Alright, Hermione. You've got this. You've just got to play it cool.
Hermione found herself chanting encouraging mantras to herself on her journey to work that next morning—frankly a weak attempt to shake the questionable mood that Malfoy had set upon her. She'd gotten home to flat the previous night a bit more shaken than she'd have liked to admit, her book and wine forgotten. She had woken up the next morning recalling slivers of a broken dream in which bright, daunting gray eyes had haunted her.
What had happened with him, it was… well, she wasn't sure what it was.
Hermione was most certainly embarrassed about her behavior, and scolded herself for reacting so poorly. She was disappointed in herself for allowing him to have such a hold on her, and even found herself convinced that telling Ginny—or anyone, for that matter—about it would be a shameful experience.
Her best course of action would be to continue on with her life as if nothing happened and decidedly ignore him—which, of course, would prove to be a bit of a challenge considering he worked just next door now. She could at least try to sustain some optimism.
So she'd just have to be a bit more careful sneaking in and out of her office now. And maybe in Diagon Alley in general. Or just in life. Okay, sure. That was fine.
She thankfully made it into S.P.E.W. Malfoy-free (she chose to ignore the fact she'd gotten up rather early that morning just to make sure of it) and made her way to her office towards the back of the small building, her sensible-but-cute heels—that Ginny had convinced her to splurge on—clicking across the tile floor.
Naturally, since she had arrived so early, the rest of her S.P.E.W. team would be showing within an hour or more. They were a team of only five, including herself, and Hermione was undeniably grateful for them, even if they were quite small in numbers. They were all former-Hogwarts students, some of whom were a bit younger than her, and she felt a surge of pride for them working so hard despite being unbelievably understaffed and underpaid.
It would break her heart to ever admit to them that S.P.E.W. and all of their hard work was slowly crumbling away to nothing.
Glad to at least have an early start, Hermione sank down into her plush chair at her desk and began her day's work.
12:30 again. Her lunch break. Right. Well. Was food worth it, really?
As if right on cue, her stomach growled conspicuously. Ugh, she really should've planned this out better, brought a packed lunch or something, to avoid a Malfoy-related incident if she ventured out. Maybe Ginny would come by again if she flooed her? But Hermione knew she was a terrible liar and Ginny was uncannily good at sensing when something was fishy (frankly a recipe for disaster if Hermione had vowed to herself not to mention the encounter to anyone).
She sighed, supposing she could just skip lunch for the day, and bent down to grab a file from one of the low cabinets her desk.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of her door swing open, and—paranoid thoughts trained on Malfoy—she jerked quite ungracefully, banging the top of her head on the corner of her desk.
"Ow," Hermione whined quietly, one hand clutched on her folder, the other on the already-rising bump on her skull.
She heard a laugh. "A bit jumpy today, are we?"
"Theo!" she exclaimed, happily surprised, as she stood up straight again. "What are you doing here?"
Theodore Nott had been quite an unexpected presence in her life for the past year; they'd bumped into each other at Gringotts and, while not entirely friends at Hogwarts (he was pretty much invisible to her as far as she could remember) he'd recognized her and promptly introduced himself. He'd rather grown on her after the enumerable times they'd bumped into each other around Diagon Alley and, somehow, his downright charming persona had won her over. He was so un-Slytherin-like it daunted her how he'd managed to get in with that conniving crowd in the first place.
"I hope I'm not interrupting?" He flashed her a brilliant smile, holding up two coffees and what appeared to be a box of breakfast pastries. "I figured you might want a pick-me-up."
"You're just in perfect time, actually." She smiled and hurriedly welcomed him in, grateful for her unforeseen visitor.
Theo was quite beautiful, really, with ruffled, dark brown hair and contrastingly fair skin. He was tall and a bit lanky, and while he was a bit broody at times, he was surprisingly sweet at others. She constantly forced herself to reel her thoughts of him in; she was sure he didn't see her that way. But she couldn't seem to help herself from enjoying his company anyways.
"Is it just me," Theo began, mid-bite of a blueberry scone after he'd sat down and as Hermione sipped on her sweetened coffee, "or are you a bit more frazzled than normal?"
Hermione laughed. It felt good. "Is the hair a dead-giveaway?" She patted at her unruly mane; with how stressful life had been lately, she'd had less and less time to attempt to manage it.
"Nah, it always looks like that." He grinned at her good-naturedly as she chuckled and rolled her eyes at him. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the appearance of a certain blonde-haired, rather-frightening-entrepreneur-neighbor, would it?" he asked lightly, raising his eyebrows at her and taking another bite of his scone.
Hermione felt her face ashen, her cup of coffee frozen mid-air. "Why would you think that?"
This time, Theo laughed at her. "I'm just joking, you know." She only relaxed just slightly. "I doubt he'll show his face around here much, anyways. He's got too much on his hands."
"You haven't spoken to him recently, have you?" She frowned just slightly, attempting to maintain a neutral expression and tone. The cup of coffee no longer felt warm in her hands. "I mean, I know you guys were friends back at Hogwarts…" It felt strange to talk about this with him, when life had already moved on, when their school days felt so deep in the past.
It was a grim reminder of how different they'd all been, how different they still were now.
Theo looked down, his face more solemn than before. "No, not recently. He's pretty tied down with this line of work and all. Rather like you." A smile warmed his features once more. Hermione no longer wanted to talk about Malfoy, or anything stressful or of immediate importance. Theo was supposed to be her happy distraction, but he pressed on. "You haven't spoken to him either, I'd hope?"
Nonetheless, Theo was neither stupid nor oblivious; he was well aware of their temperamental history.
"No," Hermione squeaked too quickly, most likely giving herself away with her wide eyes and hasty response. He stared intently at her for just a moment too long, and she quickly grabbed a sticky, sugary pastry to avoid his all-too-knowing gaze. He left the subject alone.
"What is that you're working on today?" He asked lightly instead, continuing on with their conversation as if the Malfoy-topic hadn't been broached. She was rather thankful, and even a little happy to teeter on about her project this week involving helping newly-freed elves into safer and happier environments.
Theo was a good listener and didn't interrupt her once during her long tangent, nor did he once appear to doze off or even look bored—something Ron had failed at consistently before they'd broken up—and she rather liked that about him.
They talked for almost an hour before Hermione decided she'd practically chatted his ears off and she needed to get back to work, as did he. She thanked him for visiting her and, as always, invited him back anytime. As always, he promised he would.
It had only been a few minutes after Theo had left, and Hermione was tossing her now-empty cup of coffee out when she heard her office door open again. She smiled. "Forget something, Th—?"
Both her train of thought and her smile were wiped away in an instant. Instead of the familiar brown she'd been expecting, gray eyes were now boring into hers.
"Malfoy," she whispered, just a pitch away form inaudible, shocked at his tall stature standing casually in her door frame. "Who let you in here?"
His signature smirk graced his all-too-perfect features as he took in her deer-in-headlights expression, and closed the door behind him as he sauntered into her tiny office as if he'd done it a million times before. She'd never realized how small her space was it until his presence was in it, surrounding her wholly.
"I let myself in," he answered casually, as if it wasn't something terribly out of the ordinary. He walked towards her desk, picking up her name plaque with his long, pale fingers. Hermione Jean Granger. His eyes read over it carefully, as if he'd never seen her name before. She watched, still relatively wide-eyed and awed at his being there, in her personal and (practically) sacred area of (almost) living.
Her hand went to her back pocket instinctively and felt for her wand. She should've known his deft eyes would catch the movement. "No need for that, Granger." He placed the plaque back down and looked at her, and somehow it felt like he was still towering above her—despite the large desk between them.
Something about his demeanor, something about him, made her wandless hand drop back down to her side. "But… what are you doing here?" Hermione felt a sort of whiplash from the stark difference between the two Slytherins that had been in that very room within a matter of minutes.
"Don't look so stricken, Granger." He had the nerve to look a little amused, leaning in towards her like he seemed to enjoy doing. "I'm not here to harm you." She waited for the yet, but it never came.
Hermione scoffed and folded her arms. "That's hard to believe."
"I've actually got a proposition for you."
"A proposition? Of what sorts?" she asked, incredulous not even beginning to cover it.
"You'll just have to find out, won't you?" He smirked at her, borderline suggestive. Hermione felt herself unwillingly flush. He was Malfoy, but he was still undeniably attractive. And she hated herself for thinking that. "The Three Broomsticks. Tomorrow. This time." He began slowly backing out of her office.
"And what makes you think I'll show up?" she called out after him, practically resisting the urge to throw her hands in the air in disbelief.
He looked around her excruciatingly small workspace, at her pile of overflowing paperwork on her desk, and back up at her tired expression—as if that answered it all.
His serious gray eyes locked with hers. "Because you need my help."
He closed the door behind him and left before she could protest.