Bad Press

Bad Press

Draco Malfoy did not do romantic. He did cruel, aloof, sarcastic, and aristocratic... but he did not do romantic. In fact, no Malfoy did. It was well documented; stretching into the 13^th century when Augustus Malfoy dressed his wife's bed in roses, only to find her ensconced deeply beneath the covers with Magnus Potter.

Thus, Malfoy's did not deal in romance. Their only official schooling in the matter a small blurb in the Malfoy's Guide to Appropriate Behaviour, defining the term with the generic, oft used comment of pass-time indulged in by lesser subjects and an entirely frivolous activity.

Draco had taken that to heart. His relationships did not require romance. They were a simple matter of social standing and sexual reciprocity. A mutual partnership, if you will. Unfortunately, the vast majority of such relationships for him had ended when his political standing on the matter of Lord Voldemort had been revealed.

After that, relationships became decidedly more complicated. For Draco, finding willing partners had never been the issue. He exuded his own personal aura of Malfoy confidence, striking good looks, and scintillating danger. He knew how to draw people to him.

It was in keeping them in his company that he was faced with difficulty. Draco Malfoy was not an easy person to live with. He was not kind, and he did not give compliments easily. When asked his opinion he was in fact dreadfully blunt. He did not believe in indulging anything he deemed useless.

All this lead to an alarming string of failed relationships. Lisa Turpin had harboured dreams of moonlit walks and serenades. Laura Madley expected rash and constant declarations of undying love and devotion. Emma Dobbs had wanted candlelit dinners. Sally-Ann Perks had taken him shopping for wedding dresses.

Hermione Granger was nothing like any of the others. She was intelligent, rational and practical, all rolled into a body that wasn't as aesthetically unpleasing as Draco remembered from Hogwarts. It seemed that Hermione had grown into her looks in much the same way Draco had.

It was entirely unfair that she was a no-good mudblood. Draco was greatly disappointed. For all that she was genetically inferior, she would have been a good match for him.

~

Hermione Granger did not put up with frivolous fantasies and delusions. While other little girls had dreamt of marrying princes, she had favoured the daydream of becoming Prime Minister. While other teenage girls had worried over their appearances and their boyfriends, she had worried over essay lengths and thesis topics.

It had put a rather large separation between her and her fellow sex. A separation that Hermione had no interest in changing. She was quite comfortable with her current situation. She had her best friends, Harry and Ron, and she had a fulfilling and challenging career in book trading. If she was ever in need of a female ear, she could always turn to Ginny.

Of course, while such a situation suited Hermione just fine, it was not conductive to establishing any sort of romantic relationship at all. Hermione's love life was dragging rather splendidly. It wasn't as though she needed such a relationship to define herself, but she couldn't deny that one would be a nice change from her regular schedule.

Hermione was actually rather put out at the sorry state of this area of her life. In her own true fashion she had set about trying to find the perfect man to compliment her. It turned out to be a much more difficult task then she had expected.

Victor Krum. The Bulgarian seeker had definitely been interested in her. The attention had been flattering. He was kind, polite and Merlin did he know how to kiss. There was only one problem. Victor was dreadfully dim. Conversations with him had been less stimulating then watching paint dry.

Ron. Ron had been her best friend for a long time. She knew that everyone had expected them to end up together. It had seemed like a universal truth; Harry would save the day and Ron and Hermione would fall in love. It hadn't worked out that way. They had tried dating, but the results had been disastrous at best.

Harry had never even been in the race. Even the thought of him in any kind of sexual situation made her shudder. In every way that counted, Harry was her brother. Seamus Finnegan worked his way through women faster than she could solve an arithmancy problem. Dean Thomas was blissfully engaged to Lavender Brown. Neville was... Neville.

She actually had a depressing few candidates; none of them appropriate.

If Hermione Granger had even thought up the possibility of Draco Malfoy it would have been immediately dispersed of with disbelieving disgust. Malfoy may not be a Death Eater, but he was still an annoying, snobbish, bigoted prat of a human being.

Even if he was well educated, sophisticated and more handsome then she would care to admit.

~

The 5^th Annual Reception for Survivor's of the Terror was an event Draco was not looking forward to. He hadn't look forward to it last year, or the year before that, or the year before that, or the year before that. He wouldn't look forward to it next year.

Unfortunately, he was required to attend. The invitations were sparse, and refusing one was a quick way to guarantee failure. So, with much trepidation, Draco donned his dress robes and prepared for the most aggravating night of the year.

The wide sweeping steps of the Burdock Muldoon Memorial Hall rose in front of him. He climbed them with resignation, surrounded by the gaggle of spectators yearning for a glimpse of their favourite wizarding heroes. It was all very predictable.

He pulled the gilded envelope from his pocket as he reached the doors. Letting the magical scanners pass over his invitation, he mentally prepared himself. The next several hours would be spent dealing with people he didn't particular like, talking about things he didn't particularly care about.

As the impressive glass doors opened, he tucked the invitation back into his pocket. His expensive shoes clicked impressively on the stone flooring of the lobby. He quickly delegated his cloak to one of the house elves, not bothering to address it more than necessary.

With one last adjustment to straighten his robes and check to make sure every hair was in place, he made his way towards the hall. He just knew there would be far to many reporters waiting for each guest to arrive.

~

Hermione let the muggle dress slide over her body. She carefully did up the zipper in the back before moving to appraise herself in the mirror. The bronze silk sheath was ankle length and strapless. It conformed to each of her curves and accentuated her better aspects splendidly.

Her hair was a mass of curls pulled back with golden combs. She had kept her face, as usual, make-up free. Colouring charms irritated her skin, and she was far to practical to care too much about what she was missing.

Even the dress and the hair were far too extravagant for Hermione. She would have much preferred to show up in her day-to-day robes with her hair pulled back in a clip. Unfortunately, the reception had a habit of being disgustingly formal. To show up wearing anything less was social suicide.

Sighing with annoyance, Hermione hastily grabbed her cloak and purse. She apparated to the Hall while quickly rooting around for the invitation she knew she had put in her purse that morning. There it was. Prestigious invite in hand, she made her way into the building.

Her cloak was taken by an eager house elf, which she awarded with a kind smile. It was such a pity none of them would even take a pamphlet. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though; she didn't want to be late for the dinner.

As she hurried down towards the reception, she hoped she could make her way through the press quickly. After all, she wasn't with Harry. It shouldn't be that bad. The flash of a camera bulb interrupted her internal proclamation.

Hermione stumbled, spots dancing in front of her eyes. She could feel her feet tangling in her heels, and knew the embarrassment it would bring. She would rediscover her awkwardness in front of two and a half dozen reporters.

Even as she felt herself toppling, a strong pair of arms circled her waist and righted her against a hard body. As the disorientation faded, Hermione looked up to meet the eyes of her saviour. To say she was surprised would be an understatement.

~

It had been pure instinct that had let Draco Malfoy catch the woman beside him. Years of Quidditch training in all weather had honed his instincts quite well. Well enough that he could steady a tumbling woman.

Whether or not he would have done it had he known the woman he was saving was Hermione Granger is a question that will never be answered. He didn't know, and he did catch her, and he did spend several seconds in close proximity to her curves before realizing.

Several seconds that were masterfully captured by the many cameramen littering the plush red carpet in front of them. Cameramen who accompanied journalists who were very interested in why Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger seemed so comfortable and intimate in one another's company.

The questions flew.

"Mr. Malfoy! How long has this relationship been going on?"

"Hermione! Teen Witch wants to know, what's he like in bed?"

"Mr. Malfoy! Has Ms. Granger made you into a better man?"

"Ms. Granger! Is there a wedding in the near future?"

Hermione's eyes widened at the intruding questions, her mouth flapping open in shock. They couldn't think, they wouldn't think, it was entirely impossible that they thought...

Draco, meanwhile, was thinking slightly more proactively. Hooking his hand around Hermione's elbow, he began to push through the thick mob of journalistic dung. He had never realized how time slows down to a crawl when you find yourself in awkward situations.

"No comment." He spat out, pushing past a particularly enthusiastic writer, "No comment. No comment. No comment." Anything he said right now would be taken entirely out of context, and he couldn't trust himself not to be terribly rude.

As he reached the hall and escaped the crowd, she turned to face him. Hermione Granger. This entire situation was entirely her fault. This was going to be a very long night.

~

Hermione watched in shock as Malfoy dropped her elbow, sneered at her, and then made his way determinedly to the bar. She quickly brought her hand up to her elbow and pinched to sensitive skin there, hard. After a muffled yelp she determined that she had not actually fallen, hit her head and was currently experiencing a hallucination do to head trauma. Pity.

Malfoy had just saved her from making a fool of herself in front of the most influential members of the journalistic community. Only to have said members determine that they were in some kind of relationship. Her. With him. They couldn't possibly think that. Not in their wildest dreams.

She shook her had in denial. They couldn't print that, of course. It was just hearsay and speculation. It would never see the light of day. She could organize it carefully and store the memory in her brain under freak events. Never to be mentioned again. Ever.

"So, Hermione," she looked across her shoulder to meet the cinnamon eyes of Ginny Weasley, clad in midnight blue dress robes, "What's this I hear about you and Draco Malfoy?" The redheaded witch stared in shock as her friend rotated on her heel and headed abruptly in the direction of the bar.

Hermione Granger needed a drink. Badly.

~

Two hours and six bourbons later, Draco Malfoy was still not drunk. Damn. It would have made it so much easier to deal with the disgusting possibility that people thought he was involved with the mudlood. The bushy-haired, bucktooth, know it all mudblood.

The mudblood whose curves had felt far too nice against his sides. The mudblood whom he had spent the last three bourbons fantasizing about. This was not good. He could not be attracted to bloody Granger. Bloody Granger who had slapped the tar out of him, whom he had put through a living hell in Hogwarts, who was best friends with wanking Harry Potter and the Weasel.

He needed another drink.

"Bartender!" His voice was hoarse and his throat annoyingly dry. "Bartender!" Where was the fucking bartender? He should be serving him right now. Draco looked down the bar in search of the elusive server.

There he was. The bartender stood at the end of the bar talking to a familiar figure in a bronze dress. Draco moved closer until the conversation filtered into his ears.

"I'm sorry, miss, I'm going to have to cut you off now." The bartender was explaining to the swaying woman.

"I want another tequila!" The brunette exclaimed loudly. "Give me another tequila."

"I can't do that, miss," was the reply she was given, "You've had to much. If you'd like I can escort you to the street and call the Knight Bus for you."

Draco frowned. No, he didn't want her riding the Knight Bus. He wanted her riding him. Yes, that was right. No, damn it! It was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Still. He leaned against the polished wood for support before turning to the server.

"That'll be quite all right," His voice was confident and assured. He was a Malfoy after all. "I'll make sure she gets home alright." The bartender gave him a long suspicious look before nodding in agreement. After all, he had better things to do then deal with drunken customers.

Hermione looked at him with unfocused eyes. A frown grew on soft, pink lips. "I don't like you." She told him, her voice tart. She pushed herself to her feet and tried to walk towards the door. Draco caught her as she staggered.

She continued to frown up at him as he led her out of the building towards the apparition point. Draco continued to hold her, hoping the crisp air would clear her head. He looked down at her, draped half across him and unfocused.

"Granger?" he asked, tilting her chin up, "Can you apparate on your own?" She nodded jerkily and wriggled out of his arms. Draco repressed a groan at the movement. Her face crunched in concentration before she lost her balance and leaned precariously forward.

Draco once again brought her into the circle of his arms. "That's a no, then? My flat then." She made a sound of protest but he had already moved them. She gave an unhealthy groan at the magical displacement and gagged.

"I think I'm going to be sick." The muttered comment shocked Draco into action.

"Not in my flat, you aren't." His wand out, he muttered a rather useful spell Blaise had taught him in seventh year after their drinking binge in The Hog's Head.

He could tell it had taken to her in a moment. Her eyes focused and she righted quickly, the feeling of queasiness gone along with the unbalance and mental fogginess. Her eyes widened considerably when she saw him.

"Malfoy! Where the hell am I?" The enraged question was expected. Draco made his way silently into the kitchen and flicked his wand. His specially imported coffee would be prepared in minutes. That task completed, he turned back to his unlikely houseguest.

"I had to take you somewhere, Granger. You certainly weren't fit to apparate on your own." He flipped open the cupboard and pulled out two mugs, filling them to the brim with fine black coffee. He passed one to Granger. She looked at it in trepidation. "It will help with the headache."

She sipped it with caution, glaring at him all the while. Draco was given several minutes of blissful silence as they went about drinking their coffee. When Granger placed her mug on the counter, he knew it was over. Her face gained a rather constipated look. "Thank you, I suppose."

"Please don't mention it. Ever." Draco would erase her memory of the entire evening if he thought he could get away with it. Unfortunately, that wasn't likely to happen.

"Still," she told him, looking uncomfortable, "I feel I should thank you in some way. Perhaps I can treat you to lunch one afternoon." The civility was obviously forced. Draco could compare to that. The thought of spending a lunch with Granger was not pleasant.

A polite refusal was on his lips when the image of Potter and Weasley's faces at his taking Granger to lunch popped into his head. They would be absolutely furious. He liked to think himself above the petty rivalries of his youth but this was to good.

"That would be charming. Thursday, perhaps?" Draco gave the date with a small upward tilt of his lips. This could work. Potter and Weasley would go insane, and she was after all an intelligent and beautiful woman.

"Thursday sounds wonderful." She gave a weak smile in return. "I really must be going, though. Thank you again for your help."

With a small pop, Hermione Granger disapparated from Draco Malfoy's flat.

~

Daily Prophet - January 17, 2004

Society Section

Thin Line

By Colin Creevey

They say there is a thin line between love and hate. With the discovery of the budding relationship between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, this has never been truer. They were intense rivals while attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and yet the two now enjoy a joyful relationship. It is a classic case of star-crossed lovers defying all boundaries to be together. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. They are the wizarding world's Romeo and Juliet.

They accompanied each other to the 5^th Annual Reception for Survivors of the Terror held last week at the Burdock Muldoon Memorial Hall. The happy couple were kind enough to provide several charming pictures to the press, though they refused to comment on their relationship. Mr. Malfoy later escorted Ms. Granger from the reception, seeing the young witch home. A true gentleman. The happy couple was again sighted later in the week enjoying a romantic lunch at Donovan's in Diagon Alley.

The Daily Prophet offers Draco and Hermione the best of wishes in their relationship. We hope the future brings wedding bells.

For more about the Reception, see D-3...