A/N: Hey friends! This fic is complete, which means that I'll be bumping up the posting schedule. So you'll get this chapter today plus a bonus chapter on Wednesday + regular update on Friday! Get hype!
Chapter 9: La Sorcière de Paris
Dating Theo was… not like any experience Hermione had had before.
It was wonderful, in a word. Theo was cultured and refined and gentlemanly and a hundred other characteristics she'd put into a neat and orderly checklist for her ideal man, but no matter how hard she tried to enjoy being courted by someone so worldly, something about it felt off.
In the two months since the disastrous dinner with Davison, Theo had gone out of his way to take her on extravagant dates; dinner at the Eiffel Tower, arranging a private tour of the Louvre, and paying a private sommelier to determine her perfect wine—which just so happened to be a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Montrachet Grand Cru that was worth more than her flat's rent and which she promptly spat out in shock. She was sure the Ministry had their names on a rotating Portkey list with how often they travelled, and Crooks had begun to hiss at her upon stepping foot in her own home. All of their dates were planned to the most minute detail, and though Hermione appreciated it, she found she couldn't quite enjoy them.
Not when it felt like she was a stranger dressed in her own skin and very fashionable clothing. As the weeks wore on and she was photographed by the paparazzi with the Prophet, more clothes began to show up at her door, varying notes from Pansy tacked to the front of them. Her closet was filled to overflowing with the fancy clothes, Theo had come to expect her to be dressed to the nines every time he saw her or he thought she was sick, and Draco had become aloof after weeks of peacocking about how effective his methods were.
Even her Saturday morning routine had been overtaken by Theo's overzealous dating. He'd taken to Flooing over without ringing her, and though she was sure he thought it romantic, she had not taken kindly to waking up and padding to the bathroom in a ratty old t-shirt only to find him in her kitchen with half-burnt bacon smouldering on her counter.
Thankfully, though, she'd convinced him that she needed a morning alone.
Well… Hermione had begged off yet another traipse through the woods with Theo by faking a head cold the night before. In a fit of genius, she'd thought to lock the Floo from unwanted visitors and hunkered down in her flat, alone, with her cat.
So she sat, tapping her quill on her desk in a rapid patter eerily reminiscent of Draco when he'd first started, her mind trying to puzzle out why she was so gods-blasted miserable when everything she'd ever wanted had fallen into her lap.
Successful business, international recognition for her efforts, a hard-working, romantic boyfriend who doted on her far more than she could have ever asked for… and yet she was no happier now than she had been when she and Malfoy had made their deal eight months prior.
When she'd crawled out of bed that morning, she'd retrieved the joggers that had been abandoned in a sad lump in the back of her closet and pulled them on over her—very comfortable, thank you—grandma knickers. Casting a half-hearted sneer at the various silk pyjamas she kept in a near-constant laundered state, Hermione spun, summoning a book from her shelves as she brewed herself a fresh cup of coffee.
No cream or sugar. She wanted to grimace over something other than how utterly unsatisfied she was with her relationship.
Daphne had theories—many, many theories—on why she was less than happy with Theo. It wasn't that he didn't have the traits she looked for, because he did. He was smart, mostly funny, and conscientious. When he wasn't working at the hospital or taking her on endless dates, he took volunteer shifts at the Lumos House for orphaned war children.
For lack of a better description, he was perfect.
Flopping down in her armchair, Hermione sighed. Her problem was that she didn't want perfect.
Sipping her coffee, Hermione stared off into space. She had a mountain of work to get through, should probably Floo Harry and get to together for lunch, and needed to take Crooks for his annual checkup with the magizoologist, but instead, she leaned back in the chair, raising her book with a long-suffering sigh.
She'd summoned a romance, something mindless to keep herself from focusing on her own problems, but after a few pages, her mind drifted again.
When the hero tried to swoop the main character into a romantic kiss, Hermione grimaced, flipping the book on its cover—enough of that for one day.
A tapping at her window broke through her thoughts, and she turned, apathetic to the source. Sitting on the ledge was a lovely snowy owl who reminded her briefly of Hedwig, but she blinked twice, remembering the bird's fate. In this owl's beak, a thick scroll of paper hung limply.
Setting her book aside, Hermione stared at the owl. A tag dangling from its ankle designated it as a postal bird, so someone had to have rented the bird to deliver their message. That marked out Harry, since he'd bought a bird after the fallout from the war had settled. Ron too, since he still had Pigwidgeon. Draco had his eagle owl, so that knocked him out as well.
She wasn't expecting anyone, so she turned, nestling further into her chair as she resumed reading her book.
Let the owl sit. It couldn't be that important.
But she'd barely made it a paragraph in before the owl started tapping again, faster and more insistent. Flopping her head back, she glared at the interloper. "What do you want?"
Almost as though it understood her, the owl shook its head, the missive flapping back and forth in the wind it conjured.
The movement summoned Crooks, who tore across the room and launched himself onto the table beneath her window, slapping maniacally at the glass with croaky little chirps. His tail swished rapidly back and forth, sending the owl perch and treats crashing to the floor.
Bugger.
With a sigh, Hermione flipped her legs over the edge of the chair, avoiding the carnage Crooks had wrought on her floor. She waved her wand, watching as the material righted itself. Crooks was still battering the window to get to the bird, so after tucking the menace under her arm, Hermione made her way down the hall and deposited him on the bed.
"If you can't behave, you'll have to stay here," she intoned, watching the way his gaze flicked at the doorway. The pecks were growing louder, and his tail swished as though he'd take off towards the door. "No, Crooks." Slowly, she backed up, tiptoeing towards the door so she could stop his attempt at an escape. "Be good," she warned one last time as she closed the door with a snick.
Finally, she approached the window, allowing the bird to flutter in and settle on the perch with a disgruntled look. Reaching out, she motioned for the owl to drop the missive, but its eyes seemed to narrow at her, eyeing the container of owl treats alongside the perch.
"Really?" She leaned forward again, hoping to snatch the letter away from him, but the bird leaned back, keeping the parchment from her, and Hermione summoned the owl treats, uncapping the top with a withering glare. "One day. I wanted one day of peace, but instead I get to deal with a pompous owl." There was no venom in her words though, and she extended her palm, a pile of treats resting in the middle.
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, the owl tipped its head, eyes going between hers and the treats in her palm. After a moment, she sighed, bringing the treats closer. "Go on, then."
Finally, the bird dropped the missive and followed Hermione's hand to the counter, pecking away at the treats she deposited there.
Bird satisfied, she dropped back in her chair, unfolding the note. Upon closer inspection, it was several notes all folded together.
With a small laugh, she unfolded them, starting on the innermost.
It was short and to the point, the handwriting immediately recognisable.
Hermione,
Why is your Floo locked? I have news! Let me in!
Daph
Despite her foul mood, Hermione tittered, opening the next.
Hermione,
Stop ignoring me! I'll Apparate to the point down the block and walk over—don't tempt me. I have news!
Daph
Finally, she unfolded the last one just as a knock sounded on the door. She assumed it was Daphne, so she let her wait.
Hermione Jean Granger,
Alright, I'm coming over. I don't know what's going on, but prepare yourself for girl talk and terrible food. I'm getting the takeaway; you'd better have the drinks.
Daph
Another set of knocks sounded on her door, and Hermione laughed, padding across the floor to admit her friend. Without a thought, she flung the door open, a mischievous smile across her cheeks. "Y'know, if you wanted to have a girl's day this weekend, all you had to do was—" Her words stopped abruptly, smile falling from her face.
Daphne was nowhere in sight; instead, Theo stood on her doorstep, another bouquet of flowers in his hand.
"Hey, Hermione," he said sheepishly. He gestured at the carnations, a wry smile on his face. "These are for you. Obviously." His cheeks pinkened, but he continued anyway. "I was coming back from the grocer and saw your light on and thought maybe I could just drop off some flowers." His smile was endearing as he rambled on, gesturing to the bouquet in his hand. "Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you."
As frustrated as she was with the situation and herself, the thought did make her smile. Maybe he wasn't so perfect after all—if he was, he might have left her alone when she asked.
Accepting the bouquet, she smiled. "Thanks, Theo. I appreciate it. I hope you're having a good day, and thanks again for letting me have a day to myself." Slowly, she moved to shut the door, but he shot his hand out, stopping it from closing.
"I…" He paused, swallowing. "I know things have been a bit… much. But I just wanted to impress you." A self-deprecating laugh escaped him, and he glanced down at his shoes.
A flutter of emotion passed through her stomach, and a smile curled her lips, the first genuine smile she thought she'd had in days when she'd been in his presence. "It's okay. I appreciate being the centre of attention sometimes." She laughed, but the joke fell flat between them. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "We'll just be honest with each other going forward, yeah? No false pretenses."
Even as she said the words, she cringed, knowing that she wasn't being at all truthful about herself. But Theo smiled, eagerly nodding back at her. "That sounds great—it would be nice, afterall, not to feel so on edge around you." He stepped forward, lifting her chin with his hand and pressing a kiss to her lips that quickly grew heated, her arms wrapping around his middle. "I like you a lot; I don't want to mess this up," he murmured against her lips.
"Mm," she answered, melting into him. One thing their relationship did not lack was the physical chemistry—she had to admit that.
She just needed to quash the little voice in the back of her mind that wanted something—someone—else. Leaning back, she looked into his eyes, making a split second decision. "Do you have plans next weekend?"
Confusion flit across his face, but he answered anyway. "None that I'm aware of. Should I?"
Stepping away from him, she responded with a grin. "No, but don't make any." Slowly, she started pushing the door shut again, ushering him out. "I'll owl you with the details."
Theo nodded, backing down the stoop with an easy smile on his face as he tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. "I'll look forward to them. Have a good day, Hermione."
"You too, Theo." The door closed with a final click, and she dropped her head back against it with a sigh.
Thirty minutes later, and after a panicked Patronus message to Daphne, the two girls were sprawled in the middle of Hermione's sitting room, boxes of takeaway scattered across the table before them and a bottle of freshly-cracked wine pouring itself into their glasses.
Spearing an eggroll, Daphne eyed Hermione critically, her gaze laser focused on the stress lines Hermione could feel etching themselves into her forehead. "Alright, clearly there's more going on than you've told me." She took a bite of the eggroll, watching as Hermione pushed her noodles around her plate. "What's wrong?"
With a sigh, Hermione abandoned her food. "Nothing? Everything? I don't know." She groaned, flopping dramatically backwards and tossing an arm over her eyes. It was easier to talk about it without having to make eye contact with anyone. Her next words came out muffled by the hand thrown over her face. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."
Low whistling met her declaration, and Hermione peeked out, looking at her friend. Daphne settled her chopsticks on either side of her plate and propped her chin up on her hand. "Isn't it a bit early for second thoughts?"
Shrugging, Hermione stared up at the ceiling. "I wouldn't necessarily call it having second thoughts." She frowned, pulling her lip between her teeth as turmoil roiled in her stomach. "I am having fun; it's just a bit more than I expected. My last serious relationship—"
"Was just after Hogwarts," Daphne finished. "It's been a while. Maybe you just need to give yourself some time to get used to a man doting on you."
Flashes of neatly wrapped boxes and shopping trips flashed through her mind, but Hermione immediately shoved them back down. "Maybe."
Silence settled between them for a few minutes, Daphne chewing on the rest of her eggroll thoughtfully. Finally, she clapped, eyes growing wide as she looked at Hermione. "Maybe you ought to sleep with him."
Sucking in a deep gasp that startled Crooks from his window perch, she spluttered, "Sleep with him?! Daphne, I'm still trying to decide if this is the right relationship for me. How will having sex with him help me figure that out?"
Her friend shrugged. "If the connection is there, you'll know during those intimate moments." A sly smile lifted Daphne's lips. "And if it's not… well, at least you get to say you shagged a hot healer."
Despite herself, Hermione barked a laugh, throwing a discarded couch pillow at her friend. "Very funny." She looked up at the ceiling again. "I guess I did tell him not to make plans for next weekend."
Daphne's smile grew. "And I do have a flat in Chelsea that you could borrow for the weekend. Pay to have a house elf disinfect the sheets when you're done and it's yours for the weekend."
Snorting, Hermione sat upright, reaching for her friend's hand. "Thanks, Daph. I'll take you up on that." Feeling marginally better now that she had a plan in place, Hermione canted her head at her friend. "Now, what was so important that you had to send three notes about."
"Well…" Daphne trailed off, a spark in her eyes. "I also have a date next weekend."
Hermione froze, staring at her friend. "You don't! With who?"
Daphne couldn't contain the little dance she did at Hermione's question. "A certain Auror that you may know." When Hermione's jaw dropped open, Daphne added, "I was in Diagon and happened to come across Harry at Fortescue's. I offered to buy his scoop, but he wouldn't let me unless I agreed to let him take me out for dinner." A bright smile lit her face as she innocently propped her hand in her palm. "Who am I to refuse the Boy Who Lived and Became Entirely Too Attractive for His Own Good?"
Groaning good naturedly, Hermione answered, "I'm happy for you, Daph! But for the love of Merlin, please spare me from any of the more explicit details of anything that goes on between you. You're both my best friends."
Daphne laughed, conceding with a slight tilt of her head. "Alright, but only because you asked." Both of them fell silent, chewing their food in contemplation. Hermione was so lost in her own head that she almost missed Daphne's question. "Hermione, can I ask you something?"
Humming to herself, she tilted her head, eyeing her statuesque friend. "You just did."
With a snort, Daphne poked her with her foot. "No one likes a smartarse." She took a long sip from her wine and pinned Hermione with a serious look that shot a wave of nerves through her stomach. Sitting upright and affording Daphne a serious expression, Hermione waited for her friend to speak. "How are you really doing with all of this? Draco working for the magazine, the direction it's taking?"
It wasn't what she expected her friend to ask, but it was close enough that Hermione felt tension settle on her shoulders. She chose her words carefully, trying not to give away too much of her turmoil. "It's different." The quizzical lift of Daphne's brow spurred her onwards, trying to clarify. "I never thought I'd say this, but I like working with Draco." Gesturing vaguely toward the stack of his articles on her kitchen table, she continued. "He works hard, and when he's not being an arse, his articles are actually quite well done."
Daphne nodded along. "Readership has improved drastically over the last few months." She cradled a piece of orange chicken between her chopsticks, studying it before she popped it in her mouth. "The two of you have become quite close. Afternoons in your office, conspiring near the water tank, calling each other by your given names… if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hiding something from me."
Stomach plummeting to her toes, Hermione reeled. "Hiding something from you? Daph, I think you've lost the plot."
"Have I, though?" Daphne levelled her friend with a serious expression, her lips pulled tight. "Look, I know you're the boss here and you don't appreciate unsolicited advice, but I've seen you with Draco and with Theo. You don't light up the way you do around Draco when you're with Theo."
The truth of the statement settled hard on Hermione, and she swallowed desperately around the knot that had formed rapidly in her throat. "What do you mean?"
Daphne waved her wand, gathering the rest of the takeaway into their containers and then directed them to Hermione's fridge. "I mean that if I didn't know better, I'd say you were falling in love with Draco, not Theo."
Dumbfounded, Hermione couldn't respond to her friend, but when the woman extended her hand to her, Hermione readily accepted it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet and wrapped into a hug.
After a moment, Daphne pulled away, staring at her intently. "Theo checks all your marks, but does he challenge you the way you deserve? Do you feel that spark with him?" She didn't allow Hermione to answer, crossing instead to the Floo and throwing a handful of powder in. "I'm not telling you what to do—that's your decision—but I think you might take a second look at all of this."
Nodding mutely, Hermione crossed the room, waving at her friend as she disappeared with a last, "The takeaway is in the ice box; I think you need it more than I do."
Daphne had been right. The rest of the day, Hermione had locked herself in her flat, cancelling all arrangements she'd made with her friends and coworkers. She spent the whole of Sunday evening throwing herself into editing mode, ploughing through six articles for various contributors as a means of distracting herself.
She pointedly ignored the stack all bound in Draco Malfoy's fancy folios.
If she didn't give herself time to think, she wouldn't have to consider whether or not Daphne was telling the truth.
Finally, though, at half seven, she'd reached the last of the stack. Luna Lovegood's article on sustainable harvesting of rare ingredients from magical beasts stared up at her, ruthless red marks slashing her friend's lyrical prose to bits.
With a frown, Hermione stared down at it, waving her wand to vanish some of the more irrelevant notes; deep down, she knew the changes were unnecessary and stemmed from the distress she was shoving away as hard as she could.
Then she puttered around her kitchen, cooking a mediocre mincemeat pie that she barely ate a half a slice of before she shoved it away, allowing Crooks a rare opportunity to feast off her plate. He did so enthusiastically before slinking away, her normally boisterous familiar subdued in the wake of her melancholy.
Pushing herself upward, Hermione approached the table, finally allowing herself to flip through the articles that Malfoy had penned.
Some of them were still marked by his playful cynicism, but an undercurrent of confidence ran through each article. It was ridiculous, she knew, but he'd found his voice as a writer, and he'd really started to excel with Witch Weekly.
And it showed. Whenever they collaborated in her office, he was vibrant. A fire had sparked behind his eyes that nothing could seem to extinguish.
He loved his job, and it was really quite fascinating to watch him write his columns.
Hermione never had found the heart to get him his own office. There were open rooms on the floor that he could have, certainly. But they worked well together, bouncing ideas off each other, and though she'd never admit it to Davison, Draco had brought the publication a new perspective that had helped round out the rough edges she'd been unable to polish herself.
When he got particularly excited about an idea, he'd rock forward in his chair, eyes bright and a broad, genuine grin spreading across his face. Though she'd called him ridiculous for requesting a white board to include in her office on which he could jot his ideas, Hermione had indulged him, and she couldn't help but smile every time he scribbled over it, his neat penmanship descending into messy scrawling.
They'd become friends, something she wouldn't have been able to believe if anyone had told her what would happen the day he walked into her office.
Flipping to the last article, her lips pulled into a smile, the bolded title leaping out at her: "How to Woo a New-Age Witch the Right Way: Tips for Respecting and Pleasing a Modern Woman."
It was cheeky and ridiculous, but so utterly Malfoy that she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.
Shoulders loosening, she gathered the rest of the articles, crossed the room to her armchair, and settled in for a night of editing Malfoy's work, an absent smile on her face.
The work week passed rather uneventfully. Malfoy showed up on time every day, taking her criticisms on his articles in stride. Though she handed them all back to him Monday morning, he'd completed revisions by Wednesday afternoon, diligently penning his changes across from her with reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and quill scrawling tidy lines across the parchment.
Of all the articles she'd returned to their authors, his were the first completed, a realisation that made her snort.
Perhaps she'd send Davison a fruit basket to thank him—give credit where it was due—but she immediately dismissed the notion.
No need to make the git's ego any larger than it already was. Witch Weekly's newest reviews had already done as much.
According to Daph's latest round of analytics, subscriptions had nearly tripled since Draco's first article had been published all those months ago. And though Hermione hated to admit it, she would be the first to tell anyone why. Draco had established a relatable, honest narrative in his articles, and it was hard not to trust the voice he wove into each column.
He was a damned charming git, and she found she was no less immune to his charms than any other witch, a fact she carefully avoided dissecting.
So when he showed up in her office Thursday morning, a distinct line carved deep in his forehead, Hermione immediately could tell something was bothering him.
He settled into the chair across from her, gathering files from his briefcase and carefully arranging them on the portion of her desk that had become his.
"Morning, Malfoy," she carefully prodded, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye.
He gave a noncommittal grunt in response, tapping his quill on the edge of the table.
She allowed the silence to settle between them for the moment before she spoke again. "There's not a lot to do today; the bulk of your work was finished over the week, particularly since you got your articles through revisions so quickly. I thought we could go over your special feature next month one more time and—"
"My publicist got me an interview with La Sorcière de Paris. They'd like to discuss my methods for crafting articles and do a guest column in their March issue," Malfoy interrupted, his gaze flickering uncertainly up at her.
Something like dread and disappointment tangled in her stomach, but she pasted on a fake smile, nodding at him as she leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers under her chin. "Well, that's quite the honour. La Sorcière de Paris is quite the prestigious publication. You ought to be proud."
Despite the praise, the line in his forehead only deepened. "I suppose." He chewed on his lip, lost in thought. "I already ran it past Davison; he's approved of the visit. Said it would be good for cross promotion, that we might get more readers and be able to break into foreign language publication." His laugh at the idea was hollow, a poor imitation of the warm tone she'd grown used to hearing from him in the privacy of her office.
Nodding, she untwined her fingers, leaning forward to wrap her knuckles on the desk. "Yes, well it does seem that Davison knows best about these sorts of things." Lacking her usual gusto, Hermione forced out another hollow well wish. "Congratulations! Quite the forward momentum for your career; I'm happy for you."
She pushed down the pang in her chest when he met her gaze again.
Another fraught silence settled between them, during which she reached for an article—any article, really—to occupy her mind and keep her from dwelling on the fact that Draco might be poached from Witch Weekly.
If she ignored the growing ache, she wouldn't have to examine what it meant.
The slight rustle of pages turning filled in between them, but Hermione grew acutely aware that she was the only one turning pages but hadn't taken in a single word her eyes glanced over. Where she ought to find meaning, nothing jumped out at her.
When Malfoy cleared his throat uncomfortably, she jolted, her gaze snapping up to his. "Davison has suggested you come along, in an effort to foster a professional relationship with Giselle, the editor in chief at La Sorcière de Paris."
"I know who Giselle is," she snapped, unable to control the frustration in her tone. But his gaze bored into hers, a mixture of regret and longing staring back at her before he blinked it away. She cleared her throat, trying again. "I've met Giselle before; I'm not overly fond of her, but I'd be happy to accompany you on the trip if it helps advance Witch Weekly."
For the first time since entering her office, a genuine flash of relief coloured his eyes, and he offered her a grateful smile. "Thanks, Granger. I appreciate that." He sobered though, eyeing the calendar hanging on the wall behind her. "It looks like you've plans for the meeting though; don't cancel them on my account."
Frowning, she swiveled in her chair, scrutinising the board on which she'd meticulously outlined all her obligations for the remainder of the month. Other than meetings, due dates, and her trip with Theo on the impending weekend, she didn't have anything to…
It dawned on her, then, that he was referring to this weekend. The only weekend that she had actively planned anything for her and Theo. She turned back to him, a contemplative twist to her lips, but Draco was already backtracking. "Look, it's fine. I'll tell Davison and Blaise that I can handle it myself." He grimaced, amending, "Alright, I'll tell Davison I've got it under control and convince Blaise to come along. He's always looking for an excuse to visit France, and I'm sure he's got a Portkey on retainer for trips at the last minute."
A disbelieving laugh erupted from her at his rambling. She'd never heard Draco uncomfortable before, and watching him ramble across from her was strangely endearing. "Blaise is your publicist?" At his nod, she huffed another titter. "Well there's your first mistake."
Spluttering, Draco scoffed, "Yeah, well it's not like anyone else would be willing to manage the image of a former Death Eater."
The statement made her cringe, regretting the jab, but when she glanced up at Malfoy, a self-satisfied smirk unfurled across his lips. "Alright, make fun of me, you prat." He gratified her with an answering laugh. Finally, she turned again, staring up at the calendar in contemplation. "My weekend with Theo isn't all that important…" she mused, allowing the sentence to trail at the end and ignoring the frisson of guilt that rocketed up her spine. "I'll Floo him to reschedule; I'm sure he'll understand since it's for work."
Twirling the chair back around, Hermione found herself pinned under his gaze, piercing grey seeming to cut straight through her. After a moment of tense silence caught in his hold, he cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he looked away. "Right, well, only as long as you're sure. I wouldn't want to—"
"I'm sure," she answered, far more forcefully than she'd intended to. In an effort to dispel the tension like a lead weight over her shoulders, she pushed herself backward, rising from her chair. "Inconvenient, but you've been a nargle in my ear since you started here, Malfoy. What's one more weekend?" She infused enough of a teasing tone into her question that she saw the tightness fall away from his own shoulders and he stood, mirroring her stance.
"How about lunch to make up for it? On me," he clarified, gesturing to the stack of work she'd yet to complete. "And then, if it's amenable to you, I'll help you sort through the rest of these dreadful articles before the end of the day."
Though she didn't agree with him explicitly, she did appreciate the offer for help. After her manic editing session on Sunday to avoid thinking about this very wizard, she'd begun to drag halfway through the week. "You owe me so much more than just lunch, Malfoy." She turned her best imperious nose-tilt at him, arching her eyebrow comically high.
The effect didn't phase him though, and he laughed, summoning her coat and holding it aloft in front of him. The routine familiar now, she stepped into it, allowing him to drape the warm material over her shoulders as she settled into its bulk. But he didn't immediately drop his arms, his fingers digging into the skin just below the fabric. Unbidden, a tremour wracked through her.
"Name the favour, Granger, and it's yours." A forbidden promise laced his words, and for a split second, she forgot about Theo, forgot that she was cancelling her date with her boyfriend to spend a weekend away with this very off limits wizard currently dropping gravelly promises in her ear.
Throat tight, she glanced over her shoulder at him, his eyes laser-focused on her lips, then dropping to the pulse point just below her ear.
What would it feel like to turn just enough and press her lips to—
The unmistakable sound of papers crashing to the floor just outside Hermione's office broke the trance, and she glanced away, colour racing to her cheeks and the tips of her ears.
Clearing his throat, he stepped back from her just in time for Daphne to step through the door with the discarded stack of parchment rearranging itself in midair behind her. "Hermione, I had to come tell you; Draco is—"
"Right here and about to buy my lunch in return for his help with the remaining articles before the weekend," Hermione blurted, interrupting her friend. Their conversation from the weekend still fresh in her mind, she was unsure what brought Daphne to her office.
Arching an eyebrow suspiciously at the space—or lack thereof—between Hermione and Draco, Daphne cleared her throat. "Right, well… I assume he's informed you of his meeting with La Sorcière de Paris this weekend?"
Hermione nodded, summoning her handbag from the coat rack. "He has, which is why he's helping me with the articles. I'll accompany him as brand liason for Witch Weekly; Davison believes this could be the break we need to get into international publishing." She left the other reason unspoken, that she didn't want to lose Draco to the magazine, and accompanying him might mitigate any contract negotiation attempts.
The look she and Daphne shared communicated that they were both painfully aware of the lack of binding documents for Malfoy.
Another grimace prefaced his statement as he sauntered to the door. "That is a bit more self-serving than it is helpful; our Portkey leaves tomorrow morning. Seven sharp."
He ducked the hand she swatted at his face with a dismayed gasp. "That's less than fifteen hours to complete reviews of each of these articles."
But he was already halfway to the door when he shouted back at her over his shoulder. "And that, Granger, is why you'll need lunch and my help!"
He disappeared around Daphne before she could respond, trailing after him, but Daphne's arm shot out, stopping her in place. "La Sorcière de Paris plans to offer him a signing bonus. It's rare, but his columns are popular." Her friend squeezed her arm once, something like a plea shining in her eyes. "You've got to keep him from accepting."
Heart plummeting into her stomach, Hermione realised there was far more than just losing one of her most talented staff writers on the line, but she didn't vocalise it, stuffing it down with the rest of the emotions she'd avoided paying too much attention to. Pasting a false smile on her face, the brightness of it not fooling her best friend, she extricated herself from Daphne's hold. "I'm on it."
A/N: Thank you all again for reading along with this! I've had so much fun posting this fic, and it's largely because you all have been so incredibly kind in your reception of it. Each of your reviews makes me grin like mad at my phone, so thank you for making this such a wonderful experience! As always, credits to my wonderful alphas, mcal and LadyKenz347, and my stellar beta, In Dreams, for their tireless work on this fic. I appreciate them more than I have words to express.