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Face To Face by Storyteller
Chapter 1 : Face To Face
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 17


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FACE TO FACE

 

Author’s Note:

 

All the I-hate-Ron reviews and the Write-more-of-this stuff made me think of what would happen if Draco and Ron faced each other? Enjoy…

Draco’s POV

 

“Come on, Draco. You’ve been in there for the past hour.”

 

I made a face at the bathroom door. Mothers never understood the horror of meeting your girlfriend’s parents for the first time. Dad got the jittery feeling in my stomach, though. He hadn’t interrupted me.

 

I yanked open the door when the insistent knocking started to get on my already jangled nerves. “Do I look okay?” I said in a high-pitched voice, my hand tugging nervously at my tie. God, this was getting embarrassing.

 

My Mum eyed the muggle tuxedo critically. Then, she shrugged. “How do I know?”

 

“Draco?” Dad looked in from the parlour. “Come in here for a second. Let’s have a man-to-man about tonight.”

 

I escaped my mum, who was rolling her eyes, and accepted the goblet of firewhiskey Dad handed me. It might seem a little rude, but I sure as hell needed it.

 

“So… you sleeping with Granger?”

 

The firewhiskey found its way back through my mouth and onto the carpet Kiaa had spent a half-hour cleaning. “What the—? What do you…?”

 

“Come on, Drake. This one’s important.”

 

“Err…” the blush on my face was certainly not manly. It was damn right embarrassing. “No… not really.”

 

“Define ‘not really’.”

 

“Do…D-Do I have to?” I spluttered, then gagged at his questioning stare. “We…uh, are working towards…it.”

 

“Good. Gets you points with the father.”

 

I couldn’t stop the groan.

 

************************************

 

I raised my hand to knock, but put it back down without doing so. What if they didn’t like me? Maybe this wasn’t a bright idea after all. I was, after all, just a reformed mass-murderer.

 

Maybe it counted that I hadn’t killed anyone.

 

Man up, Malfoy. Knock the damn door.

 

Hardly had my trembling hand connected with the door that Hermione opened it. A smile, welcoming and reassuring at the same time, adorned her face. I swear to God, the girl could look into my soul through my eyes.

 

“Hi,” she said, dragging me into the hall. I was kind of glad, as my legs felt as though they had taken a holiday. “Come meet Mum and Dad.”

 

Mrs. Granger was a little on the plump side, with an understanding and kind face; I knew better—she was a dentist. She extended warm hands to shake mine, and her smile did not look forced. Points for me.

 

Draco: 1, Grangers: 0.

 

“Hello, Draco,” she said, pumping my hand.

 

Belatedly I remembered the bouquet in my arms, and extended them awkwardly. “Good evening, Mrs. Granger...er, I mean Dr. Granger. Um…These are for you.”

 

“Call me Emma,” she corrected gently, sniffing the tulips the flower-lady had helped me pick. “I’ll be back in a moment, just have to put these in water.”

 

“Call me Tom, Draco,” said Mr. Granger, extending a hand to give me a firm hand-shake.

 

“Good evening, Tom.”

 

“Come into the parlour, will you?”

 

I gulped. Was he going to grill me? I quietly chanted the mantra Dad had drilled into my head.

 

No, Tom, I’m not sleeping with your daughter. No, Tom, I’m not sleeping with your daughter. No, Tom, I’m not sleeping with your daughter. No, Tom, I’m not sleeping with your daughter.

 

 

The parlour looked homey, with the fire crackling merrily, the light from the chandelier and the fire bounced around the white walls and Arabian carpet. There was a three piece sofa-set, and a bean-bag, which Mr. Granger casually occupied. I tried to stop myself from collapsing into the love-seat. Hermione sat with me, linking her fingers with mine, giving them a light squeeze. I had to stop myself from squeezing the fingers off that pretty hand.

 

“So, Draco,” began Hermione’s father.

 

Insert: Deep breath.

 

“Sir?”

 

“I don’t have a lot of time before Emma comes back in, and then I gotta be all polite to you. So…you serious about my girl?”

 

“Daddy,” Hermione hissed, scandalized. “That’s rude.”

 

“We are men of the world, Hermione,” said Tom. “And men want only one thing, right Draco?”

 

Dad!

 

I silenced her with a look. As all my carefully thought out answers had abandoned me, I stuck to the truth. First impression was the last impression. “I wouldn’t say I don’t want…that, with Hermione, Tom. But I want more,” I said, looking at the blushing girl next to me. “I’m completely selfish, and I want to be with her because she brings a smile to my face when I talk to her, and a spring in my step when I look at her. I can talk nineteen to the dozen with her, and she won’t get a glassy look in her eyes. I want to stay with her because we have so much in common, and so much more to explore about each other.”

 

Both Hermione and Tom looked comical with their jaws scraping the floor, and I grinned.

 

Draco: 2, Grangers: 0.

 

 

“Explore?” Emma enquired as she came in. “What were you lot talking about?”

 

The threatening look Mrs. Granger gave her husband was enough to make me lie. “Just about my future plans, Mrs. Granger. I plan to travel across the world. There is a dearth of good Healers in Africa, so…”

 

“Oh,” said Mrs. Granger. “That’s fine then. Come and have something to eat, Draco. Dinner’s served.”

 

The dinner was a bit more comfortable, and I did not feel as though the Grangers would murder me anytime soon. That had to be a good thing.

 

“Did you feel a tingle the first time you touched?” Mr. Granger winked at Draco.

 

“Sure,” I replied honestly. “More than a tingle. I felt a surge of sensation.”

 

Mr. Granger’s eyebrow rose. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” I replied, shrugging. “She punched me.”

 

WHAT?

 

“He was being creepy and annoying,” Hermione defended herself, while everyone else laughed.

 

“So, Draco,” said Mrs. Granger. “Hermione tells me you too have a fetish for medicine?”

 

End Of Draco’s POV

 

“Er… yes, Mrs. Granger. Actually, I hadn’t really considered a profession before this year, and…now I know what to do. I wanna help people. I figured out that healing was a good enough way to do that, seeing I am not allowed to be an Auror.” He shrugged when he said it, trying to look nonchalant about it all, but the fact was that it hurt. He was not allowed to give an exam for Aurorship, seeing his past. Not everything could be put behind him. This was reality.

 

Mrs. Granger wondered whether he knew he had a grimace on his face.

 

 “You two are in today’s magic paper,” said Mr. Granger, shifting from an obviously painful topic. “You look nice in a skirt, Hermione.”

 

“Magic paper?” Draco looked—understandably—confused.

 

“The Daily Prophet,” Hermione explained. “And thanks Dad. Draco gifted me that skirt last Valentine’s.”

 

This topic was more painful than the last one. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pulling at the tie that suddenly felt like a noose around his neck. What would Mr. Granger think? Was it a kinky gift? Not that he had thought of it like that…

 

Liar…

 

Draco jerked. He had a speaking conscience? What was this…a soap opera?

 

Then he jerked again when the doorbell rang. Talk about being jumpy.

 

Before any of them could get up from the table, Ronald Weasley stumbled in. His hair was standing on ends, his mouth quivering, his eyes bloodshot.

 

In short, Ron was stone-drunk. Thoroughly pissed.

 

It suits him, Draco thought, an unnatural anger seeping through him at the sight of the man who had made his Hermione cry.

 

Ronald stumbled up to Hermione, giving not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the other dumbstruck people on the table. He yanked her chair around, then slammed a newspaper on the table. “What is the meaning of this crap, Moine?”

 

The tone and the way Hermione cringed away from the red-head’s stench caused Draco to stand up. “A picture of us, Weasley. Now surd off.”

 

“Am I asking you, you Death-eater? Shut the fuck up and let me talk to my girlfriend.”

 

“I thought your current girlfriend is called Fiona, or did I miss someone?” Hermione took a stand too. NO ONE came barging into her house. No one.

 

“Excuse me?” said Mr. Granger, putting an arm around his wife, who looked scared of the drunkard. With reason, of course. “I suggest you leave, Ronald.”

 

“Take your suggestion and stuff it, Tom.”

 

“Weasley!” Hermione shrieked at him. “Go away, you’re drunk.”

 

Draco put a hand on Ronald’s shoulder, applied unnecessary force, and said, “Let’s take this outside then, there are ladies in the house.”

 

“Always the gentleman,” Ron mocked, then turned to Hermione, stumbling a little. He put his hand on her arm, tugging her towards the doors. “Come on… I get your point. You can get any guy you want. I get your shit. But come on, you know you always loved me. You need me back.”

 

Before any of the others could say a word, the brunette exploded. “You conceited bastard! Yes, I loved you. I loved you with an innocence that comes once in a girl’s lifetime. You were my first love, Ronald. And with Draco right here, it proves how my taste has improved. You always wanted to outshine your brothers, Ronald. Always. When asked, you were the one who wanted the most popular hallow, the Deathstick. YOU court the press, strutting about like you killed him. Even Harry doesn’t claim that. Look at you right now… how much do you wanna bet that it’s just a male ego thing? You don’t love me,” a sob worked it’s way out of her throat as she shouted this in the drunk’s face, and she unconsciously took Draco’s hand for support. “You want me back, cause I’m your property. Isn’t that right? Aren’t you just…claiming your property? Say…some—th—thing,” she was sobbing completely now, and Draco squeezed her hand, feeling at a loss. The Grangers also looked completely at a loss.

 

“He doesn’t even know you…”

 

“You won’t even tell her she’s wrong?” Mrs. Granger was scandalized.

 

“Oh, he knows me,” steamrolled Hermione, unaware that her father was looking at her with naked admiration is his eyes. “Do you know me, Ronald?”

 

“Of course, we have been friends for ages, Moine.”

 

“Which is my least favourite nickname, Ron?”

 

“Er…”

 

“Moine,” said Draco, taking a step towards Ronald, who was slumped on the wall for support.

 

“Which is my favorite colour?”

 

“Brown?”

 

“Silver,” said Draco, taking another menacing step forward.

 

“What muggle school did I attend?”

 

“How the fuck do I know?” Ron was cowering against the wall now, with Draco so close.

 

“Angels’ Primary School.” Draco was right in Ronald’s face now, his wand ready in his hand. “Now, Weasley. I am thoroughly pissed that you interrupted a very special dinner, and you made my girl cry, and you bad-mouthed her father. I think I’m pretty good at dueling, considering my past,” he snarled the word in Ron’s face, “don’t you?”

 

“Don’t you dare—”

 

“But I will,” Draco cut across. “Unless you show your spineless self the door as quickly as humanly possible. I would like nothing better than to hex you into next week, but… We wouldn’t want to spoil the party mood here.”

 

“We…we are aren’t done. I—I will… You just wait. I—”

 

“Stink?” Draco supplied, smirking. “I know that.”

 

With a cry of “Come on”, Ron lunged at Hermione.

 

And got a punch in the face as a reward.

 

Ronald slid right down to the floor, and clutched his bleeding nose, babbling incoherently.

 

Mr. Granger picked up the miserable bundle and threw it out.

 

“You okay?” Draco asked Hermione, concern dancing in his eyes.

 

She flexed her fingers. “That felt good.”

 

“Sure,” Draco smiled. “Feels worse from the other side.”

 

All of them laughed.

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: - How was this? Any suggestions for a sequel? Anything else you want? Your wish is my command, folks!




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