Being an executive assistant wasn't something Hermione Granger wanted to do. It wasn't permanent, but rather a stepping stone in the right direction. She didn't realise how intimately she would come to know the young Minister, only twenty nine years old.
A man who had achieved everything she had wanted to, but with the help of a healthy dose of rumoured nepotism. Minister Draco Malfoy had a reputation. No, not a scandalous one, but one that mirrored his position; the Minister of National Security oftentimes meant he was cold, harsh, unyielding, and very unpopular. He felt dangerous, he was a wall to the media, he was devoted to his job.
She looked around her pitiful flat which would soon be dipping into her savings if she meant to keep it. Well, it wasn't pitiful , but she was lonely without Ginny, her best friend who had run away to France with her other best friend. In tow? Her lackey brother, which left Hermione with no one in England to staunch the loneliness. She needed a job that wasn't a barista. Or a waitress. Or anything that expected her to be a robot.
With great care, Hermione reread the job description before she began negotiations. She strong-armed a stipend that would be paid if she was ever called on on weekends. She had done enough research to know that the man she was about to work for was going to be a demanding one. And she was sure as hell was going to get compensated for it.
She accepted.
When Hermione first arrived and was greeted by the Head of Security, given an access card, ID card, and debriefed on safety procedures, she had a hard time keeping pace with the conversation. She was usually a very good listener, but the house was taking up all of her concentration. The history, the art. She heard the staff whisper words like Malfoy Manor and she knew, even without the countryside estate aspect, exactly what they meant.
It certainly was big enough. All the floors were hardwood, and most corridors and rooms had thick carpets or rugs that muffled otherwise creaky footsteps. She could tell the house had age, she could smell it and feel the history in its walls. See the stories in the framed pictures and paintings, the chosen wallpapers and the crown moulding that was used in every corner.
She wasn't shown every room. She was shown the offices, the conference, her desk, and his office. Her desk was a massive mahogany block of wood, with drawers and all the stationery she could think to use. There was a computer which she quickly familiarised herself with. The brand was new to her, the operating system different to what she had known. The bar at the bottom was completely alien. She learned quickly. Her room that existed outside of Draco Malfoy's study, which doubled as his office, had one tall, broad leafed plant in the far corner. It caught the light in the mornings and midday and was wonderful in the dark brown space. She felt like she was sitting in history, if she could make that phrase make sense.
Surprisingly, he was never there. And she only found this strange because her little office space was in his house . Ministers were given living quarters, a staff, and they all functioned like one smoothly operating system. All cogs making up a whole. Her desk outside of his office was almost tucked so deeply into a corner that she felt like she was in a secluded room all of the time.
There was a routine to learn. There were things she had to learn to say when she answered the phones, learn who was allowed to be patched through, who to screen, and how to schedule his meetings.
Tea in the mornings, no sugar or milk. Breakfast and lunch were made for staff by the cooking staff. Hermione would smell dinner too, but most of the staff had gone home by then. She always ate alone.
Hermione found it to be quite a lonely job. Human interaction happened frequently, of course, but she had no peers with similar jobs to hers that she would've crossed paths with frequently.
One morning, two weeks in on the day after her first payday whose money she used to buy new lipstick that she wore this morning, she pushed the heavy mahogany door forward with the tea tray in hand, biscuits threatening to slide around.
She was so focused on balancing it all and getting the door to budge, she almost dropped everything when she heard someone clear their throat gently. Her eyes met a silver stare she had only seen on the covers and in the sheets of the newspapers. He was sitting, quite relaxed; his limbs spread in all sharp angles with his chin resting on his fist.
"Good morning." He said. Hermione smiled nervously, opening her mouth as she tried not to spill the tea.
"I'm sorry." She finally got out. "I should have knocked." Hermione had stopped knocking only two days ago when she realised he was never in his office when she brought the tray in. It was a stupid mistake, now this was his first impression of her. Her face flushed hot and she knew the lipstick she was wearing must look like too much.
She was suddenly self conscious. But, he smiled. It was small, yet it showed in his eyes. It left Hermione baffled. She opened her mouth again, unsure what she was about to say. "I'm Hermione Granger." She paused, still balancing the tea tray, half in and half out of the door. "I'm your new Executive Assistant."
Draco stood, not suddenly, but deliberately like he was trying not to startle her. He moved lithely to her and took the tray with ease. He smiled down at her and Hermione's stomach gave a faint swoop.
He was a handsome man. Almost white hair combed neatly back, the beginnings of the shortest hairs breaking free to hang into his eyes, sides cut low so his pale skin showed. His eyes were silver and narrow, they reminded her of a fox. She was hit in the face by the faint, pleasant smell of his cologne, something woody, like fern or cedar, mixed with an undertone of something floral. Like chamomile.
And he was wearing exactly what she had always seen him pictured in. A three piece suit, this one was with a midnight blue shirt that highlighted just how beautiful its charcoal grey was. He stood about three inches taller than her so she was looking up at him, stunned for a moment, by embarrassment or otherwise.
"Then I must apologise, Ms Granger." He walked back to his desk with ease, sliding the tray onto the wooden- mahogany- surface. "For it taking us this long to properly meet."
"Oh, no it's fine, really sir-" Hermione wanted to exit and die behind her desk for the rest of the day thank you very much.
"Draco, please." Malfoy said. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as though he were fighting a smile.
"I'd rather not, sir." Hermione said nervously. "Call you- uh, by your name. I mean."
"Why not?" Malfoy tilted his head, his finger now on the loop of his tea cup.
"Well, sir. I hardly know you, and you're a Minister for Merlin's sake." Hermione laughed a little. The ball of nerves had not unwound itself under her gaze, in fact it had wound tighter. She felt so observed that any wrong move, she thought she would be fired. It was a wonder she wasn't fired already.
"What an odd saying. Merlin's sake?" Malfoy sighed and rocked back into his high backed chair, his eyes closing only briefly before meeting hers again and freezing her in place. "Alright Ms Granger. One day I will get that to work on someone. Everyone truly insists on being so formal here, but they're all my family."
Hermione smiled a little, her face reacting without her permission. "Well, sir. I hardly know you. So permit me at least until my probation is up for me to delve into Draco territory." She flushed at the sound of his name on her tongue. She definitely should be fired.
Malfoy smiled wide now, his chin tilting up a little in amusement. "Well, Ms Granger. I'll hold you to that."
"Okay, sir." She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob. "I'll knock next time, I'm sorry for barging in this morning."
"It's fine, Ms Granger." Malfoy gave a little wave of his hand. She smiled back at him, the feeling stranger on her face. She turned, closing the door. "Ms Granger!" She stopped, peeking her head through the crack in the door.
"Yes, sir?" Hermione was half afraid she had been making his tea wrong this entire two week period so far.
"Thank you for the tea," Malfoy lifted the cup in a toast. "It's perfect."
Hermione inhaled a huge breath of relief. "You're welcome, sir."
That was the most she had interacted with him on a one on one basis. She was called to take minutes of his meetings, she was called in to get things for people who visited the office, she would get him his forms and papers, letters and whatever else he needed, always leaving it on his desk while the phone was balanced on his shoulder. He didn't look up at her when he was busy. She felt invisible, and she kind of liked it that way.
It's how she was allowed to observe him.
This job was meant to be temporary. But the knowledge she amassed about him had become permanent fixtures in her mind.
His hair fell loose because he was bent forward over papers often. He liked to chew on the cap of his pen when he poured over his work, while he was thinking. His fingers drummed slowly when someone was speaking and he didn't like what they were saying.
He had maybe ten three piece suits that were his, and others were sponsored to him. They were all vintage, or recycled materials, both those he owned and those that were sponsored. He mixed and matched what he liked, and he favoured pinstripes.
He never wore gold, always silver. Green, deep, forest green, looked best on him. His shoes were always freshly polished, but by the soles of them they were well loved. She saw the soles whenever she came into his office to give him requested documents and his ankle lay across his knee as he listened impatiently to anyone on the other line.
And on some Fridays, she saw him in a jumper. Cosy and warm, with straight pants that had a crease down the front so he looked very posh. Sometimes, he smelled like cinnamon.
He liked pies for snacking on his stressful days. But on the days he thought he was being too unhealthy, he ate berries. She found that he liked all sorts, sour, sweet, tart. They stained his lips every time he had them.
She liked that he smelled like leather, but those days were when he wore a belt that had a faint dragon embossed along the length of it. She once saw him wearing suspenders, but they were off by the middle of the day; she saw him rubbing the parts of his shoulders where they would have sat before he slid them off. The straps hanging off his hips had made her feel uncomfortably squirmy at the sight.
She had begun to buy him his favourite brands of pen to chew on. She sourced the best countryside berries she could for his lips. She ensured his tea and biscuits were kept at just the right temperature every morning so he wouldn't have to wait for it to cool to be able to drink it.
She loved him.
One particular night, Hermione sat behind her desk with the calendar open. He was still in his office, so she couldn't leave him. The sector was having a particularly bad day with a bomb scare that wasn't handled correctly. She had heard him yelling and winced at the sound of it, foreign to her now that she had known him as quiet and reserved. Pensive and careful before he spoke.
Malfoy's door opened and Hermione froze. He looked down at her in surprise.
"Granger, you're still here." Malfoy swallowed. "Oh god, you should have gone home an hour ago."
"It sounded like you needed me." Hermione shrugged.
"Nothing that can't wait until morning." Malfoy dragged a hand through his hair and it came completely undone. She had never seen him so run-into-the-ground, so tired. Faint purple bags were under his eyes.
"Would you like some coffee, sir?" She stood, suddenly aware she was seated the entire time. She never was quite sure what to do with her body around him; was it appropriate to sit while he looked so...beaten?
Malfoy laughed, tired and gravelly, a sound that went straight to her chest which then sank to her pelvis.
"Bloody hell, Granger." She liked the way he had begun to say just Granger. Her probation wasn't up for another three weeks, but he was already so familiar to her that she warmed to it like tea in cold weather. He rarely smiled and showed teeth, but he was looking at her with disbelief, smiling. She liked it.
"Sir?" Hermione waited for him to continue; he had opened his mouth and shut it again, a tiny crease between his eyebrows.
"I was about to tell you to order us some dinner," Malfoy laughed. He exhaled a laugh through his nose before he approached her desk and fell into the chair meant for visitors. His limbs were long and fluid, he looked so languid in all his movements, she wondered if he was a dancer. She blinked at him as he nestled his chin on his fist and gazed at her through his loose strands of hair. "But then I realised, that would be cruel, asking you to feed yourself when you've stayed here just for me."
"I can order you some take out, sir." Hermione started rifling through her catalogue of numbers she had on her desk. She knew he had the night staff take dinner home to their families, whatever leftovers there were. So she also knew there were no prepared meals left in the house. Malfoy's bark of laughter startled her to a halt.
"Granger." She was so happy she was sitting, she squirmed into the surface of her chair at the low rumble of the easy way he said her name. "Oh, Granger." He sprung out of the chair with much more energy than she thought him capable. His eyes were sparkling. He outstretched a hand and she could only blink at it. She had never touched him. Not even accidentally. And here he was, extending a hand. "Blimey, Granger. You're making me say your name more than I have all week. Come on, let's go."
"Go, sir?" Hermione inhaled as he grinned down at her before she slid her hand into his hand. He gripped her delicately and pulled her to her feet while she memorised the texture of his hand. It was smooth, but worn. Her palm fit snugly into his, and as she was pulled to her feet, she almost stumbled into his chest.
Malfoy held her hand a little longer, she kept her eyes on his neck. She dare not look up.
"To the kitchen, Granger." Malfoy said, again in that low voice, now so near her face she could feel her face throw heat from her blush into the air around her. He let go of her hand and stepped back, only then did she look at him. He was looking at her curiously, eyes dark and head tilted ever so slightly in the way he did when he was solving a problem. "I live here, I think I should be allowed to use my kitchen."
"Is there a problem, sir?" Hermione asked him, curious about his thoughts. Malfoy smiled, almost boyishly. He looked so young for a moment she was floored. He was smiling so much she was half convinced she was asleep.
"Problem, Granger? Why would there be a problem." He took off along a corridor and Hermione glanced left and right, saw that no staff was in sight, and followed him. She wondered if to tell him about his tells, but she wanted to be able to continue to read him, and to do that, he needed to be unaware that he was readable.
"Well, sir," Hermione peeked into the kitchen and found him staring confusedly around, unsure where to start. "I don't think I've ever heard of you using the kitchen before."
Malfoy turned to look at her in the dark, the streetlight sent blocks of light in through the window and lit his light hair and pale skin. She couldn't read his expression but he wasn't smiling with teeth anymore. Hermione found the lightswitch and Malfoy blinked at the sudden brightness.
"Well you're right, I suppose." Malfoy turned to the fridge. "I have found the fridge."
"Do you need help, sir?" Hermione approached him cautiously. He was acting so erratically, she wondered for a moment if he had drunk some of the whiskey he had tucked away in his cupboard.
"Now, where did Lori leave those pans..." Malfoy muttered as he slid a carton of eggs onto the counter. He stooped and opened a cabinet. "Ah ha!" He stood with a frying pan. "Now, Granger, I may not have used a kitchen in...a while, but," He placed the frying pan onto a burner and lit the burner. "I used to help Mother make breakfast all the time."
"It's seven at night, sir." Hermione blinked. Malfoy's shoulders fell slightly.
"Oh, bollocks. I didn't ask you what you'd like to eat." Malfoy slumped against the counter, looking suddenly tired again. "You must think I'm a nutter. Christ, you probably want to go home!"
"No, sir." Hermione started forward and his eyes followed the movement. "I'd love to have breakfast with you." She felt the words come out before she could control them. A hot blush rose up her neck to her cheeks and suddenly, wearing her hair down today was a terrible idea. "I mean, not breakfast-" She flailed her hands a little, trying to get rid of the thoughts in her head, waking next to him, having breakfast together. "This breakfast, now, Merlin's sake."
Malfoy's face broke into a slow smile, traces of fatigue receding the wider his lips grew. He had faint dimples, hidden in the creases of his cheeks, only visible in this light. "You're adorable." Malfoy said delightedly. "I might just start saying Merlin everything if you keep that up around me."
She almost toppled over at his compliment before she turned resolutely away and into the fridge. The pan was hot and Malfoy had not moved to do any cooking yet. She could help. She at least knew some of the contents of his own kitchen better than him. She found the butter, opened a drawer and retrieved a spatula and a knife, gathered two plates, and put the kettle on for tea. Malfoy watched her with fascination.
"Oh no you don't." He snapped back into himself. "Go sit over there, and watch me work." He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and steered her to a stool at the counter. She sat, because how could resist him? Her shoulders tingled and burned from the memory of contact.
She watched him. He slid off his vest and stood in his white shirt, rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, took the pan off the heat because it had gotten way too hot, and dolloped some butter into it to melt. He wore a look of intense concentration, but he was not nibbling on a pen cap. Just his bottom lip.
Hermione had a full view now of his back. All new territory to her as she always met him sitting at the far end of any room. His waist was slim, his back broad. The way his shirt shifted on his shoulders, she could tell he took care of his body. He cracked eggs expertly with one hand and tossed the shells into the bin. The sizzle was a roar in the quiet space. While the eggs were going, he toasted four slices of bread and finally, made up a platter for tea.
It was simple eggs and toast with butter, and tea. He sat beside her proudly, watching her reaction. It looked so simple, mouth wateringly simple. She couldn't remember the last time she had a breakfast like this; something that wasn't fruit, or salad, or a quick bagel.
"Well?" Malfoy leaned toward her, his shoulder almost bumping hers but he stopped short.
"Thanks for breakfast, sir." Hermione looked at him, and for once, she didn't tense her body in an effort to keep her affection at bay. She smiled, warm and wide. Malfoy's eyes dipped to her mouth and he was smiling too.
"When are you going to start calling me Draco?" Malfoy turned his attention to his toast, lifting it to his mouth and crunching rather loudly to punctuate his sentence.
"I don't know, sir." Hermione turned to her plate as well and pushed the eggs around with her fork.
"Come on then, let's try it." Malfoy encouraged. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, God. I hope you don't think I'm flir- am I making you uncomfortable, Granger?"
Hermione started and looked at him, genuine horror in his eyes. "No, sir!" She insisted empathically. "Not at all." She paused, lowering her voice from the shrill sound she had just made. "I've seen how you are with your staff. You're kind. Not like what the papers have painted you as."
"You've read the papers about me, Granger?" He sounded genuinely intrigued. She looked at him quickly before fidgeting with her toast.
"I used to, sir." Hermione admitted, failing to fight the blush. "I admire you, you're so young in the field and I wanted to do the same."
"What's stopping you?" Malfoy hadn't touched his toast again, but his hand was around his tea cup now. She looked up at him and turned to face him, her knee just brushing his kneecap. Her skin vibrated on that spot and she had to force her concentration to form her words.
"I started too late. And, forgive me sir, a lot of politics is heavily fueled by nepotism." Hermione blushed but held his stare.
Malfoy tilted his head. "You're right, of course. Is that why you're working in my office, Granger?" He absentmindedly tried to get the hair out of his eyes, and failed. "To learn the trade."
"I'm under no delusions sir, that I can become a Minister. My qualifications can maybe get me into an office, but not to hold an office." Hermione smiled a little sadly. But she had made up her mind; she knew exactly where she was aiming for.
Malfoy tutted. "Now, now, Granger. You're working for the youngest Minister of our generation." Draco turned back to the counter and his knee brushed hers again, more pressure, but he said nothing and nor did she. "You can sit in on more meetings if you like. Meet a few more people. Let my nepotism rub off on you." He winked. Winked . Hermione stared, replaying it in her mind. Was he flirting? Was she?
"Thank you," Now or never, she told herself. "Draco." His toast stopped midway to his mouth and he looked at her.
"Did you just-" Draco's eyes were fixed to her mouth, then searching her face with a boyish wonder that made her question letting him run an office.
"Nope." Hermione laughed as she cut into her toast with her knife and fork. "Still weird, sir." Draco deflated next to her but his shoulders had long since untensed and she couldn't help but love knowing that all those smiles were for her. She collected them all inside her, revisiting them when she was home, alone, and no one could see her face.
Because she was a girl in love.
She was given a slight raise and a permanent contract when her probation of three months had passed. She had only ever interacted with her boss intimately two times. But now she was sitting in on every meeting that was cleared to have her, and she was taking minutes and mental notes at a speed she didn't know she was capable of.
She learned more about procedure and policy making here than she could ever learn by pouring over books. She was distracted and occupied enough that butterflies in her stomach, which evolved to her chest, happened only three times a day.
Hermione pencilled in Draco's monthly dinner he had with Blaise Zabini, his girlfriend Pansy, an heiress, and a woman Hermione had only ever seen in the papers photographed with princes and princesses, always posh. Astoria Greengrass. She wondered what they did on those monthly dates, but most times, she forced herself not to dwell on it outside of making their reservations.
It was good that Draco had people. She was sorry that she wasn't one of them. She would never be.
At the end of her Friday after she had seen him leave his office, there were documents she knew he would need over the weekend that must be set in plain view. It wasn't that he was stupid, just busy and she liked making his life easier. She had printed them, labelled them, put them in a binder; She had begun to read them with his permission and often, she would leave suggestions and comments on sticky notes. Things she found interesting, things she wanted to learn more about, things she thought he could do better. She knocked out of habit and sidled into the room.
She looked at her target, Draco's desk, and paused. When had he come back? She was probably holding her breath, the air had gone so still. He was asleep, cheek on his forearms, face placid. His glasses were tangled on the top of his head. She tried to remember if she had ever seen him with reading glasses, ever. His breathing was heavy and even. He was not wearing his vest again, it was draped on a chair, his jacket on the rack. And there was no room on his desk to leave these files without knowing what she would be messing up. He was chaos, but he understood his chaos and worked well within it.
She allowed herself to stare for a moment while she figured out what to do. Should she wake him? If she left the file here for him, he would know she had seen him sleeping and didn't wake him. If he kept sleeping like this when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs, he would kink his neck. If she did wake him, he might be embarrassed, and she definitely would be slightly mortified. She saw on his shoulder under his white shirt, stretches of black in a pattern her eyes couldn't quite see. It extended to his shoulder blade but she couldn't see beyond there, like he had on a vest underneath. He had a tattoo?
Draco was still surprising her. She touched his shoulder gently, standing just in his line of sight so he wouldn't be too surprised to see her. "Sir."
His eyes opened slowly, his head never moving. He blinked sleepily as his silver eyes focused, his pupils constricted and dilated. He gave a low groan and Hermione pretended she wasn't cataloguing that sound.
"Shit, Granger. Did I fall asleep?" Draco asked as he sat up and rubbed his neck. "What's the time?"
"A little after five, sir." Hermione knew since she was about to leave.
"What are you doing here then?" Draco looked up at her and she saw in her peripheral vision how wide his legs spread as he stretched back into his chair.
"I have a file for your weekend, sir." Hermione held out the bound papers to him from against her chest where she was using it as a metaphorical shield from her emotions.
"No, Granger. I meant here on a Friday." Draco gave a sleepy smile and he rubbed his eyes. His glasses slipped off but he caught it deftly and placed it on the table. "Don't you go out? Do you have fun?"
"I like to read." Hermione said automatically. She really did like to read. Getting lost in worlds so completely different from their own, worlds of magic and dragons, or worlds with aliens and superhuman abilities, books filled with useful knowledge she never knew when it would come in handy, everything. She loved it all. Draco gave her a laugh and she caught it. She smiled at him.
"But you have friends, surely." Draco stood up and began stretching. He looked twice as long as before.
"My best friends are in France." Hermione said a little wistfully. She had never been, but she had just got this job and she couldn't risk taking vacation time just then.
"Oh, work, life, or pleasure?" Draco asked with his back to her as he slipped his vest back on and worked to button it. She was watching him get dressed. She liked the skin at the back of his neck, it looked smooth and soft.
"Life, and pleasure, I suppose." Hermione blushed and looked away. 'But I promise, sir. I have fun."
"I don't doubt you do." Draco looked at her with an unblinking gaze. "You're the most interesting thing in my life, Granger."
They were across the room from each other and she could hear his breathing. Soft even breaths that were completely opposite to the rushing blood in her ears. She never felt watched by him, not like this. Like he was seeing her as someone completely different than the woman he could rely on to keep him sane.
A firm knock on the door broke their eye contact. "Sir, oh!' Lori, the housekeeper, looked startled to see Hermione in her line of sight instead of Draco.
"Yes, Lori." Draco said and the woman finally found him as she opened the door further. "Ms Granger was just setting my weekend files up. I'll be right there for dinner."
"Sorry for interrupting, sir. I thought you might have fallen asleep at your desk again." Lori smiled at them both. "Will Ms Granger be joining you for dinner?"
Draco looked at Hermione and Hermione looked at them both. "Sir, I can't impose-"
"Nonsense!" Draco shook his head. He turned to Lori. "You can set the table for one extra, Lori. If Ms Granger doesn't have a book to go home to."
She didn't. She was going to curl up with a pint of ice cream and a rom com.
"Sir, I-" Hermione tried to wave it off. She couldn't hide her feelings in such a setting. He would see it on her face like a bloody billboard.
"Aw, no pressure Ms Granger." Draco instantly offered. "At least let Lori pack you a to-go kit?" He asked as he looked at Lori who nodded.
"Oh, alright then." Hermione adjusted her purse.
"Do you want to see what I've prepared?" Lori asked as they all filed from Draco's decidedly too small office. Hermione was prepared to wait here, at her desk; she placed her purse on the surface and was about to sit. "I wouldn't want to give you something you don't like, or worse, you're allergic to."
Hermione paused, her heart did a little skip and she wasn't quite sure why. She picked her purse back up off her desk, "Sure. That makes sense." She murmured as she followed them down the corridor and into the kitchen she had been in a month ago, eating breakfast made by Draco Malfoy, for her. The kitchen smelled amazing wafting past the door and into the corridor. Butter, and garlic, something was roasted, she thought she smelled chicken.
Placed on the dining table was a modest spread of roast dinner with salad on the side. It could easily feed four people, but Hermione remembered it was meant to also feed some of the staff. There was only one plate set, with one wine glass. Hermione frowned.
"What would you like, dear?" Lori asked as she rummaged around for a take away container.
"Um, on second thought," Hermione swallowed thickly, inhaled slowly, promising not to regret this, "I can stay for dinner." She glanced at Draco and his face hardly shifted, but his eyes had gone soft in the corners.
"You don't have to, Ms Granger." Draco waved a hand.
"No, I want to." Hermione insisted. She settled her bag onto the countertop and helped herself to a plate, remembering where they were when she had gotten them last time. She found a knife and a fork, shut the drawer with her hip, then walked to the table. She set it beside to the right of Draco's set place and sat.
She was determined to do this for him. She tried to remember what his calendar looked like, but her mind kept pulling up blank on Friday. Tomorrow he had a lunch to attend, and then dinner with his parents. She wasn't holding him back by staying as he asked.
Draco exhaled through his nose, a smile on his lips. "Alright Lori. Have a good night, I'll see you on Monday." Lori smiled and nodded before disappearing so quickly, Hermione wondered if there was a hidden door. Draco settled into his chair and she could feel the heat of him under the table. She was probably sitting too close to him. She shifted.
Silently, she passed him dishes while also taking a little of everything. She favoured the legs, so she had one which separated easily, and he had a thick cut of breast. Everything was delicious. She didn't take so much that she felt stuffed, but she was thoroughly satisfied. She sank back against the chair and sighed.
"Thank you for keeping me company, Granger." Draco was on his feet and taking her dish. He hadn't opened his bottle of wine, but sipped water like she had. She smiled at him.
"I think I should be thanking you for insisting a little that I eat with you. Lori's dinners are infinitely better for you than they are when it's made for the entire staff." Hermione got to her feet and brought the glasses to the sink.
"That's because I have her make some food, like a side or whatever, but she orders the rest from our preferred caterer, on those days. The last thing she needs is the stress of cooking for twenty people something as elaborate as dinner." Draco rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher.
She placed the glasses into the dishwasher, their shoulders brushed.
"Well, sir." Hermione felt sleepiness begin to seize her. "I best be on my way."
"Would you like to stay for a drink?" He glanced at his watch. "It's half past six."
Hermione looked at him, not saying anything. It bounced around in her head, the idea of staying here just to have a drink. To see what he would be like if he had alcohol in him. To be closer to him like one of his friends. And she really didn't have anything to go home to.
"One drink, sir." She smiled. He rolled up his sleeves and slipped out of his vest. She wondered about his habit of putting it on at all, what habits he would have had to build growing up to be so automatic with it. He entered a room Hermione never had reason to be in before, a drawing room by the looks of it.
She paused at the threshold while he went to a corner where she could see a tray of various alcohols in crystal decanters. She listened to him pour their glasses but her eyes were trained on the room. It was a library. Floor to ceiling, all the walls were lined with books. There was even a platform and a rolling ladder. There was a study desk to one end, and a couch set in an L shape at the centre of the room, where there was also a fireplace. Everything was rich and she could feel the history in the air around her.
"Granger?" Draco said, offering her a glass. She took it.
"This is a wonderful library." Hermione's eyes were wide like her brain wanted to process seeing as much of it at once in one go.
"You haven't even seen what the books are." Draco laughed. "They could be detailed books on reform from the 1920s."
"I don't care." Hermione ignored the glass in her hand and walked up to the nearest shelf. Dewey Decimal System. She laughed. "Does anyone use this room?"
"Occasionally I do." Draco was next to her, not peering at the books like she was, but at her. She traced a finger along the spine. All the books were various ages of leather bound, varying colours of stained leather, all beautiful in sight and smell. She sighed and closed her eyes, then inhaled deeply. Being around books was like a drug, and this was more intoxicating than the alcohol in her hand. Knowledge is power.
"We're lucky to have you here, Granger." Draco's voice was low, the sound barely escaping his throat. Hermione looked at him and found his eyes were dark as he gazed at her, sharp as a fox to observe her.
"I'm lucky to be here learning so much, sir." Hermione brought the glass up to her nose and smelled it. He followed the motion before he brought his own glass to his lips and sipped. It was woody, that way that scotch smelled when it's sat in a barrel for years. A bit earthy from its age, smooth, and she could already feel the warmth of it in her stomach as if she had already drank it. She sipped it and let it coat her tongue, and for a brief moment, she thought about the fact that Draco's mouth must taste exactly like this right now. Just for this moment she knew what he would taste like.
She thought this while looking at him, and he was looking at her, and for a flicker of a moment, she thought she could see that exact same thought in his eyes. She didn't blush anymore. She blushed altogether too much around him and she was done with it. He liked her, he had to. You didn't look at someone like that if you didn't.
"You can use this place whenever you like." He said. They were standing some feet away from each other, but she could see his chest rising in tandem with hers, their rhythms synced.
"I'd love to." Hermione sipped her drink again. The alcohol was warm in her stomach and branched into her chest, warming her breath and cheeks. He stepped closer and slid his glass onto a shelf. Hermione almost stepped back but looked up to meet his gaze.
"You're astounding." Draco said, his lips still wet with scotch. Hermione's heart hammered in her chest. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and brought his finger under her chin, tilting her face to him. "You baffle me everyday with the way you think." His lips were close to hers, she could smell his cologne, his scotch, the scent of his skin at the end of the day. "You should be running this country." Stars were branching out from her chin, down her neck, popping when his breath met her cheek, her lips. She watched his lips form the words, then his eyes which looked as though they were cataloguing everything about her in this moment.
He didn't kiss her. He took a hasty step backward and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Granger." Hermione's stomach dropped.
"No, sir. I'm sorry." She shook her head. He laughed and looked away, his eyes remaining closed as he stood still trying to even his breathing.
"I'm the superior. I overstepped-" Draco said, his jaw clenching visibly.
"It's fine." Hermione insisted. "I should go." Hermione said when she realised he couldn't look at her. "Thank you for dinner."
"It was my pleasure, Granger." Draco offered a tight smile. His face was carefully held again, emotion not so much as seeping from the corners of his eyes in the soft way it often did when he looked at her. He was cold. Picture: Minister Draco Malfoy in his drawing room.
It stung, being looked at like she was no one. She slid the glass onto the bar before closing the door on the way out. She dared not look at him because his regret stung like a slap.