AN: Happy Friday lovelies!

Have a wonderous little chapter in thanks for all the amazing reviews you've been leaving. It warms my heart to know so many of you love the story, it really does!

P.S: Slightly NSFW chapter here so uh, don't read in public (unless you're into that?)

Enjoy!

- Ginger

The apples have become a regular occurrence.

Hermione isn't sure when they became a thing, but she's most definitely sure they have.

She recalls Ginny suggesting that once something occurs three times, it then becomes a thing, something between you and someone else (or a group of people) that you mutually acknowledge, sort of like an inside joke, the redhead had said.

Well, considering she and Malfoy are presently on their ninth apple related occurrence (as of right this very minute, actually), Hermione can't lie to herself, the apples have most definitely become a thing.

Yesterday, the blonde currently across from her had plopped a set of coffees and two apple turnovers in front of her, and today she'd purchased two coffees and a gloriously green apple for him.

He'd asked why she hadn't brought any baked goods, and she found that she couldn't answer- because she didn't know, really.

Why had she only brought an apple for him?

She sincerely regrets the decision, as a crisp, obnoxiously loud crunch breaks her from her reverie. Damn'd wizard.

Hermione is pacing. Back and forth behind the desk in her office, as Malfoy watches with a blank, yet entirely bored expression on his features, apple in hand.

So far since finding the map, they've made very little headway in the case. They'd brought in an expert on Mosps, who'd simply confirmed Hermione's determinations. The Mosps are genetically engineered and so entirely different from the average Mosp, venom definitely more potent, more aggressive, and there is a plausibility that they're being used to control victims somehow.

Neither she nor Malfoy have found anything useful so far in their independent inquiries. She hasn't found anything interesting through Harry's case files and the information on known Death Eaters, and Malfoy hasn't located anything useful in the victim's background files.

They're at a standstill.

Hermione is immensely frustrated as of this morning. Frustrated, exhausted, and entirely at the end of her tether.

Speaking of which-

Her thought process is interrupted once again by the sound of Malfoy biting into his apple. She shoots him a dangerous look over the table.

He only looks back at her, a single eyebrow raised in silent question, slate grey eyes on her face. Bristling under the gaze, she opens her mouth to tell him to stop eating so bloody loudly-

Malfoy lifts the apple to his lips and takes a rather large, crisp bite. As if he's doing it deliberately.

No, no, she knows he's doing it deliberately. Because even if his face is a perfect mask of indifference, she's begun to learn his tells, and his eyes-

There's a definite glint of mischief in them. And as miniscule as it may appear, it's still there.

Hermione finds herself glaring at him as she continues her pacing, which is a useless ministration at present because she can't think with him being so obnoxious-

"Do you really have to do that right now?" she asks, her teeth clenching as he takes another crisp, slick bite.

He pulls the apple away from his lips, using it to gesture towards her as he speaks.

"I never expected you to be the forgetful type, but we've already been over this Granger," he replies, the edge of his lip quirking. The ghost of a smirk, "you have given me a gift, this apple, and it would be terribly improper of me to not eat it."

She feels a flood of anger at his words, feels intensely irked, feels quite- well, she feels flustered again, actually.

Improper.

She wants to scoff, but can feel a blush rising on her cheeks. All because Malfoy chose a word that-

"Eating an apple at this very moment is entirely improper," she snipes back, her feet halting in their pacing across the floor.

Malfoy's lip quirks even more, and she can tell he is thoroughly amused now. Wonders if this was his plan all along, rile her up for kicks, because he's bored. Maybe he's as frustrated as she is with the case, and is attempting to cover it up by being so infuriating.

Perhaps she's right, perhaps she should be more understanding-

"What about it is improper, exactly?" he asks, eyes on her face, assessing her.

He draws the apple to his lips, which are once again covered in the juices of the apple- which Hermione has been attempting to ignore. Mainly because everytime she looks at his lips she's reminded of how enticing his lips feel against her own, because she's found herself losing her train of thought when she does, and because she rather thinks his lips are stupidly perfect, actually-

Malfoy's tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip briefly.

But it is enough to make something flutter dangerously in her lower stomach, to make her breath catch slightly on her next inhale, to make her blush deepen across her cheeks.

Improper, improper, most definitely improper.

"Come on, Granger," he continues, voice a poined, low rumble, "what about it is improper?"

"It's loud, for one," she hears herself respond, voice thick and ever so slightly breathless, "which is obnoxious, disturbs work flow and is therefore improper-"

He takes another bite, then, and her eyes are back on his lips in an instant.

Bugger.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," he replies, quickly, sharply, "but I know you're lying to me."

Malfoy leans back in the chair, skirting it slightly away from the table as he does so, languid in his movements, and yet entirely deliberate.

"Has anyone told you you're a terrible liar?" he asks, and then he looks at the apple, "besides, you can't stop me, Granger. You did gift this apple to me, didn't you?"

Hermione forces her eyes away from his lips, to look him in the eyes and the sight of them, of his expression is enough to both anger and disarm her in equal measure.

Because his eyes have grown dark, a deep set grey, and he is amused. So amused in fact, that he's fully smirking at her. Not a glimpse, not the ghost of a smirk.

A full bodied smirk.

One that is entirely smug, entirely too self-satisfied, because he can see the flush on her cheeks, the path her eyes had taken, she knows. One that has her bristling, the pride in her and the dangerous incitement of her brazenness bursting forth. One that propels her forward, steps brisk, before her brain can catch up, before she can stop herself.

She's leaning over him in an instant, one hand braced on the edge of her desk, the other on his left side, bracketing. Finds herself spurred on by the sudden, unbridled look of surprise on his features. He's so surprised in fact that he almost drops the apple held in his right hand. Barely a tick goes by and the mass of her curled hair is wisping by her like a curtain as she leans in close.

And then she's kissing him.

She's kissing him, and she's doing so of her own volition. She's initiating it.

Hermione is surprised too. Even though there's a whisper in the back of her mind, crawling it's way to the forefront. A whisper that says she's wanted this, she's wanted it since he'd last kissed her.

He tastes sweet, the lingering juices of the apple scenting his lips lightly, and he seems to be getting over his surprise because he's kissing her back, fervently. As if he's never kissed her, as if he wants to devour her-

And she thinks she might like it if he does.

He drops the apple, now, and she faintly hears the thud of it landing onto the carpet. Sees it rolling away in her peripheral vision. Thinks briefly that the apple is quite like her restraint at this moment- dropping, rolling away from her at an alarming rate.

She feels his fingers in her hair, tugging, pulling her closer to him as she kisses him harshly. Feels him tugging her onto his lap, and it's a bit of a struggle to fit around his broad frame in the office chair, but she manages it, hiking her skirt up higher onto her thighs-

And then she's sighing breathlessly into their kiss at the warm contact of his torso, his legs, all of him before she can muffle it. Her hands move to his chest, to press lightly against him.

His well-practiced tongue swipes across her bottom lip, seeking entrance, which she readily grants. Malfoy is devouring her, then, exploring every minute detail of her lips, her tongue, her mouth. She's overwhelmed by the scent of him, by the feel of his tall, broad frame against her, by the realisation that this- this is what truly equates to improper.

The reminder of what led to this has several kinds of heat burning through her veins, the two most prominent being lust, unbridled desire- and anger, a blistering rage because he'd goaded her-

She bites his bottom lip then, none too gently, tugging it between her teeth, a form of punishment, she thinks, and he makes a sound, half caught between a guttural moan and a growl.

The sound sends a wave of heat coursing through her, pooling rather deliciously in her abdomen, feels the ripple of muscle in his chest under her palm, and she abruptly finds her wrists being grabbed, pulled down against her sides.

Glaring up into his eyes accusingly, she's struck by another wave of intensity, because Malfoy is looking at her with something akin to unbridled desire. She's thrown, mostly because even through the haze of heat she realises he's not occluding, not on the defensive, not at all, and it stirs something even more dangerous inside her chest, inside her heart.

Feels light, fluttering, something she recognises she'd felt right at the start- with Ron.

But she ignores it, stamps it down, focuses on the half lidded, dark look smoldering across his sharp features, his bruised lips that she'd caused. It sends a wave of pride to rise inside her, at seeing him like this, because of her.

His slate grey eyes are roaming across her then, over her arms that he has pinned to her sides, his hands enveloping her wrists, her thighs on either side of him, her skirt hiked up dangerously, and then they linger on her face.

She bites down the urge to blush furiously, instead determinedly meeting his gaze.

"Is this what you meant?" he asks, a whispered rumble into the small space between them, and Hermione thinks it vibrates through her, all the way to her toes, "because you look decidedly improper, Granger-"

His words should be making her angry, should be making her want to yell at him, should be riling her up. Well, it does the latter- just in a different way, an entirely salacious way. Malfoy's leaning in once more, his lips against her throat in a moment. Heat pools inside her, a need emerging as his impeccably, deliciously soft lips work their way over her neck.

She tries to fight it, she does, but a small, breathy moan leaves her and she finds herself succumbing to his ministrations, tilting her head ever so slightly to give him better access-

"Perhaps even indecent-," he continues, the ghost of his breath against the sensitive portion of her neck sending a shiver down her spine.

Finds herself trying to swallow, to reply, to say something, but her throat is dry, the lingering taste of him on her tongue. The tip of his own tongue flicks against the base of her neck then, his hands curling hard around her wrists as he does so, trapping her against him, and she can't help it- she moans, loudly, dipping her head further to let him-

"Dare I say, you look immensely fuckable."

His words are a low murmur against her skin and it sends delicious vibrations running through her body. That same familiar desire, to be touched, to feel more is back with vengeance, and she's wriggling forward further onto his lap, her skirt hiking further as she tries to alleviate the need- to press more intimately against him.

The chuckle that leaves his lips is tinged with a groan as she presses tightly against him, and he licks a long swipe up the side of her neck.

"You'd let me, wouldn't you?" he says, lips back on her, moving lower and lower, "you'd let me fuck you right here-"

He punctuates his words with a slow movement, his hips pushing off of the chair, brushing against her, a delicious friction that has her head spinning.

"Malfoy," she replies, her voice breathy, and she's not sure what she means to say, not sure what she means at all- to stop him, to tell him to keep going, to ask him to please, please fuck her senseless-

She doesn't know. She can't think coherently at all, doesn't-

"I know surnames are a constant with us," he says, drawing back to skim his mouth along her jaw, "but that is not my name."

His words take a moment to sink in through the lustful haze overrunning her mind, but then she's blinking, confused, looking down at him to see his face, because-

"That is your name" she whispers, her voice thick.

Malfoy's hands are unhooking from her wrists, and she thinks at first he means to draw away, to stop- well to stop this, what they're doing, and she feels an intense drop in her stomach, her chest.

But then he's simultaneously standing and gripping her waist, neatly depositing her onto the edge of her desk. And then he's pressing more firmly against the sensitive, most intimate part of her, his hands braced on either side of her against the desk.

"You use first names with everyone else, even though you've been working with me for longer," and she knows he means Glenn, he must be meaning Glenn because she can't think of anyone else. And she wants to tell him it's because he- Malfoy is different, this is different-

"And whilst I'm doing this to you," he says, punctuating his words with a push of his hips against her, the friction igniting something innately carnal inside her, his hand coming to grip at her hip, "I'd really rather like it if you used mine."

He loses his resolve then, she thinks, because he's kissing her again, heated and demanding, hand squeezing her hip and sending sparks of desire through her.

And she thinks about it, she does- about using his name. But the idea of it, the thought of it, it still feels like too much. Feels too intimate, even with all of the immensely salacious things his mouth, his tongue, are presently doing to her. Even with all of the things they've already done to each other. All the things the hardened bulge in his trousers pressing against her promises that they will do.

Hermione finds she can't bring herself to do it- to say his name, at least not yet.

His other hand is on her bare thigh now, and the skin on skin contact sends a round of goosebumps rising on her skin, his fingers soft and yet entirely jagged at the same time.

"About what you said before," she murmurs, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers trail further up her thigh, his lips back at her jaw, sending delicious reverberations through her, "about- about fucking me."

Malfoy pauses, his lips almost at her ear, and the soft moan he releases when she speaks has her writhing, trying to move her hips against his.

"Mhmm?" is his reply, and he recovers, continuing in his ministrations back to her exposed neck.

"I think you might be right."

"Oh?" he says, before lightly scraping the edges of his teeth over her neck, and she can feel him, the hard length of him pressing right up against the most intimate part of her. She shivers.

"Yes," she murmurs, and she can see the side of his neck bob as he swallows, drawing back to look at her, eyes half lidded, "I think I might-"

A loud set of deliberate knocks fills the empty space of her office around them, and they're both jumping at the sound.

For a moment, neither of them move, frozen in place.

"For fucks sake," Malfoy groans, his eyes closed, face flushed. Hermione notices he's got a single freckle under his left eye, one she'd not noticed before-

More knocks sound, with a faster intent this time.

"Miss Granger, are you there? Draco?" comes a voice, one she has no doubt they both recognise.

Malfoy is off of her like a shot, chest rising and falling in a laboured mess, and she's standing from the desk, pulling her skirt back into place.

Hermione quickly moves to sit behind her desk once more, and smoothes down her hair with her hands. Meanwhile, Malfoy has pulled his robes from off the back of the chair, and begun to put it on with a quick ease.

Her eyes, traitorous as they are, linger on the unmistakable bulge in his trousers, and she curses Merlin, the high heavens and the dastardly person outside the door-

Malfoy has picked up his satchel, smoothed his own hair and opened the door before she has time to catch up.

The door swings open to reveal the tall, lanky frame of Blaise Zabini, who's looking none too pleased to be here.

His dark eyes trail first over Hermione, who has no doubt her face is flushed, her shirt rumpled, and then over to Malfoy, who's giving his friend a decidedly dark look. Blaise's eyes flicker back to her again, and then he's shrugging, as if he's acknowledged what has clearly just occurred between the two before him and simply cannot bring himself to care.

However, his jaw is set, tight, his mouth a thin line, and Hermione knows he does care, and he does not seem to approve at all.

"Draco," he says, voice placid, "Your meeting with Granger was supposed to end 20 minutes ago."

The flush on Hermione's cheeks deepens, and she's glad neither men in front of her are observing her as she tries in vain to tamp it down.

Malfoy simply nods, once, "indeed, but as you know Blaise, meetings can tend to run over on occasion."

His tone leaves no room for response, sharp and short, grey eyes turning now to linger on her at the other side of the room.

"I'll see you later, Granger," he says, a slight smirk on his lips, and then his tall frame is turning, sauntering past the doorway, and past Blaise, who's quirking an annoyed eyebrow at him.

As his friend's torso disappears down the corridor, Blaise turns back to look at Hermione as well, and then his gaze slinks down, down, down.

To where the apple is lying half eaten, discarded, on the carpeted floor.

She doesn't allow herself to consider it, to think about any of it, until she's at home- until she's comfortably in her pyjamas and sat in front of the fireplace in a floo call with Ginny.

Replaying it in her mind, from the beginning of their meeting, all the way until the sordid end, she feels immensely flustered, slightly ashamed, but what's more confusing, more horrifying is that she finds herself squirming on her knees, a familiar pool of heat creeping up as she considers all of the motions they went through. Thinks briefly about telling Ginny, coming clean about it, about whatever is going on between her and Malfoy, but she really thinks that's a bad idea, especially when she doesn't even know-

"They've decided the theme is going to be 'floral'- bloody floral!" Ginny is saying, half interrupting Hermione's thoughts, "can you believe that 'Mione?"

"Believe what?" she says, stupidly, because she wasn't at all listening. Feels a wave of shame flood through her and notes Ginny's eyes narrowing slightly in the fire.

"The theme for the fundraising event this weekend-" the redhead replies, her words sending fizzles of embers whirling through the fire.

Hermione's mind catches up, then, and she laughs, waving a hand in the air.

"Floral? Well I guess it is summer?" she replies, and Ginny scoffs at her.

"It's bloody bollocks is what it is," her friend replies, hair swirling even through the embers of the fire, "floral doesn't suit me, I'll never find something to wear."

Hermione hums in response, and then she quirks an eyebrow.

"You're definitely going then?" she asks, and Ginny nods in response.

"Of course, I can't exactly not go- I'm married to the deputy head Auror for pete's sake," Ginny's voice is half serious, half joking, "but we'll be back Friday night, so I've got a little bit of time on Saturday to pick out something for you and me to wear."

It takes her a brief moment to catch up and then she's staring into her fireplace, entirely confused.

"For me?" she asks, bewildered, and Ginny's face becomes devious.

"Of course," she says, "you think I'm suffering through all that alone?"

Hermione rolls her eyes, shifting to sit more comfortably in the heat of the fire.

"Besides, I need to find someone suitable for you, it's been too long since you've been on a date," Ginny continues, and Hermione finds her half scoffing before her mind is considering Malfoy and everything they'd done earlier all over again-, "you know what I always say!"

And then she does remember. Not the awful, salacious notion Ginny presently means, but something else, something she'd thought about earlier. Remembers exactly what Ginny always says.

Once something occurs three times, it then becomes a thing- something you mutually acknowledge.

Realisation dawns on her that she-

She and Malfoy have kissed three times.