“We can’t use magic, and this seems to be the quickest mean of transportation,” Hermione says.
“No, Granger,” Draco says in distaste, looking at the blue and black bikes in front of them. “I’m not going to get on a stupid Muggle transportation thingy. I mean, what the bloody hell are those?”
They were trying to escape from the clutches of a couple of Death Eaters that Draco reluctantly rescued her from, and now stand in an isolated wooded area blocked off from magic.
“It’s a bike, Malfoy.”
“How are you supposed to move that along without falling over if you can’t use magic. It’s ridiculous,” he sneers.
Hermione let’s out a small giggle.
Draco snaps, “What’s so funny, Granger?”
She forces herself to stop. “I know you hate anything to do with muggles, but it’s weird hearing a wizards view on riding a bike. It’s one of the basic things a Muggle learns.”
“No wonder they can’t accomplish much if they spend all their time trying to learn how to work an idiotic form of transportation when they could do things much more successful and meaningful.”
“Like what? Bribe the Ministry to escape prison sentences,” Hermione snaps. Draco flinches from a reminder of one of the many things his father has done. Immediately she feels guilty. “Sorry.”
Draco shakes his head and looks down at the bikes, silently trying to figure out how to use it. Not that he cares.
“And what do you mean Muggles don’t accomplish much? What about the Empire State Building?”
“Just a tall building.”
“The Great Wall of China?”
“Half-blood constructor in charge.”
“Really?” Hermione asks shocked.
“Yes,” Draco replies with a smirk. “Better than a Muggleborn doing the job. We should get going. There’s no way I’m getting on one of those…Muggle things.”
“Oh, come on, Malfoy!” Hermione says, exasperated. All she wants to do is get back to Harry and Ron and further away from those Death Eaters. “It will get us there faster.” She bends down and stands the black bicycle up. “I’ll teach you.”
Draco scoffs. “Yeah right. Like I need you to teach me how to ride this Muggle contraption. If I tried, I probably could easily ride this ‘bike’. Move over, Granger. I’ll show you how it’s done. If Muggles can do this, I can too.”
Draco grabs the right handle which Hermione was holding before she let go to see how this turned out. Draco grabs the other handle and swings his leg over the bicycle. He was guessing here. He honestly had no idea how to work this.
“Uh,” Draco mutters, trying to figure out what to do next.
Hermione instructs, “Put your feet on the pedals and push one to the front and then the other and then repeat.”
“I got it,” he snaps.
He follows her directions because he has to admit she knows what she is talking about. After two rounds of this, he falls over with the bike. Hermione has to hold her hand in front of her mouth to prevent her from giggling. When he fell, he landed in some mud and now his platinum blonde hair and his face were partially covered in mud.
He lets out a few choice words that had Hermione scold, “Malfoy!”
“Fine. You do it then, if you’re so clever.” He knew as he said it that he would forever regret it because he recalls Weasel saying a similar thing and her succeeding perfectly.
Hermione sighs and picks up the bicycle and sits on it. She starts to pedal, and Draco takes note of how beautiful her messy brown hair looks as she rides against the wind. She turns and comes back to him. Then she gets off the blue bicycle and walks over to Draco, who stands by the black bicycle, his pride damaged.
“Here,” she says, picking the bicycle up.
“I still don’t get why we can’t walk home.”
“It’s a far distance away, and it would be quicker if we rode these bikes.” But given how long they spent standing there, that might not be that case. “Come on, Malfoy.”
Draco sighs, agitated, but sits on the black bicycle. “What do I do?”
Hermione holds the left handle of the black bicycle and tells him to pedal. Draco complies, and. She keeps him steady. After a minute, she let’s go, and he pedals freely perfectly balanced and circles back to her. Their faces are about two inches from each other.
“Thanks,” he says, his face burning brighter than a Weasley’s hair.
Hermione smiles a beautiful bright smile that makes Draco realize how beautiful she is.
“You’re welcome,” Hermione replies softly.
They both lean in and their lips press together. His tongue asks for entrance, and she complies. Hermione feels the mud on his face get on hers, but she doesn’t care. She’s never felt happier in her entire life.