Catalyst

Disclaimer: None of it is mine, nor do I make any money from the story.




Hermione stared dumbfounded at Draco’s retreating form, the white-blonde hair receding into the distance. She’d called out to him and started to follow when Oliver had grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“Do you want me to let him know to stop bothering you?” he’d asked, his dark eyes serious.

“Stop bothering me?” she repeated dumbly, distracted. She turned back to Oliver, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. “He wasn’t bothering me. He’s a friend.”

Oliver looked doubtful. “Didn’t act very friendly though, did he?”

Hermione shook her head, not caring whether he believed her or not. “What is it that you want, Oliver?”

Now Oliver looked confused. “I told you- I think we really had something. We ought to give it a try, don’t you think?”

Hermione was getting impatient. She’d been waiting for Draco to emerge, wanting to catch him without his Slytherin cronies to say hello, when Oliver had accosted her with his little speech. She had no idea what Draco had made of it, but it was clear that he had jumped to some sort of conclusion and she wanted to go after him as quickly as possible.

“Oliver, I had a good time with you, and yes, I had thought at several points during the evening that we could be very compatible. But that illusion was shattered the moment that you informed me, in no uncertain terms, that not only did you not want a relationship, you hadn’t even considered that evening a date. And honestly, I understand all of your reasoning, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not about to start dating a man whose first reaction to me was to shatter any chance that I would hold any illusion that you were interested in me.”

She delivered her speech in a rush and patted him on the shoulder as she hurried by and out the door of the Leaky Cauldron, hoping to catch Draco. She emerged just in time to see him apparate away. Realizing that the Manor was undoubtedly warded against unauthorized apparition, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She would have to try a floo call now. She walked back into the bar to bid her friends good-bye before apparating home to try the floo.

* * * * * * *




Hermione was exhausted. She’d rushed home and stuck her head in the fireplace, calling out for the Manor. The house elf that had come to answer had returned to nervously inform her that Master Draco was unavailable. She had left the little elf with a message for Draco to contact her when he became available and slumped onto her sofa in defeat.

The trouble was, she didn’t know what to make of any part of the situation. She had been increasingly attracted to Draco lately, but she had attributed this to some sort of classic white-knight syndrome combined with the fact that he was, despite his typically icy demeanor, an extremely handsome man. Truthfully, she’d been attracted to him even before he’d rescued her, and before he’d begun being halfway civil to her. She doubted that there was a red-blooded female alive who wouldn’t find him attractive, with his lean, sculpted frame, broad shoulders, and classically handsome (if a little pointy) features. His hair was a bit longer now and fell around his face in silky strands. But his most attractive feature, as far as Hermione was concerned, was the aura of cool but extremely dangerous power. He was unbelievably self-assured, a quality that drove her insane with irritation and infatuation in equal parts.

Though she’d been growing increasingly attracted to the younger Malfoy, she’d chosen to ignore it, not daring to believe that his newfound civility could ever extend so far as to allow any sort of relationship between the two. He’d never given her a reason to think they could even be friends until very recently. Though she tried not to hope for more, she couldn’t help the butterflies that invaded her system whenever she remembered how’d he’d held her as she cried, or the safety she’d felt in his arms the night Nott had attacked her. When she’d seen the familiar light-blonde head in the Leaky Cauldron, she’d been ridiculously pleased, overcome with excitement at seeing him again.

She’d been shocked when he interrupted the conversation with Oliver. She had no idea how to proceed with the awkward situation, and he’d looked so cold and angry. Did that mean he’d been interested in her after all? She wanted to explain, but felt it would be presumptuous to assume that he would be interested in her relationship (or lack thereof) with Oliver Wood, considering that Draco had yet to express any romantic interest in her.

She lay on the sofa, her stomach churning with anxiety at the situation. After several minutes, she sat upright and shook her head, trying to clear it. This was ridiculous, after all. She wasn’t twelve anymore, and this wasn’t some teenage drama. She was a successful and independent woman and she would handle this situation with the confidence befitting a witch of her caliber. With new resolve, she sat down at her desk and began to write.


* * * * * * *





Draco awoke the next morning in a foul temper. He’d slept poorly, and the events of the previous evening came flooding back to him as soon as he woke. He groaned as he sat up and stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, finding it painful to be conscious again. He shuffled into the dining room, falling into a chair and pointedly ignoring his mother’s gaze as he poured himself coffee.

“Post is on the table,” his father’s voice came from behind the morning paper.

Draco eyed the post suspiciously. He didn’t think he could take any surprises today. Sighing, he pulled his stack towards him, opening several work-related correspondences before spotting the sealed scroll. He unfurled it, immediately regretting it when he noted the familiar tidy script. He was tempted to toss it aside, not wanting to read any ill-conceived attempts at soothing his ego, but decided against it, curiosity getting the better of him.

His mother watched silently as the frown on Draco’s face ebbed slightly, the wrinkles on his forehead easing as his facial muscles relaxed. After a few more moments, the corners of his lips twitched slightly. Finally, after a bit more time had passed, his eyes were dancing with humor and he tossed the scroll down, unable to contain his smug grin.

Lucius dropped the paper and noted the expression on his son’s face. “Do I want to know?” he inquired, in a carefully crafted impression of indifference.

“It seems Granger’s finally decided to admit what I’ve known along,” Draco announced, looking beyond pleased with himself. “She’s absolutely mad for me. Told off Oliver Wood last night after he tried to ask her out and wants me to contact her at my earliest convenience to make arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” Narcissa’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “For what?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was the little witch actually so forward as to instruct her son to make arrangements for a date? Her respect for the feisty muggleborn shot up another notch.

“For our first date,” replied Draco smoothly. “I’ll see you later, Mum and Dad; I’ve got a floo call to make.”

With that he took his plate and strode from the room, ignoring his parents obvious delight as they exchanged twin expressions of smug gleefulness.

* * * * * * * *





Hermione had been up for ages. She may have had the courage to send Draco a very direct letter, but that most certainly did not mean that she wasn’t on pins and needles all night wondering what his response would be. She could have read all the signs wrong, allowing wishful thinking to cloud her judgment. Any minute now, his eagle owl would be arriving, bearing a dismissive note dripping with sarcasm, unceremoniously relieving her of any notions of a budding romance. She was in the kitchen, just beginning to feel a full-fledged anxiety attack coming on when she heard a voice coming from her living room.

She froze in panic. She hadn’t been expecting him to turn up, at least not so quickly, or without warning. Assuming that there would be a return owl before anything further, she hadn’t dressed or showered yet, and was left in a thin silk robe, her hair tumbling wildly in its typical morning state. She straightened herself as best she could and took a deep breath before entering the living room.

“Granger,” she heard Draco’s voice calling impatiently, then in a lower voice, “and this is precisely why everyone ought to have a house elf.”

“No house elf required actually,” she did her best to sound breezy as she entered the room. “And I still answered more quickly that you ever do.” She gave him a very stern look. “What possessed you to storm out of the Leaky Cauldron last night? It isn’t very easy trying to explain a situation to a man who has barricaded himself in that fortress you call a home.”

“Careful, Granger,” he replied haughtily, dismissing her complaints, “if you aren’t polite to me I may decide not to take you out after all.”

She shot him a nasty look and came closer to the fireplace. Inwardly, she was relieved for the return of their usual edgy banter- it relieved some of the tension of the situation. It was more than a bit awkward- their relationship had passed through so many different stages and was now at the precipice of something very new, so it was nice to have the constant of their patterns of interaction.

She said none of this of course, instead ignoring his comment and sitting down in a chair near her fireplace. From his vantage point of the low fireplace, Draco found himself getting quite a view. The short silk robe crept up on her shapely legs as she sat and crossed them. The midnight blue material clung to her curves and set off her pale lustrous skin as it was revealed.

“I see that you dressed for my visit,” he grinned wolfishly at her.

She flushed and stiffened slightly and he immediately regretted his words. Perhaps that sort of teasing wasn’t appropriate given recent events. He ought to have realized that she would be uncomfortable with open sexual innuendo. Just as he was considering apologizing, an extremely unpalatable idea, she spoke.

“Actually I was expecting someone else,” her eyes flashed with humor as she watched his eyes narrow at her words. “You should probably be running along now Malfoy.”

His scowl faded as she laughed, easing his fears that she was in fact dressed in such a manor for another caller, and halting his plans for elaborate punishment of said caller.

“Anyhow,” he began, pointedly changing the subject, “I came to tell you that I will indeed make arrangements, and will pick you up this evening at seven.”

“What if I have plans?” she protested indignantly.

He rolled his eyes. “Do you?”

“Well… no. But you’re lucky. Any other night I’d be booked solid. I’m a terribly busy and important witch,” she informed him, a note of teasing in her voice.

He gave her a half-smile. “See you at seven.” With that, he disappeared, reflecting on how enticing she had looked in her tiny robe. If she looked half that sexy this evening, it would be a very entertaining evening.

* * * * * * * *






Hermione spent the rest of her day in nervous anticipation. Draco Malfoy had proven to be a surprise in many ways, and she never knew what to expect from him. Intense didn’t even begin to describe the icy blonde wizard. She’d seen the intensity before, though it had previously been manifested in disgust and animosity rather than the smoldering un-readability he’d been exhibiting lately. It was very difficult to discern what that intensity in his gaze meant, as well as being unnerving. She could never tell whether he was suppressing the desire to kiss her or kill her. ‘Actually, I suppose we’re quite similar in that respect,’ she thought inwardly.

She found herself unable to concentrate at work all day, spacing out uncharacteristically and causing her co-workers to worry.

“No, I’m not sick, just a bit distracted,” she found herself explaining for what seemed like the twentieth time that day.

“What could possibly have the studious Hermione Granger distracted at the workplace?” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Her secretary hurried from the room as Harry entered, flashing her a winning smile before sinking into a chair opposite her, propping his feet on her desk.

“You’re looking well today, Harry, considering what you got up to last night,” she commented, ignoring his question.

Harry looked slightly guilty at the reminder, “About that, Hermione. I’m really sorry… you know how things slip out in that situation. I really doubt that he took us seriously.”

Hermione stared at him, suspicions forming in her mind. “Really?” she inquired neutrally, not wanting to give away her ignorance.

He looked relieved that she was open to his persuasion. “Oh yeah, I mean why would he? Two drunken idiots spouting off, trying to matchmake, that’s all he’ll think it was.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair, contemplating. “What exactly are you talking about, Harry Potter.”

His expression changed, now tinged with confusion. “Huh? Just… what happened last night.” She watched as it dawned on him, comprehension finally setting in. “You didn’t know? What were you talking about?”

“I was talking about your hangover, or lack thereof,” she began.

“Took a potion for it. Gin brewed it actually, wonderful stuff. You see…”

She cut off his attempt at changing the subject. “I want to know exactly what was said, and who you said it to.” She glared at him. “NOW!” she amended when he didn’t respond.

“Well,” he began, looking extremely nervous, “Ron and I went to the bathroom. And on the way there, please don’t be mad, but we were talking about you.” His words flying out now in an anxious rush of breath. “And we thought that you seemed happier lately, and that you looked especially, well, pleased, when you talked about Malfoy. And it’s true Hermione, you know it is!” He looked suddenly convicted as he cut off her protestations. “You blush sometimes, and sometimes you laugh, but you always get all dreamy-eyed and out-of-it after his name comes up. So when we ran into him, we, er… well, we may have given him a few words of encouragement.”

Hermione, restraining herself, raised an eyebrow at that. “Encouragement? To do... what, exactly?”

“To give it a shot with you,” replied Harry uncertainly, growing nervous again at her dangerously calm voice.

Hermione flopped over her desk suddenly, burying her head in her arms. “Oh, I am SO pathetic!” she wailed into her desk.

Harry, now totally confused, patted her tentatively on the back, wanting to soothe his friend, but worried that any sudden moves would trigger the rage he knew had to lurking.

“He’s got to think I’m some silly cow who has to have her friends beg men to date her.” She paused and raised her head slightly, looking miserable. “And let’s face it, he wouldn’t be wrong, would he? I don’t know if I can look him in the eye tonight.” She was filled with visions of him listening to her friends’ speech, finally caving in out of sympathy.

“Hang on,” Harry perked up, “what do you mean tonight?”

“I asked him out,” Hermione answered, flushing with embarrassment at the memory. Suddenly, she didn’t feel mature or confident, but totally pathetic. “And we’re going out tonight, though its obvious now that it’s only out of pity that he accepted.”

Harry looked at her like she was crazy. “Hermione,” he explained patiently, as he would speak to a small child. “It’s MALFOY.” He watched for her response. Seeing no change, he continued. “I guarantee that Draco Malfoy has never EVER done anything that he didn’t want to do out of sympathy. Not only would he not have accepted if he wasn’t interested, he would currently be taking every opportunity to torment you about the situation.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “He did look really upset when he overheard the conversation with Oliver,” she mused, looking happier.

Harry’s expression darkened. “Oliver,” he muttered, followed by what sounded like a muffled expletive. “He’s got a lot of nerve.”

“Harry,” Hermione began gently, “I’m over it. It’s no big deal. None of what happened was his fault.”

“Not directly perhaps. He’s still an idiot.” Harry looked up at her, his green eyes defiant.

She smiled fondly at him, counting her blessings once again that she had such loyal friends. “So anyways,” she switched subjects, “you don’t think he thinks I’m pathetic?”

“Hermione, I won’t pretend to understand the inner workings of the mind of Draco Malfoy,” he looked slightly disturbed as he contemplated the words. “But I would never encourage you to date someone that I didn’t think was very interested in you. I think that, at this point, he’s proven to genuinely care for you, albeit in his own, slightly sadistic, way,” he finished, recalling Draco’s rage after Hermione had been attacked.

Hermione felt inexplicably pleased at the thought of Draco exhibiting his formidable temper on her behalf.

“You’re getting that look again,” Harry watched her, smiling. “Push off early and get ready for your date. There’s nothing here that can’t wait until tomorrow, and you’re not accomplishing anything anyways.”

Hermione decided that he was right. Gathering her things, she followed him out of the office. As they neared the Ministry exit, she kissed him on the cheek and headed for the door.

“Hermione,” his voice called.

She turned, looking at him questioningly.

“Have fun tonight. I think he really does care about you, even if he’s still a complete prat about it.” He looked very serious.

She laughed. “I’ll bear it in mind.” With that, she turned and passed through the doors, heading home to prepare for the evening.



A/N-Please read and review!


Next chapter- the first date! *Cackles sadistically*

I have come to the end of pre-written material, so updates probably won’t be daily anymore. However, my obsessive nature will not allow for too much time between chapters, so not to worry.

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