Hermione was, once more, on a mission for tea. She was getting nowhere with her work on werewolf laws, so had switched tactics to focus instead on this whole compatibility nonsense. If there was any couple that could prove that the Ministry's formula was not as ironclad as they purported it to be, it was Harry and Ginny. If she could figure out just what it was that they were basing the whole formula on, she may be able to convince them not to. That is, if she could pinpoint exactly what it was that meant that Harry and Ginny had not ended up together, she could prove why it wasn't actually a good measure for compatibility. Everything would go back to normal and she wouldn't have to think about the uncomfortable feeling that bubbled up in the pit of her stomach every time she thought about Draco Malfoy and his damned pale skin and silver eyes and soft, strong fingers.

Which is why, when she realized she'd read the same line over four times, she decided that the only thing that could solve her current dilemma was tea.

Hermione hadn't even realized she was in the hallway where his office was until she caught a glimpse of blonde in the corner of her eye. Pausing, she looked over and spotted Draco sitting at his desk, quill in one hand, and what looked suspiciously like a flask in the other. He was taking a rather long drink from said flask and then he screwed the lid shut, sliding it into his dress robes. When he glanced back up he caught her eye, and Hermione couldn't help herself.

She pushed past his half closed door and into his office until the only thing separating them was the desk.

"Malfoy," she began, not sure what tactic to take and finally deciding just to ask point blank. "Was that alcohol?"

He raised a blonde brow at her and leaned back in his chair, setting his quill down at the same time. "And what if it is?" He questioned defiantly.

Hermione gasped and glanced back to the door which was still slightly ajar, and then to him again. "You can't! I mean, we're at work! You can't just be drinking at eleven in the morning... at work!"

"Why not?"

Hermione had forgotten how infuriating he was, but now it was all rushing back to the surface. "Why not? It's wrong! Not to mention probably illegal."

The smirk that she was so used to from school tugged at his lips and he leaned forward, elbows on his desk, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Granger, as you well know, I was a Death Eater. I think drinking whiskey at work pales in comparison, legally speaking."

Hermione shook her head at him, holding herself back from reaching over the desk and grabbing his shoulders and shaking. Merlin, he could be such an arse!

"What, cat got your tongue, Granger? Come on. You knew I wasn't some perfect little goody-goody. I'm no Potter."

"It doesn't matter who you are! It doesn't change the fact that you really shouldn't be drinking at work, alone, before noon."

Hermione paused and thought back. Had she ever once seen him without a drink in his hand? Other than when she ran into him at work, but even now all those encounters were suspect. "Are you drunk?" She asked, instead of dealing with the implications of her discovery.

Draco shrugged, careless. Except, she knew that it wasn't really careless, there was so much more behind every one of his controlled actions. "Why do you care?"

It was like dealing with a child, talking to him sometimes. "Why are you drinking right now?"

He fixed her with a gaze that was cold and calculating and sent shivers down her spine. A reminder that even though he was the man who quoted Hamlet and laughed in the sunshine, he was not a knight in shining armour either. "Generally, it's easier than dealing with my emotions." His voice was measured, careful not to give away too much in its inflection. But Hermione could see by the way he was now gripping his desk that saying that to her was the equivalent of slicing himself open so she could take a look at what made him run. She had the overwhelming sense that it would be very, very easy to mess up this moment, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Steeling herself, Hermione reached out and placed one of her hands on top of one of Draco's. "Look." She began, glad he hadn't pulled back immediately from her touch. "If you ever need to talk to anyone, about anything." She fixed his eyes with hers, hoping she could convey her sincerity. "You can talk to me."

Draco laughed, but it wasn't the warm sunny laugh she had associated with him in her mind. It was cold and bitter and she had to force herself not to flinch in response. "Granger," he drawled, raising an eyebrow at her. "If you knew even a tenth of the things I've seen, of the things I've done…" He pulled his flask out again, swallowing another large gulp. "If you knew what I lived through, having that psychopath in my house… Trust me, you'd want to drink just as much as I do."

Hermione started to shake her head, to tell him that it was alright, she'd listen and be there if he needed her to, but he cut her off again.

"Granger. I'm too dark and twisted for your hero complex to fix. I'm too far past saving, and even if I weren't, it wouldn't be worth it. I have work to do." And with that, he had lifted his gaze from her face and turned it back to his papers, and stashed his flask back inside of his robes. He was now so focused on his work that Hermione wasn't sure he would even hear her if she tried.

Hermione was a woman on a mission.

She had always been someone who, once she got an idea, wasn't able to stop herself from implementing it. When she had first been sorted into Gryffindor, she had figured the hat wasn't entirely right about something. It wasn't that she wasn't brave, she could be if needed. But she was also desperately afraid of heights and found absolutely no enjoyment in doing reckless things just to see what would happen, like some of her peers. No, what she was was headstrong. Not necessarily impulsive, or idiotic, or harbouring some kind of death wish.

But when she knew something was wrong, or something was right, she would stop at nothing to do what she thought was best. Even if, sometimes, she was the one in the wrong.

Hermione had it firmly lodged in her brain now that Draco needed her help, and that if she could figure out the best way to get through to him then he would appreciate said help. Besides, it wasn't like he was the only person who had to deal with Voldemort. Sure, he had probably had to do a lot of horrid things she never wanted to hear about, and he probably saw a lot worse things than she did.

But then again, she had been tortured on his ballroom floor. She had lost friends and teachers and family.

Which was why, a week later, when she went to get her morning tea, she'd bought one for him as well, and swung by his office to drop it off.

"Malfoy," she said carefully, knocking on his slightly ajar door with her knuckles and pushing it open when she heard a half-hearted grunt of assent. "I brought you a cup of tea." She set it on the desk and settled into one of his incredibly comfortable arm chairs, leaning back and taking a sip of her own.

He glanced up at her and frowned. "Granger. Do we have a meeting scheduled…?"

Hermione shook her head earnestly. "No, no. I just thought I'd bring by a tea, see how you were doing."

Draco picked up the tea and took a large gulp as he thought over her words, and when he set the cup back down on his desk he levelled her with a glare that could have melted ice. He watched her fidget for a moment or two under his gaze, and set his quill down to fold his hands together. She watched as his entire personality shifted. From concentrated on work - loose shoulders and tight grip on his quill, a small furrow on his brow - to puffed up chest, fingers steepled together, brow raised in a way that seemed mocking and cruel.

"Your friends must be absolute imbeciles." He said, and she scoffed at him, about to speak but he cut her off with a raised brow. "Do they see through you often, Granger? Or are they so thrilled to have someone mother them that they simply allow it and do as you wish?"

Hermione huffed a breath out at him and stood. "Wasn't aware you were in such a snippy mood today, Malfoy. Forgive me for thinking that everyone could use a tea on a rainy Monday morning."

"It's raining every morning, Granger. We live in Britain."

Hermione shook her head and made her way to the door. As she pulled it open, he spoke again.

"'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.'"

She couldn't help it. She had one foot in the hallway and one hand on the doorframe and his words sent shivers down her spine, but she looked back anyways. She returned his gaze with one of her own, raising a brow at him in the best imitation of his challenge and mockery that she could manage.

"Is Nietzsche the best that you've got, Malfoy?" Shaking her head, Hermione went to move before pausing once more, sighing slightly, and letting her face fall back into its neutral state, bitting her lip slightly. "If you truly believe, Draco, that I was not affected by the war, that somehow being on the winning side absolved me from pain and suffering of my own," she sighed, "you're not nearly as perceptive as I had thought you were."

It was three weeks before Hermione saw Draco at work again.

If she subtly asked Harry whether or not Malfoy had been turning up to work, it was only because she was worried he'd drunk himself to death and was rotting on the floor of his giant, stupid house.

"On assignment." Was the answer she got the first time, and the fourth time, and the twelfth time and finally Harry threw his hands up in the air and told her that if Malfoy did not check in on time she'd be the first to know.

Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved by that knowledge.

When she did see him, it was only briefly in the cafeteria. She had been trying to get a cup of tea that wasn't actually cold (seriously, she worked in a magical government office the least they could do was charm the tea to stay warm!) when she saw a flash of blonde hair through the morning crowd and felt his harsh eyes on her. When she met them, she was thrown by the intensity, but not able to spend much time picking it apart because he was gone and the cafeteria worker had returned with a large and thankfully steaming cup of tea.

Hermione had almost made it back to her office when, out of nowhere, the door of a broom closet swung open and a hand wrapped itself around her upper arm and tugged, and she would have screamed except there were fingers on her mouth.

She kicked and struggled and cursed herself for tucking her wand in her boots instead of her sleeve and when her eyes adjusted to the light she realized that the person holding her still was none other than Draco Malfoy. His entire body was pressed against hers and pressing her into a wall and she stopped struggling immediately, feeling the hard plane of his chest against hers and what felt like his thigh between her legs and something hard and thick pressing on her lower abdomen-

Hermione gasped as he pulled his hand back and swallowed hard. The last time she had been this close to him had been that night on the rooftop, now more than a month ago. His body was warm and solid and she wanted to melt against it, but she forced herself back into her head and placed the styrofoam cup on a shelf to her right, using her fingers to press against his chest a little. "Malfoy," she said, hating the breathy tone of her voice, "what on earth do you think you're doing?!"

Draco's ears flushed slightly pink at this but he did not move away from her. "Granger." His voice was strained and rough and the timbre of it sent heat pooling into her belly and she swallowed again. "I didn't mean," he frowned, lifted a hand away from the wall behind her to scrub over his face. "Didn't mean to startle you. I didn't think-"

"Didn't think I would take objection to being abducted at work?" She hissed, remembering her anger and trying to force it to the forefront of her brain, tugging her brows down into the best imitation of a frown she could do at that moment.

"Gods, Granger, I'm not abducting you." Draco lifted his fingers up now to catch her chin between them, careful but firm, forcing her to look up into his eyes. His pupils were so large they nearly swallowed up the silver she normally saw there, and he was tensing his jaw again. "I'm just… I can't," he groaned softly and shook his head. "I don't know how to deal with you."

Hermione scoffed indignantly at this, prodding her index finger into his chest. "And just what," she poked him again, "is that supposed to mean? Don't know how to deal with me? You don't have to deal with me at all. So why don't you just let me go and I'll pretend this never happened and-"

She was cut off by the feel of his breath on her lips. He wasn't kissing her, not quite, but if either of them moved a hair's breadth they would be. When he started to speak, she could almost feel his lips brush against hers. "You don't understand, Granger. I've been… on assignment… for nearly a month now. And I could not stop," he paused, inhaled, rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. "I could not stop thinking about you, and how you might possibly be the nosiest woman that I know, and one of the most righteous-"

"Are you just going to insult me?" She mumbled, still trying to piece the situation together fully. Here he was, so close to kissing her and yet instead he was being quite mean, and she still wasn't sure what she thought of him. Other than the fact that she couldn't help but react to his deep voice and intense eyes and his laugh when he read literature in the sun.

"No, gods, that's not-" Draco sounded annoyed, vaguely, but for once she was rather sure it wasn't directed at her. "I couldn't stop thinking about your mess of hair, and your eyes, and the way your lips felt when I kissed you and," he paused, and his hand slipped down off her chin to rest on the side of her face instead, gentle and hesitant, and even though she couldn't see him Hermione had the overwhelming feeling that Malfoy never let himself be so vulnerable, not around her. "And the way you said my name."

Hermione couldn't help herself. She twisted her hand that was resting on his chest into his robes and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his. Draco seemed to freeze for a moment, but then he was responding eagerly, the hand that had been against the wall dropping to her hip, the one on her cheek sliding down to her neck and back into her hair. Hermione reciprocated, tangling her free hand into his silky blonde locks and ignoring the voice in her head (that sounded suspiciously like Harry) which was screaming at her that this probably wasn't a good idea, and for once she allowed herself just to feel.

It was the last day of work before the Christmas Holidays, and now more than a week since what Hermione was referring to in her brain as 'The Closet Incident'. They had stayed there in that tiny space, just kissing, for what felt like hours, although it was really only twenty minutes or so. Finally they'd both realized they had actual work to do and slipped apart, and now every time Hermione went to get tea she walked past that blasted closet and thought of a hard body and smooth lips and tried her best not to melt too much. She still had work to do, after all.

The Ministry was holding its annual staff Christmas party that afternoon and Hermione had come prepared in a slightly-too-large red knit sweater, covered in white snowflakes magically enchanted to swirl around her all day. Generally, it was a bit of a slow day. Most people wanted to be home with their families, but the heads of the departments liked to see this "inter-office unity" and so attendance was more or less mandatory.

It was also interesting to see how different things were now that it was the first Christmas with the new law in effect. There were certainly more people coupled off. Some of them looked genuinely happy. Ron and Hannah stuck close together for most of the day, Ron introducing his wife as the owner of the Cauldron and the caterer of the event, a genuine smile on his face and pride in his eyes. Ginny and Harry were standing in a corner trying to seem inconspicuous, and Hermione couldn't help but glance around the room and wonder where Draco was - seeing as his wife had found the party just fine without him.

She didn't have to wonder long. He arrived fashionably late, as always, in grey wool slacks and a deep green sweater that looked like it would be perfect for snuggling into with a good book. Then again, Hermione figured most of his clothes probably would have cost her a week's worth of salary. Technically she still had plenty of money left over from her Order of Merlin, but Hermione doubted she'd ever be someone who could comfortably drop such large sums of money on clothes. Ginny, on the other hand, had no such scruples and was wearing a stunning dress and a pair of shoes that looked expensive even from halfway across the room.

Hermione had been standing by the punch bowl for only a few minutes when Draco came up beside her. "Granger, I must say. That sweater is…" he paused, tapping a finger on his lip as if he were considering exactly what he thought of the sweater.

"Festive?" Hermione supplied, with a smile.

"Atrocious. You should have it burned."

Hermione laughed at his response. Sometimes it worried her how quickly she had learned to understand him, the nuances of his dry wit and the way he twitched an eyebrow when he teased her, but furrowed it if he was truly upset about something. Draco Malfoy was fire, all consuming and dangerous, yet she couldn't help but lean closer to the flames, despite the obvious dangers.

"Any big plans for the holiday?" She asked, cordially. They were surrounded by people now, and the thoughts of his lips and large hands and warm body would have to wait.

Draco shrugged one shoulder, and scooped himself a cup of warm cider from the beverages table. "Hold this," he instructed, and passed Hermione his cup. She couldn't help but gasp in shock as he pulled his ever-present flask from a pocket of his trousers and glanced around the room quickly before tipping a generous measure into her cup, and then a smaller one into hers. Hermione flicked her head around the room quickly, hoping to Merlin that her boss hadn't noticed, but no one was even paying the two of them any attention whatsoever.

"Is that just your plan then?" She asked, pushing the cup back into his hands as soon as he had re-stowed his flask. "Spend the hols in a drunken stupor?"

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Honestly, Granger. You have no understanding of nuance."

"Christmas Eve." She'd said it before she could help herself, the words tumbling from her lips. When he quirked an eyebrow at her, she fidgeted under his intense gaze, but pushed on anyways. "You and Ginny. Should come over on Christmas Eve. For dinner."

Draco crossed his arms and watched her carefully. "Interesting. I wasn't sure whether or not you two actually tolerated me in your house. I'd just assumed that the parties were simply an excuse-"

"Malfoy!" She chastised him, glancing around again. "You should know more than anyone," she said, voice low and intimidating, "that our dinner parties are simply an excuse for two lovely, happy couples to get together. My husband and I do so enjoy entertaining you and your wife."

Draco sighed in a way that seemed practiced, but nodded along, acquiescing to her game. "Yes yes, Granger. Happy couples." The smirk that he flashed her in response though was anything but, all heady eyes and sharp white teeth, and Hermione shifted, trying to ignore the wetness between her legs.

They chatted amicably for nearly an hour, watching as people flowed in and out of the party, and Draco spiked two more drinks each for them. By the time Hermione had finished her third cider, she was feeling decidedly buzzed and wholly unlike herself. Draco leant over to whisper in her ear, pointing to a couple and murmuring about a little secret that his mother had heard including the two of them and a centaur, and Hermione tossed her head back and laughed, feeling free for the first time in months. She also placed a hand on Draco's arm, enjoying the rich cashmere between her fingers and the hard muscles underneath her palm.

Draco's pupil's had long since blown and he was watching her carefully; she could feel his eyes tracing over the line of her neck and the small stretch of her collarbone that peaked out from the collar of her frumpy sweater. As she tilted her head back, she caught his gaze and once more had to swallow down the lump that was rising in her throat.

"Granger, I just remembered that I have that document for you, that important one that you needed before the holidays."

Hermione frowned up at him. Her brain was clouded and she wasn't sure he was making any sense.

"In my office. That very important document." He was trying to tell her something with his raised brows, but she wasn't cluing in on it. "The one we spoke about last Thursday? About those creature abductions?" He drew the word out long and low and it all clicked into her brain at once.

"Oh." She said, darting her tongue out to wet her lips. "Yes, you're right, that form is very important. Shall we, uh, go and retrieve that right now?"

They slipped out of the party and down the hall and Hermione couldn't help but giggle as they turned the corner away from it all. Neither of them spoke, they just walked quickly towards Draco's office, Hermione intermittently giggling when she realized what was happening.

Before they reached his office, Draco glanced down the corridor both ways and then pulled open the broom closet, grabbing Hermione's hand and tugging her in after him. This time they wasted no time, and Hermione found her back up against the door and Draco's body against her front and he had captured her lips in a kiss that tasted like apple cider and firewhiskey and something else that she was starting to realize was just the way he tasted.

Draco slid his hands down her sides and onto her hips and then, without warning, picked her up off the ground and pressed her further into the door. Hermione moaned into his mouth and wrapped her legs around his waist so she didn't fall, relishing in the hardness he pressed against her.

"This infernal sweater," he mumbled, as he broke away from her lips and began to kiss down the sides of her neck. "Gods, since when could someone make a bloody knit sweater with charmed snowflakes on it look this good? Fuck, what have you done to me, Granger?"

Hermione had no words; she just tangled her hand into his hair and swallowed the loudest of her responses as his lips worked over her pulse point. When he slid a hand up under her shirt and pressed slightly cold fingers to her side, she yelped softly and flinched away and his eyes shot immediately to hers, searching them. "Alright, Granger?" He asked, voice husky and heady. Hermione thought that if she liked the way he sounded when he read classic literature, she had been so mistaken, because this was truly his voice at its best.

Swallowing, she nodded back, immediately aware of the fact that he had ceased all movement at the noise and looked like he would have backed away if that hadn't meant dropping her as well. "Y-yeah, just, your hands. Cold." She explained, brain not functioning at her typical capacity. Mostly she just wanted to feel his lips on her skin again, and his hands - now that they had warmed up thanks to the contact with her skin.

Draco nodded and pressed forwards into her again, returning his head down to her neck where it had been. He didn't kiss it immediately though, instead he whispered against it. "Just, tell me to stop, and I'll stop. If it's too much."

Hermione frowned down at the top of his head and then, in a very Draco-esque action, grabbed his chin and tilted it up to look at her. "I'm here because I want to be here." She said, carefully, slowly, so he would understand. "I want this too." He nodded, but continued to watch her. Hermione swallowed hard, feeling that the next sentence was crossing a line she had never expected with him but despite that knowledge, she knew she was going to say it anyways. "I trust you, and I trust that you'll listen to me, if I say no."

Draco sighed and pulled out of her grip, kissing her forehead softly, tenderly. "I'm not sure what you're doing, Granger." He admitted, leaning his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes. "With me, I mean."

Hermione smiled, then, and caught his cheeks in her hands so that she could pull his face back and look at him, really look. There was the heady arousal; obvious in large pupils and flushed cheeks and swollen lips. But there was also his tensed jaw, and the hand that stayed unmoving on her hip: his uncertainty was nearly palpable. Hermione pressed a kiss to his forehead, muttering against his skin. "'There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good,'" she kissed each of his cheeks, "'and we must hunger for them.'"

Draco let out a sigh that felt like a shudder against her body and slowly lowered her to the ground, moving his hand out from under her shirt and placing it carefully on her cheek. "You must be pissed, Granger. Beautiful and good are not words anyone would apply to me sober."

Hermione frowned up at him, but he kissed her again, soft and sweet, and stepped back. "It's time to go home, Granger."

Draco opened the closet door then and glanced out, nodding when the coast was clear and tugging Hermione out with him. She blinked into the harsh light and tried to work out what had happened in that moment. She was still wondering when she arrived home at Grimmauld Place, and as she climbed into bed, and she fell asleep still caught up in the puzzle that had become Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Quotes this week:

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche
"There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them" - George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss (1860)