Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

A/N: An expansion of the drabble, "Do I Know You?" from Half-Baked Hermiones.

5-Across: As _ as a Malfoy (3 Letters)

Sunlight reflected off the window pane of Rhett's Café, momentarily blinding him as he walked up to the door. Pain briefly lanced through his eyes and to his muddled mind, still recovering from last night's party binge.

This was not what he needed this morning.

What he did need were two pots of dark roast coffee, preferably intravenously; a cheap paper cup should do the trick in a pinch.

He opened the door and felt the universe spit in his face, again. The line to the register was twelve customers deep, and there were only two baristas flitting behind the counter. If he was going to make it to his meeting on time, he should probably just leave now.

He was about to spin on his heels and rush out when he inhaled that smoky, rich aroma of roasted Arabica coffee beans.

Fuck it. It's not like they could hold a meeting with Malfoy Enterprises without Draco Malfoy, could they?

He stood at the end of the line. Five minutes later, he still hadn't moved. He tapped his feet in a quick, impatient rhythm, and his fingers ran through his hair for lack of something better to do. A loud, prolonged sigh escaped from his chest as he looked around the coffee shop – anything to distract himself from his growing frustration.

As his gaze swept over the room, his attention landed on a petite woman standing near the claiming area. Her hair was a walnut brown, and it fell to her shoulders in large ringlets. She wore a grey gored skirt with a burgundy button-up top. Something about the combination of the curls against the red cloth triggered something in the back of his mind.

A memory, maybe.

He hadn't even consciously decided to approach her, but he found his legs leaving his spot from the inert line.

"Excuse me, miss?" he asked, as he sidled next to her.

She turned to face him. The timid smile that had been forming on her lips fell into a surprised 'O.' Her eyes, the same shade of brown as her hair, were wide with shock.

She knew him; it was obvious. He peered at her face closer, trying to remember where he had met her before.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"No," she said, too quickly.

The note of her soft-spoken voice was familiar to his ears. He tried to place her in different locales.

Was it in Paris last season, during Fashion Week? He surreptitiously glanced over her clothes – off-the-rack, from the look of the fit. So, probably not fashion-related.

Could he have met her this past summer at the beach in Saint-Tropez? Her near-translucent skin made that highly doubtful; she looked like she hadn't been exposed to direct sunlight for a long time.

A picture of the Scottish Highlands flashed in his mind. He tried to imagine her there, her face softer and more rounded with youth, and her brown curls flying haphazardly in the wind.

"Granger?" he asked, with a degree of uncertainty. "Hermione Granger?"

She shook her head and peeped out, "No."

He eyed her skeptically.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

A wince flickered over her expression, and it confirmed his theory. Granger never could pull off a straight face when she lied, even to get those idiot friends of hers out of trouble.

As he scrutinized her, a determined pout formed on her rosebud lips. He swiped the knuckle of his forefinger over his own to hide a growing smirk.

If she wanted to play a game, there's no reason he couldn't have his fun, too. "I beg your pardon. I thought you were someone I knew from school."

"That's all right," she said, with a shrug. "I just have one of those faces, you know?"

"I don't know about that," Draco said generously. "Though, now that I think about it, you couldn't possibly be who I thought you were."

"Oh?" she asked, her eyes alit with curiosity.

He nodded. "I haven't seen her for about twelve years now." He leaned in conspiratorially. "And from what I remember about her, it's unlikely that she aged well."

"Really?" she asked, pursing her lips.

The smile on his face grew wider. "Yeah. She was one of those people always sequestered indoors, buried under a book. Never moved from her spot in the library, not even for meals or hot showers."

She scoffed. "I very much doubt that," she said stiffly.

"She probably looks like an old hag by now," he said through the side of his mouth.

She huffed irritably, her hands fisting at her sides. Draco could barely contain his laughter at her stubborn insistence at this farce.

"I apologize, how rude of me not to introduce myself," he said. He offered his hand out to her. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

She took his hand tentatively. Her eyes darted around the café and settled somewhere over his shoulder, where the employees were busy filling orders. "Bar—Barbara."

"Barbarbara?" he asked, feigning confusion as he shook her hand.

"Yes," she said in a flat tone. "It's a family name."

They stood with their hands still clasped, neither retracting from the handshake of wills.

The stakes were raised even higher when the barista yelled, "I've got a large macchiato for Hermione!"

Draco arched an eyebrow at her in challenge. She nudged her chin a bit higher.

"Hermione! Large macchiato!" the barista hollered again.

She squeezed his hand a bit tighter. His smirk grew even broader.

"HERMIONE!" the overworked barista shouted.

"Well, I've got to go," she said hurriedly and sped to the exit.

"Wait!" he called out after her. "Didn't you come in here for some coffee?"

"No!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"So, what on earth did you come into a coffee shop for?" he jeered.

"For the ambiance!" She yanked the door and raced outside. He chuckled as she crossed the street and hustled out of sight.

The disgruntled barista still held the paper cup in her hand as he made his way to the counter.

"Sorry about that," he said. "My friend Hermione had a sudden emergency. I'll take that for her."

The barista waved a careless hand and let him have the coffee. "It's not the first time she's run out like that – must have one of those posh, important jobs at the Ministry. But, she always comes here every morning, and she's a good tipper, so…" She shrugged indifferently.

"She comes here every morning?" he asked, as he looked out the window with a mischievous smile. He took a sip of her hot macchiato. "Perfect."

ooOOoo

"Good morning, Barbarbara," he murmured close to her ear, and she nearly jumped out of her pumps.

Hermione craned her neck to the side to catch his impish grin. Standing close behind her in line, he leaned back on his heels and stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his tailored suit. The corners of his eyes crinkled, though with mirth or mockery, she didn't know.

Both, she decided after a moment, as she reminded herself of who he was: Draco Malfoy, the sneaky, scheming, self-gratifying, no-good bastard—

"Good morning," she said through gritted teeth.

"Are you here to take in the atmosphere again? Or are you actually going to get coffee this time?"

Oh, she would get coffee. Extra hot. All the better to throw it in his face and watch him beg for a merciful death—

"Coffee," she spit out.

He nodded and walked past her to the register just as a customer stepped away.

"One double espresso and one large macchiato," he said without glancing in her direction.

She stepped up to his side and tried to cancel his order for her. He waved her protestations away with a casual flourish of his fingers as he handed the requisite Galleons to the cashier.

"Names?" the man behind the counter asked, felt tip of a marker poised over the side of a paper cup.

"'Draco' for the espresso," he said, then more emphatically, "'Hermione' for the macchiato."

She couldn't suppress her defeated sigh. She knew she didn't get away with anything during their run-in a couple of weeks ago, but she had held out hope that he had forgotten her name again.

Malfoy examined her from the corner of his eye as he finished ordering, so Hermione stalked off to the window closest to the claiming area. She glowered at the barista, willing her to move as quickly as possible. As Malfoy sauntered over, a self-satisfied grin on his face, her arms instinctively folded over her chest, and her right foot crossed over her left ankle.

"Are we still playing games today?" he asked. His smile challenged her to say, 'yes.'

She grunted. "What do you want from me, Malfoy?"

"There she is," he said, a smug, triumphant smile radiating from his face. "Care to tell me why you were so adamant to pretend we didn't know each other last time?"

Hermione's face twisted into a scowl. "Have you lost the plot?"

Malfoy quirked a blond eyebrow.

"You made my life a living hell for seven years! Do you really think after all that, I'd greet you like we were old school chums?" The end of her question veered into a screech.

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "I hardly remember it being that bad."

"You wouldn't!" she said. "You weren't the one on the wrong end of the bullying."

"I didn't bully you," he said, looking affronted.

She barked a harsh laugh. "Every bleeding day, you made fun of at least one of the following," she said, and she extended her fingers as she listed. "My hair, teeth, clothes, friends – oh, don't roll your eyes! – social class, love of learning. And did I mention my hair and teeth?"

A dent formed on his brow as he narrowed his eyes at her, but he didn't respond.

"Well? If that's not bullying, then what do you call it?" she prodded.

A small smile formed on his lips. "Flirting?"

Her neck whipped back as if to swerve away from his words.

"Haven't you ever heard that when little boys like girls, they pull on their pigtails?" He chuckled.

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No, that can't be true."

She tried to recall girls he dated while they were in school: Daphne Greengrass, the blonde princess of their year; Pansy Parkinson, the raven-haired badass bitch who most of the boys, including one of her best friends, pined after; and Katie Bell, not quite as pretty as the others, but athletic and funny and extremely popular.

And now she's supposed to believe that the whole time, he had been carrying a torch for her?

Yeah-fucking-right.

She nearly growled from the vexation building up in her chest. "Good gods, Malfoy, you'd say anything to justify your bad behavior, wouldn't you? You can't just admit that you were a little shite in school."

He threw his head back as his laughter rang out over the low din of the café. "I'm not saying I wasn't a little shite," he said. "Still am, I suppose, since you're right – It's not true. Glad to know you're not as gullible as you look, Granger."

Her eyes felt like they might fall out of her head, and her lips flapped open and closed as she grasped for something to say.

Was that some sort of test?

Rage tried to rip out of her chest; it nearly buried the small disappointment she felt at the pit of her stomach at his easy admission.

Hermione bowed her head slightly to hide the blush that crawled into her cheeks. "Well. Good." She reached into the crevices of her mind for something more eloquent. "I mean – not good! You still treated me horribly throughout school, and, whatever your excuse, it's not good enough," she rambled.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but the barista called out their orders. Holding up a finger to signal a brief pause, he retrieved their coffees from the counter.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he said when he came back. He handed her the paper cup with 'Hermerny' scribbled on the side.

"Thank you," she murmured automatically as she took it from him. In a firmer voice, she said. "How about, 'I'm sorry for all the things I said to you at Hogwarts?'"

He held the rim of his cup against his bottom lip for a moment, scrutinizing her, before taking a slow sip of the steaming liquid.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

Malfoy shrugged. "Would you like me to mean it?"

"Obviously!"

The left corner of his lip sloped up in a tilted smile. "Then, I'm afraid I can't say it."

She snarled at his answer. "How about 'good-bye,' then?" she snapped. She stepped up and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Because I never, ever want to see your face again, you arrogant twat! Do you hear me?"

His smile grew inexplicably bright. "Can't do that either, Granger."

Hermione threw her arms up in defeat, a dribble of her coffee sloshing out of the mouth of the lid. She stalked off.

"Where are you off to?" he asked.

Hermione glared at him over her shoulder but didn't stop walking. "I have to go to work. I can't stand around all morning arguing in circles with you."

"I'll see you again soon!" he bellowed as she passed through the doorway. She could hear the laughter in his voice, and it made the muscles in her jaws clench.

"Not bloody likely," she muttered to herself. As convenient as this café was – it was only three blocks from work – this was probably the last time she would visit.

There's just no way she could stand seeing the dodgy git again.

ooOOoo

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," said Watson, his assistant, as he entered the lobby. Draco handed him the half-empty coffee cup as they made their way over to the lift. "The conference room is set up for the announcement."

"Very good," he said as the doors slid open. They stepped inside. "Everyone there? All the writers? Editors?"

"All of them, sir."

A rare, giddy smile burst on his face; he rocked back and forth on his heels excitedly at the prospect waiting for him. He schooled his expression to a more appropriate level of sobriety as the doors opened on the twelfth level. They walked past the welcome desk, emblazoned with "The Daily Prophet" at its front. Behind was an unoccupied leather chair, the receptionist presumably waiting for him with the rest of the employees.

They strode through the newsroom, empty of the bustle that usually filled it at the peak of the morning. As Watson reached for the double doors of the conference room, the voice of Barnabus Cuffe resounded from inside.

"—under new ownership. Moving forward, the day-to-day running of the paper shouldn't be affected, but our new owner—oh, here he is now!"

Draco sauntered up to the podium and took Cuffe's proffered hand. Cuffe stepped out of the way to let him speak to the assembly.

"Good morning, everyone," he said, his eyes eagerly searching the crowd. "I'm Draco Malfoy, Vice President of Malfoy Enterprises. As Mr. Cuffe was in the midst of explaining to you," he glanced at Cuffe, who nodded enthusiastically, "for the last few months, our acquisition of The Daily Prophet has been under escrow. As of this morning, this newspaper is officially part of the M.E. family."

A clamor spread over the group, many people jumping out of their seats and shouting in dissent. He paid them no heed, however, as he locked eyes with the person he had been seeking – a curly-haired brunette who sat in the middle of the crowd, eyes wide with shock, and paper cup of macchiato still clutched in her hand.

He gave her a private, wicked smile as he said to the crowd, "I look forward to seeing you often."

A/N: Dedicated to SeleneBlackburn, dramione101, pgoodrichboggs, Dtanvi, chaste-aeon, nalle_najar, Nanashi7, purpleninjacow, and Guest, who requested and encouraged the expansion of this drabble!

Updates to this five-part short story will be every other day, so I'll see you soon for Part II :)

Reviews are greatly appreciated!