A/N: This is a continuation of Sally Drabbles Chapter 9: Close Enough. Maybe read that first?

Professional Distance

Pairing: Percy Weasley x Hermione Granger

Universe: Post-Hogwarts, EWE

Rating: K

It started with the line that a tear drew across her cheek, or maybe it was the low lamplight of the stacks catching upon her skin.

It could have been the way that her hair sprung free of its plait to curl against the back of her neck, surprisingly soft-looking.

Perhaps it was the neat shape of her waist in the dress, or the shadows pooled along the exposed sweep of her collarbone.

There was a chance that it was the press of her hand against her mouth, or the tidy stack of papers that she held, or the way that she had managed to keep her sobs entirely silent.

But really it was the tear – a line of gleaming vulnerability on a face that he had only ever known to be strong, and he had felt a little tug of longing that had built itself into a cup of tea, and an offer of a smile.

It had taken such a long time, with the Ministry, with the War, for him to accept that he had been wrong, and he had been so annoyed with her for much of that. For being so clever, for making him think perhaps he wasn't the only one. For challenging him, for refusing to listen. For being right all along.

For not choosing you, a little part of him whispered, though he shrugged it away as he watched her swipe at the tears and offer him a watery smile.

He found her the records that she had been so fruitlessly seeking, and made a mental note to re-catalogue them when she returned the parchments. "Not much for Creature respect, in the eighteenth century," he murmured, then when she cocked her head curiously he felt himself emboldened. "Ignorance can be just as damaging as intolerance." Her dark eyes warmed, and she offered him a smile over the lip of the mug.

Percy could feel heat rising in his cheeks, the legacy of red hair and fair skin betraying him as it always had, and he dipped his head, turning on his heel to leave her in peace when she called after him. "Thank you!"

The light in her face seemed to come from within, the same glow that she had had since she was a child, sitting down at the Gryffindor table and holding forth immediately on Transfiguration with such eager brilliance that it had been almost impossible to think that she was the same age as Ronald, whose greatest passions were mashed potatoes and the Chudley Cannons.

He catalogued the look of her with a quick flick of his eyes, and held the feeling of her smile inside himself for days.

OOOOO

"Library Weasel," drawled a quiet, patrician voice, and he felt his shoulders tense slightly.

It had been nearly two months, and he'd expected Harry, or maybe Ron, but now that he thought about it this actually made much more sense.

"Mr Malfoy," he said, trying to keep his tone pleasant as he looked up from the history of the latter Goblin Wars that he was translating from old Occitan.

Tricky things, fourteenth-century romance languages. Possessive pronouns were so easy to mistranslate, and there was no way to determine between 'he' and 'it' much of the time. Funny how a minor adjustment could make such a difference to the historical recording. It had taken him a long time to learn courage, but at least he had learned subtlety along the way.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't wish to pry," Malfoy said, pale eyes drifting languidly across the spines of the books ranged above Percy's desk. "But Granger seems to enjoy surrounding herself with idiots, with a single notable exception -" here pausing to offer a self-satisfied smirk - "and I would hate to think that she was continuing the habit just when I've started to train her out of it."

Careful. Once a snake…

"I don't know what you're talking about," Percy said evenly, meeting the challenge of Malfoy's gaze.

The other wizard's lips pursed, and he raised a single, pale eyebrow. "Funny, because apparently you're helping her with a research project into mermaids, only I looked, and the next Mermish delegation isn't for another eighteen months, and while we all know that she's supremely organised…"

Malfoy's voice trailed away, eyes holding Percy's steadily.

What would his brothers do? Bill, Charlie, George, Fred…

Be brave.

"I've no intention of being an idiot about this," he offered, watching Malfoy's face. He smiled, unexpectedly crooked and warm.

"I was worried that it was a family trait," he said, "After the palaver with King Weasel."

Percy grimaced at the nickname. It was so stupid, she'd whispered to him late one evening, their heads close together in a quiet corner of a Muggle pub, the last of a bottle of red wine sat on the table. We work so much better as friends, why we ever even thought…

He won't mind? Percy had asked, part of him sad to think that she knew Ron so much better than he did.

I think he'll be happy for us, she replied, dancing her fingertips over his knuckles.

"I think that's over and done with," he said to Malfoy now. "And I'm not Ronald."

"No." Cool appraisal. "You're certainly not." All at once the man's entire demeanour brightened, and Percy watched him with faint alarm before he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Draco." Hermione's voice had an edge to it that, had it been directed at him, would have made Percy deeply nervous, but Malfoy just grinned that crooked smile at her. "What are you doing down here?"

"Discussing the histories of the Goblin Wars, Granger," he replied, "Whatever else?"

He tipped Percy a barely perceptible wink, then tapped the parchment laid on the desk. "You know, I'm fairly sure that translating 'el' as 'he' changes the designation of the Goblins in this particular piece of history to beings, which -" Malfoy's smile went small and gleeful as Percy glared at him, "- would mean that the Goblins still have a legal claim to the territories ceded in the 1367 treaty."

"You did what?" Hermione squeaked, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the translation. Percy tried to pull it away from her but she had already pinned it to the desk with one hand, squinting at his small, neat penmanship.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, staring daggers at Malfoy's retreating back. "It's a tiny difference, and anyway it's a correct translation, even if it isn't true to the spirit of the original document."

"It's very subtle, yes." Hermione looked up, her eyes sparkling. "But if this document ever gets used to establish legal precedent, the Being rights are there, plain and simple." Her smile shrank slightly as she considered him, "How often do you do things like this?"

Percy half-shrugged, lifting a hand to rub the sore spot between his shoulders. "When I can. Getting these rights recognised in new legislation would take forever, so I figured why not just rewrite the old stuff?" Hermione was still staring at him with an odd expression, so he continued to talk in a nervous rush: "Most wizards are so lazy about records that even if it occurred to them to question something small like this they probably wouldn't bother to go back to the originals. It just seems more efficient to ease the path for progr-"

He found his words cut off abruptly by the press of her lips against his, her hand clasping the back of his neck as she slid herself into his lap. Percy felt almost breathless, reminded of the first time he had kissed her, when she had practically dared him to. Somehow she had mastered the art of being boldly demanding, and Percy, never usually demonstrative, found himself only too happy to accommodate her, pressing one hand to her lower back and twisting the fingers of the other into her lovely hair, drawing her closer to him as she breathed, "You are brilliant, Percy Weasley, and I lo-"

A throat was cleared nearby and they sprang apart guiltily, Percy peering over Hermione's shoulder into the disapproving glare of the Head Record Keeper.

"Mr Weasley," said the elderly wizard, "Miss Granger, if you cannot maintain a professional distance from one another when using the Archives then I must insist that you relocate yourselves elsewhere."

Hermione stifled a giggle against the crook of Percy's neck, then pressed her lips chastely to his cheek as she scrambled out of his lap. "I'll see you later," she whispered, turning to leave.

Before she disappeared around the end of the row Percy's mind broke free of the usual fuddled state that her lips tended to leave him in, and he frowned as he called after her, "What were you going to say, before?"

Turning to look at him, Hermione smiled and shrugged, "Nothing. Tell you later."

A/N: This was by request for dear darling jasperandgemma, a person of wealth and taste and excellence, who asked for "a tiny continuation of Hermione&Library Weasel drabble". I'm enjoying this so if someone requests it, I'm not averse to further additions...