Chapter 7: Opportunity In A Risky Field
"Mr Malfoy just owled. He says his floo is open to your office whenever you're ready." Celia honked nasally through milky sinuses. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a symptom of the Pox or just the result of crying throughout the day.
"I've got half a bloody hour before he's scheduled, and we prearranged an apparition." at this point, she was looking for any excuse to be mad at him, and she wasn't sure why.
"He said you'd say that he said to tell you this was the only time he could get an open ministry link, and you know you're ready, so just get a move on. His words, not mine" Celia sighed in a breath so full of melancholy Hermione was sure she'd been momentarily possessed by the ghost of Virginia Woolf.
"Are you OK, Celia?" Hermione ventured, instantly regretting her decision when the girl stepped into her office and closed the door.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger," Celia, gasped tears welling in her eyes already.
Fuck. Hermione forced a smile to her lips that did not meet her eyes. "It's fine, Celia, but you're going to have to pull yourself together. This is an office, not the pages of some melodrama." Hermione chided. Hypocrite. She tried to ignore her own internal scolding but failed.
"Marcus shouldn't be taking this out on you, though, Miss Granger." Celia choked, and Hermione took a step back.
"I'm sure he has his reasons." Hermione picked up her bag again, hoping it indicated to the girl that she intended on leaving.
Celia, ignoring all social cues, slipped into the visitor's chair on the other side of Hermione's desk, blowing her nose loudly. "I told him what you said to me." The woman wailed. Hermione racked her brain hastily. What the fuck did I say to her.
Hermione thought Celia was a dimwit, and she wasn't far off. The girl had a job at the ministry thanks to a small hiring pool and an uncle high up in international. She was a relatively harmless sort of plod who asked Hermione a million questions a day, none of which had anything to do with the Magical Creatures of Great Britain. If I just ate cucumbers for a week, do you think I'd die, Miss Granger? Miss Granger, Do you believe grass has feelings? Should I sleep with the file clerk, Miss Granger? Hermione remembered being asked, and she remembered replying, "That's none of my business! That's what I said when you asked me about your sex life!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping her bag and clapping her hands.
"Yes, but when I asked you about the different job opportunities I'd been offered, that were a risky choice, you said I should follow my passion and my heart and not settle for the first department that would have me!" Celia sobbed into her handkerchief.
"I was talking about you moving to international!" Hermione stomped in a fury. "I was talking about your career Celia."
"Yes, well, the principle still applies." The idiotic girl shrugged and took a shaky breath.
"Jim, the file clerk is not a new opportunity in a risky field Celia. He's barely a functioning adult! Twice, already this year, his mother has had to bring him in spare trousers because he's split his." Hermione expounded emphatically.
"He's practising his northern soul dance!" Celia attempted to defend her one night stand, only realising how stupid she sounded once the words were out.
"He…" Hermione didn't finish her diatribe on James, aka Jim, the file clerk.
"Granger?" Draco, exasperated, appeared in the roaring green flames in the grate that had gone unnoticed. "move would you, infuriating woman."
Hermione was torn between indignation at his assumption and a quick exit from Celia. The cost of the immediate departure was worth it. She scooped her bag back up and stepped into the network being held open by Malfoy. Only when she stepped in did she realise she was flooing with him. Not something oft done for personal safety reasons. Any fear she had was assuaged when he found his footing instantly and her waist and lifted her quickly from the green flames and into the library of Malfoy manor.
Hermione glanced at her watch. "I'm ten minutes early." she smiled with satisfaction and tried not to come off as too excited by his tomes. His library was twice as large as she'd imagined, rows upon rows of dark brown shelves, not unlike Hogwarts.
"You didn't reply to me." she swivelled on her heel to catch him leaning on the mantle, swilling ruefully, a glass of what she was sure was orange juice. It was rehearsed and dramatic, and she really wanted to laugh at him. "I understand, of course, but I think it would have been swell if you'd answered my question rather than leave me reeling for days." he took a long swig of his pulp-free beverage and looked at her finally, surprised to see confusion etched on her face.
"What question?"
"The one in the note with the flowers?" he took a step toward her. "The ones I sent three days ago?"
"I got flowers, and I assumed they were from you. But there was no note." she felt her cheeks reddening as she imagined all the different questions he could have asked her in that note. "I wasn't really sure how to take them. What they meant?"
"oh bother." he pursed his lips and looked at her apologetically "it wasn't a graphic note by a long margin, but it was personal, Granger. You'll be pleased to know I didn't sign my name." he offered her a conciliatory smile.
"If it ends up in the wrong hands, I'll just say it's another sex pest note. I get a lot." she should be worried, the notion that someone could be tampering with her mail was a problem, and of course, she would investigate it, but her treacherous brain was single-minded in its occupation. What question?
"That's unpleasant, the fact you get sent those kinds of notes, I mean." He shuffled awkwardly. The fact she'd not got the note really derailed everything he'd practised saying before she'd arrived. Which was a very normal thing to do.
"yea." WHAT QUESTION?
"then again, I sent you that kind of note… well, not really. I don't think it really counts as sex pesty if we've actually…." Draco rambled nervously. This is why we practice.
"What Question?" she blurted, her face crimson with the exertion of attempting to restrain herself from asking a second time.
"What?" she startled him out of musings on whether he was a sex pest. "Oh, of course. Well, asking face to face is more uncomfortable."
"Would you like me to turn around?" She offered, and he wasn't sure if she was joking.
"no," he smirked, regaining some of the effortless composure he worked so hard to project. "I'll just get distracted by your arse again."
"No, it's alright, I'm not wearing a pencil skirt today." she pointed at her lower half. "no distractions."
"I know exactly what you're wearing today, Granger. It is the only skirt of yours I rank higher than the maroon pencil skirt with the arse ruffle that you only wear around Christmas time." he took a step towards her, emboldened by her response and blush.
"You rank my skirts?" she looked incredulous.
"Third place is the tartan knee-length pencil skirt that you don't wear because it itches. The second place is the aforementioned arse ruffle, and in first is the grey box pleated skirt that she wears for a confidence boost." he was close enough to reach out and tug at the fabric. He watched as she lost her breath momentarily.
"How could you possibly know that?" she kept her eyes fixed on his bobbing adam's apple, not capable of making complete eye contact with him at that moment.
"Because you're radiant when you're confident, and every time I've seen you make a speech, you wear it." he pressed his finger under her chin and canted her head up to his, forcing her eyes to his own. "Would you like to know why it makes you feel better?"
"Go on then?" she tilted her chin a little higher than his finger in defiance.
"It reminds you of Hogwarts. If you told me it was your school skirt right now, I'd believe you." he smiled, proud of his deductions.
"Fuck." Hermione muttered, suddenly glancing down at herself and breaking their intense eye contact. The break was enough to remind her what they were actually talking about "stop deflecting Malfoy. What question?"
"ah." he nodded sagely. "That's right, the note. Bother." some of his smooth façade crumbled as he took a fumbling but minute step in retreat. "I complimented your penmanship, told you what a wonderful time I had. Then I highlighted some of my favourite moments."
Ah, great. Someone is walking about with a blow by blow of my desk sex. She thought but remained silent, nodding encouragingly for him to continue. Good sense is thrown to the wind on the off chance he could work his magic again, "and then I enquired as to whether this was an event that you would like to see repeated, as I most undoubtedly would?" he concluded, a little sheepishly.
She tried not to smile too hard, to hide from him that his desire meant something to her. She wanted to play it off as just fun, just something a bit weird to break the day. "yes." she knew she'd spoken too fast and too loud, but her embarrassment was halted when she caught sight of Draco pumping his fist at his side. She turned from him again. Shrugging out of her jacket, she placed it on her bag and turned to look at his library. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, and she took a sobering breath and wandered deeper into the stacks. She heard his footsteps shadowing hers.
She leaned against the section she knew was potions. She could smell the almost sickly sweetness of a recently brewed Dreamless Sleep on the pages. She watched with her thighs pressed tightly together as he yanked the sweatshirt from his head, revealing a crisp white oxford. He smirked as he slid a familiar green piece of neckwear from his back pocket and diligently tied it, straightening his collar as he approached her.
He'd come prepared. "You haven't" she couldn't help but chuckle at his effort.
"Of course I have." He tugged at the tie. "I was very impressed with the prose you sent me off with, Granger. Though I may make some alterations to my characterisation", he nodded curtly. She had handed him one of her older stories when he'd very much been a snotty caricature. He was a lot more fleshed out in her later works. "I don't think I'd ever conclude sex by telling you 'my father will hear of this" he offered an example of her misinterpretation.