Author: Meltha
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Meltha
Spoilers: Vaugely seventh book, but AU
Distribution: Fanfiction.net and the Bunny Warren. If you're interested, please let me know.
Summary: Things just aren't going well for Draco with Hermione... sort of.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by J.K. Rowling, a wonderfully creative author whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author Note: Written for challenge nine of round three of Dramione_ldws. This one required use of the movie "The Sure Thing," the Knight Bus, a road trip, banter, and between 100 to 499 words.

Claire de Lune

“I don’t believe you got us thrown off the Knight Bus,” Hermione grumbled as she and Draco walked down the road.

“You’d prefer listening to that barmy old hag singing the best of Stubby Bordman?” he asked.

“You were dreadfully rude to poor Mrs. Purkiss,” Hermione said, though honestly she had been nearly as annoying as Ron’s constant whinging about food during the horcrux hunt.

“I’m hungry,” Draco announced, the unfortunate coincidence nearly costing him Hermione’s fist in his eye.

“You should have thought of that before Stan Shunpike threw you off the bus,” Hermione said.

“That skinny runt? I could trounce him with my wand arm tied behind my back!” Draco yelled.

“The road grit on your backside says otherwise.”

“Studying my bum, Granger?” he asked, leering at her

She snorted and strode faster down the road.

“Why can’t we transport this thing by owl or broom?” Draco said, glaring at the box he carried.

“If you hadn’t fallen asleep at the meeting, you’d know it’s sensitive to altitude. If the owl or broom flew too high, it would level anything in a one mile radius,” she explained.

Draco looked at the package with a good deal more respect.

“What’s in here again?” he asked.

“Boomslang liver,” Hermione said slowly in the same tone as a playgroup teacher.

“And why are we delivering it from London to Liverpool?” Draco asked.

“It’s something the Unmentionables need, and it requires careful supervision. Not unlike you,” Hermione said.

The Knight Bus was two miles from their destination when Shunpike punted them, which had been Draco’s plan. For months he’d been trying to find a minute alone with Hermione to ask her to dinner. He was admiring her silhouette by moonlight from behind (and perhaps doing some bum studying of his own) when she toppled forward, landing flat on the ground.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching beside her.

“My high heel snapped, you nitwit!” she said. “Now help me up!”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No?” she said, staring up at him.

“Not unless you agree to go to dinner with me,” he said.

“Are you mad, Malfoy?” she said angrily. “We loathe each other!”

“No we don’t,” he said, sounding rather hurt.

“You aggravate me, I annoy you, and we generally fight like a pair of… well…”

“Randy alley cats?” he supplied helpfully.

“Yes! I mean no!” she said.

He offered her his hand.

“Fine,” she said, taking it. “One dinner, but not the Three Broomsticks. I don’t fancy watching you pant after Madam Rosmerta.”

“She’s nearly sixty, Hermione,” he said. “I think I can control myself.”

She gave him a look.

“Agreed,” Draco said reluctantly. “Now let’s deliver this thing before we wind up blowing a pit halfway to hell.”

“Yes, by all means, save the tour of Hades for our first date,” she said, and as she leaned on his arm to keep from limping with her broken shoe, Draco thought what a lovely night it was for a stroll.