A/N: To my reviewers — you're awesome. Thanks for inspiring me to continue. I don't think it's in Ron or Hermione's character to cheat and I'll stay true to that. They're in an uncomfortable place in their relationship where they are both having trouble seeing a bright future together, but also don't want to lose one another. There will be some mutual anger here and there which is normal, but no Ron bashing. I hope I'm conveying this in my writing.
Draco was sitting at a booth in the back corner with a glass of firewhiskey when she walked in. Waiting, she assumed, for Zabini to show. He fixed her with a predictable glare, and in return she smiled with a hint of spite and took a seat on a barstool nearest to his table. She greeted Hannah warmly and ordered a butterbeer, offering her compliments on the the clean and inviting atmosphere. The Leaky Caulderon, after years of post-war disrepair, was the hub of the alley again. Not that Hermione went out often enough to know it before.
If she was going to make Minister someday, she really did need to socialize more often. The whole endeavor would require a fair amount of elbow-rubbing.
Hermione set her purse on her lap and dug her hand into the small satchel until her fingers closed around the tiny box which contained Ron and George's newest invention, the Fly on the Wall. It had already been charmed and tested. All she needed to do was let him fly into the corner booth when Malfoy was distracted. She'd hear every word said like she was right beside them.
"Granger." Draco came up to her left and rested his hand against the bar. She concealed the box below her wallet and draped her arm at her side, proud of her own stealthiness.
He was close enough that she could feel his body heat against her arm, but she had no choice but to turn fully toward him if she wanted to set the fly loose without being noticed.
"Oh, Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise," she said as she twisted around and looked him in the eye, daring him to challenge her right to be there. He seemed frozen in place for a second as he looked down at her.
"For fucks sake—" he said, snapping himself out of it.
"Language."
His gray eyes flashed with annoyance. "We're not in the office anymore. I'll speak as I wish. You shouldn't be here."
She opened the small box inconspicuously and the fly buzzed into the air, moving where she guided.
"You never said I couldn't be here, Malfoy. Just that I couldn't accompany you." She raised her chin defiantly. "And I'm not here with you, so — piss off."
His scowl softened into a half-grin. "Language, Granger. Someone might hear you breaking your own rules."
"They aren't my rules." She kept her eyes trained on his, cautious not to look at his lips. "And piss off isn't as bad as—your favorite word."
His smile widened, tempting her further. "And what is my favorite word?"
"You know what it is," she bristled.
"I've no idea what you're talking about. You'll just have to say it."
"No!" Her jaw dropped at the suggestion. What were they, twelve?
"Oh come on, say it for me." He leaned against the bar beside her with an amused expression, clearly enjoying how flustered he'd made her.
"I'm not saying it, Malfoy."
"Saying what?" Zabini stepped up to the bar on the other side of her, looking between them with a devilish smile. She hadn't seen him in years. Tall. Lean. Sharply dressed. She felt awkwardly small sitting between the two.
Draco straightened up and raised a brow, the two of them sharing a strange look she thought must be reserved for old Slytherin cohorts. It was both dubious and cordial all at once.
"If you must know...I was trying to get her to say fuck."
Zabini laughed once out loud. "Well that's..." he placed a hand flat on his chest, "Improbable." He looked down at her like she was shamefully angelic.
"She thinks she's too good for basic four letter words," Draco jested. They were daring her, the pair of them looking at her like she had never said the word in her life. She had. Once or twice.
"Oh for the love of —" Hermione clicked her heel on the edge of the barstool and glared at the two men, eyes landing squarely on Draco's. "I know your dirty tricks."
"Not all of them." Draco took a step backward toward the booth and flashed her a quick smile that spoke of mischief.
Not flirtation. Certainly not.
Her stomach fluttered as she turned in her seat, lips parted in shock.
"Good to see you, Granger." Blaise winked and followed Draco toward the booth, and a strange feeling settled over her, like she was in a dream sequence where no one was acting predictably.
"Were they bothering you?" Hannah asked as she handed Hermione a cold mug of butterbeer.
"Not at all. Draco and I are—"
"So I see you still have a thing for her," Blaise said in a ribbing tone.
"Co-workers..." Hermione continued, her stomach somersaulting as she listened for Draco's response.
"Fuck off," he replied in a dry voice.
Hermione smiled somewhat stiffly as Hannah continued speaking, her attention focused elsewhere.
Blaise was being facetious of course.
A glass clicked against the table.
"You seemed awfully cozy."
"Looks deceive. She can't stand me."
"No one can," Blaise said with a laugh. "She's grown into quite a beauty."
"...You're not wrong."
"Are you feeling alright?" Hannah asked.
"Fine, fine—I've just got a lot on my mind," she replied quickly, resisting the urge to turn around on her barstool.
"—can't tell if you hate her or if you're secretly in love with her—" Blaise continued.
"Earth to Hermione..." Hannah interrupted again.
She resisted the urge to tell her to be quiet already. "I'm very sorry, Hannah. Can I have a water please?"
"—matter either way."
"Of course," Hannah said somewhat briskly. Hermione worried that she'd offended her old friend and felt a pang of regret. But —damn it— she really wanted to hear that.
"On that note, how is wifey?"
"Don't ask."
"That bad? The requisite five years are almost up aren't they?"
"Last month."
"Did you call me here to celebrate your freedom?"
"Not quite, no," Draco replied.
The sound of parchment rustling filled the empty air.
"This account number. I'm trying to figure out who it belongs to."
"Why do you need it?"
"Found it in Astoria's things. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been siphoning money off my accounts—"
"Here you go," Hannah said, handing her a glass of water. She wasn't as friendly this time.
"Thank you so much Hannah. I'm sure I'll feel better in a minute."
Hannah nodded and smiled tersely.
"—why you haven't left her yet?"
"If I leave her she's gets twenty percent. I'd rather just wait her out."
"I can nudge her along if you want."
Draco laughed lightly. "What will it cost me?"
"Absolutely nothing my friend. I've wanted to fuck your wife for a decade."
"I'm not so desperate that I'd offer her up to you Zabini. But I do need to know who owns this account."
After a few seconds of silence and more rustling papers, Blaise responded, "Alright. I'll see what I can find out."
Their conversation took a turn toward the far less interesting world of finance, and when they were both fully immersed in the values and risks of investing in foreign muggle stocks she waved Hannah over to apologize for her earlier behavior.
Twenty minutes later, she watched Blaise walk out the door from the corner of her eye. Hannah had returned to her customers and Hermione had spent the last few minutes turning the beginning of that strange conversation over and over in her mind. Her cheeks felt warm when she replayed their words.
Draco Malfoy and his wife were in a marriage contract, which just ended.
And his implied interest in her seemed utterly implausible. It must have been a joke. She was not Draco Malfoy's type. Not a pureblood. Not a polished aristocrat. And of course...not available.
She felt him step up beside her before she saw him.
"This was a perfect waste of your time, wasn't it?"
"Perhaps," she lied, "but only because you excluded me."
"I wish you'd trust me." His gaze was hot on her when she turned to face him and she felt almost guilty for what she had done. She was here because she didn't trust him, not an ounce, even though he'd done nothing but prove himself over and over for the last two years they worked together. He set his glass of firewhiskey on the bar, looking very much like he was about to abandon it half full and walk out.
Her chest rose and fell with greater effort all of a sudden. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted him to stay. Wanted to trust him. Wanted to know what that conversation meant.
"I'm trying." And before he could walk away, she asked in a flurry of words, "How did it go? Can he help us?"
His eyes dragged back to hers with a hint of reluctance. "He's looking into it. We're meeting again Friday."
"What was your cover story?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going but knowing for certain he wouldn't tell her. She hoped he wouldn't concoct a lie and break the small shred of trust that had developed between them.
"Doesn't matter. He bought it." He took another drink of his firewhiskey and set it down, looking again like he was about to flee.
"Draco?" She said his first name on a whim, hoping it would jar him into acknowledging her. It worked. "You're very good at this."
He swallowed. "Deceiving people? Yes, it's my greatest strength," he said bitterly.
"No," she took a breath. "I meant you're good at your job."
His expression softened and he was rendered speechless for several seconds. "Thanks."
"And you've made a decent partner so far."
He paused again, and looked at her curiously. Suspiciously. She thought perhaps she'd given him one too many compliments.
"So have you," he replied. His eyes landed on her butterbeer, and he seemed to lean a little into the seat behind him. Just sit down you dolt. "Do you ever drink anything stronger than that?"
She tightened her fingers around her mug. "Sometimes, yes." Feeling suddenly bold, she added, "Are you offering to buy me a drink?"
"Yes," he said, bringing his glass to his lips. She watched his Adam's apple move as the last of the whiskey went down.
"I take my firewhiskey with cranberry juice."
As he slid into the stool, he wore a puzzled expression. She had a feeling she was teetering on a tall ledge. Falling one way would expose her as an eavesdropper; falling the other would make her appear as interested in him. She wasn't.
She wasn't.
She was determined not to fall off the ledge.
Hannah took their drink order with a wary look, eyes studying Hermione to make sure she was alright with Draco's presence. Him ordering for her. Him paying.
Hermione knew it was quite strange, and possibly a bit foolish, but she smiled and waved her off.
He leaned in conspiratorially. "She's nicer to me when you're not around."
"Are you here often then?"
For Merlins sake, did she basically just ask him Do you come here often? Her cheeks flushed at the diversion of her thoughts and she resisted the urge to face palm.
"Adams and I come here on Thursdays while his wife runs her book club."
Adams sat directly in front of her at the office. A nice gentleman in his forties who had been with the ministry since they were first years. He was prone to dad jokes and pranks that would be welcomed at any Weasley family gathering. She had no idea he and Draco were friends outside of work.
"I've been to her book club," she said, nodding her thanks to Hannah as she slid their drinks toward them on white square napkins.
"Ahh, then you know why he avoids it at all costs."
"Their selection of books is...very interesting."
Romance novels were all well and good, but she had felt horribly uncomfortable sitting with a room of women discussing fictional relationships. Preferences on chest hair had been an amusing topic, but when the conversation devolved into the importance of length or girth she knew she was in the wrong club.
"So I've heard." He smiled and looked forward at the wall. "You're welcome to join us instead if you're looking for something to do with your Thursday nights."
"Drinking with the men? Oh, I'm not so sure I'd fit in."
"You don't seem to mind Potter and Weasley."
She wasn't sure if his shoulders stiffened or if she only saw what she expected. In fact, she'd been looking for things that validated her opinion of him for several years. Confirmation bias at its ugliest.
"I do sometimes. I mind listening to the pair of them go on about quidditch and women and all their shenanigans."
"Do you prefer the company of women then?" He swirled his drink with a smirk as she shifted in her seat, uncertain what he was implying.
"I prefer the company of people who can hold an intelligent discussion. Quite hard to come by regardless of gender."
He laughed and her expression changed into one of horror. She had insulted several people with that comment.
"Did you trick me into saying that?"
"I didn't have to."
Her mouth skewed sideways and eyes narrowed like she was onto him, though she knew very well that he was right.
"So are you ever going to get around to marrying Weasley?"
She took a drink, buying herself a moment to think of a response, when the truth was unclear, even to her. They'd been engaged for years and still hadn't set a date.
"We're not in a hurry." She couldn't meet his eyes. "Marriage is a big step."
"It is," he agreed. He glanced at her and then away. "But if you're not certain after this many years, that ought to tell you something."
She dragged in a breath and held it for a second. It had told her something, quite awhile ago, but it felt wrong to discuss any aspect of her relationship with Malfoy of all people. Ron would think of it as a betrayal, she was certain.
"How is Astoria?" She asked, steering the conversation back to him.
His eyes flashed with something as he ran his thumb along his jawline. "Fine I suppose. We don't see much of one another with all the hours I've been working."
She felt a pang of disappointment that he didn't tell her the truth he'd told Blaise. But it was a private matter, and the Malfoy's were a notoriously private clan.
"Strange that you and I spend more time together than we do with our significant others, isn't it?" She wasn't sure why she pursued this line of conversation. She was awfully close to that ledge again.
"And yet here we are together, sharing a drink after work," he replied quietly. She didn't miss the way his thumb traced the ridge of his glass. "Like fifty-some hours a week just aren't enough."
"One would almost think we enjoy each others company," she said, dangling a foot into the unknown.
He looked intensely at a spot on the wall ahead of him. "Not so difficult to believe, is it?"
"A bit." She swallowed her apprehension as his eyes darted to her face, looking for the meaning in her words. "There was a time when you found my presence in this world quite intolerable."
He drew in a breath, caught off guard by her bluntness. "I was a foolish child," he said as he turned in his seat to face her fully. "Cruel. I'd go back in time and punch myself if I could."
"I took care of it for you," she replied with a smirk, lightening the mood a little.
He let out an exasperated sound and rubbed his nose. "Thanks. You should know, my thoughts and actions were rarely aligned. I didn't want..." he shook his head and paused, unable to find his words. It was unlike him not to speak cohesively. "I mean to say...I'm sorry for treating you poorly."
His apology hit her harder than she had expected. He'd said he was sorry to her for quite a few random things over the last two years they had been working together, and she sometimes got the feeling that he was apologizing for something else entirely. Yet she could never quite allow herself to believe he was sorry. That he didn't secretly wish her and her kind out of existence. Hearing it said aloud meant something significant.
Her chest seemed to well with a strange weight as she turned toward him and met his eyes. Though he sat straight and looked as collected as ever to any onlooker, she knew him quite well and he seemed oddly vulnerable as he waited for her reply.
"Forgiven."
The word felt heavy, but once said, it was like a burden lifted.
He blinked rapidly, like he was shocked it was so simple. "I don't deserve your forgiveness." He swallowed and looked her over like he was waiting for her to retract it. "But I'll do my best to earn it from here onward."
A lump rose in her throat and, determined not to show how she felt, she forced her features to relax, her mind to sharpen. Doing her best to sound contrary, she raised a brow and replied, "Well if you're looking to earn your forgiveness, Malfoy, that's a different matter entirely. I'll accept drinks, gifts, compliments, surprise lunches, extra help on projects—" she ticked them off on her fingers as he smiled widely.
"Careful Granger. I'm more than capable of giving you all those things. But I don't think your fiancée would be very pleased."
She shifted under his intense gaze, which she imagined might be the same heated look he would gave to a woman just before he snogged her senseless.
It was her imagination playing tricks on her. She was certain of it.
"Nor your wife."
He blinked twice, his eyes leaving hers to glance quickly at her lips, her neck, back to her eyes.
"Astoria and I are-"
"'Mione." They each turned toward Ron's voice as he walked up, and Hermione did her best not to groan aloud. Timing Ron! The thought was quickly followed by deep shame, because she'd only just realized how close they were to one another. With a pang of regret that was reflected in Ron's eyes, she understood this didn't look very good at all. "Malfoy."
Ron's expression was closed, face slightly red as he glared at Draco, who downed the last of his firewhiskey in a painfully large swallow and set the empty glass on the counter.
"Are you alright?" Ron asked her.
"Yes of course. I told you I'd be home late this evening," Hermione said in a voice that was meant to de-escalate the situation. Yet her mind screamed wrong word choice!
Ron's jaw moved slightly, giving away the depth of his anger. "You said you'd be working."
"And I was—"
"We were here on ministry business," Draco said as he stood up. "But our meeting is over. Granger," he turned her way with a grin, giving the distinct impression that he was trying to irritate Ron. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Thank you for the drink," she said, spine stiffening as Ron looked at her like she had two heads. Maybe not the right thing to say, again, but it was only polite to show her gratitude.
Draco's eyes flickered with amusement. "Anytime."
When Ron failed to move out of his path, Draco brushed past him with a casual sidestep. With a shake to his head, he exited.
A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and follows! They inspired me to continue this fic for as long as people are reading. Hope you enjoyed chapter 2, and that you're all healthy and staying sane.