Even you admit he’s ugly.”
“My interest in someone is not dependent upon whether they are, or aren’t, physically attractive. Marcus has a brilliant mind and really, we can’t all be beautiful -”
“Lucky for us, we don’t have to worry about being ugly, we’re as gorgeous as it gets.”
“You think I’m gorgeous?” Granger asked in a small voice.
“You’re the most beautiful, waspish swot I’ve ever been locked in a closet with.”
She kicked me in my foot, and here I thought I was out of range, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
A second later, she hit me again, but this time, I could tell she meant it. “Ow!”
“Come off it, I know it never hurts when I hit you.”
“No, but it’s fiercely annoying.”
“Malfoy, I hate to say it, but you’re a genius.”
“Of course I am. Err, why this time?”
“I’ve figured out where we are! We’re in the stock cupboard!”
“What? We’re in the flippin’ supply closet?”
“No, the stock cupboard! Remember the Room of Requirement?”
How could I forget? But not to be a downer, I said, “Yes?”
“Same concept, but with limited use. It doesn’t have a door when it isn’t activated, hence, our being trapped inside an empty room, a blank slate so to speak, but it has a few holes in which leftover supplies can appear even inactivated.”
“Which would explain the random bucket.”
“Precisely.”
“Okay, well that’s all well and good, but how do we get out?”
“Well, I’ve never been trapped inside before, but I assume we could use the inherent magic in the room to create a doorway. The theory behind the -”
“Blah blah blah, something incredibly abstract and complicated, blah blah, magic spell, blah, voila, a door! Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Granger?”
She harrumphed. “You should respect magical theory more. If it were left to you, you’d be trapped here until someone happened to need a mop. You should thank your lucky stars that you were stuck in here with me.”
Every damn minute.
“Okay, get on with it.”
In my mind’s eye, I pictured her squaring her shoulders, closing her eyes, and concentrating hard on the spell, her brow furrowing the way it used to, back at school. I heard her murmur a string of obscure Latin words and a faint wind on my arm told me she was spinning.
Suddenly, a thin line of light appeared, revealing a door before us.
“Granger, you did it!”
She squealed in delight. On impulse, I picked her up and kissed her square upon the lips. I was still kissing her when the door opened and I heard, “Oy! Malfoy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I broke away from Granger’s lips long enough to give Weasley my most evil stare. “What does it look like? Don’t tell me you’ve never made out with a witch in a broom closet before?”
But, even as I spoke, I knew the spell was broken. Granger disengaged herself from my arms and, smoothing her skirt and hair, she raised her chin and walked confidently out of the closet, daring Weasley to say something.
I was a bit gutted she didn’t say anything about that fantastic kiss, but I figured she didn’t want to say anything in front of Weasleby.
I started to walk away, but when whatever-higher-being-there-is was handing out persistence, Granger was at the head of the queue, and her voice calling out to me stopped me.
“I’ll ask one last time. Why were you in R&D this morning?” The insistence in her eyes told me it was time to tell her the truth.
I gave my answer some thought.
“I came to see you.”
She briefly looked stunned. “Why? Did you have a question?”
“No.”
“You didn’t need anything from me?”
“Nope.” She looked bewildered that I came to her department just to see her.
“I thought you wanted to look at your book?”
“It was an excuse.”
“Oh.” She looked perplexed. I figured I gave her enough to think about and decided to head back to the Auror department so Potter could reprimand me for being absent all day.
“Goodbye, Granger. Get some rest this weekend. You work too hard.”
“Right, um, goodbye,” she said softly, and then turned and headed back down the corridor. I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, not for any sense of making sure she was okay, but because she had an arse that wouldn’t quit and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
I really must do something to be less of a lech.
I’ll start tomorrow.
. . .
Later that night . . .
She answered on the third knock. She was dressed deliciously in faded jimjams that were worn in all the right places. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, which made the effect all the more appealing. I seriously took the ability of sight too much for granted and I made a note to vow to always take advantage of daylight and alternative light sources, which, I put to good use as I continued to check Granger out.
She must’ve caught me leering at her because she hit me, which I’ve come to believe was her standard method of communicating with me.
“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”
“You uh, left the book you were researching in the closet. I thought I’d bring it to you.”
Lie. I did, in fact, return to the stock cupboard, alternately known as the cave of eternal shadow, to pick up the book and return it to R&D. However, I decided to hang on to it for a bit. It was my find, after all.
Okay, so I just happened to have stumbled across it during a raid and realized that it had some sort of historical and magical significance and thought Granger would wet her pants just to have it. So I sort of took it without asking and gave it to her for analysis.
“You know you could have given it to anybody down in R&D. You shouldn’t have brought it all this way.”
“Oh, well, actually, I forgot it at home. But I’ll give it to you on Monday.”
True.
She gave me a confused look. “Then why are you here?”
“I wanted to make sure you got home all right and that you weren’t suffering any lasting damages from that fall. A bruised coccyx shouldn’t be ignored; it could be very uncomfortable. I heard Muggles sat on doughnuts, which is beyond me why they would do such a thing when they’re meant to be eaten, which makes my case that all Muggles are mental, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t sitting at home on a box of Krispy Kremes.” At that moment, I could blabber for England. I was a blithering idiot but hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
She crossed her arms, which brought her lovely breasts to prominent notice beneath her flannel pyjamas. How tragic that I had spent the entire morning and afternoon in Granger’s presence without the very enjoyable pleasure of being able to ogle her lovely form. I was sure she caught my stare because she glared at me again. “Are you done?”
She could have meant was I done with rambling or staring. The answer was the same for both. “Yes.”
“Malfoy, really, why are you here?”
Moment of truth.
“I was wondering if you wanted to get a bit of nosh with me. I was sitting at home, thinking about ordering a curry and I realized neither of us ate anything all day. I really must fancy you or something to be thinking of your welfare above my own. It’s not a familiar habit.”
Her brow furrowed in concern. “I think you hit yourself too hard when you landed this morning, Malfoy. You’re not making any sense. I really think you should see a healer to make sure you’re not concussed. You could be seriously ill.”
She was so sweet, trying to excuse my apparent feelings for her. I know I was making about as much sense as a thing that makes sense in a room of sensible things, or whatever, but one thing was obvious. I fancied Granger.
“If I am ill, then I’m afraid the affliction is long-lasting and permanent, because I like you.”
“Oh.” She looked genuinely surprised.
“And I have. For a long time.”
“I see.”
“You see?”
“Yes, I see.”
She was tapping her finger on her lip and surveying me with an unrecognizable expression. My infamous patience, or lack thereof, got the best of me.
“Bloody hell, Granger! Do you want to go to have a meal with me or not?”
She continued to give me that speculative glance but, about the time I’d just about had it with her, she surprised me by giving me a sly seductive look. Lifting up on her toes, she placed her hands delicately on my shoulders, pressing her ever-so-lovely décolletage against my chest, and whispered hotly in my ear, “What do you say we make it breakfast?”
My interest peaking, among other things, I asked, “Banana pancakes?”
Dragging her tongue along the shell of my ear, she said breathily, “You can help me disprove those rumours of yours.”
I leered at her, picked her up so that she could wrap her legs around my waist, and together we made straight for her bedroom, proving that ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on’**.
End
* The Tempest, Act I, Scene II
** The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I
Slang definitions can be found here.
Krispy Kremes do indeed live in England.
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Author: sunnyjune46
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I possess not the Potter known as Harry, that privilege belongs to JK Rowling. Nor do I possess the song henceforth known as “Banana Pancakes”, the honour of which belongs to Jack Johnson. Nor do I own any rights to ‘The Tempest’ which solely belongs to Billy Shakespeare.
Warnings: Excessive use of the ellipsis and questionable British slang.
Summary: After a magical accident, Hermione and Draco find themselves trapped in a room together and must suffer in the dark. Draco is keen on quizzing Hermione on her love life whilst Hermione just really wants out of there.
Notes: A thousand thank yous to my fabulous beta yesterday4 . . . Punchycat, I hope this story meets your expectations. I know it’s light on the Jack Johnson lyrics, but I tried to incorporate its theme as best I could. :-)
Earlier that morning . . .
“Malfoy! Stop, give it here!”
“It’s my find, Granger, I want to look at it!”
“It’s not your find, you found it by accident! Malfoy! Careful with that, those pages are over five centuries old!”
“I know! Quite your squawking, it’s fine . . . Look! See? I told you it was - Stop pulling on it, Granger, you’ll break it!”
“You stop pulling on it! It isn’t yours! Give. It. To. Me!”
“Granger! Granger, you’re going to knock over the - LOOK OUT!”
. . .
. . .
. . .
An indeterminate length of time later . . .
I came to with a splitting headache and a dull throb in my shin. The former could be attributed to banging my head soundly on the stone floor I found myself sprawled upon; the latter could only be due to the fact that someone was repeatedly kicking me in my leg.
“Ow!”
“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice deadpanned.
“Granger?”
“Who else did you expect?”
“Where are we?” I sat up slowly, clutching my head and rubbing my leg, expecting to see anything other than nothing. It was literally pitch black, wherever it was we were.
“Unless you believe I’ve mysteriously acquired the ability to see in the dark, your guess is as good as mine.”
Jeeze, tetchy.
Being a paragon of wisdom and logic, I said, “Cast a lumos, then.”
“I’d love to but I haven’t got my wand. I dropped it when you shoved me.”
I rolled my eyes, an action lost on her due to the darkness, unfortunately.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I said, reaching for my wand. “And I didn’t shove you. You pushed me.”
“Oh shut up and give the spell already.”
I patted my trouser pockets, then those in my robes. “Err . . .”
“You haven’t got yours either, do you? Brilliant . . .” I heard a sigh and the sound of a person sliding down a wall to sit, followed by a small, “Ow!” and a sotto voce, “I guess I’ll stand then . . .”
Curious, but I couldn’t be bothered if Granger stubbed her toe in the dark. What I needed to know was where we were and what we were going to do about it.
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, precisely, but I’m sure it has something to do with the flask full of the Sands of Time that you knocked into the vials of Translocation Potion and that rather frightening explosion that followed!”
“You can’t give me all the blame. If you hadn’t have tried to grab the book out of my hands, none of this would have happened!”
Granger snorted. “Typical! You’re not even part of the R&D department; you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. Why were you there?” Her question was accompanied by a shuffling sound.
“Uh, my head hurts. All this talking is giving me a headache.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve got a serious pain in my - err . . . You didn’t answer my question.”
Blast. I thought I had distracted her.
“Don’t you think we should figure out where we are? For all we know, we could be in medieval Germany, if you were right about the Sands of Time thing.”
“Well, if you’d get up off your lazy arse and help me, we could find a door that much faster.”
That would explain the shuffling noises. I stood and held a hand out until I felt the wall. Running my hands along the smooth stones, searching for a door, window, cat flap, whatever, I asked, “Which direction are you moving in?”
“Right.”
Right, which meant I should go left and - “Oomf!”
“And by right, I meant that you should go right as well so we don’t run into each other!”
Granger was really moody for a small, soft, curvy little, um . . . maybe I should remove my hands from her very huggable person lest I forget her prickly personality. She didn’t mention anything about the questionable place where my hand had “accidentally” landed, and for that I was thankful.
“Well, that’d be a bit redundant, wouldn’t it? Did you find anything?”
“No, but as you’re so much taller than me, you would be able to reach a possible window that might be out of my reach. I thought logic was a prerequisite for being an Auror?”
“Just in the same way that being waspish is a condition for Research and Development,” I retorted.
“I am not waspish!”
“Of course not, as clearly shown by your gracious welcoming of my assistance this morning and as evidenced by your usual cheery behaviour.”
“What were you doing in my laboratory this morning, Malfoy?”
I decided radio silence was the order of the day and ignored her.
“Malfoy?”
“How’d you hurt your arse, Granger?” I snickered. Misdirection, the first thing you learn in sneaky-bastard school.
“Oh, shut up you jerk!”
“You say the sweetest things.”
She harrumphed; something she did with the same frequency that most people breathe with. “I managed to find the book we were arguing over. You didn’t find anything whilst searching, did you?”
“Other than this bucket,” I said, kicking the object, “not a dicky bird. How about you?”
I didn’t relish feeling up the wall when there were much more interesting objects in the room worth copping a feel of but I figured we a) wouldn’t find an escape hatch, nor b) would I safely get away with putting my paws all over Granger.
Therefore, I settled down for a long, albeit interesting, wait in our box of gloom.
. . .
A few minutes later . . .
“Malfoy, are you using the bucket?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Could you pass it to me so I could sit on it?”
“I could . . . I won’t because I can’t be bothered.”
“Must you be so petty?”
Yes, yes I must.
“Too good for the floor, Granger?”
“No, I just don’t want to put any pressure on my, err, coccyx and as I don’t have a doughnut to sit on, the bucket will have to do.”
“A doughnut?”
“It’s a Muggle thing.”
“I could always rub it for you; make it better,” I leered in her general direction. I was probably lucky that she couldn’t see me and that I was out of kicking range.
“I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Your loss, Granger. I’ve been told I have . . . magic fingers.” My smirk was also lost on her. I really was lamenting the loss of my non-verbals; they really added an important dimension to my personality.
“Oh, spare me. I’ve heard the rumours, thanks.”
“All true,” I boasted.
Oddly, she chuckled. “That explains so much.”
Intrigued and a little worried, I asked, “What does that mean?”
“Oh nothing,” she replied coyly. Normally, a coy Granger would make my blood boil but this time it was running a little cold.
“What are people saying about me?” My voice pitched a little higher than normal. Not cool, Malfoy. Not cool.
“It’s not a big deal, Malfoy. Just that your fingers are so . . . talented . . . to make up for a deficiency in other departments.”
“What departments?” I felt sweat gathering on my brow. So not cool. I loathed unnecessary sweat on my body.
“Err, the trouser-snake department,” she said hurriedly, “but not to worry, Malfoy. It’s not about the size of the err, bat, but the strength of the, uh, beater . . . Oh Merlin . . .”
If I wasn’t so mortified by that deplorable despicable LIE, I would have been amused by her obvious discomfort discussing my favourite body part.
“For the record, these rumours are categorically untrue and I am prepared to demonstrate how abominably disproportionate these misrepresentations are; if it weren’t for the dark, I’d show you right now -”
“No! Just drop it, Malfoy. The subject I mean, not your trousers.”
“I just want you to know . . .”
“I get it.”
We settled into an awkward silence. After a moment, I shoved the bucket towards her.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly as she arranged the bucket to suit her needs.
“Granger?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you so knowledgeable about my sexual prowess and my alleged, and completely false, I must stress, handicaps?”
She remained silent.
“It might indicate, and especially given your predilection for obtaining knowledge and passion for studying, a particular interest in the subject? Hmm?”
She snorted. “You give yourself too much credit, Malfoy. It’s just idle gossip, that’s all.”
“Mmhmm,” I said. “We’ll see about that.”
. . .
Twenty minutes later . . .
I might have dozed off, because I woke to the sound of Granger chuckling to herself.
“What?”
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking.”
“Care to share with the rest of the class?”
“Well, I was considering a puzzle.”
“A puzzle?”
“Yes. Men, to be precise. As I grow older, I find I understand them less and less. Have you any advice for me?”
I knew she wasn’t looking for a serious answer, but I gave her query the consideration it deserved.
“It’s simple, really. Men are gods and we should be worshipped appropriately . . . Ow! You didn’t have to throw your shoe at me.”
The only sound I heard was a very feminine-sounding snicker.
. . .
Some time later . . .
“I’m bored.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” Granger replied.
“Let’s sing a song.”
“I don’t want to sing. What I want is for you to be quiet so I can figure out how to get us out of here.”
“C’mon, you’ll love it. It’s Muggle. I picked it up the last time I went by the park . . .”
“Oh dear . . .”
“This is a song that never ends; yes it goes on and on my friends. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just bec-UGH!”
And that is when I became acquainted with Granger’s other shoe.
. . .
Ten minutes later . . .
“I have an idea.”
“Here we go.”
“No, hear me out. We don’t know each other very well -”
“We’ve known each other for fifteen years.”
“Yes, but what do we know about each other? Do you know my birthday? Do I know yours? What’s your favourite colour? What’s mine? When did your gran die, what’s the name of my favourite sweater, when did you lose your virginity -”
“Malfoy!”
“- All pertinent things that friends know about one another.”
“You think we’re friends?”
“You think we’re not?”
“Well, sure, we see each other a lot around here, you do come by my office quite a bit more than an Auror should, but we don’t socialize outside of the Ministry.”
“That’s not true. We saw each other at Potter’s Christmas party and we were both at Ron and Lavender’s joint hen and stag do.”
“Oh, well, I suppose we could be close acquaintances then . . .”
“Fine, if you don’t want to be my friend, just say so.”
“No! It’s fine. We can be friends.”
“I don’t think you mean it.”
I heard her growl and smiled with satisfaction to myself. I loved giving her a hard time.
“Malfoy,” she growled, “we’re friends. Leave it.”
“Okay-dokay. So, about my idea?”
“I’m not telling you when I lost my virginity, Malfoy.”
She didn’t have to. May 25th, 1999. Weasley, the girl one, for all her annoying habits (I’ll never forgive her for that bat-bogey incident), was a veritable font of information once you got a few Tom Collinses in her. I put her to good use at Potter’s Christmas party last year and got all the goss on Granger.
“No worries, we’ll start with something simple. What’s your favourite position?”
“Malfoy!”
“What? Mine’s obvious - Seeker -”
“Ohh, quidditch. Right . . .”
“. . . but I quite like Beater too - those little bats are brilliant. Sometimes, I just want to thwack a bludger right at Potter’s nose . . . Wait, what did you think I meant?”
“Pardon? Mean what?”
“Before, just then, about positions?”
“Oh, err, nothing.”
. . .
One minute later . . .
“Granger, you saucy minx.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
. . .
Fifteen minutes later . . .
“I have another question.”
“Are we still playing that?”
“We stopped?”
“Well, I figured, since you were quiet for the last fifteen minutes or so. I thought you’d fallen asleep again.”
She was close. I had been lost in a seriously wicked daydream about Granger, a quidditch post, and some hot sauce and had probably lost consciousness for a while.
“No, I was just ruminating on something. Anyway, my question.”
“Wait! You’ve already asked one. It’s my turn now.”
“That’s fair. Proceed.”
“Hmm . . . If you were lost on a deserted island and could only have one book to read, what book would you choose?”
“What a naff question, Granger.”
“No it isn’t. It’s perfectly valid.”
“Fine. I’d choose a book of spells that would get me off the island.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Why not? I could choose any book; you didn’t specify that there were limitations on what I could choose.”
“Just answer the question. Seriously.”
“All right. I would choose . . . The Tempest.”
Granger gasped. “Did you know that’s my favourite Shakespearean play too?”
Yes, I did. Bless Ginny Potter, nee Weasley.
“It’s very fitting isn’t? Being stranded on a deserted island and everything . . . I always felt that Prospero was correct in making it difficult for Ferdinand to have Miranda, making him prove his love. Things are always more worthwhile the harder you work for it. ‘Too light winning make the prize light’*, isn’t that so?”
“Yes,” she said distractedly.
I gave her a moment to mull things over.
“My turn.”
“Let’s have it then.”
“Another simple one. What is your dream date?”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear that.”
Oh, yes I did.
“Why not? You can tell a lot about a person by their idea of a dream date.”
“Fine. Well . . . It’s really simple, actually. I don’t need any fancy surprises or expensive meals, a take-away would be fine. I would just like a comfortable space with good conversation.”
“Oh please. How boring! There must be more to it,” I hedged.
“Well . . .”
I could tell she wanted to share more.
“Go on.”
“My absolute dream date would start with a light meal, a curry perhaps, and wine, over which we would talk and get to know one another. Afterwards, we would stop at Flourish and Blotts and discuss our favourite books. And I know you’re rolling your eyes, but I love books and therefore the man I’m interested in would love books too.”
She was wrong; I wasn’t rolling my eyes, but nodding my head. All good, so far.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Granger. Continue.”
“After that, we would stroll through Diagon Alley, talking and taking in the sights. We might even venture into Muggle London and take a moonlit stroll through Hyde Park. If things went well, I’d invite him back to mine . . .”
Now it was getting interesting. I scooted closer to the sound of her voice, eager to hear more.
“ . . . and we’d cosy up by the fire, where we’d read to each other from our favourite books.”
“Oh.”
“And,” she added coyly, “If things went really well, I’d make banana pancakes.”
“Banana pancakes? For dinner?”
“No, Malfoy,” she chuckled, “for breakfast.”
Niiiice.
“Interesting dream date, Granger. I’ll have to file that information away for later.”
“If you insist.”
Oh, I did.
. . .
Some time later . . .
Granger was mumbling something to herself. I couldn’t quite make it out, but every now and then I’d hear her growl and say something along the lines of, “No, that won’t work either.” I had once again gone off into that beautiful place where Granger was covered in hot sauce, but instead of the quidditch pitch, I was imagining cosy fireplaces, pillows, and banana pancakes. Her incessant mumbling was seriously disturbing my daydream.
“Granger, what in Merlin’s tight grey pants are you muttering about?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
She took a deep breath and I immediately knew that was the wrong answer, as Granger only breathed deeply before she embarked upon ‘educating’ whomever was in the vicinity. This time, I was the poor sod within hearing range.
“Originally, I was going through all the possible spells that don’t necessarily require a wand to channel their magic that might get us out of here, but I was unsuccessful in my attempts. Then I reconstructed our altercation this morning in my mind, taking inventory of all the possible magical elements that could have effected our translocation, and I concluded that we did not cross through time, but merely space. I know this, because although you knocked -”
“Ahem!”
“ - err, although the bottle of Sands of Time was knocked over, which, as you know, is the primary component in Time Turners, there wasn’t any thyme on my workbench, which is the necessary catalyst. Therefore, I am certain that we did not travel through time, but merely space, due to the unfortunate Translocation Potion spillage.”
“So,” I drawled, taking my time to make sure I understood her correctly. “We’re not in medieval Germany?”
“No. In fact, I strongly believe we haven’t even left the Ministry.”
Stuff and bother. I was really hoping for some authentic bratwurst when we got out of here.
“Well, I suppose that’s good news then. If we’re still in the Ministry, then why hasn’t anybody found us?”
“Do you know how big the Ministry actually us?”
“Um, ten levels, seven departments?”
“Close, but not quite. The Ministry building is actually composed of thirteen levels that cover nearly ten square miles. The unoccupied space is a veritable warren of hiding places. We could even be stuck between walls. I’m honestly not surprised that we haven’t been discovered. I’m just hoping that it happens some time in the near future as I have a very important presentation for Monday that I need to prepare. I would have been done already if it weren’t for somebody being somewhere he wasn’t meant to be!”
“I’ve heard that sob story already, it’s tired.” At this point in time, I wasn’t convinced Granger was ready for the real reason why I was down in R&D.
Granger huffed, sighed, or harrumphed, or any combination of the three.
After a moment, I said, “You work too much.”
“I do not. The time I spend working is proportionate to the job I hold.”
“From my understanding, as the director of research and development, you have the ability to delegate work to the employees entrusted to you. From what I can see, you do the work of three assistants, plus your duties as director.”
“That’s not true. I happen to be very efficient and can handle a larger workload than somebody who doesn’t possess equal multitasking capabilities. That doesn’t mean I work too hard. I can’t help it if I have a hundred people popping into the office who need help with one thing or another. Hardly anybody pops in just to say hello. Somebody always wants my time, therefore, yes, I have a lot to do when I’m at work.”
The tone of her voice told me that she’d rather have more visits of pleasure than of business, but that was something to focus on for later. “When was the last time you had fun?”
“Other than now? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m having a rollicking good time.”
Gasp! What was that? Was that? “Granger, did you just use sarcasm?”
“Yes, Malfoy, I did. I do have a sense of humour, you know.”
I did, in fact, know. Anybody who would be best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley must be batshit crazy, have the patience of a saint, or have a seriously twisted sense of humour.
“And in reference to your question, the last time I had fun was last weekend when Harry and Ron and I went out for a drink.”
“Was Ginny Potter there?”
“Yes.”
“And Lavender Weasley, was she there too?”
“Yes. What are you getting at, Malfoy?”
“Who was your date?”
“I didn’t have one.”
“Aha! See. Case and point.”
“I see nothing! No case, no point. You’re making no sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense. You went out a on a weekend with two married men and their wives, sans date. It’s pathetic! You spend all your time with unavailable men. It tells me that you’re either afraid of commitment, and therefore surround yourself with ‘safe’ men, or you’re insecure and surround yourself with ‘safe’ men so you don’t have to fear rejection. In both cases, the company you choose tells me that you’re unhappy with being single but afraid to put yourself out there.”
I was right. I was so right, I couldn’t be more right if I was a right thing in a right forest, eating right berries.
“You are completely wrong. All your summations are totally without merit. I’m not afraid of being single. I love being unattached and I’m certainly not afraid of dating. In fact, I have a date tonight.”
“Oh really? And with whom?”
“Marcus Belby,” she said oh-so-matter-of-factly.
“Marcus Belby? Marcus Belby! The ‘Chinless Wonder’? Are you serious?”
“And why not? He’s a well-respected champion of werewolves. He’s lobbied fiercely for pro-werewolf legislation initiatives and -”
“And he has a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle!”
“You’re so vulgar, Malfoy! And he’s not that unattractive.”
“Aha! Even you admit he’s ugly.”
“My interest in someone is not dependent upon whether they are, or aren’t, physically attractive. Marcus has a brilliant mind and really, we can’t all be beautiful -”
“Lucky for us, we don’t have to worry about being ugly, we’re as gorgeous as it gets.”
“You think I’m gorgeous?” Granger asked in a small voice.
“You’re the most beautiful, waspish swot I’ve ever been locked in a closet with.”
She kicked me in my foot, and here I thought I was out of range, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
A second later, she hit me again, but this time, I could tell she meant it. “Ow!”
“Come off it, I know it never hurts when I hit you.”
“No, but it’s fiercely annoying.”
“Malfoy, I hate to say it, but you’re a genius.”
“Of course I am. Err, why this time?”
“I’ve figured out where we are! We’re in the stock cupboard!”
“What? We’re in the flippin’ supply closet?”
“No, the stock cupboard! Remember the Room of Requirement?”
How could I forget? But not to be a downer, I said, “Yes?”
“Same concept, but with limited use. It doesn’t have a door when it isn’t activated, hence, our being trapped inside an empty room, a blank slate so to speak, but it has a few holes in which leftover supplies can appear even inactivated.”
“Which would explain the random bucket.”
“Precisely.”
“Okay, well that’s all well and good, but how do we get out?”
“Well, I’ve never been trapped inside before, but I assume we could use the inherent magic in the room to create a doorway. The theory behind the -”
“Blah blah blah, something incredibly abstract and complicated, blah blah, magic spell, blah, voila, a door! Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Granger?”
She harrumphed. “You should respect magical theory more. If it were left to you, you’d be trapped here until someone happened to need a mop. You should thank your lucky stars that you were stuck in here with me.”
Every damn minute.
“Okay, get on with it.”
In my mind’s eye, I pictured her squaring her shoulders, closing her eyes, and concentrating hard on the spell, her brow furrowing the way it used to, back at school. I heard her murmur a string of obscure Latin words and a faint wind on my arm told me she was spinning.
Suddenly, a thin line of light appeared, revealing a door before us.
“Granger, you did it!”
She squealed in delight. On impulse, I picked her up and kissed her square upon the lips. I was still kissing her when the door opened and I heard, “Oy! Malfoy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I broke away from Granger’s lips long enough to give Weasley my most evil stare. “What does it look like? Don’t tell me you’ve never made out with a witch in a broom closet before?”
But, even as I spoke, I knew the spell was broken. Granger disengaged herself from my arms and, smoothing her skirt and hair, she raised her chin and walked confidently out of the closet, daring Weasley to say something.
I was a bit gutted she didn’t say anything about that fantastic kiss, but I figured she didn’t want to say anything in front of Weasleby.
I started to walk away, but when whatever-higher-being-there-is was handing out persistence, Granger was at the head of the queue, and her voice calling out to me stopped me.
“I’ll ask one last time. Why were you in R&D this morning?” The insistence in her eyes told me it was time to tell her the truth.
I gave my answer some thought.
“I came to see you.”
She briefly looked stunned. “Why? Did you have a question?”
“No.”
“You didn’t need anything from me?”
“Nope.” She looked bewildered that I came to her department just to see her.
“I thought you wanted to look at your book?”
“It was an excuse.”
“Oh.” She looked perplexed. I figured I gave her enough to think about and decided to head back to the Auror department so Potter could reprimand me for being absent all day.
“Goodbye, Granger. Get some rest this weekend. You work too hard.”
“Right, um, goodbye,” she said softly, and then turned and headed back down the corridor. I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, not for any sense of making sure she was okay, but because she had an arse that wouldn’t quit and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
I really must do something to be less of a lech.
I’ll start tomorrow.
. . .
Later that night . . .
She answered on the third knock. She was dressed deliciously in faded jimjams that were worn in all the right places. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, which made the effect all the more appealing. I seriously took the ability of sight too much for granted and I made a note to vow to always take advantage of daylight and alternative light sources, which, I put to good use as I continued to check Granger out.
She must’ve caught me leering at her because she hit me, which I’ve come to believe was her standard method of communicating with me.
“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”
“You uh, left the book you were researching in the closet. I thought I’d bring it to you.”
Lie. I did, in fact, return to the stock cupboard, alternately known as the cave of eternal shadow, to pick up the book and return it to R&D. However, I decided to hang on to it for a bit. It was my find, after all.
Okay, so I just happened to have stumbled across it during a raid and realized that it had some sort of historical and magical significance and thought Granger would wet her pants just to have it. So I sort of took it without asking and gave it to her for analysis.
“You know you could have given it to anybody down in R&D. You shouldn’t have brought it all this way.”
“Oh, well, actually, I forgot it at home. But I’ll give it to you on Monday.”
True.
She gave me a confused look. “Then why are you here?”
“I wanted to make sure you got home all right and that you weren’t suffering any lasting damages from that fall. A bruised coccyx shouldn’t be ignored; it could be very uncomfortable. I heard Muggles sat on doughnuts, which is beyond me why they would do such a thing when they’re meant to be eaten, which makes my case that all Muggles are mental, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t sitting at home on a box of Krispy Kremes.” At that moment, I could blabber for England. I was a blithering idiot but hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
She crossed her arms, which brought her lovely breasts to prominent notice beneath her flannel pyjamas. How tragic that I had spent the entire morning and afternoon in Granger’s presence without the very enjoyable pleasure of being able to ogle her lovely form. I was sure she caught my stare because she glared at me again. “Are you done?”
She could have meant was I done with rambling or staring. The answer was the same for both. “Yes.”
“Malfoy, really, why are you here?”
Moment of truth.
“I was wondering if you wanted to get a bit of nosh with me. I was sitting at home, thinking about ordering a curry and I realized neither of us ate anything all day. I really must fancy you or something to be thinking of your welfare above my own. It’s not a familiar habit.”
Her brow furrowed in concern. “I think you hit yourself too hard when you landed this morning, Malfoy. You’re not making any sense. I really think you should see a healer to make sure you’re not concussed. You could be seriously ill.”
She was so sweet, trying to excuse my apparent feelings for her. I know I was making about as much sense as a thing that makes sense in a room of sensible things, or whatever, but one thing was obvious. I fancied Granger.
“If I am ill, then I’m afraid the affliction is long-lasting and permanent, because I like you.”
“Oh.” She looked genuinely surprised.
“And I have. For a long time.”
“I see.”
“You see?”
“Yes, I see.”
She was tapping her finger on her lip and surveying me with an unrecognizable expression. My infamous patience, or lack thereof, got the best of me.
“Bloody hell, Granger! Do you want to go to have a meal with me or not?”
She continued to give me that speculative glance but, about the time I’d just about had it with her, she surprised me by giving me a sly seductive look. Lifting up on her toes, she placed her hands delicately on my shoulders, pressing her ever-so-lovely décolletage against my chest, and whispered hotly in my ear, “What do you say we make it breakfast?”
My interest peaking, among other things, I asked, “Banana pancakes?”
Dragging her tongue along the shell of my ear, she said breathily, “You can help me disprove those rumours of yours.”
I leered at her, picked her up so that she could wrap her legs around my waist, and together we made straight for her bedroom, proving that ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on’**.
End
* The Tempest, Act I, Scene II
** The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I
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