Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, the setting, or anything to do with Harry Potter. I am only using the wonderful world and characters she created in order to hopelessly write something that should have happened but never did.

A/N: This chapter is somewhat shorter, but that's because it's more of a plot mover. Thanks for reading!

Factory Girl

Wait a minute girl

Can you show me to the party?

A month into this new job and Hermione was ready to pull her hair out. So, maybe it wasn't much of a surprise that she was at home nursing a glass of red wine. She was watching an old black and white film on television, her head propped in one hand with the wine glass in her other. She brought it to her lips every few seconds and sipped. Already she felt her head spinning. Hermione wasn't much for alcohol and so when she decided she needed a drink, it didn't take much for her to get a bit tipsy.

She watched the screen of the television, listening to the dialogue of a movie she had memorized long ago. It was one of her favorite movies, it had been since she was young. She was enjoying the peace and quiet of her night. She usually would be working into the wee hours of the night and then sleep for three or four hours before having to get up for work, but Malfoy had been working her to the bone lately she decided to take the night off.

Working with him was proving to be as bad, if not worse, than she had imagined it would be. He was smug, arrogant, and stubborn. He hardly listened to her ideas, although they were good ones, and he regarded her as merely an assistant. Hermione understood that they weren't on the same level of employment, but he could at least entertain her ideas or pretend to take interest in them.

Hermione felt her shoulders tense as she thought about her supervisor. Taking a deep breath she brought her wine glass to her lips again when her Floo fireplace lit up with green flames and out stepped Malfoy. She choked on her wine and tried not to spit it out onto her white carpet; ″What the hell are you doing here?″ She asked once she gained control of herself again.

″I had a question,″ he answered, brushing the soot off his perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was swept to the side a bit, but it was slightly unruly from the rushing of Flooing. Hermione set her wine glass down and leaned to reach the remote, pausing her movie.

″So you show up at...″ she glanced at her clock, ″two in the morning to ask me this question as opposed to waiting five hours to ask me at the office?″

″It couldn't wait.″

″I see. Well, let's have it. What is this direly important question you had to ask so much so that you had to barge into my flat, quite unwelcome?″

″Might I sit?″ He asked, sinking into her armchair without waiting for an answer. Hermione's jaw shifted and she sat back in her seat on the couch, watching him expectantly. She didn't know what it was about him, but the way he just seemed to make himself so comfortable in her personal space made Hermione want to strangle him. She was usually so level headed, so logical and easily the one who saw things in the ″right″ sense. But when it came to Malfoy, all she did was see red. She eyed him, looking at him sitting so leisurely in her overstuffed red armchair, his arms draped over the arm rests, his legs relaxed. He was slouching a bit and he looked somewhat worn out. Hermione might have felt some sympathy for anyone else, but this was Malfoy – sympathy did not belong in the same universe, let alone sentence as him.

″What are you watching, Granger?″ His eyes were locked on the television which was paused on a frame of the lead male and lead female characters about to kiss in that famous 1940s way. Hermione blinked and looked over at her screen.

″Oh, um, it's just a Muggle movie. I hardly believe that's the question you came to ask me, Malfoy.″ She tried to keep the impatient tone from her voice, but she couldn't help it. He got under her skin so well. He didn't appear as if he were going to be asking her any time soon as he scrutinized the Muggle movie in front of him. He tilted his head to the side, and he looked like a mixture between genuinely confused and disgusted.

″Muggles actually watch this drivel?″

″It's not drivel! It's romantic!″ Hermione snapped before she could stop herself, he turned and looked at her – arching his eyebrow. She closed her jaw sharply and pointed the remote at the television, ″They are madly in love, but he has to go to war. She's begging him not to go, to just run away and hide with her, but he feels this...need to go and fight for his country.″

″...drivel.″

″Oh, shut up, Malfoy! What did you want anyway, other than insulting my films?″

He smirked, knowing he had gotten to her. Draco had gotten to her a lot in the past month. In school, he had known which buttons to push. Call her Mudblood, make fun of her know-it-all status, make fun of her friends. She was quick to draw her wand on him, but not so quick to fire a curse. She had punched him once, and while that been surprisingly refreshing, she hadn't done anything so rash since. Sometimes he had hated how much of a logical human being she was. It was infuriating to watch her bottle in her anger when all he wanted was the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten under her skin enough to illicit a strong reaction to what he had done.

Even as he made fun of her Muggle movie, Draco wondered if she were any more annoyed than how she looked. He figured that eventually he should get to his question, but he wasn't quite done frustrating her. It was amusing to think he could do it in the safety of her home; this place where nothing could reach her.

Draco stretched his arms above his head and flicked his eyes pointedly at her glass of wine, ″Not going to offer me one?″ He feigned offense and gave her a look that would have made any other girl melt; but not Granger. Granger just gave him a steely glare before getting up to pour him a glass. He hadn't expected her to oblige, but Draco was starting to learn that there were a lot of things Granger would do that he hadn't ever expected her to do.

She returned and hold the glass out to him, her fingertips holding it loosely as if she was half tempted to drop it in his lap. Draco smirked a thank you at her and took it, sipping from it leisurely before reclining back in his chair. Granger took her seat again and watched him expectantly. The first time she had watched him like that, Draco had wanted to smack the look right off her face. It was almost as bad as the one she wore when she was sticking her nose up in the air as high as possible.

He set his eyes on the television screen again, wanting to push her as far as he could before finally telling her what had made him come to her flat. He wasn't quite sure what had made him come to her flat. He did have a question, but it wasn't urgent enough that it couldn't wait until the morning. Perhaps he was bored, he just wanted to stir up some annoyance and irritation in Granger to stir up his otherwise dull night. That was a good enough reason for him, but he doubted it would be for Granger.

She cleared her throat and eventually, Draco looked over at her lazily; ″Have you finished those treaties?″

She stared at him. Her mouth agape slightly in a disbelieving way. His satisfaction soared through the roof at that. Yes, he had sufficiently annoyed her. He watched the flicker of anger cross her brown eyes and before he knew it she was out of her seat and grabbing him roughly by the arm. His drink sloshed in the glass onto her white carpet, but she didn't seem to care as she dragged him over to the fireplace. Her grip on his arm was surprisingly strong for such a small and petite woman, but a part of him wasn't all that surprised of the ferocity in which she manhandled him into the Floo.

″That is not dire, nor important at all.″

″Gran-″

″The next time you decide to barge into my flat, have a better excuse to see me.″

″Don't fla-″

″I think it is time for you to go.″ She said sharply, her face lined with anger and irritation. And with that, she threw some Floo powder down into the fireplace and stated loudly, ″Malfoy Manor.″ And like that, Draco was whirling away in flames of green, the wine glass still firmly grasped in his hand.

The next morning at work, Hermione made damn certain those treaties were on his desk before Malfoy even stepped into the Ministry building. She was nowhere to be found when he arrived, and although that may have made her look like a coward hiding from someone who had obviously gotten her knickers in a twist the night before, she wasn't giving a shit about what he thought. She wasn't a coward. She was livid. She knew she was being somewhat petty. But the idea of him feeling as if he could just barge into her flat was enough to make her blood boil. She was his assistant at work, and at work only. Her home was her home and she was not okay with him thinking he had enough control to waltz into it.

A crystal clear wine glass was placed atop the parchment she was scrawling on with care. Hermione blinked and lifted her to see Malfoy leaning against the side of her desk, his arms folded over his chest, that fucking smug look on his face. Hermione took the wine glass and set it aside, returning to her work. ″At least you had the decency to clean it,″ she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

″You're the one who pushed me out with it. I could have just kept it, but I figured the stick up your arse would make your OCD go haywire if you didn't have your complete set of wine glasses.″

″How thoughtful of you,″ her sarcasm was completely apparent, and she tried to keep her jaw from clenching.

″Yes, well,″ he drawled, ″I try. Last night was..″

″Horrid? Annoying? Completely uncalled for?″

″I was going to go with interesting and not entirely un-awful.″

She blinked and looked up at him, catching his grey eyes with her brown ones. She was confused. What did he think last night was other than him just pissing her off? They hadn't had decent conversation, that hadn't enjoyed idle chit chat while watching the movie. In fact, he had insulted the movie.

″Maybe I'll drop in again sometime.″

″I'll disconnect my Floo before I let that happen again, Malfoy.″

″Are you forgetting I can apparate?″

″Even you have decent manners,″ and with that she turned back to her work and completely ignored him.

Draco stayed a while longer, watching her work and ignore his presence. He didn't know why he stayed, but there was something about her that made him want to twist, turn, and manipulate her. She was so easily upset, so easily angered. It awoke something inside him that he hadn't felt since before the war.

And that was something Draco was going to hold onto for as long as he could; even explore it.