Draco sat at his table, hands together like a steeple under his chin, his eyes screwed shut. The memory was plaguing his mind again; it was the type that could never truly be purged. That tiny little black number, barely there, just managing to hide the good bits... he shook his head and opened his eyes, looking around the sparsely populated coffee shop. There was a young couple holding hands in the corner, an elderly man reading an herbology book by the window, and a woman sketching something in her notebook against the far wall.
He had no idea why the memory from so many years had drudged itself up again, but he knew it was driving him insane. He couldn't sleep at night without seeing Granger there, waiting for him, just like she had so long ago. However, it was hard for Draco to admit, but it wasn't like he didn't want to relive that moment every night; in fact, he got quite the buzz from it. It had been amazing, and he would never deny that. But for now, he had to push it away.
Draco left his payment on the table and stepped out of the small shop, not bothering to button his blazer, assured that the May air was quite warm enough. On the front step, he took a deep breathe of the fresh morning air, filled with the scent of butter and coffee and lavendar, and let a slight smile grace his features. This was his favourite part of the day- his coffee and walk to work. It was his time to get collected and refreshed for the day ahead, prepare himself for a long and laborious shift, the potential for a fight with some no-named co-worker who thought they could do Draco's job better than he, and all the other trivial matters that came with being an auror.
00
The apparation room came into focus around Draco and he was glad when the spinning finally stopped. There were at least a hundred other witches and wizards appearing all around him, and he wasted no time getting to the lift to take him to the Aurors' office. As he stepped inside, he noticed Lovegood reading a copy of that trash The Quiddler that her father wrote, Longbottom carrying a pot with a rather vicious looking flower growing out of it, and several bewitched note planes floating overhead. Once again he thanked whoever had come up with the idea, stopping the incidents of dung being dropped on your head by tired owls.
After ten minutes of waiting impatiently and avoiding stares from numerous passengers, the lift reached his floor, and he shuffled past a large man with an armful of briefcases, trying desperately to get away without knocking anyone.
Nearly everyone else in the office was already there; Potter was chatting amicably with a pretty young witch named Lucy, Skuttle was sitting at his desk eating some sort of muffin, a few others having light conversations before the clock officially began, and then there was Granger... sitting at her desk already, meticulously filing the report from the case she had just finished yesterday, her mop of hair falling over her shoulders, one piece dangling in front of her face... Damn her, why did she have to exude this... sexuality, that he just couldn't ignore? They were over, they were over, they were over. But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, the memory would try and replay itself in his mind, and his body would react accordingly.
He strode to his desk across the room, three desks over from Granger and beside Potter, and sat down in the hideous yet comfortable chair. A quill appeared on his desk beside his arm, and he pulled a stack of papers out of his drawer. He also had a report to file, and he knew he ought to get to it. He shot a glance out of the corner of his eye and caught Granger staring at him full on, not even bothering to hide the look on her face. He couldn't quite decipher what it was, though. Somewhere between shock, immense distatse, and... lust? No, it couldn't be...