"The answer would be King Louis XIV of France."
Hermione sat on her couch with one leg tucked comfortably under the other. She had been running over her notes for the day—wand perched in one hand as she lifted and magically highlighted sections of scrawl. The Telly droned in the background, the voice of the host wafted through her flat as she sucked in a tired breath.
Hermione was quite fond of Brain of Britain. Some of her earliest memories revolved around watching the game with her Mum and Dad over a puzzle. They'd tally scores as if they were actually competing. Before Hogwarts and the realms of magic —there was simplicity in enjoying a game of Jeopardy with her parents. Hermione could never bring herself to get rid of the old Telly from her parents house once the war had ended. She had spent a week going through their belongings —- 7 days worth of time to fret and decide which of their trinkets was worth remembering them by...
Ultimately the Telly had been one of them. Hermione found herself comforted by memories of a world that felt fuzzy at the edges, as if it were a lifetime ago. And as she pushed the idea of a life without her parents to the depths of her mind—she found solace in challenging herself to a game of knowledge that at one time in her life, felt little more than a passing of time.
It was whilst she had been in this trance of sorts that the buzzer rang — forcing her to drop her wand and the parchments in her lap, as she stared dreary eyed and blinking at the television screen. She looked over at the clock mounted on the wall of her living room, frowning at the hour at which this unfortunate individual had decided to disturb her.
She slowly rose from the comfort of her couch and strode over to the intercom in the kitchen to press the call button down to the lobby.
"Hullo?" She bit out sourly.
"Why, don't sound so happy to hear from me."
The voice at the end of the line was biting, almost as sour as her own had been. She bit her lip and pressed her fingers to her temple — hoping to a muggle deity that the voice at the other end of the intercom didn't belong to who she immediately presumed it was.
"Declare yourself."
"Granger, after all these years working together I would think you could at least remember my voice. I'm incredibly offended."
Hermione didn't notice before, but now the slight slur was evident in his tone. It was the way in which his r's strung together in a way evident of heavy drink. She sighed, the headache in her temple growing as she contemplated letting him up to her flat...it wouldn't be the first time, not by a long-shot.
"Draco...you're drunk."
"Indeed. I have relished in the age old art of solitary imbibing madam."
"Madam...? Is that what we're doing now?"
"Maybe, will it afford me entrance into your flat?"
Hermione bit her lip once more, a flurry of emotions began to swirl beneath her chest, suffocating her from the inside out. She had made many mistakes in her life — sleeping with her partner at work was the first. Her partner at work being Draco Malfoy was the second. Re-visiting their secret affair every few weeks or months was the third. And falling for someone she should never want was the fourth.
Hermione pushed the buzzer, allowing him entry to the narrow stairwell up to the flats above. And within a minute there was a soft rapping against her door. Her pulse quickened as she did a mental roving over her appearance. It was Thursday night— a Work night. And as Hermione had not been expecting company, she wore a pair of cotton boy shorts and an old Gryffindor crewneck jumper. Her hair fell in soft wild curls and framed the soft angles of her cheekbones and neck. With age Hermione had managed to master the art of self-grooming, and with that came the discovery that conditioner wasn't just the name of the miscellaneous hair product at the Grocers which lined the shelves that she never frequented.
Her hair never lost its frizz or unruliness, but she had found confidence in its wild nature at some point before the ripe old age of twenty seven, it had over time become a part of her that she loved and cared for. And through this journey of hair discovery came a beautiful confidence that dripped from her aura like warm honey.
She decided that if Malfoy was going to show up drunk at 12:17am, he would be seeing her in all of her tired, annoyed and disheveled glory. She found the lock to the door and opened it to a smirking Malfoy, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.
His eyes roamed freely over her rumpled figure, taking a moment to settle on the curve of her breasts. "You...look ravishing Granger." He slurred seductively before sauntering gracefully past her into the Kitchen.
"Eyes up here." She scolded. Hermione quickly maneuvered past him to pour two glasses of water from the tap. He stood at the counter quietly observing her. A few moments passed with only the sound of the water running filling the space around them.
"Staring is rude. I'm sure your parents taught you manners." Hermione said, with a bit more bite to her tone than intended. Malfoy shrugged, waving a perfectly manicured hand in the air.
"I was always a bad study. Granger, have you always been a fan of oversized jumpers and little underwear?" Malfoy was either seemingly unaware of Hermione's annoyance, or too drunk to care.
Hermione turned to face him, shoulders both weary and tense at the same time. She eyed him quizzically as she handed over the glass of water and slowly sipped from her own. She sighed, an element of defeat in her tone.
"It's comfortable."
"It suits you." He replied.
Hermione didn't reply. Instead opting to take a moment to observe the drunken Draco Malfoy who had somewhat randomly if not unexpectedly tumbled through her door at midnight. His hair was boyishly tousled, a rarity in itself she mentally noted. And his cheeks were bright with an almost unnoticeable flush from a mixture of the drink and the cold outside. He smiled lazily as he sipped the water she had proffered him. And she realized that falling for him had been stupid if not inevitable. She grumbled at him with a frown.
Hermione was admittedly tired, and they had work early in the morning tomorrow, as much as this was amusing to him— she had no spare time to entertain Malfoy's drunken revelations and next day regrets.
"Listen. I let you up because you should sleep this off, and I'd rather you be somewhere safe than attempting drunken apperition. There's a pullout bed attached to the couch. It's all yours — as for me, I think it's time for bed."
"Granger— Hermione...it's early yet, and I brought you wine." Malfoy held up the still unopened bottle of expensive overpriced wine, and pouted...rather poorly.
"It's 12:32am on a Tuesday. Go to bed Malfoy." And with that...Hermione made her way past him and disappeared down the hallway towards the bedroom. There was the sound of the door opening followed by a soft click. There was a finality to her movements and her tone that had Malfoy questioning the bottle of wine he'd bought her, it was a rare vintage he'd been saving for her to sample. And now, she didn't even want to indulge him! The nerve. Malfoy hiccoughed before wandering from the kitchen to the couch grumbling as he went.
He stumbled over the coffee table rather loudly before managing to magic the pullout bed from under the couch. A few seconds later and he had removed his shirt and trousers to flop himself over the sheets in an undershirt and trunks.
He fell asleep without realizing it. To the sounds of a Muggle game show of sorts. As the voices lulled him to sleep — he smiled drunkenly. The sheets, the couch, the Muggle Telly. It was all so intrinsically Hermione. And in a comfortably drunken stupor, his body relaxed because he felt as if he was home.