Author's Note: This is a gift for my dear and wonderful friend, Seakays, on her birthday. I hope you have an amazing day. Your friendship and support mean so much to me.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise; no copyright infringement is intended.
Grey eyes sat on her from across the board room, as they sometimes did, and Hermione did her best to push the unwanted attention from her mind.
She had work to do, deadlines to accomplish, and legislation to submit. It was as simple as that, and if anyone thought themselves immune from the work that went into being a valued member of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione had no interest.
And if some of her disdain stemmed from unresolved issues in the past, it couldn't be helped.
Redoubling her focus, Hermione jotted several notes onto the parchment before her, the nib of her quill digging in a little too deep. A few drops of ink spilled onto the page and smudged a line. Stubbornly ignoring the feel of eyes searing into her temple, she waited out the rest of the meeting, an anxious jiggle to her foot beneath the table.
The three divisions of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures only combined altogether once or twice a month―for which Hermione was grateful―but it was still more often than she would have liked. As a member of the coveted Beings Division, Hermione rarely saw the poor sods from Spirits.
But Beings and Beasts had been collaborating more frequently, which brought her into the path of someone whose presence she typically preferred to avoid.
Not just because she could only ignore his stare for so long.
Her attention drifted towards the end of the meeting into the typical dilemma. Whether she ought to pack her things and escape as quickly as possible, or if it was best to linger and wait until everyone else had gone. Both had backfired on her before.
And though Hermione was a Gryffindor at heart, even years after leaving Hogwarts, she had long ago learned that certain situations weren't helped along by blind courage.
In the case of Draco Malfoy, running away was almost always preferable.
Given the way his focus had been on her for approximately forty percent of the meeting, she suspected the former was the optimal plan of action.
Upon closure of the meeting, Hermione jammed her parchment into her satchel and screwed the lid onto her pot of ink. She leapt to her feet as she slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, making for the door without staying for the typical post-meeting gossip.
She slipped through the door, at last feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders, and rolled out her neck as she made a path back to the Beings Division from the hub at the far end of the floor.
Just as soon as she let down her guard, she heard the staccato click of footsteps approaching, and a taller figure fell into stride, his long steps easily catching up to her.
Briefly, Hermione allowed her gaze to drift sidelong and upwards. Blast it if Malfoy wasn't obnoxiously attractive.
Even so, she sniffed. "Malfoy."
"Granger."
How had he caught up to her so fast? When she left the room he'd still been in his seat, conferring with his neighbour.
They walked in silence, navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the department, and Hermione wanted desperately to inquire as to why he was bothering her. Or why he had fixated on her through much of the meeting.
He didn't even work in the Beings Division, so as soon as they crossed the delineation from Beasts to Beings, Hermione turned towards him with lifted, expectant brows.
"You missed your office," she announced, folding her arms across her chest.
His lips pulled sour. "I wasn't going to my office."
"Then why, pray tell, are you walking at my side without speaking? This is incredibly awkward."
Malfoy levied a long, irritated sigh. "I missed your birthday. Happy belated."
Hermione blinked several times, the words catching her off guard. Never mind that he'd said them as though drawn painfully from his throat. He ground his jaw, grey eyes flitting towards hers, and she felt a fluttering of warmth in her cheeks.
"My birthday was two weeks ago," she said, forcing her gaze from his.
"And I haven't seen you since before then."
She couldn't help the way her stomach twisted at his words; at the seemingly genuine peace offering. But she forced the feelings back. "At any rate," she said, picking up the pace as she grew nearer to her own office, "you certainly don't need to worry about whether or not you wished me a happy birthday. I'm surprised you even remembered."
Malfoy fell silent, though he still didn't relent on his awkward mission to walk to her to office. Finally he said, "I remember everything you ever told me, Granger." They came to a halt in the corridor outside of her office, and for a brief, crippling moment, she feared he might ask to come in. But he simply jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, gaze flicking to hers once more, before he nodded. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."
Then he turned to walk away, and her stomach sifted through a variety of feelings before she called, "Malfoy!" He stopped but didn't turn around, and lamely, she finished with a quiet, "Thanks. It was a nice birthday."
He carried back down the corridor.
The issue with the fact that Hermione worked in the Beings Division, and Malfoy in the Beasts, was that a substantial upcoming project―on which Hermione hoped to work―would be a collaboration between the two.
She could only hope Malfoy wouldn't be selected for the team or she would have to deal with him every day. But it was a vague, weak hope, when she knew he was one of the best in Beasts.
At the heart of the matter, she knew it wasn't fair. They had worked together in the same department for five years now, and she knew better than most that he wasn't the boy he had been before the war. Hell, she'd known that years ago. He was a hard worker, and to the surprise of many, he genuinely cared about the legislation he produced and the marginal communities he served.
Despite her best efforts, Hermione had simply never quite been able to stow the mixed bag of emotions he made her feel.
Unfortunately, less than two years out of Hogwarts they'd been co-workers, and upon seeing him across the department for the first time, everything she had once thought she felt for the man came flooding back in. It was too much, while simultaneously, it wasn't enough.
It was never enough to ignore him, to push him to the back of her mind. Because with one glimpse of his silver eyes, a flicker of the wry humour she remembered so well, it all came rushing back.
The way she had felt; the way she had believed he felt the same.
And time and again, it all came crashing down around her. Avoidance had become her primary coping mechanism, indifference her shield. She simply didn't have a weapon to wield against him, and it grew tiresome even as she felt her own grip on her composure slip.
The next week, Hermione's fears came to fruition with the churning of nausea in her stomach. The team for the new legislative project between Beings and Beasts was announced, and while Hermione was thrilled to have been selected, a part of her excitement was smothered by the irritation she felt at seeing Malfoy's name on the list.
Rapidly quashing the flicker of disdain that suggested she didn't want to participate at all if he were on the team, Hermione steeled herself for the first meeting and stepped into the room.
The only open seat in the board room was beside Malfoy―she might have even thought it to be intentional―and she slipped onto the far edge of the seat, keeping her gaze carefully trained away from him.
If only it were so easy to ignore his presence.
Hermione rummaged in her satchel for her ink and quill, ignoring the feel of his eyes on her as he offered a quiet, "Good day."
"And you," she huffed, brusque and unfriendly, laying out a stack of parchment. She chanced a look his direction.
His blond hair was impeccable as always, a chunk of his fringe hanging across his storm cloud eyes; the strong lines of his jaw were hard at her tone. He simply laid out his materials on the table before him, and Hermione tried to ignore the deft movements of his long fingers.
Tried and failed to keep her imagination from running away with her.
To her intense embarrassment, she felt a flush creep into her cheeks, and her body betrayed her with a tightening of her core. It was unacceptable, and the meeting hadn't even begun. She searched her mind for any excuse to skip the meeting when the project coordinator walked to the front of the room.
Hermione forced herself to settle back into her seat, and she distracted herself by jotting the date in the top corner of her page; she cursed the slight tremble in her hand.
Fortunately, Malfoy didn't seem to have noticed her reaction to his presence. Though when she slid her gaze sidelong, his lips twitched with amusement. She scowled at her parchment.
The team consisted of five employees from each of the Beings and Beasts divisions, so all Hermione had to do was keep Malfoy at a distance. Surely, she was professional enough to keep her distraction at bay; especially because she couldn't stand the man.
She spent the majority of the meeting jotting idle notes while her mind spun through ways she could possibly avoid Malfoy for the duration of the project.
As the project leader, a man called Henry, wrapped up the overview, he turned to the group. "We'll meet weekly as a group, but for the rest of the week I'm going to pair you up to work on smaller components." Hermione froze, her hand tensing around her quill as he listed off pairs. She nearly groaned aloud when the man finished with, "Malfoy and Granger."
A harsh breath fell from her lips, her vision blurring as the words rattled through the back of her mind. She opened her mouth to interject but Henry continued on. "That'll be all for now. Please spend the rest of the afternoon familiarising yourselves with your tasks and partners."
Hermione remained in her seat, gaze fixed on her parchment as the rest of the group began to pack up, afraid she might say something impulsive. In her periphery, she registered Malfoy's attention on her as he leaned back in his seat and folded his arms.
Grinding her jaw, she slowly prepared to leave. Finally, she released a rattling breath and cast him a baleful look.
Malfoy's mouth tweaked into a smirk and he drawled, "Partner."
"You did this on purpose somehow," she hissed. "I don't know how, but―"
"Please." He rolled his eyes. "I had nothing to do with it. You think I want to deal with your attitude towards me for the next several months?" He rose from his seat and slung the strap of his satchel over one shoulder. "Believe it or not, I'm not any more keen on this arrangement than you are but I am not willing to stake my job on it. Your office or mine?"
Fuming, Hermione gaped at him, dredging through the uncharitable thoughts that swirled through her head, but finally she clamped her jaw shut. He habitually brought out the very worst of her and she was mature enough to acknowledge the fact, even if she wasn't so much as to force herself to grow out of it. "I don't want you in my office."
Malfoy pressed his fingers to his temple. "I'm not going to sully your fucking―fine. Mine it is."
She walked stiffly at his side as they left the room and ventured through the twisting corridors into the Beasts Division. Despite the old animosity that always lingered beneath the surface between them, Hermione knew he had been instrumental in the passing of several pieces of legislation over the years, and she couldn't fault him his efforts.
And she knew he had a strong work ethic―he had always been second only to her at Hogwarts.
It didn't mean she was ready to let go of her irritation with the man.
She had never been in his office, and was surprised to find it moderately personalised. Attractive artwork hung on the walls, and his desk was tidy and organised. A potted plant sat atop a stool by the door, and Hermione found herself distracted by the fact that he had a plant.
A round table with two chairs took up one corner, and instead of sitting at his desk, he took a seat at the table. Although she would have rather done any great number of unpleasant things, she followed suit and withdrew her meagre notes from the meeting.
They parsed through their component of the project―a new initiative for greater employment rights and benefits for all beasts and beings involved in any form of work―in a tense, uncomfortable silence.
Hermione kept her gaze carefully fixed on her work, and not only because she didn't want to invite conversation.
A part of her was afraid to be alone with him―was afraid of the traitorous thoughts that might break free if she were to allow them.
Working together in a silence that didn't quite fit, she was reminded of the countless hours they'd spent studying together in their final year at Hogwarts after the war. As two of only a handful of students who had returned to complete their NEWTs, they'd been forced into one another's orbit all too often.
With proximity came tense conversation―and eventually, understanding. Healing.
Hermione could still remember the first night she had seen him lower the outermost walls he'd worn as a protective cloak―and the way the rest of the layers had crumbled in time.
Eventually, Malfoy laid down his quill, jerking her from the memories; Hermione forced the thoughts to the back of her mind. It was a different time and a different situation.
"Look," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "You and I are going to be working on this project for the next few months together. I don't know about you, but I'd prefer if it wasn't stifled as fuck."
Hermione blinked at the blatant assessment, but colour clawed its way into her cheeks. "I don't care if we don't get along. We have work to do, and we're both mature enough to do it. I hope."
"Of course we are," he drawled, but fell silent for a long moment. "Hermione, don't you think it's time we attempt to put the past behind us?"
She hadn't heard him use her given name in a personal context since they'd still been at Hogwarts. Whispered late at night in the library, as the candles burnt to their bases. Spoken as part of a private joke. Breathed against her skin.
Forcing herself to meet his gaze was a mistake. One glimpse sent a flood of memories rushing back at her, but she couldn't manage to look away.
In the wake of her silence, he spoke again, the words soft and apologetic. "I wish we could move on from everything that happened. Genuinely, I do."
Still, Hermione remained silent. Her heart thumped in her chest, anxiety racing through her veins. "I don't care," she breathed at last. "It was a long time ago."
"Then why do you still hate me so much."
In the words she caught a glimpse of that side of him she had once known. The first glimpse since eighth year, when he had walked away from everything between them without so much as a reason.
"I don't hate you―"
"Hermione, please," he ground through his teeth. His grey stare flashed, imploring. "Five years we've worked together, and still you won't talk to me."
Horror welled within her as her eyes stung with the insistent press of moisture, the edges of her vision blurring. "I can't do this right now," she whispered, shoving her materials into her bag as she blinked back tears. "You had plenty of chances to talk. I don't want to speak to you, Draco, because I don't want to know why you decided I wasn't enough."
He flinched, and as she rose from her seat, resignation flickered across his features. He followed her to the door, leaning against the wall as she lingered on the threshold.
"I'll do my part of the assignment," Hermione huffed, unable to meet his stare, "and we'll do out best to get through this project. I'm not losing my job over this. But I have no interest in anything beyond that."
Wondering at the intensity of the pain that wrenched through her chest―the raw emotion on his face―she walked away.
For weeks, the air between them remained stilted but composed. As though following her wishes, Malfoy was polite but distant, and they proceeded on their part of the collaboration with a cool professionalism.
Hermione hated it.
After their conversation in his office the first day, she had scarcely been able to sleep. The strain behind his words―the despair that had haunted his eyes―lingered in the back of her mind. She felt fatigued, as though she were re-living the way everything had fallen apart between them.
He had been her rock, her confidant, the one who helped her chase away the darkness and the shadows that followed her out of the war.
She thought she loved him; she'd wanted him to be her first.
Even now, she could still remember the feel of his lips on hers, the first time they'd kissed. It had only been a kiss, but it had felt like everything. Like the earth had shifted just slightly on its axis, and everything suddenly became a little clearer.
Fanciful notions from a mind that Hermione had always considered far more pragmatic.
But he had awoken a part of her that was allowed to dream again―to consider a future away from the hardships and struggles that had characterised her first seven years of the wizarding world.
Being so close to him for the past five years had thrown into stark relief the fact that she had never completely moved on. For five years, a lump had been lodged in her throat at the thought of him; her heart raced at the sight of him, and she almost couldn't handle the sound of his voice.
Anything to do with him now only reminded her of the future she had once longed for―and the way it had all fallen apart at the seams without so much as a word.
Coldness had replaced the warmth in his eyes, and indifference filled his words as she watched his walls return overnight, stronger and more protective than before.
And the man she'd thought she knew better than herself became a stranger once more.
As the final week of Hermione's forced partnership with Malfoy arrived, she felt inwardly torn. While she didn't care to be stuck working with him every day, they were productive together, and their part of the project had received acclaim from both the heads of their respective divisions.
Even more so, despite the animosity that had characterised their early meetings and still lingered beneath the surface, she had grown altogether too used to his company.
It felt like eighth year all over again―how they had started working together in the library each night. Then little by little, the way Hermione had come to see him in a different light.
She couldn't explain it, when she saw him every day, but she missed him.
Missed the easy way they'd had back then, when the rest of the world became a blur beyond the secure confines in which they existed. Her heart stung when she thought of the hope she had once carried. Depended upon.
Now, the quiet, polite way they conversed made her feel like they were little more than acquaintances.
"Nearly through," he announced, looking up from his work and jolting Hermione from her thoughts. He coiled a scroll of parchment and handed it across the table, careful to avoid touching her hand as she took it from him. "With any luck we'll be done with this project in the next few days."
Hermione forced herself to nod, despite that her chest felt painfully tight. "Right. Yes, of course."
Malfoy hesitated for a moment, as though uncertain whether to speak further. At last he released a long breath, fiddling with his quill. "You'll be happy to learn you won't have to put up with me much longer."
She stared at him for a moment, trying to unravel the context. "Because we'll no longer be collaborating."
His expression briefly faltered. "No. Because I'll be leaving the department."
"You're... what?" Instantly, she felt a rush of shame flood through her, and Hermione frowned as she met his stare. "What do you mean? Why would you be leaving?"
Glancing away, he shrugged. "I suppose it's just time I move on. I submitted a request for transfer last week."
"But―" She pursed her lips, grappling for the words. "But why? You've done some great work here."
Malfoy barked a laugh, but it was all wrong. It was cold and humourless, like he were mocking her. "I'm surprised you've noticed. I have, yes, but it doesn't matter. There's a good chance I'll be able to get on with another department so I won't have to leave the Ministry altogether―you just won't have to deal with my presence here any longer."
Hermione gaped at him. "What? You can't possibly tell me you're leaving the department because of me."
"I am leaving," he began, "because I didn't realise until recently how much strain I've been putting on you by working here. And it isn't fair that I continue to make you feel that way. It's bad enough I hurt you back at Hogwarts, Hermione. And maybe, selfishly, I wanted to continue working here because some stupid part of me always hoped you might stop hating me for it one day." He blew out a shuddering breath and offered a grimace. "Obviously, it's best for both of us if I get out of your space."
Despite herself and the visceral shock coursing through her, she felt a flare of irritation. "How do you get to say what's best for both of us? Please don't presume to know me so well that―"
"Hermione," he breathed, the word little more than an exhale. She clamped her lips shut. "Even if I don't know you anymore, I knew you well enough once. You're still incredibly transparent with your feelings." He offered a tiny, sad smile. "It was one of the things I grew to like the most about you."
Hermione realised she was trembling. "You don't get to say things like that," she said, anger mixing with the despair that hung tight in her chest. "Not when you left me without so much as a goodbye."
"I know." He looked exhausted, strained. He dragged a hand down his face. "And I'll be gone next week and you won't need to deal with me any longer."
Her throat felt tight, her skin too warm, and she feared she might start crying. Instead, she clung to the anger his words had evoked, drawing at wounds from years ago that had never quite healed over. "Fine," she huffed, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended, "run away. It seems to be what you do best."
Malfoy squared his jaw, unimpressed. "I did not run away, nor am I doing so now. Believe it or not, Hermione, but I've always tried to do right by you."
"I don't believe it," she snapped. "Not even in the slightest. Because you sure as hell didn't do right by me when you left me bloody heartbroken over you―" She fell silent, realising she was on the verge of shouting; tears broke from her eyes as she slumped in her seat. "You know what―forget it. Have fun in your new department."
Dropping his face into a palm, he drew in a deep breath and blew it out. She half expected him to rise to the bait, to throw something back in her face―some part of her longed for it. She needed the reminder that she didn't care about him anymore. But he only muttered, "Thanks. I will."
Hermione stared at him, sliding her work into her bag. She deflated, feeling the ire seep from her. "Are you ever going to tell me what I did wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong," he clipped, still keeping his gaze fixed away from her. "I was an idiot, and I can't take that back. I thought... never mind what I thought. I never deserved you, anyway."
"That was my decision to make," she whispered, shifting forward in her seat.
His grey eyes lifted to her at last, and if she wasn't mistaken, they were glassy. "Nothing I say now will make what I did better."
The note of finality in the words felt like a blade to her heart, and she rose from her seat. If he still wasn't willing to talk to her, then no, it probably never would matter. She hated the way she allowed his words to carry so much weight after so long, and her heart didn't hold a response.
After a final, restless week amongst all the participants, the legislation was drafted and submitted to the Wizengamot, the collaboration at its end. While Hermione might have celebrated the important strides they'd made in the lives of beings and beasts, the victory felt bittersweet.
She approached Malfoy's office the next day, lingering outside when she found the door open. With a tentative knock, she froze when he glanced up at the interruption. Something flickered across his face but his expression remained otherwise stoic.
When she looked closer, she could see him sorting things into a box. Without a word, he returned to his task.
Hermione felt colour sting her cheeks. "May I come in?"
"If you must."
Irritation under-girded the mingling of sorrow and regret that had built within her for a week―much longer, if she were truly being honest―and she scowled at him. Still, she stepped through the doorway.
"Are you packing?"
He flashed her a sardonic look. "Congratulations, Granger. As astute as they always said you were."
Hermione bristled. "You don't need to be a prick."
Malfoy softened, his statuesque stance deflating a little, and he released a breath. "Yes, I'm packing. My new position begins tomorrow." He carefully shifted something to the side of the box to fit something else in.
Hermione bit her tongue on the urge to ask why he didn't simply use magic. "Where are you going?" she asked instead.
"Department of Transportation," he replied, distracted by his efforts. "I tried to get on with International Cooperation for the Quidditch perks, but they didn't have anything available for six months." When she didn't respond, he snickered. "It was a joke, Granger."
She couldn't quite manage a smile. "That sounds nice," she offered. "They'll be lucky to have you." Some innate sense of nostalgia and sadness drove the words, and when he cocked a brow, she wished she hadn't said anything at all. Wished she hadn't even approached him in the first place, when he was clearly too busy to have a proper conversation with her.
But finally, he looked up at her. Strode over and reached around her to press the door shut with long fingers. "What are you doing here, Granger? Come to make sure I'm actually leaving? Or is this some ill conceived attempt to set things straight before we part?"
He had been right, the last time they'd spoken; he could still see through her.
"None of the above," she said, lifting her chin and forcing herself to meet his gaze. His hand came off the door but he didn't step away. She waved a hand at the potted plant on its stool beside the door. "I only came by to see if you're taking this plant with you."
He barked a short, surprised laugh. "Of course I'm taking it with me. This plant is flesh and blood."
Her lips twitched. "Drat."
"If you're that jealous of my plant, Granger, surely you could get one of your own."
"Maybe I will," she returned, though the words didn't even carry the mocking ire she'd intended. She fingered one of the wide leaves. "It's a nice plant."
Malfoy sighed, folding his arms as he stared down at her. "I know you're not here to ask about my office plant. So what do you want?"
Measuring her words for a long moment, she finally gave up. "You were right. I don't want things to end like this. I don't want you to leave the department because of me―" She drew in a deep, rattling breath. "Maybe I don't want you to leave the department at all."
"Too late," he bit out, though his blank expression faltered. "It's already been arranged. I thought you'd be happy."
"Why would this make me happy?" she choked out. "I never wanted to drive you away, Draco. I've only ever wanted to know why everything was so bad for you that you couldn't even talk to me. Why you walked away as if I meant nothing to you."
"Merlin, Granger," he huffed, dragging a hand down his face. "You didn't mean nothing to me. You meant bloody everything to me."
The words struck like a blow to the chest, even so many years later. "Then why, Draco?"
He sank back against the door, gaze drifting to the ceiling as a flicker of anguish passed his face. "I never wanted to walk away, Hermione. But I had a chance to protect you and I had to take it."
"Protect me from what?"
"My father." The words were ground out with a cold ire, his jaw set in a hard line. "He found out about us―he threatened your life, Hermione."
The words clanged around the back of her skull.
But Draco pressed on. "Surely you remember he narrowly avoided going to Azkaban after the war by throwing a laundry list of names and a mountain of galleons at the Wizengamot. He didn't care for the idea of you and I, to put it lightly. He was going to go after you, and I thoroughly believed him. My father... was never the same after the war. The only way to get him to leave you alone was to walk away."
Even as he spoke the words, she could scarcely comprehend what he was saying. She could remember all too well the way Lucius Malfoy had slowly descended towards madness; the way he had wasted away and passed on the year before. She remembered wondering how Draco had taken it, but she had never found the courage to ask.
All she could say was, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you would fight it," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I knew you would resist, and say you weren't afraid, and tell me all the reasons why it was worth it―but it was never worth it, Hermione. Not for you. It was always a reminder that I never actually deserved you. I was never worth it."
Hermione could see him only as a blur through the tears that filled her eyes. "You were worth it to me."
"We were young," he said, his face strained. "You would have tired of me after we left Hogwarts. I only would have brought you down and I couldn't put you at risk over my own naive hopes that we might have somehow survived the cruelty of the world."
"So you made the decision for both of us," she managed, the words tight as everything he was saying pieced itself together. "You left me to wonder for seven years what I'd done to push you away."
"I thought you would move on," he ground out. "I didn't even realise―I thought I'd be nothing to you after some time apart."
"You aren't nothing," Hermione choked. "You never have been."
His shoulders sank as he slowly shook his head. "Hermione. I wanted you to move on―needed you to move on."
They'd never spoken with such vulnerability―not since those early days together in eighth year. "I've tried. But I can't help it. Nothing compares to what we had. I've spent years wondering what might have been."
Draco's gaze sought hers, though his eyes were filled with despair. Regret. "So have I."
Her lower lip trembled and she bit down hard. "Don't leave."
"It doesn't change anything," he said quietly. "As much as I wish it did. I still don't deserve you―and you need better than a Death Eater."
"I haven't thought of you as a Death Eater since I was eighteen, Draco."
"That doesn't change the facts," he drawled, a bitter clenching to his jaw. "Or the way the rest of society sees me. I refuse to drag you into my mess again."
Hermione stepped forward, peering up at him as she gnawed her bottom lip. "It isn't dragging if I want to go willingly."
"Hermione." He assessed her for a long moment, his face falling stoic again. "I can't let you do that."
"There you go, trying to make decisions for us both again," she mused, swiping a rogue tear that threatened at the corner of one eye. "What about what I want?"
He hesitated, eyeing her as though he thought she might be feral. "And what do you want?"
"I already told you." Her gaze flitted to the plant. "I want this plant."
A breathy huff of laughter fell from his lips. "Fine. Keep the bloody thing if you want it so badly. It was a gift from my mother anyway; she'll be happy to know someone appreciates it."
"I want you, Draco."
From so close, she could hear the rough swallow; could see the heavy bob of his throat. He grimaced, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. "I mean, theoretically, departmental romances are frowned upon, so―"
"So take your position in Transportation, then," Hermione said, "and I hope they realise what an asset you are."
His grey eyes seared through her own with a tentative heat. "You're bloody serious?"
"Draco, I was always serious about you. Even back then. I didn't care about your past once I came to properly know you, and I certainly don't care now." Anxiety swelled in her chest as she stared up at him. "Unless of course, you don't feel the same way anymore, in which case, please ignore this―"
The words dropped from her lips as he grasped her by the shoulders, and she couldn't comprehend the voracious clamour of her heart as he ducked in and captured her lips with his own, one hand lifting to cup her cheek.
Hermione melted into his hold, sinking into the tentative kiss. For so many years, she had dreamed of his mouth on hers again, longed to feel his hands on her skin. She kissed him back, sliding her hands into his hair as he dragged her closer, shifting her around to press her back into the wall.
His tongue delved into her mouth as though making up for seven years without, and a whimper fell from her lips at the exhilarating rush that coursed through her. For a moment, she feared she might have been dreaming―until he bit down on her lower lip and drew a mild spike of pain.
He drew back at last, heavy breaths falling from his lips, grey eyes smouldering into her own. "Of course," he said gruffly, "I still feel the same. I never stopped, Hermione."
Her heart felt impossibly tight in her chest at the admission. "I've always wondered what our life might have been like," she breathed. "These last months working together have been―"
"Painful," he offered with a grimace. Hermione gave a nod as she released a sharp breath. Draco skimmed his fingertips lightly along her cheekbone, his eyes wide as though he couldn't quite believe it. "Maybe... maybe now we have the chance to find out."
"I'm in, Draco." A smile pulled at her lips that she didn't care to stop. "I can't wait."