Boys Night, Girls Night

Ok so here is a really nice and long chapter with a nice little surprise at the end. Thank you to all who have been dedicated readers and reviewers, you have no idea just how much I depend on your comments, advice, and generosity! Let me know what you think!
_____________

18.

Hermione relaxed into the rhythm of making chicken pot pie. The ingredients were already in the pot. She was just rolling out the dough for the crust, something familiar and routine, allowing her thoughts wander.

It was Thursday, the last night in her apartment, hence the dinner. So much had been done over the past two days, standing still for any piece of a moment felt surreal.

The dress fitting Tuesday was a success. And strange. Ginny, always clever, said she didn't know too much about "gala etiquette."

Translation: I will call someone far more embarrassing in your current predicament to come help you select a dress and answer your questions whilst I spend the day screwing around with my fiancé.

That's all well and good, but the person Ginny had sent in her place brought her anger to simmer at the surface, again. Ginny sent Narcissa Malfoy of all people, to come help her pick out a dress.

Oh, sure, they got along great. She still wondered how it was possible Malfoy could have been such an arse in his younger years. Her only guess was that Malfoy put on quite a front when at home with the family.

Back to the point at hand, she had spent that afternoon trying on dresses and surprisingly enjoying herself. Narcissa, always observant, flat out told her she was aware of a disagreement between her and her son.

Narcissa let her know she wasn’t there to pry or ask about it, but that she didn't have to use too much imagination on the matter. Draco most likely “stuck his foot in his mouth and doesn't have anyone to help him dislodge it.” She continued by declaring she was a neutral party in private matters.
Not totally capable of letting it slide, her one piece of advice was to present the opportunity for him to apologize. She said he might want to, but didn't know how to go about it. (He was, she reflected empathetically, a guy.)

Hermione took it to heart. It made sense, and before she left this apartment for good she was going to do her best to leave on a note of, if not civil, then at least forced politeness.

Narcissa had also told her the rules of a gala. The etiquette hadn’t changed much since the 1700’s. You were announced upon arrival, then ushered into the reception to mingle. Each woman had a dance card which would be filled with the names for each dance the men ask for. A dinner hour and from there was the first half of dancing, usually started off with a waltz etc ...

The rules of who could talk to who and the intricacies of manners took up a major portion of their conversation. Hermione was raised with manners and a healthy dose of reading about history helped her tie the information together. Nonetheless, by the time she decided on her dress, her head was aching.

Narcissa had taken one look at the selection of gowns brought out for Hermione and with one wave of the hand rejected them all. She promptly told Madam Victori the exact dress she would wear.

Hermione was a little uneasy. Narcissa’s style and her own were completely opposite.

However, all her fear left once she saw the dress. The gown was stunning and she was 99% sure that Narcissa had picked it with an ulterior motive. An obvious tribute to Draco’s color preferences, the gown was an emerald green silk chiffon silhouette. It had a sunray pleated skirt with curved and zigzag seams embellished with beading.

Hermione, for a moment or two, reverted back to her childhood and didn’t want to take it off.
The neckline was a little lower than she was use to and she voiced out loud whether she may be showing too much cleavage for a Ministry event.

Narcissa snorted delicately. “You’d be surprised at what strumpets will show up at this gala, Ministry function or not. It is the way it’s meant to be worn. Quite frankly, I don’t think anyone else could pull this dress off other than you.”

With all that settled the only thing left was a proper final fitting. Madame Victori wasn’t thrilled to be cutting it so close to the event as all her dresses were hand sewn. When Hermione told her money wasn’t an object, only time, she cheered right up.
Narcissa had kept her mind occupied during the fitting by telling silly stories of Draco as a kid and making light of their current quandary.

Hermione laughed out loud rubbing some flour on the dough.

She found herself able to picture a little blond haired boy running around the garden fighting dragons (aka rosebushes.)

Or seeing him stealing his mother’s wand to try and summon Merlin because “they had ‘Manly Things’ they needed to talk about.”

Throughout the entire appointment she would look up and see little pieces of Draco's face peeking through his mothers. He may have favored his father in regard to his features, but the coloring and demeanor were all a credit to Narcissa.

The front door shut and she hazarded a glance up to see the object of her thoughts come inside. He nodded, making his way over to the pot to see what was cooking.

"Smells good." He commented.

"Didn't matter if you thought so. I'm still going to eat it."

"Do you always have to scold me?" came the tired rejoinder. He didn’t look at her as he asked, but instead questioned the ceiling.

Hermione felt more like her old self than she had in weeks- thanks to Narcissa's advice. She took a handful of flour methodically. "I'm not scolding you, because if I did then there would be a reprimand following it," she said simply.

"A reprimand for smelling dinner and approving?" He asked bemused.

"No, for being a git." She said evenly. Here goes nothing.

He ran a hand in his hair as she continued to put the vegetables into the crust and into the oven.
“I’m sorry but just who was it that has been hiding from me for the past couple weeks?” Draco bit out.

“Who was the one who said he wanted it that way?” came the swift reply. Hermione put her hands on her hips raising an eyebrow. Finally, the moment was here and she refused to back away and let it pass. She had been waiting and dreading this moment for weeks.

“You had lied to me!” Draco jabbed his finger at her. He wasn’t sure he liked where this conversation was going.

Hermione was certain if he jabbed that finger at her one more time, she was going to snap it off. “And so what? Are you the patron saint of honesty? Saint Draco?” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Are you telling me you’ve never lied? Never tried to buy you more time to figure out a situation? Sweet Merlin, you are the poster boy for lying to get off the hook! And yet, one misstep on my part and I’m the villain!”

Draco desperately tried to reroute the conversation. “Is my memory faulty, or do you also need to add dementia to your laundry list of problems?”

“What are you talking about.” Hermione nearly growled.

“I seem to recall a certain witch using me. You. You USED me!” Both Draco’s hands went flying up in the air. He felt better now, being on the offensive.

“Oh, right.” Hermione rolled her eyes. The fact that she was blisteringly angry made the movement more threatening then nonchalant. “Like you never used anyone.”
Those words stopped him cold. His retort no longer mattered. She had him there and they both knew it.
“Not Saint Draco. Saint Draco never gets his hands dirty. Saint Draco and all his activities are ordained and holy!”

“Will you stop calling me that.” Draco gritted out. He knew he was right. That Granger was in the wrong. But somehow he felt distinctly guilty and damn it all- wrong. She somehow turned herself into the victim and him the villain.

He hated arguing with females for this very reason. They always twisted your words and turned the conversation upside-down while attacking every chink in your armor. Completely ruthless.

“Why not Saint Draco? Isn’t that your name? All you’re missing is the white robe and halo.” Hermione sneered, entirely fed up. “Here let me help you out with that.” Hermione then proceeded to take a handful of flour and throw it his face.


Seeing Draco standing there frozen, his briefcase still in hand, with a powdered face, she giggled. Then he opened his eyes and made the picture even funnier. She laughed out loud.

Draco stood in shock. One from her accusations and the other from being coated in a baking ingredient. That, that…that wench.

That so called wench looked utterly pleased with herself and wholly unperturbed. She turned to face him again. “I’ve admitted I was wrong, I’ve apologized, and I’ve tried to fix things. So this is where you return the favor by admitting that you were flawed in your actions as well.”

She summed up her points like a lawyer making a case.

And so bloody sure of herself.
“Flawed? I was not wrong nor am I sorry.” He ground out, bits of flour escaping while he shook his head. Didn’t he have a nice, long talk with himself the other day declaring the opposite? Fighting with Granger always left his thoughts in a deuced tangle.

Hermione could see what he was getting at. “I didn’t mean wrong in how it happened, I meant wrong in how you outrageously overreacted. You know just as well as I do that we were good friends for years before this. Why else did we live together after being able to move out? Money is no longer an object here.” she paused letting that sink in.

“I’m not absolving myself from anything, far from it, but you acting like the recently crowned “Pureblood Drama Queen of the Year” didn’t exactly help matters either.” She told him quietly.

Draco took a minute, thinking that perhaps Pansy talked to Granger. Those words rang a bell. He wanted to continue to fight it out, but she had a point. He had wanted to fix things, and here was the perfect opportunity handed to him on a silver platter…or a handful of flour.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“What?” She asked in disbelief. Hermione was sure he was going to continue.

“I said,” Draco tried to put on an air of detachment, “I’m sorry.”

Hermione felt warmth wash over her. At last. She felt a surprising fit of sauciness come over her. “And?”

“And what?” Draco stalked over to her. He refused to make any more concessions to her tonight. “You got your apology.”

She grinned. “Say you missed me.”

“But I didn’t.” he deadpanned.

Hermione fell silent. She was so sure he was going to go back to the way they were. A flicker of hurt crossed her face. Maybe she truly had lost him after all.

Then she was standing in a cloud of white. Draco had dumped the entire bowl of flour on top of her head.

“See?” he said smirking. “I didn’t miss you.”

After a second, Hermione gave him a shove. “You infuriating little ferret! I have no clothes here, all my stuff’s gone. This is never going to come out of my hair before dinner-”

Draco was never one to be scolded, he had told her that already. So to end the lecture, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her into a particularly fierce kiss.

Hermione’s mind went blank.

Oh.


___________

End note: For all you wondering what the dress looked like it was the Versace gown worn by Michelle Yeoh. Here are some links to it.

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2428/3550153743_1f596d42fc.jpg?v=0
http://cache.daylife.com/imageserve/08g28pJ0fzb3S/160x.jpg