The pearls of moisture that had formed on Hermione's glass of champagne closely resembled the beads of sweat that were starting to form on her forehead. She had spent the first half of the event hiding behind the champagne tables, clutching her glass and anxiously surveying the crowd, and she had no intention of leaving her comfort zone anytime soon.
It had been just over a week since she and Ron had had the fight to end all fights. After a colossal battle over whether she would continue to work at the Ministry after having children, Hermione had walked into work the next morning without a ring on her finger. (Malfoy had greeted her with extremely raised eyebrows, but he had said nothing of the change, and she certainly hadn't volunteered any information.)
Only a week. And yet here he was, at this incredibly unimportant Ministry function that absolutely didn't require a date, flouncing around with some cheaply pretty witch on his arm and clearly enjoying himself immensely. Hermione had never seen the witch before in her life, and she felt certain that Ron had met her within the past week.
For her own part, Hermione had not even bothered to dress up properly for the event. If only she'd worn better robes, she thought. Ron's date was dressed spectacularly, in a stunning violet—she, meanwhile, had changed at work into the simplest, most thoroughly boring black robes one could imagine.
It might not have been so terrible—after all, she had been the one to decide they needed a break—if Ron hadn't seemed quite so taken with the witch; but as it happened, he was now doing his best impression of an awestruck troll. Everyone would be talking about it tomorrow. Heartbroken, humiliated, and recognizing that there was nothing to be done, Hermione contented herself with fading into the background and waiting it out until the evening was over.
When she heard male footsteps striding purposefully towards her, she assumed it was Harry, coming at last to drag her out of the shadows. But as she gave a resigned sigh and whirled around to greet him, to her great astonishment, she found herself face-to-face with Malfoy instead.
"Hiding?" he asked with an amused smirk.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, trying to mask her shame at being caught with false annoyance.
"Looking for you," he replied. "I couldn't find you anywhere. Then I saw Weasley and understood why."
There it was again—that sneer that always accompanied Ron's last name. "I'm not avoiding him," Hermione said weakly, unsure why she was defending herself to Malfoy, of all people. "I just needed to get away."
"What is it about the Weasleys?" he asked, seeming to be musing aloud. "That awful hair, more freckles than Galleons, and yet such inexplicable success with the opposite sex. How do they do it? You'd think they weren't dirt poor."
Now genuinely annoyed, she turned away from him, glancing over at Ron and his date. "I don't think she's that much of a trophy," she muttered.
"I wasn't talking about the floozy he's with," he scoffed. "I was talking about the family's track record. The eldest married Fleur Delacour, who might be annoying but is still a quarter Veela. Those twins always seem to be doing very well for themselves. The girl snagged Potter—"
"So you think Harry's a catch," Hermione interrupted, breaking into a smile.
Malfoy clenched his jaw. "He's the 'hero of the wizarding world,' isn't he? He might be insufferable, but he could do a lot better than a Weasley." He looked sideways at Hermione. "You could have ended up with him, if you hadn't spent all your time at Hogwarts mooning over his best friend. Which, by the way, is another example of the Weasleys' unexplainable charm."
Hermione looked down at her glass. "I could never have seen Harry that way."
"I understand his appeal more than Weasley's."
"Are you asking me to explain it to you?"
Malfoy gave a small shrug. "Maybe. On second thought, I'd rather not know." He took a step closer to her and surveyed the crowd. "These functions are never much fun, are they? But at least you seem to have staked out the best spot—right next to the drinks. Though this champagne they're serving is, frankly, an atrocity."
She couldn't help but snicker at that last remark. When she looked up at him, his eyes were warmer than she'd ever seen them.
"What do you say we leave early?" He gestured around the room. "Nothing's keeping us here, and Merlin knows we'll need sleep for the massive amount of work you've created for us."
She was gaping at him when he added, "Stop torturing yourself."
He was right. She was torturing herself, cowering in the back of the room like a felon as she watched her ex-fiancé prance around the dance floor with some other girl—and yet the total absurdity of Malfoy asking her to leave a party with him left her dumbfounded.
"You're not supposed to leave these things until the Minister's made his speech," she protested.
"Don't be ridiculous. I seriously doubt our presence will be missed. Usually, I don't even stay this long."
The idea of escaping from the event was so tempting that Hermione had to fight not to give into it. She could be home, safe and sound, far away from where Ron was currently cavorting with his new witch. She hesitated, wondering if leaving early was a form of defeat, when Malfoy took a final step towards her and put his hand on her back.
"Come on. I'll walk you to the Floo."
That was all it took. Hermione let him guide her out of the ballroom, out of the crowd—away from Ron and the utter humiliation of the past hour and a half. Her heart was racing, and she walked so hurriedly that Malfoy had to rush to keep up with her. By the time they got to the lobby, she was out of breath.
"I thought you didn't want to leave," he commented wryly.
"Thank you for walking me out," she said, ignoring his remark. "I'll see you Monday."
She was turning to leave when he called after her, "Don't you live in a guarded flat?"
"How did you know that?" she asked in surprise.
"You live at the Winchester. No Apparition point, no Floo. I'll escort you home."
"That won't be necessary," she insisted, but he was already leading her over to a fireplace.
"How do you usually get home?"
"I Apparate to right outside the building. So really, I'll be fine—"
Barely seeming to hear her, he pulled her into the fireplace before she could finish.
To her bewilderment, Malfoy insisted on accompanying her not only to her building, but upstairs to her flat. By the time he walked into the lift with her, she had given up on protesting. They made the journey in awkward silence, and she suddenly realized that she had never been alone with him outside of work before. Not that that was surprising—never in a million years would Hermione have guessed at Hogwarts that her childhood tormentor would one day voluntarily escort her home.
At the door, she was furiously debating whether common courtesy required her to invite him in for tea when the sound of his voice interrupted her thoughts.
"I don't suppose you're going to invite me in for a nightcap."
"Oh, um, did you want one? I was going to—I don't, um, have much in the way of alcohol, but—"
"Relax, Granger. I didn't expect you to."
Not sure how to respond, she cast her gaze down towards the floor and fiddled with the chains on her purse. "Well," she finally managed, "thank you for walking me back here."
"Yes, now I know where you live," he said matter-of-factly, looking at her with an unreadable expression.
"I guess I'll see you Monday, then. Good night."
"Good night," replied Draco, but he did not move.
There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione, out of things to say and confused as to why he was still standing there, broke in, "Will you be all right getting home?"
"Absolutely."
He remained frozen, and his eyes were still focused intently on her. Hermione was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable than before.
"Um, did you need—" she started to ask, but all of a sudden, he was unfrozen and in motion and pressed against her, so close that she could feel his breath on the side of her face. She tried desperately to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was stronger than her and his arms held her firmly in place.
"What are you doing?" she cried.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he whispered, right before his lips came crashing down on hers. When she instinctively struggled against him and pulled her face away, he began to plant soft, pleading kisses at the corner of her mouth and along her jawline.
"Please stop," Hermione gasped. "Stop. Please."
He obeyed, but he did not move away from her. Too shell-shocked to step back, she stood there in his arms and struggled to control her breathing. For what felt like an eternity, they remained in the hallway, pressed against each other and silent, until he finally released her.
He smoothed back his silvery hair, uttered a polite "Good night," and was gone.
Ron was at her flat not ten minutes later.
When she first heard the determined knock, she thought it was Malfoy. She was panicking over how to respond when Ron began to shout through the door.
"Hermione, open up! I know you're there!"
A strange disappointment washed over her. She unlocked her door, but did not move to let him in. "What are you doing here, Ron?"
"Where is he?"
"What?"
"Is he here?"
Hermione stared at him. "I haven't the faintest clue—"
"Is—he—here?" he bellowed, and when she did not immediately reply, he pushed past her and into the flat.
"What do you think you're doing?" she shouted at him, but he was already making his way through her home. When he found no one, he turned and faced her.
"Where's Malfoy?"
A wave of understanding hit her, and she gave a dark laugh. "You can't be serious—"
"Why did you leave with him?" he interrupted, fuming.
"That's really none of your business, isn't it?"
"None of my business?" he echoed, and she could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. "I'm your fiancé; I'd say it's damn well my business who you leave—"
"Oh, so now you're my fiancé? Certainly didn't look that way tonight."
"You told me you wanted a break, not that you were going to go off and start running around with Draco bloody Malfoy!"
"I have not been running around with Malfoy—"
"I saw you leave together."
"He just brought me home!"
"How long has this been going on?" he demanded. "I want to know. Is this why you were spending so much time at work?"
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Tell me right now what's going on between you and Malfoy!"
"Nothing is going on between—"
"Then why did you leave together?"
"Absolutely nothing is going on between me and Malfoy!" she yelled.
There was a pregnant pause. They stood in the living room, glaring at one another, and Hermione felt a sudden pang of guilt as the recent sensation of lips on hers flashed through her memory. She reached to play with her ring, but found nothing there.
After several minutes of unbearable silence, Ron asked quietly, "Are we still engaged or not?"
"I can't believe you," she said, her voice heavy with pain. "You're the one who couldn't wait a week to start dating other women. And you think you have the right to come here and question me about—"
"That was just for tonight," Ron cut in. "And I thought you were the one who wanted this break, not me. I don't even want to date other people."
"You're a hypocrite," said Hermione, blinking back tears. "You're such a hypocrite."
"Hermione. Are we still engaged or are we not?"
"I can't do this," she said, turning away to hide the tears now streaming down her face. "Please leave."
"Hermione—"
"Please leave."
He said nothing for a moment. Then he asked, "Are you dating Malfoy?"
"No."
She secretly hoped that he would stay; that he would walk over to her, take her in his arms, and comfort her the way he always did after their fights. She hoped he would wipe the tears from her eyes and hold her. Her finger felt cold and naked where his ring had once been.
But as soon as she gave him the answer he had been searching for, he turned and left. Had the door not slammed on his way out, she might not have even known that he was gone.
Hermione spent the whole weekend dreading Monday afternoon. She and Malfoy were scheduled to meet to discuss Centaur property law, and she would have given almost anything to get out of sitting through a meeting alone with him. In fact, she could barely think about him without blushing in embarrassment.
But when the hour came and she walked hesitantly into his office, he began speaking about their project immediately, without even looking up from his work. He very rarely looked directly at her during their meeting, but otherwise, it was as if nothing had changed between them. Hermione managed to get through the discussion, but felt the entire time as though she were holding her breath.
"I think that's everything for today," she said at last.
"Good," he replied, then started to clean up his desk. "Are you heading straight out?"
"Yes."
"So am I." Malfoy grabbed his cloak from the rack nearby and gestured towards the door. "After you, then."
They walked together in awkward silence for the second time that week as they headed to the lift, never making eye contact. Once inside, they both stared straight ahead at the closed door as if it were the most fascinating thing on Earth.
"Did you have a good weekend?" Hermione finally asked, hoping to relieve some of the nearly suffocating tension.
Malfoy turned to look at her. "It was all right."
"That's good," she said, meeting his gaze.
She noticed that he was eyeing her curiously, as if looking for something—for permission, she suddenly realized—and he must have found it, for all at once he was much, much closer and kissing her.
It was completely different from the first time. This kiss was wild and hungry and intense; he had nearly lunged at her out of impatience. There was no softness, no pleading, and yet his lips were dangerously persuasive. This time, he did not seem afraid that she would suddenly pull away, and instead of gripping her in place, his hands floated like feathers along her face and neck, leaving no spot unexplored. She could not remember the last time she had been kissed like this, with such passion. Hermione was consumed.
So she closed her eyes and yielded, sinking into him with a feeling akin to surrender. She let his hands wander, and she clutched at him with her own, first grasping the crooks of his arms, then roaming up to his chest, and at first she could not stop thinking: Malfoy. This is Malfoy. Bully, Death Eater, sworn enemy. What am I doing?
And then she lost herself in his warmth and stopped thinking at all.
When the lift lurched to a stop, Malfoy pulled swiftly away from her and looked straight ahead with a blank expression. By the time the doors opened and let the world in, he had defined their relationship, establishing not only a safe physical distance between them but also the terms of their affair. They were a secret, something to be hidden behind walls and closed doors—never to be recorded as fact.
They walked out into the lobby together and exchanged polite goodbyes before parting ways. She was so embarrassed that she barely looked at him as they spoke, and she could think of nothing else besides getting into the nearest fireplace as quickly as possible.
Later, she would think back and cringe at how quickly she had given in to Draco Malfoy. Later, she would be surprised at how much she had enjoyed it, how easily she had forgotten herself. Later, she would wonder if she had made a mistake.
But when she found him waiting for her at her building's Apparition point, all she could think of was kissing him again. It was she who kissed him next, in the lift on their way upstairs. He kissed her the fourth time, as soon as she'd shut the door to her flat.
After that, she stopped keeping track.