Song Suggestion: SAYGRACE- "You Don't Own Me" ft. G-Eazy… This song is the definition of Draco/ Hermione
Never is a Strong Word
Draco
Draco almost let out a noise of disgust as the vomit painted his shoes, but then he looked up. Hermione had one hand to her mouth, cheeks red, the rest of her pale. He should let this moment repulse him; instead, it cooled his anger. He spent this last week preparing for this moment, not knowing what he wanted from the encounter. At the very least, he wished to put something to rest inside himself, a terrible energy that left him pacing his room at night.
"Shit," she said.
Before things got anymore awkward, Draco took out his wand and vanished the sick. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Granger like this before.
"If you're ill, you should have called in. I'll be a demanding employer, but I'm not a monster."
"I—I'm not. I mean, I just…." She straightened, regaining her composure, rubbing the side of her skirt to smooth it, while looking off to the side
Everything about this was wrong: the distance between them, the injured golden thread that ached at random times of the day. He never realized how much a part of his everyday life she was until she removed herself.
Remembering, the pain rushed back in, still as sharp as it first began.
"What do you want?" She asked.
"Must you think I'm always scheming. Maybe I just thought you qualified for the position?"
She let out a strangled scoff.
"You denied me the ability to work anywhere else—even a fucking cafe—and you have the audacity to suggest you don't scheme."
She had a point.
Over the summer, Draco decided he refused to live without Granger. He could deal with her disdain, with her hatred, with her rejection, but he refused to live without her presence.
Draco sighed and walked behind the desk, sitting in the antique chair, still plush after several hundred years.
He folded his hands on top of the desk.
"As you must know, you've made many powerful enemies recently, including my father." He reached into the drawer, pulling out a stack of papers he assembled last night meant for the moment. "It will only be a matter of time before your blackmails will discover the source. I suspect some already know. They are dangerous but not compared to my father. Once he's out of Azkaban, he'll make you a leper to society. Even if you moved to another country, he has contacts around the world. You have nowhere to hide. I suspect you already know this or else you'd have already moved to Australia or somewhere like it." He paused, letting her absorb what he said, watching the mechanics begin to twist behind her eyes.
"I'm not afraid of him."
He shook his head.
"Working in my employ is the safest place to be right now. He wouldn't dare mess with my department."
Not when Draco was finally doing everything his father wanted. He wished to snarl the confinement he felt with just a glimpse of his future life and expectations as the head of the Malfoy family.
"And you expect me to believe you?" She almost growled.
"Is it so hard to believe I'd want to keep you safe. Even after everything, I…" He couldn't finish his sentence, sucking in a sharp breath. Everything started to cloud in his mind.
Didn't she understand he picked this department specifically for her? He could have had any section in the ministry.
"I'm not sure what to believe anymore." She touched the top of her stomach for a moment, as if remembering something. "I don't think this will work."
"Before you walk out, I want you to read these." He slid the papers across the desk toward her. "I expected your hesitancy. Consider this an olive branch. I really do think you'll be brilliant in this position."
She worried her bottom lip in indecision, but as he knew it would, her curiosity won out.
She reached for the papers and read through them quickly, watching as her eyes flickered with interest as she went.
"You want me to work to free the house elves? I…" Her voice caught.
"I have the books on legislation already on your desk. My contacts tell me there are some loopholes to consider, if we pressure just the right people."
"I don't know what to say."
"Just say you'll stay."
He won, saw it in the tremble of her hand. He just offered her everything she ever wanted with no strings attached, besides the small agreement to be near him.
"Okay," she said.
He couldn't stop the smile on his face, the brief jumping of his heart. It gave him such a rush, as if he just caught the golden snitch.
"Then get to work." He gave a wink. "I expect you'll have the full reports ready in a month."
"A week, at most."
"There's the swot I remember."
He relished the murderous look she gave him, feeling more alive than he had all summer.
Hermione
"Draco, I'm pregnant. If you don't want to be in the child's life, I understand. I promise I'll never tell a soul the baby's heritage. And I don't expect money or support or… I just thought you deserved to know before…"
Hermione sighed, gripping the sides of the sink, taking her eyes from the mirror, unable to look at her reflection. She felt like a sellout, trading her soul for the prospect of the career she wanted.
Hermione stroked her stomach, feeling the small bump hidden under a flowy shirt. She was only around seventeen weeks. The doctor told her most people begin to show around now, but that some people do not show for several more months, depending on their body. Hermione lived on borrowed time. A month or less and she'd need to tell Draco. But each time she tried, her throat itched, her eyes watered.
She'd rather face Voldemort again than tell Draco that in six months or less he'd be a father.
She sighed, washing her hands in the sink. At least, she felt better. The nausea abated in the last week.
Hermione walked out of the bathroom back to her desk where she saw a steaming hot mug of tea with honey waiting for her.
"Mr. Malfoy left it," the blonde girl named Susan said with a conspiratorial grin. Despite first impressions, the girl was nauseatingly nice.
"Of course," Hermione said, whishing he hadn't. It only made things worse, made her heart flutter when it shouldn't. He was her boss now, nothing more. A means to an end. A tool for her ambitions. Instead, she found in the past several weeks they fell into old patterns by default. They bantered daily, unable to help themselves.
Hermione gathered the papers on her desk into a neat stack. Picking them up, she walked to Draco's office, knocking softly.
"Come in."
When she walked in, she saw Draco bent over his desk, scribbling away on some scroll. Hermione had to suck in her breath at how beautiful he looked in concentration. His blond hair was shorter than at Hogwarts, clean cut along the edges, showing off the tense set of his jaw.
"You wished to see me?" She asked.
"Yes." He finally looked up. "I have good news."
Hermione looked at the only chair available, which was seated right by Draco's. Hermione hesitated, wondering if he did it on purpose or not. Sighing, she went ahead and walked over, plopping down into the buttery leather chair, sitting so close to Draco their shoulders brushed.
"I wished to give you these. Consider it an early birthday present."
The thought jolted her. She had almost forgot her birthday was in a few weeks. Of course, he remembered.
The past several weeks had been surprisingly easy. Draco stayed out of her way for the most part. Every morning she arrived on time, and she found a cup of tea or coffee on her desk, always precisely the way she liked it, along with a stack of books that could help in her research of magical law pertaining to sentient creatures.
As she suspected, the law was antiquated and oppressive when it came to non-wizard entities. But Hermione found a few inconsistencies in the process which she wished to push to the ministry.
Several weeks ago, like she promised, she delivered an entire caseload of information to Draco pertaining to house elves. Now, they just waited on the legal team to draft the strongest argument.
Draco slid the papers to them, and she gripped them like rare diamonds.
"They're going to take it on?" Hermione gasped in surprise after reading it.
"They aren't pursuing section 23, but the 1766 law amendment seemed shaky and corrupt even to me. I'm not sure they had sufficient grounds to pass it in the first place."
The 1766 amendment was about the legality of house elves being passed down like property. Before that, the masters had to earn the elves respect and loyalty. The elves in ancient times chose the wizard. Today, the elves were treated no better than slaves, unable to get away from even the most ruthless families.
If what Draco said was true, then the law could be repealed. Elves could have more agency than before in who they served. Not a perfect system, but a start. A real, tangible positive change in this world she could claim.
A bubble of happiness welled up in her. Her vision warbled with tears, and she let out a gasped cry. The stupid hormones in her body overwhelmed her.
"Hey, now…" Draco tilted her chin up, daring to touch her, and then let go. Hermione tried to remember why she didn't want him to. "You got what you wanted. Why are you crying?"
Her hormones betrayed her again and hope flooded Hermione. If they could work as a team to solve an issue so deep and systemic in society as house elf slavery, maybe they could figure things out as they went without antagonism.
Hermione gathered her courage. Now was the perfect time. She looked up into his eyes.
"Draco," she whispered. "I have to tell you something."
"Go on."
"You see. Things have changed and—"
"Go on," he said again, face coming closer, distracting her.
"Well, it's hard to say this, but—"
Their lips brushed together before she could finish. Hermione moaned into his mouth, like heroin racing through her veins, and he reacted the same, giving a shudder as he pulled her up so that she sat on the desk in front of him. Her hand slipped to his head, tangling her fingers in his short hair. Before she could get control of herself, he slipped between her legs, mouth hot on her own. He gripped the edges of her skirt, as if about to rip it off or pull them up.
She wasn't sure how she pushed away, despite her body singing, despite every inch of her body burning and betraying her mind. But one moment, his lips consumed her, the next she was across the room, taking sharp breaths.
Draco looked tousled, lips red, hair mused. He tugged at the corner of his collar loosening his tie.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That was not what I intended."
Hermione wanted to shake her head in her stupidity. He mistook her shame for anger. It hadn't been entirely his fault. She had been an equal participant. Though, despite what he claimed, she suspected Draco wasn't very sorry at all.
"Hermione," he said again, softer. "It won't happen again."
"You're lying."
He tapped the edge of the table with his long fingers.
"I promise on my family name. Not unless you ask for it."
"I never will."
He rolled his eyes.
"Never is a strong word."
And she worried he was right.
Working under Draco was dangerous. Too dangerous. It made her question her mind, her thought, her ideals, her beliefs. It would be easy to fall back into his arms, as if he wasn't engaged to be married, as if they had a future. They were magnets. When in close proximity, they'd snap together. It was inevitable.
She couldn't let herself. Not when she had so much to lose.
She stumbled backward, clutching the door handle.
"Granger," he said again. He held his hands up in surrender to soothe her.
She shook her head and exited as fast as she could manage like a wraith nipped at her heels. When she got to her desk, she gathered up her purse and extra papers and nearly ran out the office. Susan gave an alarmed look.
"What's wrong—"
Hermione didn't wait for her to finish before she exited the office, not stopping until she barreled out of the ministry.
Draco
The next morning, Draco hovered around the entrance to the office. Hermione arrived early, like she usually did. Her face looked pale, hair wild. Something was wrong. It was more than the kiss.
Hermione held a scroll tight to her chest, chewing on her lower lip in worry, when she glanced up and noticed Draco. If possible, her face blanched more.
"I need to see you in my office," he said while she slid off her purse and placed it in a drawer.
She nodded in agreement without looking at him.
As he walked back, she followed him. Even without looking at her, he could guess her expression, the placement of her hands, the shuffle of her feet. He seemed to be aware of every inch of her. Instinctively, he searched out the link, still frayed and bleeding.
She gasped when his magic went and wrapped around it, just to soothe the ache.
"Don't," she whispered.
He pulled away the magic, unwilling to risk her ire any more than he had.
When Draco entered his office, he sat in his leather chair.
"Sit," he said. But she refused, keeping herself upright. "Fine. Stand if you wish." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a glass decanter of Ogden's finest, pouring a small amount into a glass. "Do you want any?"
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. He shrugged and let the amber liquid rest against his mouth, looking over the glass at her, wishing to wiggle into her mind. What did she want? How could he fix this? The answers lay somewhere, but nothing seemed clear. There was something he was missing. He tilted the glass, letting the liquid burn down his throat in a pleasant way. After, he let it click against his desk.
"I've said it before," he said, wishing to get rid of the oppressive silence. "But I'm sorry. Sometimes it's hard to get rid of past… impulses."
The oppressive silence returned. He wished for her to scream, to shout, to stamp her foot. He could take any emotion from her except for indifference. He'd rather she hate him.
Finally, she reached into her pocket and extracted a single note. She walked forward and placed it on his desk.
"It's my two weeks' notice," she explained.
The meaning didn't hit him until he pulled the paper and smoothed it.
"No," he said. "I refuse it."
"I can't work with you Draco."
Everything inside him emptied out, feeling the same gnawing void that consumed him this summer.
"What about the house elves? The centaurs—"
"It's not enough," Hermione said. "Even the best of causes isn't worth my soul."
"That's rather dramatic. I'm not in the business of souls."
Didn't she understand? Being away from her was torture. He'd forgotten this last month what life was like without her. Now he remembered. The long hours stretching out before him, the minutes twisting into eternity. Even if they never touched again, he wished her to stay.
"I can't, Draco." She looked away. "You're lying if you think it won't happen again. I think we both need to realize we can't be friends. It's too easy to go back, even if you had the best intentions."
He stood up and swiped the contents of his desk off. The sound of shattering glass and rustling papers followed.
"No!" He placed his hand flat on his desk.
"You can't stop me."
He was breathing hard, he realized. Giant gulps of breath that probably made him look unhinged.
"Please… don't go." He didn't care if it sounded like begging. He'd beg if she wanted. He'd do anything in his power.
"Two weeks is too long." She still refused to look at him. "I quit."
He never felt so powerless, so defeated, so empty as when she turned around and walked out with a purpose. Nose held high in her determined walk, only stopping to gather her purse. Something inside him shattered, more violent than before. It burned through him.
"It won't be that easy," he whispered, clenching his fist to the side.
And then Draco calmed. He reminded himself that he needed to be patient.
There were still things she didn't understand. Consequences to the games they played.
Soon enough, she'd come back.