Harry Potter Wrong Place, Too Much Time

**Written for MidsummerNightGirl's "Inspired by a Painting" Challenge.**

All I want to do is to owl Theo and tell him to pick me up from this disastrous date. No, even better, I want him to recruit several criminal look-alikes and break into this horribly fashionable restaurant with their wands out, along with the lights. I want to be kidnapped and whisked away, to home, to Theo's place, to _anywhere _but here. If I were carted off by an actual kidnapper right now, to some deserted island, so that he could slowly torture me to death, I'd be content. Well, I'd hex him and run, then be content. And _free._

Instead, I'm in the most posh place you could ever imagine, hopefully looking calm as I sip my glass of wine. All I want to do is curse the guy sitting across from me, either with words or magic- I don't care which. He is content, I bet, in his fancy black robes and his million-or-something-galleons watch. He can do this kind of thing, or at least fake it really well. He hasn't insulted me or my heritage all night, and he landed us in the best spot in the whole place- next to a window, which is this restaurant's only saving grace in my eyes.

I can ignore the pureblooded man in front of me, thanks to the window, and instead stare out at the street. I play a little game with myself, in my head, saying to myself _Now, find someone wearing... something bright red_. And then I'll gaze out at the walking crowds of witches and wizards until I see that one girl with the red bookbag, or the little boy with the red hat, or even the woman out walking with her friends, laughing and smiling happily, her nails glinting blood red by the light of the streetlights.

Every time I am able to tear my gaze away from the window, I surreptitiously glance at my watch to see how many more hours, minutes, and seconds that I have left until I get to go back to the flat I share with Ginny. Doing that now, I decide that I've got another half hour or so until I can casually say the words I've been meaning to say since five minutes after I got here: "I should be getting home now." Knowing his politeness, he'll likely offer to walk me back, but I'll just say, "No, that won't be necessary. See you around," and quickly apparate out of there before he can say anything else. Yes, I've got the whole thing planned out. And when I finally get home, I'll collapse in my usual reading chair, exhausted, and read until I fall asleep with a novel as a pillow. It'll be a dream, I just know it. I've just got to get through thirty more minutes... twenty-nine.

I am perfectly capable of getting through this, I am. I most certainly am.

"Excuse me, I've got to go... freshen up," I say in a rush. A total lie, as he could go to hell for all I care- I'm not going to "freshen up" for him. I don't even use the phrase in a normal setting, it sounds like something Pansy Parkinson would say. Then she'd go to the ladies' room and actually do so. She'd walk professionally as she left, then spend the exact politically correct time "freshening up" before she came back. Meaning that, as we are complete opposites, I nearly tripped as I got up (I blame the useless high heels for that), walked too quickly away, then spent my time in the bathroom sitting on the toilet and thoughtlessly making up escape plans, most of them (okay, all of them) involving my graceful wandwork and a romantic hero, tall, dark, and handsome, saving me and running my date through with a sword.

Yeah, Theo's usually the hero, and he's much more like a character from a romance novel in my fantasies. He doesn't run his hands through his hair constantly or talk too fast when he's nervous, like he does in real life. Then again, both are cute to a certain degree. Depending on the mood I'm in, I might even consider his automatic actions to be sexy- so, most certainly not right now, in the most unromantic place possible. The bathroom, I mean, not the restaurant, with its countless lamps with low lighting and richly designed carpets. Then again, the bathroom here is quite fancy... but I won't imagine Theo up in a ladies' restroom; if his leglimency ever got better than amateur, that would be difficult to explain. Especially since, to him, I'm just a friend. Just a bloody _friend_. Just a-

Shit, it's been ten minutes, I notice, grateful that I can openly stare at my watch without fear of being impolite. "Making a bad impression on a possible boyfriend," as Theo calls it. Because he is under the sad impression that Draco Malfoy and I would actually make a good couple. Either he is the most oblivious man in the world, or Theo just plain hates me. I dislike both option one and option two, truthfully.

I walk back to our table, pretending not to notice his slightly raised eyebrows and curious expression. I slip back into my seat, heels again snagging on the awful carpet and nearly launching me forward into the table. I am definitely giving these to Ginny after this; I will _never _wear them again. Not even if Theo himself were to ever actually ask me out. And if you knew me well, you'd know how big that is.

"So, how's work in the Ministry?" Malfoy asks me. Yes, try as I might, I still can't bring myself to call him by his first name, even though we're on a bloody _date. _The fact that he asks me about work is the hundredth point on my list of why I am never going out with him again, no matter what Theo says about souls made for each other, opposites attracting. If Malfoy ever bothers to ask me out again, I will say yes and call in sick an hour before, or I'll use something of George's to actually make myself temporarily sick. Anything to avoid ever being in this situation ever again.

And I'm going to crack, right about... now.

"Okay, Malf- _Draco_. Can I tell you the truth about this whole thing?" I ask him, my resolve against rudeness falling to bits. Who cares if Theo'll eventually hear of this, likely from Malfoy himself? I just can't take this anymore, I can't! I can't, I really, honestly-

"Something at work?" Malfoy suggests conversationally, taking another bite of whatever stupid, overly-expensive chicken crap he decided to order. I've barely even touched my food; it looks kind of gross. I'm planning on having Ramen noodles when I get back to my flat, so that I won't have to go to sleep starving for solid food.

"No, not _something at work_," I mock him, rolling my eyes. "You see, the truth is, I don't like you any more than I did back at Hogwarts, in third year, when I punched you in the nose. Merlin, that felt good, and you know what? I'd really like to do that again!" My voice gets louder, and people are starting to stare. Like I care. I start to continue, but Malfoy cuts in quietly, his expression quizzical.

"Then _why,_" he hisses to me, leaning across the table so that no one will eavesdrop, "did you even say yes when I asked you to have dinner with me?"

"Er..." I trail off, trying to remember. All I can dream up are Theo's pleading eyes, his silky voice telling me that it would be fun, that Malfoy was a great guy once you got to know him. "I can't exactly... recall that," I admit, flushing a bit.

"Hermione Granger, you are hopeless. And by hopeless, I mean-" Malfoy cuts himself off and scrawls something on a napkin with a quick charm, then passes it to me. It reads, _You're in love with Nott._ When I let out an argumentive squeak, he whispers, "You are! I'm a Legilimens, you know, and I wouldn't have to be to know that you're not interested in me at all! And you know what the sad part is? You aren't even doing anything about it. You're still here, and not there, and he's still at his place, wishing he'd never set this up! So why don't you-" he stops and groans quietly, while I just stare out the window, thinking something along the lines of _Crap. Crap. Crap, _until Malfoy says loudly, "I'm sorry, Hermione, but we'll have to resume this lovely dinner sometime next week, I've been called into work. Emergency at the Ministry," he adds.

"That's fine... Draco." I am a terrible liar and actress. "See you," I say as we walk out.

"Good luck, whatever you do," Malfoy says kindly to me, holding the door open. I mutter thanks and head in the opposite direction that he's walking in. I don't apparate, though, like I planned. I don't know what to do, actually. So I wander down the street, my high-heeled feet splashing in puddles left over from when it rained all morning. The streetlights shine on me, and I wonder if there's another woman sitting by the window now, looking for a confused witch like me, one with utterly horrible heels and hair ruined by the hot humidity. If there is, I wish Draco's good luck on her, because I won't be needing it tonight.

Because I won't tell Theo yet. I will, eventually, but not yet. For now, I walk alone down the streets of London.


End file.

Harry Potter, Friendship, Humor