Chapter Text
Hermione Granger wasn't nervous.
She sat in a secluded booth, the low thrum of the music pulsing in time to her rapid heartbeat. Her leg bouncing slightly as it crossed over the other, as she smoothed her rather short, red dress hem down on her thighs, methodically.
She absolutely wasn't nervous. What would she have to be nervous about? It was only a date.
With twenty-five men. Approximately.
Well, you couldn't really call speed-dating a "proper" date with all the wizards that had shown up, could you?
Hermione worried her lips between her teeth. The stench of cigarettes wafting through the room made her eyes water. She shouldn't even be here, she thought, feeling suddenly very angry at her best friend Ginny, for convincing her that this would be a grand idea.
She glanced around the club then, hoping to calm her racing thoughts.
Black chandeliers hung from the ebony ceiling, spilling red light into the dimly lit room, making the environment feel intimate and cozy. The bar on the far end of the room held patrons on gleaming silver stools. The shining onyx surface of the bar top, reflecting the twinkling lights hanging behind the counter.
Black and white marble floors held sleek black tables, all evenly spaced, and most of the red velvet seats were occupied now, with tonights participants.
Deep red velvet curtains lined the windows, almost blending in with the textured brick walls, blocking those on Diagon Alley from glancing in as they walked past. Silver trays floated about, carrying various fancy looking drinks, making Hermione realize that this might be a hell of a lot more fun with some alcohol in her system.
She supposed this club, the Silver Chalice, was quite posh, with a nice environment for meeting someone new. But Hermione had never had much luck on the dating scene.
At first, she'd simply been too busy. Her job in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, kept her extraordinarily busy. And for the last five years since Hogwarts, she had been focusing on that.
Now that she was head of the department, and had settled into the role of her dreams, she found that things weren't all she had imagined they would be.
Harry and Ginny were married now and trying for a baby. Ron, well he and Lavender were happily together again, and Hermione was tired of feeling like a fifth wheel when they all got together.
Not to mention how lonely it felt to come home to just crookshanks at the end of every day.
So, she had agreed to this absurd idea.
Stomach in knots, she sat in the booth tucked into a corner, watching other participants arrive and get shown to their assigned seats, waiting for the event to begin.
Hermione didnt recognize anyone, but she didnt expect to either. This was a very unique style of speed-dating that the Silver Chalice had develeoped a brand new potion for, and had just begun to host. When Ginny had heard about it, she had thought it would be just the thing for someone like her.
Someone who was famous as "the Golden Girl", and asked out, or proposed to, by owl multiple times a week.
Someone who was known as a tight ass, and was very successful in her career, meaning most normal men shied away from her.
Also, someone who was "so goddamn picky", in Ginnys words.
The event was 'Speed daters anonymous', a hilariously named event where you altered your appearance slightly, for a chance to connect to someone without judging them by their appearance, or being judged yourself. When Hermione had arrived, she been given an Ignotus Potion that had temporarily changed her appearance, for the event.
It was a truly unique idea, and Hermione was more than a little curious about how this would go, considering her being recognizable was one of the worst parts about dating for her.
That, and she knew so many of the single, age-appropriate wizards, and had decided that maybe Ginny had been right, perhaps she was being too picky. Perhaps, she was judging someone too harshly and they would meet and have a wonderful connection.
That was the hope, at least.
But Hermione Granger didn't have much in the way of enthusiasm tonight. She was just so fucking tired of first dates and all the normal chit chat.
All of the pleasantries and questions were so repetitive and boring, that making a true connection with anyone seemed like a chore.
After tonight, she would stop for a bit, she had promised herself, take a break from dating and let fate take over.
One last chance, she reminded herself.
And if she was being honest, she didn't think it would change a thing.
"Sorry, is this seat taken?"
Hermione looked up, startled from her thoughts, to see a man, about her age, smirking down at her.
She blinked at him, and he gestured to the booth open directly across from her.
She tried to smile, and she was sure it looked patronizing.
"Oh, well no-"
He was already sitting down, his perfectly tailored robes barely moving against his lean muscular frame as he settled back against the plush velvet seat.
"Perfect. Do you think they'll let us drink at this bloody thing? Im dying for a firewhisky." His blue eyes met hers briefly, a thread of amusement there.
Hermione was stunned silent.
It had been so long since anyone that she didn't know closely had struck up a normal conversation with her, that she didn't even know what to say.
But this man across from her only grinned in her general direction. He glanced around and then waited for a tray to hover past, swiping two drinks from it before it continued.
Setting down a butterbeer in front of her, and holding a whisky tumbler in his own hand, he winked.
He bloody winked.
Hermione hadn't looked in a mirror since drinking the Ignotus Potion. Had it made her instantly more attractive? Or perhaps, she has larger breasts?
A quick glance downward assured her that her breasts were roughly the same size.
Perhaps Hermione's fame had polluted her dating experiences, and all her interactions for that matter. Perhaps this was the way that wizards flirted, normally.
"You don't have to drink it, if you don't want." Said the man.
She glanced up, seeing his brows drawn together slightly, and Hermione realized she must be staring in bewilderment at the butterbeer.
Like a bloody idiot.
"Oh, uh, thank you." She reached up and gripped the handle, taking a swig.
The creamy liquid washed over her tongue, and she hoped the alcohol would soothe her nerves.
"Is this thing supposed to start soon?" He asked then, sipping the firewhisky from his glass tumbler.
"Im not sure," Hermione glanced about, hoping to see the organizer that had given her the potion, but she was nowhere to be found. "I was wondering the same thing."
A quick nod from the stranger, and he went back to his drink.
Hermione found herself studying his features, trying to see if she recognized anything. She knew she most likely wouldnt, but her curious nature, and the excitement in learning all about a new potion, drove her.
The man had golden blonde hair and light skin. He had symmetrical facial features and captivating blue eyes. Not to mention his tall frame, broad shoulders and lean muscle.
She found herself hoping that the real man was half as handsome as this version.
"So, what is a stunning witch like yourself doing here?" Blue eyes pierced hers from across the table, and she nervously gripped her butterbeer, a blush creeping up her neck.
"Oh, you know. Work makes it difficult to meet new people."
"I would think work is the perfect place to meet new people."
His grin was downright wicked.
"Work is for work, not for socializing. Its unprofessional and-" Hermione stopped mid-rant, reminding herself she wasn't at work right now.
But his smile only grew at her heated words.
Something hit her then, a familiarity about him that she couldn't place.
"You were saying?" He prodded.
He was goading her into finishing her soapboxing.
"I- well, I'm a bit passionate about not allowing workplace fraternizing, is all."
"So youre a Goodie two-shoes, eh?"
"No!" Her butterbeer hit the table a tad too forcefully. "I just oversee a large department and its my job to help maintain-..." She trailed off. "You're laughing at me."
He pursed his lips then, shaking his head vigorously.
"I am not." The corners of his lips tugged upwards. "You merely proved my point, with your... thorough explanation."
Anger and embarrassment wiggled its way into her stomach, and Hermione gritted her teeth, turning to gather her bag from next to her.
She didn't know this man, and he certainly didn't know her, she owed him nothing and-
"Im sorry, please, don't leave. It was only a jest."
He was sober faced now, his eyes trained on her bag she was gathering up.
"I dont think we need to spend any more time together this evening." She said curtly.
"No, truly. I wasn't laughing at you." Her eyes met his and she paused. She wasn't sure why she did, as she waited for him to continue. He swallowed hard then, his long fingers intertwined on the table in front of him, were clenching and unclenching.
"I admire your passion, I find it... very attractive."
Hermiones first instinct was to laugh in his face.
But the lovely blush spreading up his neck and cheeks, and the way his eyes darted about the room, avoiding hers, told her he might be telling the truth.
"Then that would be a first." She said, placing her bag back in the booth slowly.
She saw his shoulders drop slightly, and he allowed himself to lean back again. She hid her smile.
"I doubt it." He said, and the raw honesty in his eyes made her swallow hard.
She wondered again, who on earth this man could be. And how had she not met him before?
"Im sorry sir, but you can't be sitting here. The event is starting and you need to be in your assigned chair."
They both looked up then, at the host that had given her the potion. She stood waiting, and a man was situated behind her, looking as if he was impatient for his seat.
The wizard across from her gazed up at her, looking as if he might refuse. But then he stood, lifting his firewhisky from the table.
"I'll see you in a few minutes then?" He lingered, watching her face intently.
"Yeah, yes." She nodded quickly.
The host ushered a dark haired man into the booth across from her then and announced the event was to begin.
Each table had five minutes before the seat would rotate magically to the next person, then the next, until it was over.
A chime sounded and the wizard now across from her smiled politely.
"So, what's your name?"
Hermione struggled not to roll her eyes.
*********
Draco Malfoy was incredibly nervous.
He almost laughed out loud as he walked away from the table where he had flirted with Hermione Granger. He swiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, like a bloody fourth year, and let himself be led to his 'assigned' seat.
What a load of rubbish.
He had wanted to tell them to fuck right off when they had approached their table, but he had just fixed one mistake he'd already made with her, and the way she was looking at him, told him that fighting it wasn't the right way, not with her.
So, here he was, walking away.
Draco hadn't believed his eyes when he had spotted the Golden Girl across the room, at a speed dating event, no less.
He hadn't been here for that barmy mess. No, he'd been at his friend Theo's brand-new club, The Silver Chalice, supporting him and getting himself a drink, when he glanced up and saw an attractive red head crossing the floor to her seat.
He'd almost fallen off his chair.
The potion she'd drank had changed her features enough that most wouldn't know it was her. Her hair was flatter and redder, her eyes more wide and innocent, her height slightly increased.
But he didn't doubt for a second that it was Hermione Granger.
His eyes darted about the hazy bar, but no one around him seemed to notice her. Then again, most wizards hadn't been watching her since first year.
He could tell by her movements, the way she walked, confident in herself, yet her eyes were focused downwards as if deep in thought. Her brows were slightly scrunched, confirming she was indeed in he head about something.
Okay, he sounded a touch creepy, he could admit it.
But he had spent years of his life in the same school with her, watching her first out of a morbid curiousity. He hadn't realized his feelings were more than that until fifth year sometime, and all along he'd been a right prick to her.
Then the war had happened, and his... unfortunate role in that had shaped her opinion of him irreparably, it seemed.
But that hadn't stopped his feelings from growing from afar. Taking over his thoughts and emotions until there hadn't been even the faintest desire to date or pursue anyone else, despite his mother's pleading.
Yet, Granger couldn't even stand to be in the same room with him, even if it was a work or ministry event, despite him trying to redeem his reputation since.
He had stood trial and gone to Azkaban for a year. And once he'd gotten out he'd worked his way up as an Auror, and now working specifically in catching ex-Death Eaters that were trying to relive their golden days.
He hadn't done that for her, though. That had been for him, to help recoup some of the damage he'd done in the Wizarding world under the Dark Lord.
But he had hoped that she might see him trying, and perhaps not look at him as if he still wore that bloody mask.
Still, she couldn't even pass him in the Ministry Atrium without her brows knitting, her face scrunching in disgust, her lips turning into a frown and her eyes looking anywhere but his.
And after that, he hadn't the heart to try to ask her for anything, or approach her about his feelings, not with his past looming in the depths of her brown eyes.
Not when he had caused so much harm to her and her friends back at school. Insulting her blood status, among the rest of his ill-advised life choices.
So, it had seemed quite impossible that he would ever get a second chance at a first impression with her.
Impossible, that she could look at him and not see the dark mark still inked on his skin beneath his left sleeve.
And he was finally coming to terms with that, or trying to.
But she hadn't spotted him.
And a brilliant idea, somewhat encouraged by the firewhisky in his blood, spurred his next actions. Bribing the host with triple the entrance fee to let him in at the last minute, he'd drank the vile potion Longbottom had created, and had darted off to find her.
The moment she had looked at him, and her eyes had been open, even curious, a faint smile on her lips, he had almost collapsed in relief.
He'd been anxious, wondering if she would recognize him too. But her expression hadn't soured. Instead, she'd smiled at him, albeit awkwardly.
He hadn't known just how much he had craved it until that moment. Because even just that tiny glimpse of some other part of her, a part he'd only seen from a distance, was like a balm to his tortured soul.
Even in a slightly different face, with lighter, hazel eyes, he was still hooked. And he wanted more. He wanted her real lips and eyes to smile at him.
He had barely walked away and he already longed for more of her eyes on him in that nosy little way of hers. More of her sly smiles and rosy blushing cheeks.
It had almost done him in, seeing her glow for him.
He knew he should leave well enough alone, that she might be angry and even repulsed when she found out who he was, but he couldn't stop.
He had to see more. He wanted to make her laugh, he wanted to get to know her. The girl who's personal life was in the tabloids as much as his own. He knew just how much of that was shit.
He knew Theo would laugh his ass off when he told him what he'd done. He knew he'd be teased mercilessly for getting on with a griffyndor.
But Draco couldn't bring himself to care, not one bit.
He sat in the chair he was pointed to, across from a blonde witch, who was eager to ask him thousands of questions and bat her eyelashes at him.
He did his best to answer, but he was busy stealing glances at the back corner booth, where a curly red head talked with the man who'd taken his seat.
But he smiled at Wendy. No, Nancy, and tried to look engaged as he tampered down the soaring feeling in his chest.
A feeling that made his blood race and his head swim, that made him sick to his stomach.
But he couldn't help himself. He stole another quick glance at her, counting down the minutes until their seats were across from one another again.
He might be a daft fool for it, but he was giving into that intoxicating feeling.
Hope.