Author's Note: Four more chapters, ladies and gents.
Who am I kidding. You're all ladies, aren't you? And you're all here for Draco, aren't you? AREN'T YOU??
(Except for navybluedragon, whose profile states that he is, in fact, a he. Rara avis. More power to you, man.)
Wow, this chapter kind of embarrasses me. I don't know where I got the guts to write it. Right about now, I am hiding under my desk with my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking back and forth and whimpering as I try to find my happy place.
Sketch.
Chapter Sixteen
Fantabulousiriffic
Draco was pleased to discover that he felt just about fine on Monday morning. There was, of course, the unfortunate fact that he had gone and gotten one of his shirts shredded, which was a problem given that he didn't have too many shirts to spare at the moment. He couldn't wait to get his first mediocre paycheck and go buy something. Going out and buying things felt amazing.
Plus he could be a real man and take Hermione out to dinner.
He hummed to himself a little as he attempted to negotiate with his hair in the bathroom. His hair tended to hold grudges and kill its hostages.
"Hermy, dear," he called, per tradition.
"Because I didn't see this coming from a hundred miles away, I will ask—What is it?"
"Can I borrow your perfume?"
"Yes."
"Not even a—wait, what?"
Hermione laughed merrily.
Draco grinned.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Draco chewed on the end of his quill a little. It was eight o'clock, and he was already bored.
They toiled for ridiculously long hours, these Ministry goons did. Fools, all; him included. Him most of all. He could have lived off of Hermione's charity for the rest of his worthless life, but then his bloody conscience had gotten in the way.
Draco was pretty sure that man's conscience was proof against evolution.
Helicane strolled in about twenty minutes later and paused by Draco's desk.
"Get you some coffee, Ardoc, m'boy?" he asked cheerfully.
"No, thank you," Draco said. "Big breakfast."
Helicane paused and scratched one or another of his chins. "Housing is a bloody nightmare around here," he remarked. "Where are you staying, out of curiosity?"
"With Hermione," Draco answered blithely, feeling himself smile as he said her name.
Eyebrows rising, Helicane grinned. "Oh?" He chuckled throatily. "Is she like a Vossel?"
Draco knew nothing of vacuum cleaner brands, and it must have shown on his face.
Helicane grinned wider, waved a finger in the air, and quoted a vaguely familiar slogan. "'Plain exterior,'" he declared, "'superior performance.'"
Before Draco could either (a) laugh incredulously; (b) gag disgustedly; (c) stare in horror; or (d) throw Hermione on the floor, ravish her, and find out for certain, the trio of girls that Hermione hated sidled up to his desk.
Helicane looked them over appreciatively, winked broadly at Draco, and slipped tactfully back into his office.
"Sorry," the brunette told him breathily, "but we're desperate to know your name."
Draco stood and put his hand out, arranging a cordial smile on his face. "Ardoc Olyfam," he announced. "Pleasure to meet you."
The three of them tittered approvingly at the statement and hopped forward to move his hand weakly and daintily up and down a few times, not a firm handshake in the lot of them. Draco smiled, realizing that he was looking for a very Hermione-ish sort of thing among girls like these.
"Do you have a brother?" the blonde one gasped out, looking at him through her heavily-made-up eyelashes.
"Do you have three brothers?" the redhead pressed eagerly, tugging on a ringlet.
"I'm an only child," Draco informed them.
Faces fell.
"Do you have three cousins?" the blonde one hazarded. The brunette gave her a look.
"Much as I hate to interrupt this highly worthwhile conversation," he said, attempting towards contrite, "I do have a few things to attend to."
Faces fell further. Then their owners shuffled off to get back to their jobs. Or, more likely, to seek out a new victim.
Draco chewed on the end of his quill a little more until the barbs of the feather started coming out in his mouth. He was about to get out his deck of cards and start up a rousing game of Solitaire when Helicane reemerged from his office.
"Promised you a spot of coffee, didn't I?" he inquired.
Draco smiled. "I'm fine, but thank you."
"Right, right. Well, I'm dying without, so I'll be back in just a few minutes…" Off he went, like a blimp drifting across the horizon.
Draco got up and went to go see what Hermione was doing.
He tiptoed right up behind her to whisper in her ear.
"Hello, darling," he said. He then proceeded to duck out of the way.
His caution was rewarded by the fact that, once again, Hermione jumped in surprise, her shoulder moving directly into the place where Draco's face had been moments before.
"For the love of God, Draco!" she squeaked.
He stood and grinned. "No," he corrected, "for the love of you." He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and skipped away. People gave him funny looks, but he didn't give half a damn. He didn't give a quarter of a damn. He didn't even give an eighth of a damn.
And that was about as far as his math skills went.
Draco sat down at his desk and spun around on his rolling chair a bit. When he started to get dizzy, he reluctantly stopped, which turned out to be another godsend given that Helicane returned just seconds later.
"Working hard, Ardoc?" he inquired cheerfully, offering a wink.
Due to the recent bout of whirling around in his chair, Draco was somewhat disoriented and more than a little nauseous, but he smiled back. "Oh, yes," he lied. "Toiling away."
Helicane's credulity was a thing to behold—and a thing to lean on frequently. "Glad to hear it," he announced. He clapped his hand down on Draco's desk once and then waltzed off into his office once again.
As soon as he'd left, Draco started drawing some more stick figures. He didn't know why Hermione hated work so much.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After a day of pretending to be very busy when Helicane was out of his office and doodling on Ministry stationery when he was safely in it, Draco went and got Hermione, and they went back to good old Number 78. Tonight was the long-awaited taco night, and Draco tucked in heartily. Hermione, he noticed, was not following suit.
A single, offhanded glance revealed that she looked very, very tightly-wound. Tighter than usual, even, which was a considerable feat. Usually she was secure-shoelaces tight or trying-to-get-a-ball-of-yarn-down-to-size tight. Today she was trying-to-break-a-rubber-band tight.
Draco was concerned that that rubber band was going to snap back into one or both of their faces.
"What is it?" he asked slowly.
"Nothing."
"Hardly," he noted dryly.
"Right, hardly anything." Stubborn, seething, and tight as an extended bungee cord. That was where she stood.
"Hermione," he said.
She looked at him, and her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. It scared the Hell out of him.
"I just had a bad day, all right?" She sounded like she was trying to be venomous, but the ring of it was merely defeated. "I had a bunch of idiot coworkers harassing me, and there was more to do than ever, and then at the very end—" She mustered up a bit of spitting anger for this part. "—Giles Helicane came and read me the riot act, saying that—" She hesitated and then plunged on. "—saying that you had found some problem with something I'd done, and that if I didn't up the caliber of my work by a good percentage by next week, he'd see to it that I was out of a job."
Draco stared. He couldn't remember saying any such thing. Had he? Or had he just been insufferably stupid enough to agree to another of Helicane's proposals without even listening to it?
Draco took the dishes and stowed them all neatly in the dishwasher. He turned to Hermione and put his hands in his pockets. "Do you trust me to try to help?" he inquired. Rather than to, you know, throw you on the floor and ravish you, then take all your cash and valuables and go racing out the door, I mean, his brain added helpfully.
Draco ignored it. Hermione was looking at him, and she could see on his face that he was serious, whether or not his brain was feeling particularly solemn.
"Yes," she said, and Draco had never heard a more beautiful word.
Except maybe "fantabulousiriffic." That one was pretty beautiful.
Quite compliantly, she followed his instructions to the letter, and soon she sat on the edge of her double bed in her pajama pants and a navy blue tank top with spaghetti straps. (Draco was reminded of the spaghetti she'd made him the first night and pushed the thought from his meandering mind before it could list the reasons why pasketti, not ambrosia, was truly the food of the gods.) A halter top might have been marginally better, but the very question of whether she owned one had sent a blush shooting up to claim the better portion of Hermione's face, so he let it rest.
He set her down on her front on the bed, had her clasp her hands above her head, slid the straps of her shirt a bit off her shoulders, knelt over her for leverage, and then proceeded to give her the massage of her life.
As he had guessed, predicted, and, quite frankly, known beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was extraordinarily tense. He put his whole weight into his hands.
"Ow," Hermione said. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow."
Fives "ow"s, Draco thought. That's about as good as five stars, in this business.
"Does it hurt too much?" he asked. If it was starting to seem life-threatening, he would, he knew, have to stop.
"It hurts—ow. But—ow—in a really kind of good wa—ooh."
Draco grinned.
It was glorious. Hermione released a series of little moans and gasps and whimpers; she clenched both fists in the pillow; she writhed under his hands. The more of her supple, beautifully blemished skin he saw, the more it compelled him. It was warm , it was close, and it was delectable. He pulled out every stop he could think of and a few more that his pistoning body thought of for him.
It was like sex, only without the sex part. Which did not make it nothing, and rather made it amazing. Even… fantabulousiriffic.
When Draco's arms were so sore as to be almost immobile, he collapsed onto the bed next to her and panted awhile. "Can I sleep here?" he asked. He didn't have the strength to move. He didn't even have the strength to fetch some mango-banana-papaya juice to quench his thirst, and that was really saying something. He could have crossed a desert and still been up for some M.B.P.
From beneath half-fallen lids, Hermione looked at him, and sleepily and utterly contentedly, she smiled. "Please do," she said.
Draco was happy to oblige.