This chapter got longer and longer as I wrote it. In the end I had to cut it in half so chapter 3 is on its way after edits.
Also I changed the title to something more fitting.
Hermione glances around her, jumping bodies dripping with sweat flooding her vision field through glass doors.
"Welcome, welcome! Are you Hermione Granger?"
She is tempted to lie. It's a force of habit, hanging out with Harry. But the scrunch butt leggings-high ponytail instructor doesn't seem to recognize her. The girl's checking a schedule with only one name on the 7 p.m. time slot.
Too young to recognize her anyway, Hermione thinks. Even the wizarding war is old news now.
Maybe the girl's a muggle. Hermione fumbles through her memory and the thirty bullet point list of gyms Lavender sent her. She and Ginny have been flooding the group chat with this ninety-day No Magic challenge and trying all things Muggle.
"Yes, kickboxing?"
"Right. You are the only beginner tonight. It's going to be great, don't worry." The girl flashes her a saleswoman set of teeth, as straight as her hair. "You'll get all the attention and burn no less than 800 calories."
Hermione holds back a grimace. She's not here to lose weight. Not that the trainer is implying. She suddenly remembers why she hates gym culture and starts to spin around, considering leaving altogether. The girl taps her arm in a secretive gesture.
"This is just the spiel we have to deliver. I'm not actually certain of the number. Just focus on the movements. It's entertaining, never the same and Lao tiring. You won't have time to think about anything when you get home."
Maybe she will stay after all. She needs to stop thinking about her terrible career move anyway, passing on a client like Malfoy.
"You figured me out," Hermione says nervously.
The girl smiles again, walking to the direction of the room as Hermione follows her dutifully.
"I fill up my day with everything I can find to quiet my mind. I know from experience. You look stressed. I used to look the same untilI quit my corporate job, my relationship and moved here."
She opens the door to a classroom filled with gym members greeting one another, slapping arms and thighs, joking about things Hermione's not sure she even wants to understand.
"Find a bag and just enjoy. The instructor will know you're new. We're close to all our regulars. I will tell him to go easy on you,"
"No," Hermione quickly jumps to correct her. "Hard is better, I need to go hard right now."
"That's the spirit."
She leaves, the music starts and Hermione shoves her fists into her sandbag, unsure what else to do. She watches defined biceps go up and down around the room, while her own legs tire as she kicks higher than she thought she ever could.
"Thirty seconds left before we switch set. Go go go," the instructor yells in his mic.
The voice is repetitive, not very motivating, really, but she doesn't need it. Women around her pound and turn and kick and spin, giving her confidence, stamina even.
The instructor still hasn't introduced himself to her or given her any direction. She follows the crowd, imitates, smiles to herself, laughs a little at her knuckles missing the bag and punching the air. She does it again, enjoying the impact on her shoulder. She's strong, she knows that but it's nice to be reminded.
The bell rings and she quickly moves to a lateral bag, made for high shin kicks, the instructor explains to her while interrupting himself to encourage another woman stepping under her own bag, back and forth, exhaling loudly. He's next to her now, not paying much attention to her form, his eyes sweeping the room every minute.
"Hey let me get you a partner." He springs it on her like he knows better, disregarding her protests and she vows to only attend classes with female instructors from now on.
"I'd rather not!" She yells one last time over the upbeat music just as her worst nightmare materializes in front of her. Well, maybe just a bad dream.
Someone from school, gaping at her pathetic sweatpants and oversized shirt. Worse. Someone from school she despises. Someone who voted to hand her best friend over to Voldemort. Someone certified in duel. Master level.
"Pansy," she exhales, barely hiding her horror.
"Granger..."
There it is. The ground rules have been laid out. Pansy's fist shoots out, punching the bag between them with so much force and focus it propels it right onto Hermione, the bottom hitting her groin area.
She folds in two in an oomph while her partner watches, a dry apology barely uttered from her lips.
Hermione regains composure, kicks the bag that doesn't even swing.
"Don't you dare do that again. This is my first class."
"I've noticed. You should find another gym."
"In your dreams."
Pansy throws a left cross, almost hitting Hermone in the face, stopping half an inch from her nose.
"What is wrong with you?" Hermione shouts.
"You called me a sellout," Pansy replies, moving quickly on her feet.
"Excuse me?"
"In Witch Mag, the article for the anniversary of the Victory, last week."
Shit. She's given that interview a month ago.
"You told everyone to hand my best friend to Voldemort!"
Heads swivel, quickly returning to their own bags, eyes betraying the attention shift, now on the two women's conversation.
"I was seventeen for Merlin's sake."
"That doesn't excuse anything," Hermione retorts, unforgiving.
"Seventeen and scared shitless, Granger. Not everyone can be selfless in the face of danger."
Hermione kicks the bag, silent. She knows that.
"I didn't mean to call you that or even talk about you. We were talking off the record. And the journalist still printed it I guess."
Pansy throws her body backward in a 360 turn for a reverse kick.
"Why'd you even accept? I thought you three heroes wanted to lay low? It's what the press been babbling about for the last decade."
"It paid well. Two months rent. Not everyone can inherit intergenerational wealth you know."
Pansy doesn't reply. Instead, she glares at her and juts her chin at Hermione's legs.
"You have to bend your knees when you punch."
Hermione tries it and this time, moves the bag half an inch.
She is going to be here three times a week if necessary. Except her muscles say otherwise. She goes hard that night. Doesn't talk more and leaves sore. The next day is worse. Her glutes contract at every push and pull. She can barely sit on the toilet or bend over. Each time, she remembers the physical pain is better than the mental suffering of working with Draco Malfoy.
"Someone had a good date!" Preston jokes the next morning, his eyes staring at her funny walk.
Ugh.
Her thighs are burning. Each step is a victory.
"Maybe you should stop skipping the sexual harassment webinars, huh."
"Just kidding, Hermione. Please don't report me to HR." And he laughs like doing so wouldn't change a thing.
She passes him in the corridor, biting her lip when he hails her.
"Hey, the tech millionaire called me. He wants you to vet the causes I listed for him."
"He does?"
"Yeah. He doesn't want any surprises down the road. Thinks most nonprofits are fishy, you know the type. And not to brag but if I bag this, we're both heroes... so what do you say?"
Heroes. She's tired of the word. One she can't live up to.
How refreshing would it be to be the villain. One could only go back up from there.
"I'm in. I'll work on it this week. When's your next meeting, so I can have it ready?"
"Friday. We want to move fast. You're welcome to attend. He specified that."
His face is emotionless as if trying not to comment.
"No... I'm good. Unless my presence is requested for him to close the deal."
That'd be Malfoy's style. Taking her hostage.
"No. He said it's up to you."
Oh.
"I won't be there, then."
"Suit yourself but that's dumb."
Yes it is. Her name is still going to be on the case. It's fine. She can find another marketing dream client. A superstore, trailblazing corporation or artist in trouble.
She takes a deep breath and keeps walking.
—
"Have you seen this? You're trending on social media. For eating a scone with the so-called war hero."
Yeah he has. Draco's also seen Astoria's tenth message. Don't fucking humiliate me like this Draco.
He's heard his mom's phone call about family name dignity and acceptable behavior in the aftermath of political turns of events. Heard Astoria's howler.
We agreed you'd wait ten months until you're seen in public with someone else, Draco. And Granger to add insult to injury?
He's heard his dad's silence. Blaise's silence and Crabbe's subtweet. Astoria's eleventh letter.
I don't care if you work with her. You have a fucking estate. Use it not to be photographed. As usual, so selfish of you.
He doesn't reply to Astoria or Theo and gets up to grab his laptop, reviewing the list sent by Preston Springs.
Fucking boring is what.
Trees are us.
Kangourous will thank you.
Ocean zero waste.
Nothing exciting. Not one word inciting cursing or a good back and forth verbal joust. This is all dull like his life now.
You'd think after escaping both the Dark lord and Azkaban, a bland routine would be welcome.
There's something unhinged about him, clearly. Or maybe it's as simple as Blaise said. That he's avoiding his own thoughts with busy hands and cheap thrills.
Malfoy prefers expensive though. Expensive enough to spend a fortune on some fantasy redemption race to help people he doesn't give a fuck about.
That's the problem, the paradox. How can he forgive himself without changing? Maybe that's what he can't forgive.
The fact that he doesn't care. Doesn't care about how much paid sick leave werewolves should get during their transformation or how he should now avoid plantain chips because palm oil production is decimating monkeys.
And of course, he'd know that fact after one afternoon spent with Granger. He should call her and tell her that, straight to her face would be even better. She'd have a fit. That's a cheap thrill. Almost addictive how easy it is.
Something's wrong with him. He needs to rehabilitate his business' image but can't make the effort to import that into his personal life
Why doesn't he care? So fucking numb. That's what got him on the wrong side of History in the first place. Theo blamed their breeding, the way they were raised. But he's close to thirty. There's no one and nothing else to blame. He needs to get a grip. If anything, for Blaise. He's the only one who expected him to be truly different. And the only one who left when he couldn't.
That's what the fuck he needs. He needs to be challenged. By someone who won't leave.
He picks up the Muggle focused magazine he has previously agreed to fund, just to see if he can even bear that. Reads an article about the ninety-day No Magic challenge. Futile. Ridiculous. Then he thinks, it could be the first step to redeeming his image.
People would have a blast. Granger would know how to make sure of it.
So he writes her the first question that pops on his mind.
"Is it hard to make pasta without magic?" And sends his owl.
Finally turning to Theo, lounging in his living room, he deigns ask. "Is it good, what they're saying about me?"
Theodore looks at him with his teasing smirk. "You'd like that wouldn't you? It's mixed. Some say you're fishing for brownie points.. whatever that means. Others say you're probably hashing it all out on the account that it's been ten years since the war and that who cares, people can change, grow. They don't know you can't."
Theo proceeds with his carefree laugh, unaware of the pinch left on Draco's feelings.
Can't he change? Why doesn't any of his friends believe in it? He tries to think of the changes he's made. Can't really find any. Astoria asked for a divorce because he was too much of a coward to do it. He never defended his mother in front of his father's board, nor his father in front of everyone else. What was even the point? Lucius never defended Narcissa either.
The owl comes back with Hermione's response.
"Depends. Do you know what a stove is? What about a pot? A grocery store? Seasonings?"
The smile tugs at his lips. She dropped the formality, the distance. He knows it's too early for her to be drunk so she means the words on the page.
"Excuse me, I once saw the head housekeeper mix marinara sauce and pesto to my rigatoni."
He stops his hand, adjust his position and makes a decision. "I need your help. I want to try living without magic for ninety days and record it, for people to see it's genuine. Except for you, I don't know anyone raised in the muggle world. I wouldn't know where to start."
He stares at his handwriting, rolls the paper and sends it, jaw set.
That's it. This is the point of no return. Another fucking impulsive behavior.
The owl comes back within ten minutes. "Buy a self-help book. Try the adulting section."
Ouch. Theo reads behind his shoulder, an inquisitive index on his chin. "So... How good do you think she looks exactly?"
"Fucking good but that's not why I'm doing this."
"Please.. why then?"
"I don't know. Boredom. Need a change. A challenge."
"Astoria's going to resent it. Pansy's going to hate it. Your mother already summoned me to try to find out what is going on."
Great.
"Plot twist though," Theo continues. "I thought I knew but I have no idea what your end goal is here. Doesn't look like it has anything to do with EnchanTech."
—
When Hermione comes back from lunch with her soup, she finds Malfoy in her office, comfortably sitting down, in crisp shirt and pants.
Startled, she lets out a gasp, followed by profanity as her soup ends up on the floor.
He casts a cleaning charm before she has time to do it herself.
"Didn't mean to scare you. Hello."
She walks to sit at her desk, fuming, while he watches her struggle to put one leg in front of the other but doesn't comment.
"This is actually not an apology," she tells him. "You didn't say you were sorry. And you can't be here. Preston Springs is your advisor."
"I already talked to him. Told him I needed to discuss your vetting on those nonprofits. I'm sorry you wasted your lunch."
She laughs, disbelieving. "Still not an apology. What do you want? I'll have my report by Friday."
He leans forward, both hands on her desk. "I need your muggle expertise."
Her eyebrows go up an inch as she turns to file some paperwork.
"I'm not making you my cause, Malfoy. I have no interest in teaching you how to be the good guy, especially not since this is all a ploy and you don't even care."
To Hermione's disbelief, he rises to his feet and starts pacing. "I've thought about this ok? I don't care about your environmental shenanigans or workers' wages but only because I never had to. That doesn't mean I simultaneously want to litter the earth and middle class people to suffer. I just never thought about it and if I can help, I will. I just need to approach it form a different way than you do. I do care about not repeating the same mistakes though. I've almost lost my life and my freedom because of some fascist ideas. I... wasted years in an unhappy marriage because of pure blood rituals and ideologies. I lost a friend because I refused to acknowledge any of it."
Eyebrows still raised, she stares at him, unimpressed. "You could hire someone who's been raised by muggles."
"Not with that work ethic of yours. Listen, I'm not asking you to redeem me," he continues. "I'm not a sexist prick expecting you to do intellectual and emotional labor so I can feel better about myself."
Her eyes flutter, genuinely surprised that he even knows about what any of that is. "It sure sounds like it."
"I just want your help for this No Magic challenge. People seem to love it. You'll get paid. Pansy told me you need money."
She chokes on her own words. "I don't need anything from.."
"She didn't mean it like that. She just came back and told me to stop throwing my money away because even war heroes need some."
He sighs, probably realizing that his explanation doesn't land when he hopes.
"I'm just fucking desperate. I didn't want to come here. I sure don't love explaining myself to you. You're a good opponent when it comes to debating shit but this feels more like begging and you must know that's not my style."
Finally, she smiles. "The truth, at last." Her body leans back in her chair. "What did you mean by approaching it in a different way exactly?"
He sits back down, opening his sleeves to roll them up, just short of the Dark Mark showing and unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt. "Numbers. When you tell me to stop ordering an item off a menu because it causes thousands of acres of forest destruction, just tell me how much money I can invest in businesses or nonprofits that actually work to change the situation. I want to eat the damn chips Granger. If all they have to do is change the oil they use or make it sustainable then I can focus on that."
And for the first time, Draco Malfoy leaves her speechless. He takes advantage of it. "I have the means and you have the knowledge. Why not pair up? Think of how many issues you're going to be able to pitch me while I try to do Muggle dishes. We can take your company out of the equation. You'll be free to bring up any causes. No middle man. You'll get paid what your deserve."
He gets up, and stops, hand on the doorknob.
"I know it's over a decade too late but if I ever made fun of your hair back then, I was probably trying to get approval from my friends."
He suddenly looks exhausted and spares her half a smile. "So I'm sorry for that. Not that you care but I think your hair looks great. Always thought so."
He's halfway through the door when she hails him.
"Not saying I'll do it but going to go get me lunch would definitely tip the scale..."
"You're trying to blackmail me into running your errands?"
She shrugs. "It's your fault I haven't eaten yet and a full stomach always puts me in better dispositions to make important decisions."
He slowly closes the door and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you want me to get you?"
She crosses her legs. Maybe this arrangement could work in her favor after all.
—-
He's finally done with his board meeting, goes home and stays thirty minutes under the shower head. He hates going downtown where Granger works. The steam has well taken over the bathroom when he get outs. Still, he can discern the silhouette waiting for him at the door and almost slips on the wet floor, catching himself on the sink just in time.
"Fuck, Astoria, you almost killed me."
"Don't be your usual drama self," she snaps back, opening the door for the steam to escape. "You'd have gotten a mild concussion at most."
"Pansy can you stop inviting my ex wife over?" He yells through the magic interphone system.
Her voice floats in the room. "You haven't changed the wards so... she invited herself and who am I to tell her to leave?"
Draco ignores the sarcastic tone. Pansy is in fact known for having thrown many people out of her house before and even more out of other's people's houses, where she had absolutely no hosting rights.
Draco focuses his attention back on Astoria,
"And you're here because?"
He flicks his wand for a drying spell and leans his lower body on the counter, arms crossed.
"I knew you'd only take this advice from me so I came in person for emphasis purposes."
"We're talking again and my dick is out. Emphasis dully noted."
"Whatever you're trying to do with those nonprofits or even Granger just... don't lie. Don't lie to yourself and don't lie to her."
"For the third time, I'm not dating her."
"First off, gross. No one's talking about dating, I figured... fucking right? I get it, you know... She's different, controversial and all... been there myself."
"What?"
"Anyway. If you truly want to change, start by being honest. We're in the situation we are in because you relied on your lies so much. You fooled yourself and you fooled me and that fucking hurt. So learn to be honest with someone who doesn't matter. Ease into it."
"Who told you I wanted to change?"
"Your mom. She got it from Theo I think."
Draco flails his arms in the air in a powerless gesture. He really needs to get new wards and never invite anyone here again.
"Well thanks for your concern. Can you let me get dressed now?"
She sighs. "I'm not stopping you. And if you're going to do this challenge you need what muggles call towels, to dry yourself. Daphne read that somewhere."
He starts walking towards his closet, now curious, "Who did you sleep with that was controversial, by the way?"
She only laughs, waving his question away. "Boundaries much? And who said I'm not still doing it?"
"Ok Astoria. Bye."
He sits on his bed as she leaves in a dismissive hand gesture. Hermione's response comes the next day.
"I'll do it but know that you might be able to eat guilt free chips now however, you'll have to inconvenience yourself at some point or another."
He instantly chuckles to himself at the inevitable judgmental statement. She just can't help it and somehow there's comfort to take from it. She's reliable.
"Hey come to mine tomorrow," he writes. "I'll film a tease video to announce the start of the challenge. I'll pick you up. Still haven't taken care of the wards."
And it really should before Astoria's great aunt shows up too.
He tells Blaise first, in a howler, for good measures and informs Pansy thought the fireplace. She squints, dubitative.
"I don't think you thought this through. A ninety-day period is no small task. You know you can't have wards?"
Shit. How do muggles protect themselves? He has a fucking estate to secure, by Merlin.
"Granger will assist. We actually..."
"She probably lives in an efficiency studio. What does she know about acres and fourteen bedroom villas?"
"How poor do you think she is? She has a job. And my house doesn't have..."
"Draco! This is highly irresponsible and impulsive."
For a moment, he wonders if people with a job still can't pay for even a bedroom.
"Pansy. I'm doing this. Don't piss on my party. I already have Theo for that."
"Fine," she sighs. "But when it'll come crashing down, don't come crying."
"I'm pretty sure you're safe."
He changes outfits three times before picking up Granger, trying to look relatable. He really can't risk her changing her mind last minute now that he told Pansy.
Granger does change her mind about the location, because she's running late so she gives him her address and he waits for her outside. The neighborhood is decent. It looks like a townhouse but could there be no bedroom inside?
She shows up out of breath with a high puff of curls and two small braids on the side of her temples.
"I forgot to feed my cat, hold on." She turns on her heel and stops, probably debating if it'll be too rude to leave him here, waiting. "Ok, my cat's over thirty years old so he's gotten even more particular with time. It's going to take a few. You want to come in?"
He follows her inside, relieved to not see any bed in the living room. "Wait, your cat is how old?"
She laughs from behind the kitchen counter. "I got him as an adult and accidentally gave him a longevity potion once. Do you mind taking off your shoes?"
He obliges, depositing his loafers on the hardwood floors as Crookshanks stares a him. "Accidentally, huh?"
She looks at him, a coy smile on her lips. That piece of information makes him relax. So she is able to break the rules for personal gain. He looks around and finds it cozy. Too messy for his taste but not outwardly terrible.
She doesn't ask him to excuse the mess so the current state of her flat must be her best effort. She separates three different piles of dry and wet foods topping it with what seems to be oil from a dropper.
She finally sees him sitting on her couch and freezes. "Are you thirsty? We should drink. I mean toast. To new partnerships and all. Yes, we should do that."
She's panicking clearly so he gets up and joins her behind the counter. She looks through her cupboards and opens a vertical double door box that dispenses cold air.
"Nope. No more wine or champagne. Must have drank it all the other night." She moves to a bottom cabinet, giving him full view on her ass. He stares. "With other people I mean. Well I only have straight liquor. Rum, Tequila. Oh I have this passion fruit liqueur. It's pretty expensive. That might be your drink of choice."
She gets back up and pours them both half a glass.
"First off, rude to assume this is what I want. Two. You drink straight liquor?"
"Why wouldn't I drink straight liquor? Do you want tequila or rum then?"
"No, this is fine. I didn't think you drank alcohol at all."
"Well it's been established that you've always had the wrong image of me." She takes a long sip, detailing his outfit, his face, his hair. "I'm just trying to figure out how I'm going to explain this to Harry, Ginny... anyone really."
"Don't. Let them come to you after the fact and remain vague, like they're the ones overreacting. Works for me."
She chuckles and drinks more.
"Seriously," he continues. "You survived a war. You can survive your judgy little friends."
"That's the thing, isn't it? Mundane tasks are sometimes so much more difficult to overcome."
She sure is right about that. He swallows another sip of the smooth liqueur. He really needs to ask her what the brand is. Then he says something completely asinine.
"How can I make it easier on you?"
She looks ups and starts coughing, choking on her sip. Running to the sink, he hears her snort more through the water and regrets everything. Fuck. She comes back with a hiccup.
"I... haven't thought about that. It's probably the only thing I haven't considered."
"So surreal, I know."
She inhales and smacks her empty glass on the counter. "Look at us, we've already learned so much about each other. I drink and you joke about yourself. This might just not traumatize us after all. Let's go."
He watches her flock her wand at the lock.
"You use wards?"
"I know I have a fridge but I'm still a witch Malfoy."
He doesn't ask what a fridge is because his walk's wobbly and he starts to feels dizzy.
"Don't tell me you!re tipsy already? Are you a lightweight?" She's one second from making fun of him, mouth open, eyes bulging.
"I'm not a lightweight. How much alcohol was in that drink?"
"A lot," she admits in his defense. "It's made with rum from my parents' birthplace. Caribbean. They don't joke around. Over fifty percent alcohol with straight up sugar."
"Thank for warning me."
"Sorry. Can you still take us?"
She grabs his arm to steady him and looks at him with concern, her brown eyes so warm. A flash blasts through his mind. Her, with those same eyes, that same concern for him, on her knees in his bed, black bra and panties on.
He shrugs off the thought and vanishes them to his house.
When they arrive, Malfoy's entire clique is here, along with a camera crew. Pansy's dressed like a royal, save for her bare legs and high heels. She's sitting on the armrest of the sofa, her sleek dark hair perfectly aligned at her jaw, as usual. Casual.
Theodore is talking to the camera crew, giving orders as Daphne Greengrass is alarmingly walking to them, zeroing in on Granger. "Bloody hell. Hermione Granger. Ten years. This is like a Hogwarts reunion."
Draco approaches in three lunges, an apologetic frown on his face to Hermione. "The camera crew wasn't my idea. I was thinking more casual. Homemade video."
Pansy lets a scoff escape and Hermione looks at her with suspicion, like there's some muggle pop culture references he's not getting. He makes a mental note to look into it later.
"You're all dressed for a formal or a family Christmas picture," Hermione whispers. "I don't think that's the look you want. And isn't this about you? Are they're going to be in the video?"
She probably can't imagine Pansy and Theodore being relatable to anyone. Wizards or muggles. It's going to be hard enough to make him pass for some reborn wizard.
In the same breath, she grabs his arm in realization "You need new clothes, casual ones. I'd have to help you choose, even shop..." She gazes in the distance, biting the plump of her bottom lip. "Grocery shopping, we'll have to do that too..."
He wants to both laugh and tell her to calm down because she looks like she's toppling over an entirely different state of mind.
"Can I speak to you in private?" She says instead, grave.
He guides her to his study. A stuffy room with dark wood furniture and some obscure rug pattern, his mom ordered.
"I'm starting to realize that this... your idea.. is going to be much more than I thought. I need higher compensation. For my expertise."
"Of course. Though we haven't even discussed the amount."
"I know. But your friends look like they're not going anywhere. It's going to cost you."
"Ok."
"I mean, new clothes, cooking ingredients, trips to stores, transportation."
"I get it Granger. Entire overhaul. I'll pay you more than what you make at Chess West."
She works hard to keep a straight face at that.
"Wait... If I'm an official independent contractor, we need a sturdy contract. We can't start before it's signed."
He passes his palm over his forehead, his nose bridge and his lips. "You want me to tell my friends they dressed up for nothing and that this isn't happening tonight?"
"Isn't it how they always dress?"
She's only half kidding. He doesn't respond.
"No contract, no work," she decides. "You're the one with the fortune, the lawyers and the hiring experience. I'm at a disadvantage here so I need to protect myself. You understand right?"
Of course he understands.
"I'll message my legal team."
He suddenly feels down. Like unfinished business. "Are you leaving then?"
She stares at him for what seems a good minute. "I'm taking a leap of faith here Malfoy. Blame it on the alcohol. I don't have to leave. I can call some friends and we can film your teaser. Gryffindor friends for clout purposes. I trust you won't screw me over before we sign the papers."
He's never wanted to not disappoint someone like that in his entire life. He grabs a post-it from the desk next to them and scribbles on it. She reads it out loud.
"Draco Malfoy to give Hermione Granger everything she asks for." She looks up, now seeming like she's downed three more glasses. "Shouldn't you put some limits to this statement? Talk about the challenge, my position as a consultant?"
"I could." He's not stupid. He should. "But you're not going to bleed me dry are you? Not with those morals of yours, I know that much."
"Malfoy... I can't do th..."
"Make it official Granger." The alcohol is so strong and he doesn't want her to leave yet.
She points her wand to it. "Tradens signavit edictum," her voice whispers.
A copy of it appears next to it.
He picks it up to fold it before sliding it in his shirt's pocket, a hazy smile floating in his lips. He feels so free now. He takes one step towards her, knowing exactly where her only pockets are. Ass pockets.
He holds the paper in between two fingers for her to grab but she doesn't move, instead staring at him. With delicious deliberation, he leisurely extends his arm to her jeans, brushing her hips on the way and slides two fingers in her left back pocket, depositing the sticky note.