This was sitting in my drafts for ages, and I only got around to tweaking it a bit now. Let me know what you think!
Draco Malfoy stood in the kitchen of his posh London flat, sipping slowly at his usual morning coffee. He had been staring at the black swirls, lost in his thoughts as he basked in the 7 am sunlight streaming through the window. Spotting a little blond head peeking from behind the kitchen island, he set his coffee down and smiled.
"Hey, bud. You ready?" he asked, rounding the island until he was faced with a carbon copy of his four year-old self, clutching a green stuffed dragon and his preschool satchel. Scorpius smiled back at his father, handing him his dragon and bag.
"Ready! I ask Wispy for breakfast, Daddy?" he said, plopping himself on a chair. Draco ruffled the boy's hair, causing him to pout. "None of that, squirt. But yes, ask Wispy to fix you some breakfast. She knows how you like it."
A sudden crack sounded in the room, an elf following. She wore a yellow pillowcase—of her choice, suck on that, Granger—with a flower pinned to the front. "Master Scorpius called for Wispy, sir?"
"Break-fast! Break-fast! Break-fast!" chanted Scorpius, banging his little fists on the table. His father sighed, sitting down as well and giving him a stern look. "How do we ask for breakfast, Scorp?"
"Wispy, breakfast please?" he said sweetly, holding Wispy's hand. The house-elf's eyes shone with affection for her young master, and her ears perked.
"Wispy be getting breakfast for Master Scorpius immediately! Young master needs his breakfast! Ooh, Wispy be frying the rashers and toasting the muffins and—" she exclaimed, before disappearing. Both of them chuckled at Wispy's enthusiasm to serve something as mundane as breakfast, but it was welcome. Any love and care anyone threw their way was definitely welcome.
Ugh. You sound like a pansy.
The past few years hadn't been so kind to Draco. He had been married to Astoria Greengrass, as per an agreement by their fathers, and had Scorpius, a clause firmly stipulated by their marriage contract. The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly had been practically drooling over their engagement and their marriage, following them everywhere and snapping as many photos their Wizarding cameras could take, and they were number two in the Hottest Couples lists, second only to Saint Potter and Weaselette. He didn't care about any of this, though. Neither did Astoria. All they wanted was a quiet marriage so they could wallow in their sadness at being engaged straight out of the war, bound by familial duty and pissing honor.
Astoria. He had expected her to be the stereotypical Pure-blood princess, loyal to her husband, genteel, never speaking out of line, bearing children until an heir was produced, and shunning everyone whose blood status was below her own. He had expected a shallow and vapid girl, interested only in emptying her husband's vaults on new robes, shoes, and vacation trips; he had expected her to be snobbish, cunning, extravagant, and bitchy.
Too right about the bitchy, he thought.
He had expected all those things, and he was, at the least, surprised.
Astoria did enjoy her shopping, that was too true, but she also enjoyed crosswords, Potions, and Muggle television—something she had encountered while sneaking out of Greengrass Manor into the Muggle town only a few miles away. She was extravagant, hosting only the best parties, drinking only the best Chardonnay, and never settling for anything less than the best, but she was also intelligent, beautiful, and extremely kind.
She was everything he could ever ask for in a wife, except she didn't love him. He didn't love her, for that matter, and he thought of her as more of a little sister or a younger cousin than a wife. Their wedding night had been disastrous, both of them seated on the king-sized bed in their underclothes, unsure as to what would happen next. Draco closed his eyes and leaned back, remembering the most awkward night of his life.
"So... Do we do it? I mean, honestly, Draco, I'd rather not. I don't love you—"
He had winced, and she looked sheepish.
"I'm sorry! It's just that it's so strange, you know? Don't you want to marry for love?" Her eyes had been shining with tears when she asked him, and he waited a while before giving her an answer.
"I dunno. Maybe, I guess. There's no getting out of this, though, so maybe we can just get it over with."
She had snorted in the most un-Pure-blood way, making him laugh. "Well, I guess it needs to be done. I don't want to be disinherited either. I've had to save myself for this, mind you. If you make it hurt I'll hex you so far into the future that your great-great-grandchildren will feel it."
"Yeah, yeah. Ugh, this is like fucking a cousin or something—"
"All Pure-bloods are practically cousins, anyway. Right, let's get started, shall we? The faster you knock me up, the faster we can get out of here. Commence Project Scorpius!"
"How can you even have chosen a name already?"
"What's so bad about Scorpius? Would you rather his name were Betelgeuse? Or, for Merlin's sake, Thuban? Thuban seems ghastly."
"No, no. Scorpius is fine. I like it."
"Daddy, you're ignoring me again. I said, it's Mum Day, isn't it?"
He was startled by a piece of bacon being waved in front of his face. "Scorp, we don't wave our food in people's faces. Eat up. Yes, it's Friday, and Fridays are Mum Days, remember?"
"Yes," Scorpius hissed. "Mum Day!"
Amicably divorced, living in an expensive flat with his son, and having to work for the likes of Harry Potter was Draco's new life; and strangely enough, he had embraced it like a gust of fresh air.
A whoosh was heard by the fireplace in his living room, and Draco left Scorp in Wispy's capable hands. Astoria was standing on the mat, lightly dusting her robes. "It's eight fifteen, Draco. You always come eight on the dot or even earlier. Is anything the matter?"
The first time he had seen her after their divorce, he had been in awe. She looked even more radiant than ever, considering that she had been disinherited and re-inherited more times than he could count. She lived in slightly less posh, but nonetheless tasteful, flat in Muggle London with her Muggle-born boyfriend. She was insanely happy—her eyes sparkled, she had a skip in her step, and an entirely new aura. The first thing she had done when their divorce was finalized was to launch herself at him, all the while thanking him incessantly for being an amazing platonic husband of two years. She had even introduced him to her boyfriend, who had no qualms about dating a divorcée with a toddler. She looked the same now, as she stood on his Floo mat, and he wished that he could find whatever it was that she had.
"Sorry, Tori. We lost track of time, he's in the kitchen. Can I get you anything?"
She waved him off with an elegant no, thank you, and followed him to the kitchen. Scorpius caught sight of het and dropped his muffin, scrambling to his mother. "Mummy!" he shouted, burying his face into her robes. "Mummy, zoo today? We go to the zoo?"
She patted his cheek and grabbed his satchel. "Yes, darling, we're going to the zoo today. Our letter of the day is..?"
"M! It's M, mummy!"
"Right, M. What animals start with M?"
Scorp bit his lip and looked beseechingly at Draco. "Sorry, mate, you're on your own this time." he chuckled.
His son suddenly started hopping around the kitchen with abandon, before running off to the living room. "MONKEY! Monkey starts with M, mum! We're going to see monkeys! I'm going to tell James and Albus and they'll be so jealous—" Draco failed to hear what else his son had to say as Astoria ushered him into the Floo and he went ahead, shouting Astoria's address and disappearing into the emerald flames.
"Goodbye, Draco! I'll have him back by seven tomorrow. Do get out today, darling. You look deathly pale," she clucked, "And you look like you need a date." She pat his cheek, much like how she did with Scorpius, and leaned in conspiratorially. "I've heard from a little bird that you've got quite the crush on Hermione Granger. I suggest you take her out. You work together, yes?"
"Hermione Granger? Don't be daft, Tori. How anyone could like that bushy-haired monstrosity is a mystery, much less have a crush on her."
Busted.
"Rubbish, Draco. I know you like her, I can see it in your eyes—don't snigger—and I think you should ask her out. You can't stay celibate forever. I'll not be having you bringing a string of trollops here lest my son see them. You need a lady. Now, shoo! Date! Take the Wizarding ladies by storm!"
"Mum, what's a trollop?" their son shouted from the flames.
She winced, waved, and in a few seconds, was gone. He slumped on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been so careful—he never showed any outward affection towards Granger, never went out with her alone. Their desks were side by side, yet he had managed to keep their relationship strictly un-romantic. The only person who had noticed his designs on Granger was Potter, and...
Potter. Sodding Potter.
He had probably told his wife, the pillock. He had forgotten how pussy-whipped Potter was, telling his wife everything, and he had also forgotten how notorious Weaselette was at not being able to keep secrets. She religiously had lunch with Astoria on Thursdays, Scorp and James's play day, and had probably spilled the beans.
Sodding Weaselette!
His wand vibrated, signaling that he had five minutes to get to work. Sighing, he stepped into the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and was on his way. Work was going to be an absolute headache.
But maybe, just maybe, he could work on building up the guts to ask Granger out today.
Today is going to be a good day.
The sharp clack-clack-clack of Hermione's kitten heels echoed through the hallways of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as she made her way to the Auror Office. She had a feeling that today was going to be a great day. Her tea had been the perfect temperature, her toast just the right amount of burnt, and it took a measly three pats to rid her clothes of residue Floo powder, a new record for her since she started working at the Ministry. Twenty-eight people had nodded hello to her on the way to the Ministry lift, and fourteen had wished her a good morning.
Multiples of seven. Seven was supposed to be a magical number, after all.
"Good morning, Ms. Granger. Head Auror Potter requested that you meet him at eleven to discuss the Yaxley case. I've put your mail on your desk, as well as a pretzel, from my mum. She says hello. Mr. Malfoy is in, and he seems to be in a foul mood. It's Mum Day," said Anna, her—ugh, their—secretary.
She shook her head, smiling. "Hermione, Anna. He's always in a foul mood on Mum Day. He stares at Scorp's drawings on the wall and calls Astoria at least twice a day to check up on him. It's cute."
"I'll thank you not to call me something as degrading as cute, Granger. Anna, please inform our dear Scar-Head Auror that I need to speak to him about a personal matter, and that he'd better cast some kind of iron shield around his bollocks if he wants to return to his wife intact."
And so the Malfoy appears.
"Must you be so crass this early in the morning, Malfoy? Some people are trying to enjoy the day."
"New skirt, Granger? How does it possibly disguise that stick lodged so far up your arse?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, brushing past him and into their office. He followed her, grinning all the while. "I've been waiting for the day that I render the great Hermione Jean Granger, Supreme Bookworm, resident prude and Giant Sodding Pain in the Arse speechless. I knew today was going to be a good day." She threw a quill at him, the tip hitting his cheek.
"You speak to your mother with that mouth?"
"I can find much better uses for my mouth, if that's what you're implying," he leered, licking his lips lecherously, before wiping a small ink droplet from his cheek. Hermione mimed gagging, and threw a crumpled piece of parchment at him.
"You're a pig, Malfoy."
"Prude."
"Wanker."
"Now who's crass in the morning? Now if you'll excuse me, Granger, I'm off to beat the stuffing out of the Wizarding world's saviour." He sauntered out, giving Hermione an eyeful of his toned arse.
Why am I even looking at his arse?!
Hermione shook her head. She had been heaving strange feelings towards Malfoy for the past few months. She found herself idly staring at his eyelashes when they would bicker, noting that they were longer than her own—lucky arse—and watching him from the corner of her eye while he signed paperwork and reviewed case files. She started noticing things about him—the way he chewed on the tip of his quill when deep in thought, how he arranged his inkpots on his desk, how he rolled his shoulders when he was tired, and how absolutely delectable he looked when he stretched and she got a glimpse of his lower abs and—
Down, girl.
It was maddening. He was maddening.
He made her blood boil on a daily basis, but he was also able to make her skin break out into gooseflesh whenever he would say her name. While the old Hermione Granger would have scoffed and continued loathing him with the fire of a thousand suns, the new Hermione Granger wanted nothing more than to jump him and have his elegant hands and long fingers stroking her sensually and—
DOWN, GIRL.
She had noticed that, and then some. She noticed the framed picture of Scorpius on his desk, and the way he smiled fondly at it when he thought she wasn't looking. She noticed how protective he was of his son, and how he went out of his way to teach him to be the exact opposite of how he was as a child. Hermione saw that Scorpius had his Draco moments—they both had the same petulant look on their faces whenever things wouldn't go their way, both greatly enjoyed Sugar Quills and Honeydukes' finest chocolate (nothing but the best for a Malfoy, she presumed), and both loved their mothers fiercely.
If there was anyone who would turn Draco Malfoy into a complete and utter sucker, it would be his son.
"Granger."
She jumped, startled out of her reverie. Leaning against the door jamb was Malfoy, cool as you please, his arms folded and a smirk gracing his face.
"Knock much, Malfoy?"
"Granger, this is our office. Why would I need to knock on my own office door?"
"Some people actually do work and wouldn't want to be disturbed."
"Some people don't get caught staring off into space during work hours. Tut tut, Granger, I had expected more of you. For shame." He snickered, causing her to roll her eyes and smoothen her paperwork out. He meandered to his desk, smoothing his own paperwork out, and proceeded to ignore her.
Right. Auror work.
Hours had passed in silence, both of them scratching at paper, him with a peacock feather quill, and her with a Muggle Biro pen. The only sounds in their office were the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, the nondescript hoot-hoot of the Ministry owls outside their window, and the occasional whiz of interdepartmental memos shooting through the hallways.
"Granger."
She turned her head.
"Honestly, Malfoy, you talk more than work, and—"
"Wouldyouliketohavedinnerwithmetonight?"
Her voice died in her throat.
An excruciating ten seconds passed before an appropriate response graced her lips.
"Excuse me?"
She saw his jaw set determinedly, and he took a deep breath.
'I meant, would you like to have dinner at my place tonight? We have six cases to finish and frankly, I'd rather not cram this shite. I know it's supposed to be the weekend but I'm quite sure you have no plans other than lazing about with that mangy ball of fur that's your sorry excuse of a cat and watching films on the telly, and yes, I know those things because—"
"Dinner would be great, Malfoy. See you at seven?" she coolly replied, shuffling her papers and standing up. "Well, I'm off to lunch with Ginny. Later, then."
She rushed out of the office before something mortifying could escape her mouth. Running to the lifts, she hit the button that would take her to the Atrium, and her hands flew to her mouth.
She was going on a date with Draco Malfoy.
Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you like mozzarella sticks? Either way, drop me a review!