"He kissed your hand?"
Hermione nodded as Ginny's brows shot into her hairline after Hermione divulged how the night at the ballet had ended.
Yes, and he looked deeply into my eyes the entire time and it was the single most arousing thing to happen to me in a long time. Further, I have brought myself to climax several times thinking about him.
"Yes. But maybe it was just some old-fashioned, pureblood etiquette thing?"
Hermione had intended to mention the night at the ballet to exactly zero people. But then Malfoy had to go and leave her all flustered and so Hermione required calling in the cavalry: Ginny. This time, Hermione took no chances of being overheard, and invited Ginny over for dinner while Harry worked an overnight raid.
Ginny shot up from Hermione's couch and began pacing around the living room. They'd foregone wine and opted for tea tonight because Hermione wanted a clear head when discussing her "I'm embarrassingly infatuated with Malfoy" situation. She did not reveal to Ginny the name she'd given this situation in her head, nor the fact that her sexual fantasies starred him and only him.
"It's possible, certainly. He is a poncey little prat after all." Ginny conceded and made a face.
"That's not helping Ginny."
Hermione sighed and leaned back against the couch in defeat. "How is it that I have made it to my late twenties and still remain woefully inept at reading men?"
Ginny didn't stop her pacing but shot Hermione a stern look. "You're not woefully inept at anything. Well, maybe quidditch." Hermione let out a snort of laughter and Ginny continued. "Look, I obviously don't know Malfoy the way you do. But I can, objectively, say he is stupidly handsome. I can also, objectively, say that you are positively gorgeous."
Ginny had to hold up an impatient hand as Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "Don't you dare say otherwise or I will hex you across the room. Now," Ginny clasped her hands in front of her as she continued her pacing. "I think sexual attraction between two good-looking people is normal and probably inevitable, but if you're worried that your attraction to him will cause you to act rashly, we can work on how to give you the upper hand here."
Hermione swirled her tea around in her mug as she mulled over Ginny's words. "How?"
"Haughty indifference," Ginny asserted. "You will act as if absolutely nothing he does is getting under your skin. The longer you can put up a confidence front, the more you will begin to believe it yourself, and then it will become natural. That way, this bout of fancying him won't lead anywhere further."
Of course, why would I want this to lead anywhere? Except to perhaps my bedroom?
They'd spent the rest of the evening game-planning Hermione's behaviors for the next time she met up with Malfoy.
Before approaching the café on Monday morning, Hermione took a moment to collect herself. Remembering everything she had discussed with Ginny about appearing unruffled at all times, she corrected her posture, poised her head up high and strode purposefully into the café.
"Good morning," she greeted him coolly. This was working, she thought, so far she had maintained her air of being supremely unaffected in his presence.
"Granger," he practically purred her name and it immediately caused her stomach to somersault. Damn it all, she was in trouble. This was a horrible, awful, terrible idea. How on earth did Hermione think she could remain nonchalant in his company? He'd said one word, her surname, and Hermione wanted to melt out of her clothing. Possibly because he'd said it just the way she'd dreamt the other night. The dream where he'd been mere seconds away from bringing her to a mind-bending orgasm.
"Did you have an enjoyable rest of your weekend?" She asked, attempting to keep the conversation neutral and mundane. That was another tactic she'd discussed with Ginny.
Malfoy shrugged his shoulders and took a long sip of his coffee. "All right, I suppose. Some financial documents required my attention, so nothing else occurred that I would classify as stimulating as our Saturday evening together."
He wasn't even looking at her when he said it, but idly flipping through a quidditch magazine charmed to look like a Muggle newspaper. And Hermione didn't know if it was his cool detachment or the way he'd seemed to emphasize the word "stimulating" in the most alluring manner possible, but if she didn't leave the table right then to fetch herself some tea, she very well might launch herself at him and tear off that tightly-fitted suit.
"Ok, well, I've got to get my tea," she awkwardly announced and tried not to sprint from her seat.
This is already going swimmingly.
March 2008
Draco was a creature of habit. To Hermione, this was both equally endearing as it was infuriating. For Merlin's sake, the man would spiral into a seething fit of petulance if the café dare run out of blueberry scones before his arrival.
However, one habit that Hermione was rather fond of, was his suit rotation. During the five-day workweek, Draco wore the same suits in the exact same order. On Mondays and Fridays, he dressed in a black suit, with a white shirt and black tie. The cufflinks and tie pin were a deep emerald green.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Draco wore a black suit with a light gray pinstripe, gray button-up, and black tie. No tie pin, and the cufflinks were a rich amethyst.
But on Wednesdays? Wednesdays had become Hermione's favorite day of the week. On Wednesdays Draco wore a deep navy suit with matching tie, with a pale blue button-up and diamond cufflinks that probably cost more than her parents' house. The silvery hue of Malfoy's eyes was always striking to see, but the blue of his suit and shirt brought out their color in shining prominence.
Today was Wednesday, which meant Hermione spent an inordinate amount of time covertly ogling her well-dressed friend from across the table. This was something she really could not afford to be doing, as she had quite a lot of prep work to complete on her presentation for her upcoming Venice trip in April. But Merlin help her, the man looked good in shades of blue.
"See something you like Granger?" Those eyes bored into hers now, the color of stormy skies over a vast ocean.
Damn it all, she was never going to learn to be subtle, was she?
"No! I mean, yes, I mean—" It really didn't help her mental state or with her ability to express herself when he was smirking at her like that. Deep breaths, Hermione.
"You look nice when you wear blue!" She blurted then immediately averted her eyes to her notebook and didn't dare look up at him the rest of the morning.
Someone, please, obliviate me.
Not that Draco was keeping track, but he had been sitting with Hermione Granger at the same cafe table before each work day for longer than a whole year now. And what had he learned in all this time?
He knew about her parents, about her failed relationship with the Weasel, and about her continued relationship with the Weasel's family. He knew how she took her tea, she also preferred blueberry scones, and what she looked like during a panic attack. He'd seen her laugh, cry, and positively ignite with rage that one time he'd made an offhand comment about house elves. Draco knew every single stance she took on political topics. He knew which departments in the Ministry were actually doing worthwhile work, and which departments' heads she wouldn't mind pelting with undiluted bubotuber pus. Draco knew exactly the type of mood she was in based on how she entered the café each day and how much tea she ordered.
They didn't often discuss the war or school, only because those topics were often too emotionally heavy for the beginning of the day. But in general, he knew all the hallmark things that most friends knew about one another. Recently, Draco had taken to filling any of his knowledge gaps in "Hermione Granger trivia" by asking random questions as they occurred to him. This was how he learned that purple was her favorite color, her favorite day of the week was Wednesday (she refused to elaborate on her reasoning), her favorite animal was a cat, her corporeal Patronus was an otter, her birthday was September 19, her favorite ice cream flavor was strawberry, and her middle name was Jean, after her mother.
"What's your favorite sweet?" He asked her suddenly, apropos of nothing. Accustomed to his question outbursts by this point, Hermione didn't even look up from her newspaper.
"Magical or Muggle?"
"Either."
"Sugar Quills."
Draco thanked every deity that was ever rumored to have existed that Hermione's head was buried in her paper and she therefore could not witness the way his jaw tightened and his eyes bugged out of his skull as he bit back a longing groan. Merlin's fucking beard, he would willingly hand over his wand to witness her sucking on a Sugar Quill. So much for not needing to wank today…
Draco had been waiting for an excuse to suggest another social outing to Hermione for the whole month following the ballet, and one had finally arrived. Wesley Macnair had two tickets, very nice box seats no less, to the opera next month and was unable to attend. As his colleague traipsed about the office of Whisp & Wright whinging about how his wife was harping on about giving away the tickets because some cousins of hers were visiting that same weekend, Draco poked his head out of his office door.
"Macnair! I'll take them."
Macnair whirled around in surprise at Draco having volunteered. "You? You want to take these blasted things off my hands?"
Draco nodded and held out his hand expectantly. Macnair regarded him suspiciously for a moment before handing them to Draco. "This is a pair, you realize. Who're you so anxious to suffer with for several hours while some fat witch warbles?"
"Mind your own bloody business. And thank you." Draco warded off any further nosiness on the part of Macnair by slamming his office door right in his face.
Could Draco have simply just asked Hermione to dinner or even drinks after work? Well of course, but for some reason every time he opened his mouth to ask, he chickened right out. He was still worried that he may have pushed things too far with her after the ballet, and every iteration of asking her to dinner sounded like a date in his head.
Which would all be fine and dandy if he didn't think she'd be completely spooked by him. Besides, if he were honest with himself, his confidence had taken a blow ever since she'd turned him down in favor of her date with Anthony Goldstein back in January.
So Draco did the pragmatic (read: cowardly) thing and waited for an activity to arise. Suggesting a cultural activity seemed like a much safer bet, because there would be a purpose to the evening other than dinner, drinking, and longing looks across a table. Although, Draco could think of many activities he'd like to perform with Hermione...
Clearing his mind of any thoughts of illicit behaviors, Draco broached the topic of a night at the opera as casually as possible.
"Granger, during your posh little childhood did you ever attend the opera?"
She looked up from her tea and quirked an eyebrow at him. Great, he'd already fucked this up. He was going for a laugh, but apparently she didn't find his prickish tone amusing today.
"No. And before you ask, yes, Muggles do have the opera, it's just considered an old-fashioned form of entertainment in the Muggle world. Most people our age and younger would prefer to see a film or concert."
"So you've never been?"
"I just told you I've never been."
He was not going to let her snippy attitude deter him. "Perfect. I have tickets for an upcoming performance and you should accompany me."
Her eyes widened slightly and her mouth opened and closed several times. She seemed at a loss for what to say and Draco tried not to appear affected by the interminable wait for her brain to start working again. You could really kill a man by making him wait this long only to reject him. If she mentions Anthony Goldstein or any other witless moron as an excuse, I swear on my magic that I will find said witless moron and hex him straight to Jupiter.
Finally, she seemed to remember how to human, and cleared her throat. "When is the show?"
"Friday the 11th."
She frowned slightly and opened up her planner. How she was able to locate it so quickly amongst her innumerable notebooks, journals, periodicals, and textbooks, Draco would never know but since this was Granger, he had to assume there was some sort of system in place.
"That's two days before I leave for Venice."
"Which means you'll be over prepared and already packed for your trip and could use a night off."
She frowned for a minute longer, then with a light shrug of her shoulders smiled up at Draco. "You're right. Otherwise I'll be shut in at home, driving myself mad trying to add last minute citations to my presentation."
"So you'll come then?" She blushed instantly at his question and Draco wondered if her mind had gone down the same perverted path as his: I'd love for you to come Granger, let me make you come.
"Yes, all right," she responded breathily.
"Excellent, now I'll need you to select a restaurant for dinner before the show."
Draco hoped that phrasing dinner as a foregone conclusion rather than a request might make her more amenable. It was a tactic he often used in contract negotiations with quidditch players; framing a query as a definite instead of a question was usually a sure-fire way to get what he wanted.
She seemed to consider his statement for a minute before nodding again and Draco wondered if someone had cast a Cheering Charm on him, because he was waging an internal battle against grinning like an idiot at her.
"Would you be opposed to dining in Muggle London?" she asked hesitantly. Granger, I would dine at the bottom of the fucking ocean if you want.
He shrugged. "Not at all."
She beamed at him and Draco tried to ignore the way his heart beat faster at the notion that his simple acquiescence to her request was all it took to make her that happy.
"Great, I'll take you to one of my favorite places!" She looked so ecstatic at the thought of taking Draco to dinner that he was filled with that curious emotion called hope once again. A dangerous emotion, to be sure, but damn if Granger didn't seem to inspire it in him constantly.
Suddenly, her expression faltered a bit. "Will this be your first time… you know, apart from the café… will this be your first meal at a Muggle restaurant?"
Draco tried not to feel hurt that she still harbored any doubts about his character, but the hesitancy in her voice stung. Trust is earned over time, said Healer Browning's voice once again in his mind.
"I'll be fine Granger, don't worry your pretty little head about me. I promise not to conjure any waltzing flamingos in the middle of dinner and utterly obliterate the Statute of Secrecy."
His dry humor had the desired effect and she was back to smiling. "Yes, please do restrain yourself during your very first visit to a Muggle restaurant and I will do my best to not commit any social faux pas at my first visit to the opera."
"Hmm, seems like it will be a night of firsts for both of us." He hadn't meant to say it so suggestively, but now Granger's smile had vanished and she stared intently back at him. There was something curious in her gaze that rooted Draco to his chair, unable to drop his eyes from hers. How did this happen? When did this happen?
Was she feeling the same confusing swirl of emotions that he was? Did she also lie awake at night wondering what it would feel like for his hands to tangle themselves in her hair? Were her waking hours at the office filled with distracting daydreams about how their bodies might feel pressed together? Did she also notice that their stares at one another lasted several seconds longer than was socially appropriate? Could she tell that his thoughts of her were so all-consuming that he needed to pleasure himself twice a day on average?
"Yes, I suppose it will be," she agreed softly, and finally looked away.
I am in control of this.
April 2008
Where was this blasted bowl? And did Molly really even need this specific, super special family heirloom to serve them all salad? As far as Hermione was aware, this was just a regular Sunday evening meal at The Burrow. It was no one's birthday, deathday, anniversary, engagement party, pregnancy announcement, or launch of a new Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes product.
For the life of her, Hermione could not understand why Molly had pulled her aside almost the moment she'd arrived to ask for her help in locating this extremely important bowl. And this was how Hermione found herself combing through the cramped and cluttered pantry off the kitchen, searching for a bowl that may as well have fallen into another dimension because it certainly did not seem to exist in this cupboard.
"Oh hi Hermione! I didn't realize you were here!"
Hermione whirled around at the greeting to see the smiling face of Charlie Weasley. She gave him a quick hug. "Hello! Yes, your mother put me to work immediately. She wants me to find some ancient wooden salad bowl that used to belong to your Aunt Muriel, but I've had no luck so far."
Hermione returned to the task in front of her, shifting aside old, rusted out cauldrons and several dusty tomes of Gilderoy Lockhart housekeeping and cooking books. She turned back around when she heard Charlie clear his throat awkwardly.
"I uhh… think my mother may have had an ulterior motive here," he said with a sheepish look. When Hermione appeared puzzled, he elaborated. "She sent me back here for the same thing."
Hermione let out a groan and felt both exasperated and embarrassed at Molly's overt meddling in both her and Charlie's love lives. "Oh for goodness sake, I am not interested in pursuing a relationship with you! No offense, Charlie," she added with a shy grin, hoping he wasn't insulted.
"None taken," he chuckled, and she was glad he seemed amused rather than offended.
Hermione slumped against the wall of the pantry cupboard and put her hands over her face. "Am I constantly giving off vibes that I am a pathetic and lonely spinster?"
"No more than I'm giving off the vibe of pathetic and lonely bachelor without a woman to take care of him," Charlie responded wryly. Hermione snuck a peek at him through her hands and let out a laugh.
"I suppose I should break the news once again to your mother that despite this lovely time together in the pantry, we did not emerge engaged."
She pushed herself off the wall and made to move past him, but he placed a cautious hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, if I may, it's all right if you want to tell her you're seeing someone else. I know it's none of her business, but it would probably get her off your back for a bit."
Hermione looked into Charlie's earnest face and contemplated his advice. She could absolutely tell Molly that she didn't need any help in her love life, thank you very much, and that of course she was seeing someone…
Which would be a lie and Hermione hated lying and, coincidentally, did not happen to be exceptionally skilled in the art of deceit. Then she'd have to make up a name and a backstory and the whole thing would spiral out of control in a mortifying fashion.
Because the truth was so odd that Hermione wouldn't even know how to begin to explain. She was single for a reason, and had been for months. That reason being that her feelings for Malfoy had now moved beyond the realm of friendship, and she was so utterly lost as to how to act, think, or feel in his captivating presence.
"You are, aren't you? Seeing someone." Charlie murmured quietly.
She heaved an impressive sigh and hugged her arms around her middle. If her failed experiment with going on a date with Anthony Goldstein had shown her anything, it was that she wasn't sure how to give other men a chance when her mind seemed constantly consumed by Draco.
"No. Not really, anyway," she finally answered.
"But you want to be seeing this person?"
"How did you know I was thinking of a specific person?"
"Hermione," he chuckled lightly. "No one sighs that deeply and gives such a non-answer to a straightforward question about dating unless they already have the person in mind."
Hermione breathed out a huff of air in frustration. "Am I that obvious?" Charlie let out another warm chuckle and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Why aren't you with this bloke then?"
Now wasn't that the million-Galleon question? Another huff, another sigh from Hermione. "I'm not sure if he wants to… well, I think he might, but a relationship with him would be… complicated." Complicated was massively underselling it, but she didn't know a better descriptor. Problematic? Confusing? Unbelievably hot? Oh Merlin…
"Now this is odd," laughed Charlie, confusing Hermione.
"What's odd?"
"I never thought I'd see the bravest witch I've ever met acting like a coward."
A coward? Hermione sputtered with rage. "Well what about you then? I've yet to see you bring someone to the Burrow, so what's holding you back Charlie? You can't tell me you've been living like a monk all these years!" She fired back and he sobered instantly.
"It's complicated." He retorted, bitterly. "I guess that makes me a filthy hypocrite, huh?" He gave her a sad smile and Hermione immediately felt guilty. It was so rare to see the effervescent Charlie in such a somber mood that it snuffed out her brief flare of anger.
"That was uncalled for, I'm sorry Charlie."
He waved her apology away. "No, you're right, as usual. I would just hope that," He took a deep breath and dropped his hand from her shoulder. "I would just hope that after all these years you would know that our family loves you, no matter what. You've sacrificed so much for Ron and Harry… for all of us, really. I've always admired you, and I always will. So I want to tell you that if the bravest witch I've ever met can't find the courage to pursue an inconvenient love … well then there's not much hope for the rest of us is there?"
Hermione felt the prick of tears at Charlie's impassioned speech. She looked into his blue eyes and realized: he's going through the exact same thing, he wants someone he shouldn't. Maybe one day they'd laugh and compare notes on how they each navigated their romantic strife, but for now, it was enough that Hermione knew someone else in this world could completely empathize with her plight.
She flung herself forward and captured him in a fierce hug. "Don't tell anyone Charlie, but I think you might be the brightest in your family."
"I will make no such promises."
A flurry of movement in the entryway to the pantry caused them to spring apart. "Oh my! Well, please don't let me interrupt!" chirped Molly as she scurried away looking as if Christmas had come early.
Charlie and Hermione gave each other panicked glances before bursting out laughing. Once they'd regained their breath, Charlie straightened up. "I should probably go let her down gently."
He made to leave but Hermione called him back. "Charlie… thank you."
He offered her another smile tinged with a bit of sadness. "Any time. I'm rooting for you, Hermione. If you decide to take that leap of faith, not only would you have my support but you may just give the less brave amongst us the kick in the arse we need to stop feeling sorry for ourselves and go after who we want."
Hermione stood silently for a minute, alone in the pantry, letting Charlie's parting words reverberate in her mind. His thoughtful encouragement buoyed her, but there was still one other person who could help her make a decision.
She walked out to the edge of the Burrow's garden and sought out Ginny who was shelling snap-peas over a large bowl at the end of the long wooden table. Plopping down next to her friend, she grabbed some peas under the pretense of assisting.
"Your mother just tried to trap me in a cupboard with Charlie. She also saw me hug him and I'm pretty sure is now setting a date for our wedding," Hermione wryly reported to Ginny, who grimaced.
"I'm so sorry. She means well enough, though, I think she feels bad that you and Charlie are still both single," replied Ginny.
It was an innocuous enough comment, meant as a compliment, and Ginny was one of her best friends, but Hermione suddenly saw red.
"Is that what you all think of me? Oh look, here comes poor, desperate, single Hermione. Such a shame really, she spends all her time working and not snagging herself a man. How sad her life turned out," she bit out.
Ginny met her petulant declaration with a patient and level gaze. "Hermione, you know that no one here has ever thought that about you," she said softly and Hermione felt a little ashamed of her bitter outburst.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Hermione assured her, all the anger leaving her body. "Your brother is wonderful, by the way. I just don't see a romantic future there, and neither does he."
They sat in silence for a moment as Hermione tried to marshal her thoughts.
"I think this Friday's trip to the opera with Malfoy might be a date," she confessed quietly.
Ginny carefully dropped the peas in her hands and regarded Hermione impassively for a moment. "I wasn't aware your feelings had progressed this much. Now it sounds like this… connection has moved beyond the lust phase. Is that what you want?" Her voice was neutral, but Hermione still felt a sting of an accusation behind Ginny's words. The worst part was she couldn't even blame her friend for thinking negatively of Malfoy; the bad blood between the Weasley and Malfoy families went back several decades. While Hermione had been personally privy to Malfoy's maturation and repentance, Ginny only had second-hand information of his supposed changed character.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, trying to clear her head, but all Hermione saw behind her eyelids was a sly, smirking pale face and white-blond hair.
"Is it wrong, Ginny? Is it wrong to want him?"
Ginny gave her a startled, guilty expression. "Oh Hermione, I would never want you to feel that way, I'm sorry if I—!"
"Oi! Gin! We need you for quidditch! And you're not allowed to Chase this time!" Ron's bellow interrupted their tense conversation and both women cringed.
"He has the world's worst timing." Ginny growled under her breath as her brother stalked over to where they sat. "Relax you git, I'll be over in a second!" Ginny shouted back and stood to meet Ron before he could butt in on her private conversation with Hermione.
"Go on," urged Hermione. "I'll finish these for you." Hermione shifted over and took up Ginny's deserted post over the bowl of peas.
"Hermione?" Ginny called back softly. "I think that… well… I think that… actually, you know what?" Ginny paused, her demeanor suddenly switching from somber to fierce and determined. "It really doesn't matter what I think. Wear your purple dress and text, Floo, or owl me immediately Saturday morning." She threw a parting wink and smirk at Hermione before turning abruptly on her heel and jogging over to the makeshift quidditch field.
Her purple dress, eh? Hermione grinned wickedly to herself and thanked several deities that Molly and Arthur Weasley had continued reproducing until they reached Ginny.
Draco was having an excellent Friday morning. Last night, he'd received an owl from Minerva McGonagall containing all the comments, questions, and concerns laid out by the Hogwarts board of school governors regarding the Hermione J. Granger Fund for Students of Non-Magical Parents.
A couple opinions seemed to come from some of the old, pureblood guard, if their thinly veiled disgust at an initiative to benefit Muggleborn students was anything to go on. Some had logistical concerns that clearly stemmed from ignorance of the Muggle world ("Can't these families travel by Floo powder? Why do we need the additional trip for the Hogwarts Express?"), but they definitely seemed to support the idea of the fund. But by Draco's count, more than half were fully on board with the idea and had sent along their additions and suggestions for the proposed introductory curriculum. The wheels were in motion for Granger's fund to eventually become a reality. Thus far, McGonagall had kept her word, and Draco's name on all documents still remained "anonymous benefactor."
Since Hermione would be leaving for her Venice trip on Sunday, he'd have a whole week of solo mornings at the café if he wanted to hash out his ideas for responses and edits before work. Then there was the tiny fact that tonight, Draco would be taking Hermione out to the opera. And this time, he hadn't completely cocked it up at the outset: he'd made her select a restaurant for dinner beforehand.
"Want a scone? I didn't have time for breakfast this morning." Her request broke through his scheming for the evening and he nodded.
When she returned with two plates, he looked up to see her awkwardly hovering in front of him. "They only had one blueberry left, so I randomly picked apricot too. Which one do you want?"
Draco arched an eyebrow at her. He absolutely detested apricots, but Granger stood in front of him with that shy smile of hers, and knowing she also preferred blueberry, he decided to take a brief pause from being the world's most selfish idiot.
"You may have the blueberry today," he said stiffly, and accepted the other, more offensively flavored scone from her. She looked surprised for a moment then shrugged and sat back down. Draco set the disgustingly inferior scone on the table and resumed his underlining and circling of relevant Keeper statistics from the Wasps' reserve squad players.
He was getting better at writing with the pen, but it still required much more concentration than when he brandished a quill against parchment. His muscle memory with quill-writing was obviously far stronger, but if he focused enough with the pen, his writing approached the legible side of written language as opposed to looking like those weird, abstract art displays done by unicorns dipping their horns and hooves in ink and nuzzling and stomping a blank canvas. Those actually sold for several thousand Galleons and Draco's mother owned two such pieces.
"Wow, the blueberry is so delicious today!"
Granger's exclamation broke through his concentration, but Draco didn't bother giving her attention. She was obviously trying to goad him, but he was determined to get his signature with a pen looking less troll-like. He wanted to get the ballpoint pen strokes perfect on the letters of his name before even touching the gold fountain pen Hermione had gifted him for Christmas.
"I can say, without a doubt, that this scone is perfect and no other baked good has ever tasted so scrumptious." Draco grit his teeth at her voice, but did not give her the satisfaction of reacting to her taunt.
"I really would hate to be the person missing out on this flavor."
He finally looked up and threw her an angry glare, while she batted her eyelashes innocently back. "Is there a point to your ravings?"
Smiling sweetly she replied, "I merely noticed that you haven't touched your scone yet. And since you normally inhale the blueberry in under 30 seconds and in less than three bites, it would lead me to conclude that you are not so keen on apricot. Now, I'd rather not be the party responsible for your ill-humor today, so why don't you simply confess you'd rather have the blueberry and I'll split it with you?"
What was she, a bloody investigative Auror now?
"Yes, well spotted Granger, but maybe you haven't noticed my hands are quite full at the moment, so if you're so desperate to share then you can feed it to me yourself." He dropped his mouth open and leaned over the table jeeringly.
She called his bluff.
Smirking, she broke off a bite-sized portion of the scone with her fingers, and leant forward to place it gently into his waiting mouth. But when her hand was roughly halfway to his lips, the atmosphere shifted. In the brief span of several seconds that it took for her arm to reach towards him, her smirk was gone, replaced with a much more serious expression. All teasing erased from his mind, Draco felt that same thrill of anticipation akin to just before the snitch is released at the beginning of a quidditch match. Her hand hovered for all of a moment, and then her fingers tentatively placed the bit of scone on his tongue. She withdrew her hand carefully, ghosting the edge of his lips as she retreated.
Draco exercised every ounce of his self-control to not close his mouth around her index finger to suck and lick every single bit of scone from her dainty digit. He was fairly certain that amount of restraint qualified him for at least an Order of Merlin, Second Class.
Eventually, he remembered that he was supposed to chew and swallow, and not sit there with food hanging out of his open jaw.
"Good?" she asked softly. Draco nodded slowly, even though he hadn't tasted it at all, so consumed were his senses by the thought of her fingers being inside his mouth. She finally averted her eyes and Draco could tell she was flustered, based on the flaming state of her cheeks.
Before he could stop himself, before he could heed any internal warnings, before he could even think about what a monumentally foolish move he was about to make, Draco dropped his papers and pen to the table and aggressively tore at his untouched apricot scone until it was in several pieces.
Hermione stared at his hand as he held up a piece of scone between his thumb and forefinger in front of her face.
"Turnabout's fair play, Granger. Open up." He murmured, his voice low, threading a fine line between menacing and seductive.
Almost as if he'd taken out his wand and compelled her, Hermione leant forward obediently and opened her mouth. Eyes locked on hers, Draco mimicked her actions from moments ago, and slowly placed the treat onto her waiting tongue. But Draco had been rather messy in breaking his apart, and bits of crumbled scone wound up on the corner of her mouth. As his thumb tenderly swept the remaining crumbs past her lips, her tongue suddenly darted out to meet his touch. The sensation of her wet tongue grazing his thumb made him bite down on his own lip in turn, and he noticed Hermione's eyes drawn to his mouth at the movement.
Draco reluctantly removed his hand and leant back in his seat.
"Good?" he asked her in turn.
"Very," she whispered, still staring at him.
Draco brought his thumb and finger, which had just moments ago been in her mouth, up to his lips and licked them lasciviously, his gaze never wavering from hers.
"Yes, I'd have to agree," he murmured.
He watched her eyes track the movements of his fingers, then her throat bob as she swallowed nervously. She broke the eye contact first again, and shuffled the papers and notebooks in front of her distractedly. Shoving everything haphazardly in her bag she stood. "I umm, just remembered… early meeting… Ministry. So I'm going to go… now. But I'll see you later tonight?"
Draco nodded, deciding it might be best if he let her leave first so he wouldn't have to try and stand while his body's physical reaction to this morning's events was still on full display. What I wouldn't give to be wearing robes right now…
"I'm looking forward to it."
She threw her bag over her shoulder and almost knocked her chair over in the process. "OK, great… yes, umm me too… and don't forget to wear a suit to dinner. I mean, obviously you wouldn't forget to wear clothes, I only meant don't wear robes to dinner because it's a Muggle restaurant and actually what you've got on now would be fine, if that's what you've planned on wearing, I didn't mean to imply you can't pick out your own clothing because you're quite good at that… I mean, you've got an eye for that sort of thing, so… right. Well I'll be going now." She finished her babbling sentence and rushed out of the café before Draco could even respond.
I am in control of this. I am doomed.
No. I am in control of this.
A/N: Scones out here earning that character tag. I'm excited to be back from my mini-break and will be regularly posting again, so look for the next chapter to be up in a few days! Thank you so much to everyone who reads/comments/follows, I appreciate it all! Find me on tumblr ( heyjude19-writing) if you want to chat or swap scone recipes :)