Granger, Hermione Jean

Senior Potioneer

Hansen Laboratory

Draco stared at the engraved gold plate that hung just outside the corner office. The cold metallic glare reflected a distorted caricature of his face, elongating his already high cheekbones.

Clusters of employees shuffled from room to room all around him. A small group huddled off to the side at a collaboration table in front of a whiteboard, gesturing to their paperwork while muttering quietly. The low chatter and flutter of memos flying throughout the level faded to a quiet hum in his ears.

It had been nearly a month since Blaise handed him the contract with Granger's name on it, a knowing look in his eyes. Draco had agonised over the blank space on the contract from the moment the parchment landed in his hands. Now that he was stalling in front of her office, regret itched at him like cheap fabric.

Dozens of Draco's employees had the qualifications to take this job, but he had nitpicked and eliminated them one by one and tossed their files out until only his own remained. He justified it to himself that protecting a war heroine would provide the company—and his name—with positive publicity and that was the reason he wanted the job.

Frown lines had pressed into Blaise's cheeks when he saw Draco's name in place of the assignment, but he approved it anyway.

"Tempus," Draco muttered, checking the time.

Fifteen minutes.

Just fifteen minutes until the Portkey activated. There was no time to back out now. Fifteen minutes wouldn't allow for enough time to send in a replacement—hell, it would take him a month just to decide who he would trust alone with Granger for the week.

The quiet buzz of office conversation had died down considerably, and he was suddenly aware of curious looks pointed in his direction. The Hansen employees were probably wondering who Draco was and why he had spent the last few minutes openly panicking in front of Granger's office door.

Ten minutes.

If he wasn't careful, they might both miss the Portkey—which he had to admit was a tempting prospect.

A deep-seated ache settled in his chest. He was intimately familiar with the feeling; It was one that he had spent years trying to suffocate and repress. Even after all this time, his first instinct was to cave to the temptation of Occluding. Numbness tempted him, calling like a siren on the heavy seas.

Weak , his father's voice hissed at him. You have always been weak.

Draco could practically feel the hot breath and spittle against his cheek as if his father was next to him and not rotting away in a cell in Azkaban with a life sentence.

After releasing a shaky breath, he rapped his knuckles against the door, grounding himself with the feel of skin colliding against the rough grain.

"Come in!" Granger's voice was muffled by the thick wood door between them.

He straightened his tie and shoulders and turned the handle with a twist of his wrist before he could second guess his plan.

Despite his best efforts, he felt completely unprepared for this moment. The first sight of Granger in years knocked the wind out of him. It felt like he had been hit with a Jelly Legs Jinx and could barely support his own weight with his knees knocking beneath him.

"Yes?" she prompted, not looking up from the memo on her desk.

The sound of her quill scratching against parchment filled the air between them, and he watched as it looped across the page. Her curls were haphazardly piled on top of her head, secured with a hair tie. A few wisps of hair escaped her bun to frame her face.

It was just his luck that she was already having a bad day.

The office was the epitome of Granger; it even smelled like her perfume, a subtle yet sweet flowery scent with undertones of vanilla. It was the distinct scent that had wafted up from the spirals of steam in Draco's Amortentia during sixth year. A spare green jumper was tossed over the chair in the corner for when she inevitably grew cold, the walls were lined with bookcases, and her large desk was cluttered with piles of mismatched papers. Just to her right, there was a stain embedded into the wood in the approximate shape and size of the bottom of a standard teacup.

A vision of her looking up at him with tear-stained cheeks flashed before him, and he blinked it away, quickly fixing his face into a neutral expression.

"You know better than to leave your office door unlocked and unwarded, Granger," he chastised. Her lips parted and she inhaled sharply at the sound of his voice. "If I had been part of the pack, then you'd already be dead. You shouldn't let your guard down."

Her entire body tensed and her quill paused in its place on her parchment. His pulse raced through his veins as he waited for her to look up at him, but her eyes fixed downward. "If you were a true threat, Nancy would've cursed you to within an inch of your life long before you made it to the basement lab. I wasn't concerned."

"Nancy?"

"At the building entrance," Granger muttered, resuming her scribbles. Her nimble fingers hooked into the golden chain around her neck and followed the trail down to the globe shaped pendant. She twisted it with her fingers, the tips turning red from loss of circulation.

He thought back to the woman—Nancy—who provided him security clearance at the front desk. Though Nancy was frail in appearance, he hadn't appreciated the way her scrutinising stare pierced right through him. He didn't doubt Granger's assessment of the elderly woman's skills of discernment.

Finally, a pair of golden brown eyes flew up to meet his. They flickered with something soft just before a guarded haze settled over them; a stark contrast to the memory he had of the way she had once looked at him. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"

He picked absentmindedly at an invisible piece of lint on his suit coat, using it as a convenient excuse to break her gaze. "Business. I received an owl from your boss offering a handsome sum in exchange for your protection this week."

"Didn't you and Blaise have anyone else from your company to send?" There was a hint of desperation in her tone. "Why did it have to be you?"

Barely holding back a wince, he arched a single brow and replied, "What can I say? Your boss wanted the best."

"That still doesn't explain why you're here and not Nancy."

Draco's lips twitched. "Clever."

Her eyes dropped to his dragonhide shoes and trailed up his body. "Did you come directly from a gala?"

Actually, an emergency appointment with my mind healer, he quipped internally.

She sighed and pushed the stray flyaways from her face. "Besides, I told John not to bother with security."

"I'm aware." He settled his weight against the doorframe of her office and scanned the room with practiced nonchalance. "But there's a credible threat against your life and your company wants to protect their million Galleon investment."

Shoving her quill and parchment out of the way, Granger settled back in her seat with her arms crossed and glared up at him in a way that was so reminiscent of their school years he nearly laughed. "'Credible' is a subjective term. Plus, need I remind you that there have been credible threats on my life for nearly a decade? I'm better equipped to handle them than you are."

He couldn't help but relish the way her eyes widened just a fraction as he took slow and deliberate steps towards her. It gave him a twisted sort of pleasure to know she was affected by his presence as well. At the last second, he snagged the gold Galleon from her desk and flipped it in the air before catching it and repeating the action. "You know, I was surprised to hear that this is where you decided to start your career. I always thought you'd end up at the Ministry or as a professor at Hogwarts, and you'd spend your nights and weekends picketing outside Gringotts to free the Goblins."

"The Goblins are already free."

"As were the Hogwarts House Elves," he retorted. "That didn't stop your incessant knitting."

In mock wonder, she muttered, "Well, I don't know what to tell you. It's a mystery why the Ministry didn't want me."

He furrowed his brow. "You're the 'brightest witch of our age'. I don't believe for a minute that they didn't try to recruit you."

"If you must know, an ideal candidate for Ministry clearance doesn't break into the Department of Mysteries and aid in destroying an entire floor of classified and irreparable prophecies." She paused and cocked her head before adding, "To be fair, that alone might not have disqualified me, but they also had some pretty damning evidence of my misuse of a Time-Turner from third year that certainly didn't help my case."

Draco nearly dropped the Galleon at her admission but caught it just before it hit the floor. "You had a Time—"

"Either way, private research has more funding and fewer regulatory hoops to jump through than government work, and I promised...well, in order to accomplish the goals I'd set out, I needed more than the Ministry could provide."

"Considering you developed a breakthrough potion so groundbreaking you need security at twenty-two, I'd say you were successful."

Pursing her lips, she stood up from her desk and caught the Galleon mid-air. "About that: your services are no longer required. I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself."

It was impossible to ignore how Granger was just an arm's length away from him. "If that's what you say, then I suppose I'm going to have a Granger-free holiday in Paris by myself."

"What are you talking about?"

In lieu of a response, he slipped his hand into his suit coat and pulled out a small black box. He wiggled the box in the air in front of her.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw worked in annoyance. "John gave you the Portkey."

"I warned him if he didn't then you'd leave without me."

She didn't deny the accusation.

The space on the floor next to her was unsettlingly empty. "You aren't planning on living off of books for the week, are you? Where is your luggage?"

"Hilarious," she muttered dryly and pulled at her bun, tightening it. "Where is your luggage?"

"Already sent to the hotel."

"And everything of mine is here," she grumbled, patting a small beaded bag that was strung over her shoulder. "How long do we have?"

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from retorting. "One minute."

"I can hold the Portkey," she insisted, holding her palm up with her fingers curling inward in a beckoning motion.

"As if I'd be so naive as to give you full control over our transportation."

Her eyes tightened as she stared up at him, flashing with a challenge.

"Thirty seconds," he warned, nonplussed by her nonverbal threats. The box snapped open and revealed a bent hairpin.

With just moments to spare, Granger's fingertips landed next to his on the Portkey, a careful distance away from him.

Then the world began to warp around them.

Even though it had been a solid thirty seconds since the Portkey had delivered them to their new location, Hermione's head continued to spin. She struggled to focus her eyes as she wobbled in place, unable to tell which way was up. Her stomach turned with each sway, threatening to expel the dinner that she had scarfed down at her desk not ten minutes before Malfoy knocked on her door.

She clutched her stomach and groaned, "I think I'm going to be ill."

Without a second of hesitation, Malfoy rushed forward, and even through her dizzy spell she caught the way his hand lingered at her waist for a fraction of a second too long before he redirected its path to support her arm.

His free hand disappeared into the pocket of his suit, and he withdrew a small vial of yellow liquid, using his thumb to pop the cork. "Drink this; it'll help."

She didn't waste a moment to ask him what it was and downed it in one gulp. It had the faint aftertaste of bitter lemon but she could already feel the warmth returning to her complexion. "I haven't used a Portkey since the Quidditch World Cup. For the record, I still hate it." After returning the empty vial to him, she asked, "Did you just come prepared with an apothecary worth of potions, or was it pure luck that you had an Anti-Nausea potion on you?"

The queasy feeling in her stomach was quickly replaced with the knot that had formed the moment she looked up to see Malfoy's silver eyes watching her in her office.

Those same silver eyes were now watching her intently, waiting to see if the potion cured her motion sickness.

For a brief moment, she forgot about her discomfort and gawked at the sight of him standing in the sunlight. The office had been dark and dingy in the basement of her lab, and she had been more focused on his suit than anything. She could see now that the years had been kind to Malfoy. His formerly boyish features and pointy chin had developed into a strong jawline and set of broad shoulders that commanded attention. His voice was lower than she had remembered, deep and soothing to the ear.

Her gaze trailed downward to where his hand grasped her arm firmly, and he released his hold immediately.

Clearing his throat, he slipped the empty container back into his pocket and straightened his suit jacket. "I wouldn't say it's an apothecary's worth, but it's probably close. Anyone at the company who has proper training is given the necessary supplies for a job like this one."

"And you have proper training as a Healer?" She did a double take in disbelief. "When did you—"

A bell rang behind them, and a group of Muggles on bicycles whizzed past. Several shouted French expletives at the pair, presumably for standing in the middle of the pavement.

"That's the hotel." He nodded to the building directly behind them, redirecting the conversation back to the task at hand. Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly in disappointment, but he didn't seem to notice. "I organised for the Portkey to arrive next to our location so we didn't have to worry about a secondary form of transportation. It only took a few pulled strings with the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France to allow for arrival outside of the designated zone."

"Of course, and you always get what you want. How considerate of you," she said dryly. She could count on one hand the number of times her usual travel companions had prepared ahead of their trip. Even when she was on the run with Harry and Ron, she had managed their schedule and packed everything they needed.

The door swung open, and a burst of cool air from inside the hotel lobby shocked her system. Malfoy held the door open, waiting for her to enter first. "It was more strategic than considerate. The less time we spend out in public areas, the easier it will be to prevent your untimely death."

Hermione's expression turned into a scowl. "What a lovely start to the week this has been."

Something about his voice grated her nerves. He didn't sound right. Yes, his voice was deeper than it had been at school, but even so, there was something about his tone that felt stiff and formal, as if he were talking to a stranger and not...whatever she had been to him. They walked side by side past an ornate statue of a couple intertwined and into the grand entryway of the hotel.

The man at the front desk didn't even bother to look away from the computer as they approached. "Oui?" His fingers continued clacking on the keyboard.

Malfoy cleared his throat, and in his most aristocratic tone he drawled something in French that Hermione couldn't understand. A single word stuck out in his sentence that she recognised, 'épouse'.

Her heart stopped in her chest at his flippant use of the honorific.

Wife.

Maybe in another life.

"Name?"

"Nicolas Martin." Malfoy sounded irritated, as if the mere question had been a grave inconvenience.

Having been a Malfoy his entire life, he had to have been accustomed to his family name preceding him and providing a certain level of respect. To her surprise, the man's demeanour immediately shifted and he donned a pleasant smile.

"Oh, bonjour!" The employee rushed to greet them and completely dismissed his active work to give them his full attention. "Bonjour, Madame, Monsieur."

The minutes dragged on while Malfoy fluently conversed with the concierge. Finally, Malfoy had the key to their suite in hand, and led Hermione through the hotel.

"That was odd," Hermione whispered with a glance over her shoulder back at the concierge. "Why did he react like that?"

"The name." Malfoy lowered his voice to match hers. "Nicolas is the most common first name in France and Martin is the most common surname, which is why I chose it. Paired with our executive suite, he most likely assumed we were heirs traveling under a pseudonym for privacy from the press. He offered us free champagne."

"Executive suite?" she repeated. John had sent her to smaller conferences before to represent the company and had never shelled out more gold than necessary for a standard room. He must have decided to splurge with company money for the occasion. "Did you at least accept the free champagne?"

"I don't drink while working."

She scoffed. "Well, I do. Especially if I'm supposed to survive this week with you."

"Aren't you charming?"

She passed him a sidelong glare. "To the right people, yes."

They passed a pianist playing Chopin on a grand piano, and several groups of people stood around high top tables, sniffing wine and conversing in the nearby bar. Malfoy's eyes scanned the crowd on high alert. The pianist looked up at Hermione, but suddenly her view was blocked by Malfoy's back as he positioned himself protectively in front of her.

"You don't have to do that," she hissed at his back as they came face to face with an all glass lift. "He looked perfectly friendly."

Malfoy's index finger jabbed at the button to the left of the door. "I won't apologise for doing my job. What exactly do you think would happen if I wasn't aware of our surroundings and you were brutally murdered?"

"I'd expect you wouldn't be paid," she quipped mockingly, rocking back onto her heels.

He couldn't have looked less amused.

"Malfoy, I really don't think you've thought this through. How am I supposed to explain your presence to my peers at the conference? These are some of the most brilliant minds in the world at the top of their fields, and no one will take me seriously if I have a childminder."

Malfoy gave her a blank stare. "Your life is on the line and you're worried about networking?"

She tossed her head back and groaned. "Oh my God, you are dramatic."

"I am not. I'm sure you'll think of a way to explain my presence, or at worst just act as if I'm not there."

"Of course, just ignore the ten foot tall brooding man behind me, nothing to see here," she huffed, throwing her arms up into the air.

The door opened with a gentle ding.

They stepped into the lift and the doors closed. The thought of spending every second with Malfoy for the next week filled her with dread. "If you insist on staying, then I have to know exactly how does this work?" she asked, gesturing between them. "What are the rules?"

"The rules?" He looked a bit alarmed at the question.

"Yeah, the rules," she repeated. The lobby disappeared as they moved upward. "I've never had a bodyguard before. Do you just follow me everywhere?"

"Oh. It's a pretty standard arrangement. I'll escort you to all public events, and make sure the areas are secure while we're there. If there's a perceived threat, I'll mitigate the risk and extract you from the location."

Her throat felt tight. "You make it sound so clinical." It would be hard to steal a moment away from him if he were this paranoid about fulfilling his role. Surely he couldn't spend every second with her. "What about the loo?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Do you follow me into the loo? Or into the shower?"

The way the corner of his lips quirked up made her mouth grow dry.

"Only if you have an exhibitionist streak, Granger." His voice lowered to a deep timbre that settled into her bones.

There was a slight heat to her cheeks. "Very funny. And what if I want to see the city? There are shops nearby, and I want to go before the first session tomorrow."

"If you want to spend eighteen hours in various bookstores between sessions, I'll be more than happy to go."

The lift finally reached the top floor, and Malfoy stepped out first with his wand in his hand.

She watched as he surveyed the corridor with an intensity that would have made Mad-Eye Moody proud.

Hermione came into view behind him. "What about on a roller coaster?"

He jumped at her sudden appearance and lowered his wand. "Fuc—Granger, you can't surprise me. I could've injured you." After another moment of thought, he asked, "What's a roller coaster?"

"It's a Muggle thrill ride, a bit like flying. If I went on a roller coaster, would you be contractually obligated to go on it with me?"

"You're afraid of flying."

She thought back to her white-knuckled grip around Malfoy's broom handle on the Quidditch pitch that night in fifth year. "That's beside the point. Would you?"

The corners of his lips curved up. "Yes, Granger, if you want to go on a Muggle flying contraption, I'll gladly go with you to watch you flail about in a panic."

"I wouldn't flail ," she grumbled before nearly running into him when he stopped in front of the locked door. "Is this my room?"

Malfoy opened the door with a flourish. "Our room," he corrected.

Her heart flew up into her throat. She began fidgeting with the strap of her bag and couldn't convince her feet to move forward. "You mean—we're—you—"

From her position in the corridor, she could see the massive room had a living space and a full kitchen and only one door on the right. There was a grand piano in the centre of the room, a balcony, and a basket of fruit and chocolates on the kitchen table.

"You can breathe," he muttered, pushing the door further open to reveal a second bedroom door next to the first. "John would have my head if you died from oxygen loss before you even made it to the conference."

The vacant room called to her and all she wanted to do was process the last half hour alone. "Well. It's been lovely, Malfoy," she clipped, rushing through the large suite past a stack of expensive-looking luggage. "I don't think you want to be around me any longer than necessary, so I'll settle in for the night."

"Be my guest." Malfoy began to wave and flick his wand as he cast wards and protective enchantments on the space. "And Granger? Don't silence your room; I need to be able to hear if anything happens and you need me."

"I wouldn't dare dream of defying your orders, oh great protector," she mocked, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked into place, she pulled out her wand and silenced the room.

Hermione fell back against the door and slid down, clutching her necklace with one hand and her wand with the other. The cool metal of her pendant warmed inside her closed fist.

Her mind was still whirling from Malfoy's ambush in her office. It was just like him to throw her world into chaos with zero regard for her feelings. He'd done it time and time again.

Part of her wanted to feign indifference, the ultimate insult to drive home how little he meant to her, but even in their short time together tonight she had struggled to wrangle her emotions. Dormant anger mixed with sadness and together they overwhelmed her senses.

In truth, he didn't deserve to know how often he still crossed her mind and appeared in her dreams. It was only one week, she told herself, trying to calm her racing heart.

A tingle ran down her spine as she felt Malfoy remove the Silencing Charm from the other side of the door.

She would survive the week by treating him as nothing more than what he was to her, an overbearing and pesky co-worker.

She lifted her wand again. "Silencio."

A/N - Updates posted every Sunday