Hermione was confused when the owl arrived with a small piece of parchment, upon which the only thing written was an address in muggle London and initials in an increasingly familiar scrawl.
Even more confusion set in when she found herself standing outside a modern high rise, full of what she assumed were ridiculously expensive flats.
She checked the parchment again, making sure she was in the right place before she hesitantly stepped inside, the door held open for her by a doorman who didn't question her presence.
It had been a week since she'd seen or heard anything from him, and when his note arrived she breathed a sigh of relief. It had been more difficult to take a step back and give him space than she thought it would have been. Even in the short amount of time they'd been working together, he'd become a strange sort of staple in her life that she looked forward to.
She walked into the lobby, eyes wandering, taking in the high ceilings and furniture that clearly wasn't meant for anyone to sit on.
"Miss Granger?" a man at the front desk asked, and she nodded. Draco must have told the staff she was coming.
"This way," he said, arm pointing towards the lifts.
She waited with him in silence until the middle one arrived with a whirr. When she stepped inside, he peeked around the corner and pressed the button marked, 'penthouse.'
"This will take you directly to Mr. Malfoy. Enjoy your evening."
Before she could even thank him, the doors shut and she was moving up at what felt like a frightening speed.
Upon arrival she was greeted with a sight that sent her back years, and she froze.
Draco lounged comfortably on a leather couch that looked like it probably cost more than an entire year's worth of her rent. He looked relaxed, certainly more relaxed than he ever had in her presence, and next to him sat one Pansy Parkinson, her hand resting on his leg as they talked.
Their heads turned towards her. Draco smiled lightly, and one of Pany's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose as she looked back and forth between them.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Your note said seven, so I-"
Draco rose, and shook his head. "It's fine, Granger–"
"I didn't realise you had company."
"Pansy isn't company. And besides, she was just leaving."
Pansy looked put out, a huff of air skewed her perfectly straight bangs. "You spend your entire life being friends with someone, and this is the thanks you get."
Draco crossed his arms and gave Pansy a look, but his expression held an affection that surprised her. Hermione knew they had dated before, during school. Pansy had made sure the entire world knew.
The sinking feeling in her chest at the thought that there could still be something between them was foreign to her.
But Pansy came forward, walked around Hermione in a circle, and appraised her in a critical way that set Hermione on edge. Stubbornly, she forced herself not to flinch, refusing to give Pansy the satisfaction.
They had never cared for one another and hadn't exactly tried to hide it. Hermione remembered a time when Pansy had referred to her as an 'insufferable swot,' to which Hermione had scoffed and given Pansy a lecture on using more original insults.
Pansy was brash and bold in ways Hermione could have appreciated if Pansy hadn't been completely insufferable herself. Then there was the fact that she'd tried to convince the whole of Hogwarts to hand Harry over to Voldemort.
Really, it had been all too easy to forget about Pansy in the aftermath of war and the space between adolescence and adulthood. Hermione wasn't sure she'd spared her a single thought since that fateful day.
Pansy's actions had angered her in school, but if she truly believed that no one was beyond redemption, she had to allow for the fact that Pansy could and probably had changed. And she supposed if she could forgive Draco for his years of idiocy, she should probably start to work on forgiveness for Pansy as well.
"Not bad, Granger," she said, looking Hermione up and down. "I have to admit I didn't think you had a fashionable bone in your body."
Hermione bristled. "Am I supposed to say thank you?"
Pansy's head cocked to the side, as she ignored Hermione's comment. "Your hair could still use a lot of work, if you ask me."
"I didn't."
"I'll give you the name of the designer I use. Draco said there was a ministry gala in two weeks. It's not much time, but surely they can scrounge something together for you. We can't have you be an embarrassment now that you have your claws sunk into this one here," she said, vaguely gesturing to Draco.
"I already have a dress for the gala, thank you," Hermione replied, elevating her chin, and levelling Pansy with a challenging stare of her own.
One of the few perks of being the Golden Girl that she actually took advantage of was that she never had to want for designers willing to dress her for any important event. She'd had owls from all the top clothiers as soon as the date had been announced for the gala months ago.
Pansy's eyes narrowed, before she shrugged and gathered her bag from the coffee table. "That's all well and good, but you'll certainly need my help to dress for Narcissa's New Years' ball. That is one event even you can't simply skate by on your sparkling reputation."
She walked to the lift without another word to Hermione, only pausing to blow Draco a kiss before the doors closed and she was gone.
Hermione slowly turned to him trying her best to keep the jealousy she didn't understand out of her voice. "Pansy Parkinson, huh?"
"She's one of my oldest friends, that's all, Granger," he said with a small smile. "Besides, she doesn't – prefer me anymore."
"What – oh." Realisation dawned in Hermione's head. Good for Pansy, she thought.
She grinned, unable to resist quipping, "You were that bad of a boyfriend?"
He laughed, and her heart stuttered. It sounded so genuine. A first for him with her. "Probably." Gesturing to the large couch, he asked, "Would you like to have a seat?"
Hermione nodded, and walked to sit on the opposite end, infinitely grateful she managed to not trip in the heels she'd donned for reasons she didn't want to examine.
They stared at each other for a long moment, a thick silence between them Hermione wasn't sure what to do with.
"I like your flat," she blurted out, and when he raised an eyebrow at her. She suddenly felt warm. "It's lovely. I just wasn't expecting it to be here."
He said nothing, so she continued. "I thought you still lived at the Manor."
"You're surprised I live in Muggle London, and you thought I still lived with my parents? Merlin, Granger, did you take my invitation just to come here and insult me?" He asked with a sardonic grin.
Her blush crept down her neck and spread to her chest. "N-no, of course not. You've only received me at the Manor. I found you there that day, after all. I only meant that – well, I don't really know what I meant. You seem to have a tendency to surprise me all the time."
The flustered feeling that bubbled in her chest made her look away and fix her focus on the gorgeous view of London his flat offered. Distraction was good. Distraction made it easy to forget how much was passing between them.
"My parents have the good alcohol stashed there, and I admit I was hesitant to invite you here at first. It felt rather intimate considering the state of our relationship."
The way he leaned on the word sent a shiver down her spine, and she turned her attention back to him. "But now you're alright with me coming here?"
Draco sighed and sunk into the cushions, his arm draping across the back of the sofa. "It felt inevitable after…" he trailed off, but it was clear what he meant.
Their last encounter had been – intense. Cathartic, but intense.
"I appreciate you inviting me." She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "I hope I didn't overstep when we talked last, Draco. I was only trying to help, but I know I have a tendency to go too far when I care about something."
The words had left her mouth before she could realise that caring about something meant she cared about him.
It was something she could admit to herself, sure. How could she not care about someone who's life she was so invested in making better? But that didn't mean that he needed to know that yet.
Or ever.
"You didn't," he said with an earnestness that pulled her attention back to him. "I feel much better, and I think with your help, I can do this. If—if you're willing, that is."
She wished she could reach out her hand and touch him with the same comfortability as Pansy, but she settled on a smile instead. "Of course I am. You're more than capable of doing this without me, Draco," she said and he looked sceptical. "But having help is never a bad thing. Some people even say it makes things easier."
"Are you one of those people?"
Her breath came out in an almost strangled laugh. "I'm terrible about accepting help."
He studied her for a moment, forehead knitted in thought before he replied, "You've always been the one to give it."
She startled at how easily he summed up the heart of her more succinctly than she ever could.
"I — well, yes."
"Maybe you should work on that, Granger," he said with a knowing smirk.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "If I'm calling you Draco now, isn't it only fitting that you call me Hermione?"
"You would think so, but considering you're vastly more mature than I am, I think I'll stick to Granger for the foreseeable future."
She should have been annoyed with him, but somehow, the way his upper-class accent formed words in his mouth and lingered in the air like perfume left her wanting to hear more of anything he had to say.
The man practically oozed charm, and even she was susceptible to it. She couldn't even deny it.
"Yes, well," she said with a breathlessness that had her annoyed at herself instead, "we can revisit that topic another time."
He shrugged and a smug expression caused his eyes to gleam. "Perhaps, but for now, I'd much rather discuss this dress you've apparently procured for the Ministry gala."
His sudden chattiness left her curious. This playful side of him was one he hadn't shown her much of and she found she enjoyed it immensely.
"It's a secret," she said with a mischievousness of her own. "You could easily find out about it if you came with me."
"You assume I hadn't already planned to?"
Her tone pivoted instantly, unsure. "I don't want to assume anything when it comes to you."
"I think it would be safe to assume that I would be your date to events," he said.
"You want to come with me?"
He pursed his lips. "Want is an interesting word, Granger."
"Should we go together? Make an entrance?" she questioned, finding that ignoring his prattish tendencies was becoming easier.
"Do you think the world is ready for that?"
"I think so," she said. "We've gone on public dates, been out with my friends to some degree of success."
He snorted derisively.
"It makes sense to ramp things up. Really start to get people to see you in a different light."
"I'm still not convinced it's going to work," he said with a sigh. She started to protest, but he held up a hand. "But I trust you. An entrance it is."
It was a little thing in the grand scheme, but his trust felt monumental.
She stood from the couch, pushing her hands into her knees to give herself leverage, her clothes sliding against the luxurious leather.
"G-good. I'll RSVP you as my date and meet you in the Atrium at seven?"
He looked disappointed for a brief second, but his answering smile was warm. "It's a date, Granger."
oOo
Hermione stepped into the Atrium to find a nervous looking Draco pacing in front of the Floos, completely ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the few people that passed him by.
He didn't notice her at first, her black cloak covering her completely from the neck down, which no doubt caused her to blend with the darkness of the Atrium after sunset.
She watched him, eyes going wide as his attire registered in her mind. He wasn't wearing formal robes as she'd expected he would. He was donned in a perfectly tailored muggle tuxedo that looked as if the fabric had been formed to fit his body. His slicked back hair and pale skin were in perfect contrast to it and she wondered what it would be like to be pressed against the starch of his shirt during a dance.
He looked good, and her heart raced.
Draco finally caught sight of her, a look of relief passing over his features. He strode towards her and Hermione did her best to slow her heartbeat and dim the flush of her face, but his proximity only heightened her senses, as did the kiss he left on her cheek.
"Granger," he breathed against her skin, the softness of his lips causing her stomach to flip in the most pleasant and terrifying of ways. "I'm glad you're here."
It was a sweet gesture, one that most people would expect of a boyfriend. But the Atrium was mostly empty. No one was watching them yet, and he'd only ever touched her before when they had eyes on them.
This move didn't feel like an act. It felt natural. Instinctive even.
And it left her reeling.
"Y-you're wearing a tux?" she asked, trying to change the subject in the hopes of clearing her jumbled thoughts.
He glanced down and back up, his gaze reflecting a bit of panic. "Does it look alright? I had Pansy order it for me. It's from some French designer, Dior maybe? I'm not sure. I have no idea. She always orders my muggle clothes for me. I thought it might be a good idea-"
Her smile grew wider as he rambled, he was clearly out of his element, and while she was sure once they stepped into the gala, he'd be the embodiment of calm, cool and collected, it gave her a rush of affection to see he was comfortable enough to show her how he was really feeling.
"What?" he questioned when he caught sight of her amusement. "Do I need to change? I can go home and put on-"
Hermione laid a hand on his arm, and his eyes flicked toward her touch. "You look fine, Draco. Muggle clothes suit you. Besides, you'll blend in, don't worry. There's always a mix of fashions at these things. Wizard formalwear seems to be less and less common."
His body shifted into a much less awkward posture, and he eyed her cloak like he was trying to see through it. "What are you hiding under there? Do I not get to see your dress before we go in?"
She rocked back and forth from her tall heels to the balls of her feet, shaking her head. "No, you have to wait like everyone else."
He huffed but still offered her his arm to take as they walked towards the lifts that would take them deep into the Ministry. "I hardly see how that's fair."
"You never had to be patient for anything, did you?" she asked, unable to keep from chuckling at his petulance.
Draco tried to hide his grin. "No, I can't say that I did."
The doors to the lift opened to a scene that left her mouth parted in wonder.
The room was an autumnal paradise, complete with a canopy of trees that bloomed with the colours of fall. Deep red, yellow and orange leaves fell from their branches and drifted down before disappearing just above the heads of the attendees. The smells that surrounded them had her eyes closing as she took it in. Fresh moss and rain mixed with osmanthus.
Magic really was a wonderful thing.
It was so heavenly she almost forgot where she was.
"Can I take your cloak, miss?" an attendant asked her politely and she took a deep breath as she let go of Draco's arm to unclasp it, revealing herself.
Hermione adored her dress. It was quite possibly her most favourite she'd ever worn. Pure white organza fell in layers from her waist to her feet, brushing the ground and moving around her like water. The bodice fabric crossed behind her arms, and came down to form what looked like feathers over her breasts, leaving her neck bare and revealing skin all the way to her navel. She'd even managed to confine her hair to a sleek chignon that sat low on her neck with only a few curls escaping instead of her normal infinite flyaways.
It was a bold choice, but so was she. The fact that she had inspired someone to create such a garment was surreal. She felt like a swan, and after having been considered a bit of an ugly duckling for most of her life, it felt fitting. She had grown tired of denying her femininity, and so shortly after the war, she decided to embrace it.
She stopped trying to hide herself away, wore what made her feel good and said to hell with everything else. People started to notice when she was even more confident than she had been.
And now Draco had noticed too.
He stood perfectly still, eyes wide with what looked like a cross between shock and deep appreciation. His mouth hung open slightly, just enough space for him to wet his bottom lip before he remembered to breathe with a deep inhale.
He took his time taking her in, his gaze wandering from her face to where her dress hit the floor, though he lingered over her chest on his way back up to meet her eyes.
The way he looked at her was absolutely…different. She had only seen him direct a similar look at her once, at the Yule Ball during fourth year when he did nothing to hide his shock that she was capable of being what the world would deem as conventionally pretty. The feeling of power it gave her was present then and now, but this time, she felt it in her gut and let it spread until it flowed in her veins.
It felt like he wasn't seeing her as the annoying girl from school that was always lesser than him, and instead, he finally saw her for the woman she had become.
"Wow, Granger," he said, clearly still flustered. "You look - stunning."
Hermione flushed and bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling like a fool at the compliment. She never dreamed she'd be in a position where she wanted to impress Draco Malfoy, but now she was certainly glad she'd managed it.
"Spin for me?" he asked, coming closer, having recovered slightly, and she did just that. Enjoying how the dress fluttered about her legs.
"Thank Merlin you didn't take Pansy's offer to help you find a dress," he said with a shake of his head. "The world needed to see you in this."
She continued to beam at his praise and lightly batted his arm. "You'll get to my head if you don't stop."
Looking around, she saw people starting to stare at them, and she held out her hand. "Are you ready?"
Draco didn't hesitate in taking it, surprising her when he didn't just lightly hold on, opting instead to twine their fingers together like a real couple would do.
It didn't feel as strange as she thought it would. In fact, she rather enjoyed the comforting warmth that seeped into her hand.
She had to remind herself that he was only playing a part, and she was supposed to be as well.
They stopped at the bar first, and with liquid courage in hand they started to make their rounds. Hermione took the time to introduce Draco to some of her more important Ministry contacts.
A group of aurors came first, some of Harry's associates that Hermione had worked closely with when someone was smuggling Chimaera eggs across the Scottish Borders. Next came the Undersecretary, who nearly choked on expensive Scotch when Hermione introduced Draco, and his husband smiled widely while shaking their hands as his spouse sputtered.
It would have all been incredibly dull if not for Draco's company, and he impressed her with how he somehow fit himself right in.
Though their initial greetings were often cold, it didn't take long for them to thaw as he was skilled not only in charm, but also in small talk, a thing which Hermione hated almost as much as flying.
It was one of the main reasons why she hated these events. Nothing was ever really accomplished. No one said anything of note. It was all completely inconsequential conversations about the weather and sports and mostly male department heads trying to out-dick one another.
She would much rather have spent the evening at home with her books and her cat. Which was why it was such a surprise that watching Draco in his element was almost as entertaining and infinitely more fun.
It was an interesting thing to witness considering his breakdown at the pub, until she realised this type of event and this kind of behaviour had likely been drilled into him before he could talk. This was as instinctual to him as running away from it was to her.
His fingers settled on the small of her back and rarely left while she sipped her champagne and listened to him talk after she made her introductions. She left him to answer most of the questions about their 'relationship', enjoying how the lies they'd crafted rolled off his tongue as if they were real.
If she could almost believe it, their audience would too.
It was soon time for dinner, and Hermione was grateful for true friendly faces in Ginny and Harry, who had managed to arrange the seating so they were side by side at the same table.
Ginny smiled genuinely and Harry offered his hand, which Draco only hesitated to accept for a fraction of a second. He didn't speak much during the course of the meal, but he interjected occasionally and even asked Ginny about how she thought her team would fare in the semis.
It was going well. Sure, people were looking, whispering, pointing, but they were making strides, and by the time Draco pulled her to the dance floor, she was floating.
Well, mostly. She was a shit dancer, which she tried to tell him, but he insisted anyway.
Though she normally avoided it like the plague she didn't even mind how crowded the dancefloor was. Didn't even fully notice all the other people there.
It was easy enough to follow his strong lead, however, and he didn't even wince when she stepped on his toes for the third time.
"I have to say," he said when he pulled her back in from a spin, leaves falling above them before disappearing, "they did a nice job on the theming. Even my mother would be impressed, I think."
Hermione hummed in acknowledgement, enjoying the feel of the expensive fabric beneath her fingers. "That's high praise. Neville was responsible for all the plants. He was explaining the charm work it took to get the trees to change. I'm amazed at what he's able to do."
"Who would have thought Longbottom would be so talented at something," he said and she shot him a glare that had him backpedalling. "I don't mean it as a slight, Granger. He is obviously very talented."
They could agree on that at least. "Professor Sprout really encouraged him when she saw how interested he was. Sometimes all it takes is the right person to invest in you."
"Indeed it does."
His grip on her tightened for a beat as the song ended, causing her to look up and their gazes to clash. He was so close that she could see a slight crook in his nose where it had been broken and poorly healed sometime in the past, and that his eyes were a deep blue close to his pupils, only fading to grey at the edges of his irises.
She could have sworn he was staring at her lips before another couple bumped into them, causing hasty apologies to be given as Draco led her from the dance floor.
Grabbing another glass of champagne from a floating tray, she took a big gulp, ignoring the look Draco was giving her. She just needed a moment of respite from everything before-
"Hermione," a voice that always made the hair on her neck stand on end, slithered into her ears. "Don't you look lovely this evening."
Dread filled her as she turned around to find the smug face of Aloysius Hunt sneering at her.
He was a portly man in his mid-forties, with thinning hair and hard features that failed to find a combination of attractiveness that worked. Her boss in name only, he was a useless bureaucrat who cared little for anything that happened in his department as long as he got paid at the end of the month.
She found him staring at her more often than not, and she often took the long route through the hallways to her office in order to avoid any unnecessary contact with him. She'd warded her office to let her know if he was waddling down her hallway, and she would use her Floo to pay Harry or Ron sudden visits to keep him away.
On top of his inappropriate staring problem, he made comments that seemed — unhinged. She had tried to chalk it up to him just having a strange personality, but the longer worked there, the more uncomfortable it all became.
Hermione loved her job, but loathed him, and there were days with increasing frequency she thought about transferring. Or at least finding a superior who would take her claims seriously.
"Mr. Hunt," she said with a strained tone she only used when speaking to him. "Nice to see you."
"How nice to see you, dear," he said slowly. "Especially with the," he waved a hand in the general direction of her chest with a wriggle of his eyebrows. "Making an effort, I see."
As he took in her appearance, eyes lingering far too long to be appropriate, Draco's hand found its way to sit on the small of her back again.
She glanced at him, his form rigid as he watched the man in front of them, barely hidden disgust curling at his mouth.
And things had been going so well, she thought with dismay.
"Who is this?" Hunt asked, his attention turning to Draco.
"This is my boyfriend," she said, the word slipping past her lips easily, "Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is my department head, Aloysius Hunt."
Draco's stare and fake smile was unwavering when he offered his hand, a gesture that was left unreturned.
"Malfoy?" he scoffed, spit littering the air with the force of his outburst. "Hermione, surely you wouldn't be dating such a… Such a…"
Her glare was daggers. "Such a what?" she challenged.
Draco's smile went icy.
But Mr. Hunt proved himself an even bigger asshole than she already knew him to be, apparently getting the impression he had a blanket invitation to become even more unpleasant than before.
"You were the last person I would have expected to entertain such company. I expected more from you," he said with a disdainful sneer directed at Draco.
She was known for keeping her cool under pressure. It was one aspect of her personality she had always been proud of.
"And what company is that?" she said cooly.
This time his hateful little eyes met hers after all. None of the leer left in them, at least. "People like him are not welcome here, Miss Granger. Perhaps it is better you leave."
"I would appreciate it if you checked your tone, Mr. Hunt. Draco is very far removed from any actions he was forced to make during the war, and I expect you to treat him as such."
"Scum, is what he is." he interrupted her, then turned to Draco, fully dismissing Hermoine. "They let you out of Azkaban, boy?" Hunt spat, his face turning redder by the second.
"Actually, sir," Draco drawled and Hermione marvelled at how unrattled he appeared. "I never spent any time in Azkaban."
Hunt's large lips pressed into a thin line. "A damn shame. The Wizengamot are a bunch of spineless halfwits whose pockets are lined with the blood money of your father. You both should have gotten the Kiss, if you ask me. Your filthy mother too."
She saw Draco's fist clench from the corner of her eye. Apparently they'd crossed a threshold here, and it made Hermoine tremble in anger.
"That's enough," Hermoine stopped him, voice raised. "You're behaving like a barbarian. As a person so hell-bent on moral high ground, you should realise your absolute abhorrent intolerance. I expected more from you, and that's saying a lot, because I expect very little from someone who gawks at women for a living. I will be reporting you, Mr. Hunt. Now, if you'll excuse us, Draco and I are going home to enjoy the rest of our evening away from the likes of you," she snarled, thrusting her empty glass into her boss's hand and dragging a bewildered and impressed looking Draco towards the lift.
oOo
"That was bold, Granger," he said, stepping out of her Floo and into her living room. "Are you sure you wanted to do that?"
M
"I couldn't care less what that idiot man thinks," she snapped, blood still boiling as her fingers fumbled to undo the clasp of her cloak. "He's just as much of a bigot as he's accusing you of being. It's ridiculous he-"
"Does he always look at you like that?"
Hermione stopped, cloak fluttering to the floor, her tirade ended by the quietness of his question. "What?"
"Hunt. Does he always look at you that way?"
"Oh, I have a running document of his shite," she said in a huff.
His eyebrows raised. "A document of what?"
"He's a complete nutter if you ask me. Always making these strange comments and leering after me."
Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. "Have you reported him before?"
"Once, yes. But his behaviour is always explained away. I suppose because it's easier to keep him than replace him. So now, I just keep a running document of things he says and does. Hopefully, this time it will be enough."
"That man has no business running a department," he sneered.
"I agree. As much as I wish it, the Ministry isn't immune to sexism and harassment. I'm able to avoid him most of the time, though, and he's never done anything physically inappropriate, not that that excuses his other actions. But if he tries to fire me for not putting up with it, I certainly have enough to fight it, and I happen to be quite versed at fighting injustice."
"Why didn't you tell me this was happening?"
She gave him a confused look. "Why would I have?"
His fists clenched and his mouth opened twice before he sighed. "I suppose that's fair."
"Besides," she said with a sympathetic smile. "Shouldn't you be more upset with what he said about you? He was rather nasty."
Draco shrugged. "What he said isn't anything I haven't heard before."
Her anger returned. "Well, it's no wonder he won't even look at your application. I knew he was terrible, but this was — another level. Did you hear all the things he called you?"
"Yes, I was present for the entire thing," he said through gritted teeth, a frustrated hand pushing back gelled hair that had managed to lose its hold.
"Sorry," she squeaked, blanching, suddenly feeling very aware that Draco Malfoy was in her living room for the very first time, dressed to the nines in a tux and suddenly looking very much like he wanted to be anywhere else.
She hadn't meant to embarrass him further, but it appeared as if that was exactly what she'd done. So much of her focus had been on her own anger, she hadn't really stopped to consider what he was feeling under the facade he wore so well.
He wasn't occluding now, though she would be if their roles were reversed. The sheer amount of indignation she felt on his behalf was consuming. If this was what he endured on a regular basis, she couldn't imagine how hard his life had been.
It suddenly made sense that he'd been a recluse save for the occasional dates he'd been on. Dates she suspected were all set up by his mother.
Hermione suddenly felt exhausted. But she wanted him to stay. Needed to help him feel better.
"Would you like some tea?" she said in a rush as she saw his eyes go between the Floo and her front door, probably wondering which would make for the quicker escape.
His shoulders relaxed. "That would be nice."
She exhaled in relief, praising herself internally for choosing the right thing to get him more comfortable. Of course Draco would like tea. He was about as quintessentially English as they came.
Walking to the kitchen, she grabbed her kettle, turning on the sink to let the water fill. She let the task distract her away from the fact that he was standing three metres away, needing a few moments to collect herself and form a plan for how to salvage the night, hoping he wouldn't be so discouraged he would feel like giving up again.
"Can I help at all?"
She jumped, spinning around, water sloshing from the kettle and all over Draco's front.
He looked shocked, hands splayed away from himself while he sputtered at his newfound status of wet.
"Shit, Draco, I'm so sorry!" She tossed the kettle into the sink, cringing at the sound it made as she scrambled to reach for the kitchen towel.
When she finally managed to grab it, she rushed forward, dabbing it all across his front. His body went completely stiff when her hands swiped at the area that had taken the brunt of her clumsiness.
An area that just so happened to contain his crotch.
"Uh, Granger," he said in a strangled voice. "What are you doing?"
Hermione paused, sudden realisation dawning on exactly what she was touching.
She nearly screamed, jumping back against the counter and covering her mouth with the towel.
The towel that had just been on his crotch.
She threw it to the floor, face on fire.
He eyed her like she was insane, reaching inside his jacket to grab what she hoped was some kind of weapon that would put her out of her misery. Right. Now.
She had lived an okay life. Lots of trauma, a decent amount of triumphs. Not anything to really brag about, but she would at least be mentioned in a few books after she died. She could be at peace with that. As long as he was quick about it, and neglected to mention that she'd felt him up on the night she died.
It turned out to be his wand, which he quickly waved while muttering a drying spell. His clothes were suddenly good as new.
He bent down and picked up her towel, holding it out for her with a smirk that made her simultaneously want to slap him and kiss him.
Wait.
Kiss him? Where had that come from?
She didn't have time to analyse before he spoke, his grey eyes sparking with something she couldn't name but wanted to know.
"There's this handy little thing called magic that you can use for many everyday things like cooking, cleaning, drying."
Her eyes were slits as she glared. "Arse. I was just trying to help you!" A whacking sound rang out as she hit him with the towel.
He laughed, nose crinkling in obvious mirth. "Easy, Granger. I'm only teasing. Why don't you go get changed and I'll make the tea. You're far too dangerous to manage it, it would seem."
She was just about to come back with what would have been an excellent retort had she had adequate time to think of one, when a wrapping at the window caused them both to fall silent.
There shouldn't have been anyone that needed to reach her at this hour, and sudden dread gripped her as she raised the window and accepted a small bit of parchment from a tawny owl.
Her fears were realised as she quickly scanned the page, words like 'parents' and 'missing' jumping out at her like shadows in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
Her entire form started to shake.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked, moving swiftly to stand in front of her, his hands gripping her forearms as he tried to steady her.
"It's from St. Mungos. M-my—my parents. They're gone. Missing. They have no idea where they are."
"What?"
Hermione started to panic, her breathing ragged as her vision narrowed, his own reaction doing nothing to quell the nausea that was rising up in her throat.
Her parents were missing. Her parents, with their muddled memories and no sense of where they were, had somehow managed to escape one of the world's best wizarding hospitals and were now wandering around London.
How could they possibly have any hope of finding them?
There had never been a task she felt was impossible, but this felt about as close as anything could.
She was only vaguely aware of her cloak being placed on her shoulders and nimble fingers clasping it around her neck.
"Granger," his calm voice managed to grab her attention. "We need to go now. Deep breaths, it's going to be ok. We'll find them."
A warm hand led her towards the Floo, and she felt his presence next to her, a single question entering her mind.
"You're coming with me?"
His eyes were dark and unreadable. "Of course."
They were gone in a flash of green.