Draco Malfoy had done many a stupid thing in his life — there was the time seven-year old Pansy dared him to jump off a first-story window with a toy broom, the time he lost two hundred galleons to Crabbe on a bet over who could drink more Firewhisky before throwing up, or the time he got involved with a group of psychopaths bent on purging the wizarding world from anyone whose bloodline did not live up to their standards of purity. He had done plenty in his life that he wished he could take back, but having sex with Hermione that night had to top the list.
He ranked it above murder and mayhem, that's how stupid a decision it was.
They dressed in silence, studiously avoiding looking at each other. The cramped office suddenly felt too small for all the things between them, the silence oppressive and heavy. Even now he could still feel her arms around him, could still taste her on his lips. He didn't know if he wanted to reach out for her again or if he wanted to set his skin on fire. He didn't know if there was a difference.
"Draco," she said, looking over her shoulder.
He turned, straightening his collar. "If it were always this easy to get laid, I'd save a fortune on dinners."
There were times when he thought he was an ass. There were times when he was sure of it.
Hermione looked away without replying, and that was somehow worse than a cutting retort. Draco picked up his discarded cloak from the arm of the sofa and made his way to his office, which was what he should have done to begin with.
The fire dying down in the fireplace flared up when he walked in. He picked up the jar of Floo powder, only to smash it against the opposite wall. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone?
He didn't want to hurt her, and that was God's honest truth, except that he did, often, with a violence that scared him. Because the him who adored her, who was crazy about her, lived in the same place as the him who hated her, who seemed unable to forgive her even after all this time. And while one wanted nothing more than to see her every day, and talk to her, and argue over policy changes, and scheduling issues, and that stupid electric kettle of hers, the other one wanted to press until it hurt.
It was a child's impulse, but Draco had always been too fond of cutting off his nose to spite his face.
He spent a restless night, constantly waking up and unable to rest even when he slept. In the morning he couldn't remember any of the dreams haunting him. Giving sleep up as a hopeless cause, he got up early. He wasn't looking forward to the day ahead, even less to seeing Hermione, but staying in bed unable to think of anything else was driving him crazy.
There weren't many people around when he got to the Ministry, and there was no sign of the witch. He glanced at her empty office in passing, his mind immediately flooded by images of last night's events. Merlin, he was a fool.
Ginny Weasley was already at her desk.
"Weasley, a word," he called without stopping.
The Weaslette followed him into his office after a minute, accompanied by a floating piece of parchment and quill.
"You hollered, oh mighty one?" she asked.
She was the only Weasley he could stand, partly because she reminded him of Blaise, but mostly because she had no problems sharing the candy she tucked away everywhere, from her desk to her person, to every nook and cranny around the office.
"The Remembrance Ball is back on the schedule," he said.
The Remembrance Ball was traditionally held at the end of Remembrance Week, a week-long commemoration of the victors and fallen of the Second Wizarding War. This year the ball had been cancelled due to budget cuts.
"Are we no longer headed for an economic apocalypse?"
"We are, but we're having a party first."
"How very daring of us." Her quill started scratching at the parchment. "Does Hermione know about this? 'Cause I can tell you right now she won't be happy."
"It's a good thing you work for me and not for her, then."
"Well, actually—"
"Get on with it, Weasley."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy. I'm just saying. So where are we having this ball we can't afford?"
"Malfoy Manor."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at that, but refrained from commenting.
"You understand we have less than a month to put this thing together?" she asked instead.
"It's good I have such an efficient staff, then."
"I hope you realise organising parties is not in my job description," she said as the parchment flipped itself over and the quill started scribbling notes on the other side.
"It's not in mine either, yet here we are."
She was quiet for a moment, before asking, "So what else did Parkinson get out of you in exchange for getting the Wizengamot to back off?"
He cracked a smile at that. It was the other reason he liked Ginny. She was the only one with brains in that family of hers.
"That's for me to know. Now crack on."
"Aye, aye, captain."
She was almost at the door when she turned back, fishing a Chocolate Frog out of her pocket and putting it on his desk.
"You seem like you need that more than me."
That Chocolate Frog was the high point of his day.
Hermione was avoiding him. He could tell that she was avoiding him because suddenly he was seeing a lot more of Colin Creevey on subjects he should have been discussing with her.
Colin Creevey needed his signature on the revised Dragon blood quotas for the year. Colin Creevey wanted his views on the draft of a Magical Cooperation Agreement with France. Colin Creevey thought that if he was determined to spend resources they did not have on a ball, he should at least have the good sense to send invitations to foreign dignitaries.
Draco grabbed a Sphinx-shaped paperweight that had been a present from the Egyptian ambassador.
"Creevey," he said, "next time you come into my office, I'm going to throw this at your head. Now, where the bloody hell is Granger?"
Colin gulped. "I couldn't say, Minister."
Not half an hour later, Loony Lovegood was in his office with a copy of his speech to the Healers' union.
"Get the fuck out."
Luna left the speech on his desk, with a suggestion that if he too was feeling the harmful effect of too many Nargle spores in the air — a common affliction that time of year — mandrake root tea was just the thing.
Blaise watched her receding form with a frown.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"Why do you think I did anything?"
"Because I know you, and if Granger is giving you the silent treatment, it's definitely something you did. Is this about the—"
"No."
"Because she won't be happy about that."
"It'll be fine."
It wasn't fine. Early that afternoon, while he and Blaise were discussing the latest Auror report on the Neal Patel case, Hermione stormed into his office.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" She threw a folder on the desk with a look that plainly said she'd rather be throwing it at his head.
"There it is," Blaise said with a smirk.
"You gave her back the Education Reform Act? Are you freaking serious?" She was incensed, but Draco was actually relieved. At least when she was yelling at him, they had to be in the same room. "Do you have any idea what we went through to get it approved? It's already been passed into law!"
"Technically it's not passed into law until I sign it, and I haven't."
Hermione called him something that made Blaise burst out laughing.
Pansy had driven a hard bargain. The Remembrance Ball was merely the cherry on top of the cake, and mostly because she was the sort of sociopath who thought making a former Death Eater host a party in honour of the victors of a war he had lost was funny. No, what she had really wanted in exchange for calling off her warring judges was the scrapping of the Education Reform Act, one of the last things they had managed to pass — over her objections — before the Neal Patel affair had made the court collectively decide they would rather be drawn and quartered than do anything that might be even remotely construed as cooperative.
The Act modernised and improved the Hogwarts curriculum, provided grants for disadvantaged students and established a Muggle Parents Outreach Programme. It also established standardised requirements for teaching positions, improved the security checks on the school, and overturned the school's ban on Squibs and non-human magical creatures. It was to be the most comprehensive overhaul of the magical education system in over a hundred years.
Pansy hated it with a passion.
"It was the only way to get the Wizengamot off our backs," he said.
"We will never get it passed again."
"Who cares if we can pass it if we can't pass anything else?"
"All the children who would have benefited from the provisions on it might," she all but yelled.
Draco turned to his Chief of Staff. "A little help here?"
"That's politics, Granger," Blaise said with a shrug. "You win some, you lose some."
"Well, I'm shocked to see all the pure-bloods in agreement on this."
Draco's expression darkened. "Piss off, Granger. You don't get to make it about that. I worked as hard on that piece of legislation as anyone else in this office."
"Yeah, and then you gave it away for a bit of cleavage over dinner. Well done."
And with that she stomped off.
"Told you she'd not take it well."
Rather than reply, Draco marched after her, following her into her office and banging the door shut after them.
"What the bloody hell do you think gives you the right to talk to me like that?" He didn't even care that he was yelling. "I'll remind you that I am still Minister for Magic and that you work for me."
"Fine," she yelled back, her arms crossed over her chest.
"When you get elected to office, you'll get to decide policy. Until then, kindly keep your opinions to yourself and do as you're told."
"Fine." She looked as someone who'd dearly love to share her opinions with him in the form of an Unforgivable.
He turned to leave, then quickly turned back.
"And next time you want something signed, or discussed, or changed, kindly come find me yourself instead of sending Happy and Dopey." The Muggle Liaison Office kept him apprised of Muggle literature. He knew things.
"As you wish, Minister." She spat the last word like a curse.
The day, which had not been stellar up to that point, went swiftly downhill from there. Hermione was no longer avoiding him, but he almost wished she were. It was a whole afternoon of "Yes, Minister," "No, Minister," "As you say, Minister," "Right away, Minister." He was about ready to strangle her. She didn't do or say anything directly insubordinate, and was to all outward appearance a model of unreserved cooperation, but he recognised her sudden meekness for what it was — a sham designed to drive him insane.
During a meeting with the office heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, after the tenth "As you prefer, Minister," of the day, he finally snapped.
"Madam Secretary, are you entirely devoid of opinions today?"
Potter frowned, but Blaise smirked in a way that made Draco want to punch him. Literally the only reason Blaise was in the meeting was because, in his own words, he had never been one to pass on a show.
"Why, Minister," she said innocently, "I can't help it if today our opinions converge so perfectly in every way."
Blaise laughed himself into a coughing fit at that. It made Draco long for the good old days when Ministers could get their Chiefs of Staff drowned in the Thames.
"You should have learnt by now not to fight wars you can't win, old friend," Blaise said after the meeting.
"Piss of, Blaise."
Zabini threw up his arms in a gesture of mock surrender, and Draco stormed off to the comforting seclusion of his office. He banged his door shut behind him, which did very little to ease his need to break something. Rather than give in to the impulse, he slumped down on his chair, closing his eyes. He had broken enough.
The scrapping of the Education Reform Act was always going to mean a fight, and well he knew it. They had all worked hard on it, and fought tooth and nail to get it approved by a group of obstinate, unimaginative old farts that had very little love for what they considered to be the imprudent, reckless, and ill-advised legislative adventures of their Minister. Getting it passed had taken a great deal of political pressure, arm-twisting and favour-calling, to say nothing of an amount of luck they could not hope to replicate. Hermione would never have taken its loss well.
But before, it would have been fine. They would have argued, and ranted, and yelled, and at the end of the day they would have gone for a drink at the White Hart, and made bets on how long it would take George, the waiter, to drag himself away from whoever he happened to be chatting up that day to come and take their orders. And if they were lucky, they would have spent a quiet evening talking and plotting revenge against Pansy and her minions. And if they were less lucky, other staffers would have started to arrive before long, because somehow word had spread that this one Muggle pub was a great place to hang out after work, and for reasons mysterious to him everyone seemed to have no problem getting their hands on Muggle money.
Before.
He opened his eyes, staring at the door across from him without actually seeing it. It took a fool to do that much self-inflicted damage on a whim. An evil spirit had dared him to kiss her and he had. Because he had wanted to. Because he couldn't remember the last time he had, and that bothered him. Because she made it hard for him to think clearly, and sometimes for him to think at all. It had taken years for them to get back to a place of peaceful co-existence, a place that was sometimes maddening and often frustrating, and that he wouldn't have ruined for the world.
Except that he had, because he was that sort of an idiot.
He got up with a sigh, heading towards the door. Enough of that. They would talk, and he would apologise, and everything would go back to normal. They once again had a Wizengamot they could work with, and there was plenty to do. And if he needed to win his way back to her good graces with a house-elf protection programme, that's what he would do. He could be crafty like that.
When he reached her office, it was deserted.
"Creevey, where's Hermione?" he asked, turning back.
"Left for the day."
"Already?"
"It's almost seven."
It was only seven. Hermione usually worked late — most of them did. Nearly all the desks on Level One were still occupied with staffers busy at work.
Well, it was no matter. He could wait until tomorrow. It was no problem. Tomorrow would be just fine. It would keep. They would talk tomorrow.
He went back to his desk and picked up the first of many interdepartmental reports he still had to go through that day. He read the first sentence and then got up again and quickly transfigurated his robes into Muggle clothes.
It couldn't wait until tomorrow.
He went by the White Hart, but the witch wasn't there. Before he could walk out again, George dragged him to a table where two very young and exceedingly attractive women were sitting, and proceeded to introduce him to Emily and Olivia, who were from Scotland and were visiting London for the first time, and wouldn't it be great if he and Draco were to show them around town?
Having managed to convey to George how little interest he had in showing Emily and Olivia around town, Draco made his way to Hermione's place. He had a whole speech prepared in his head. It was a good speech. It was a speech about mistakes and forgiveness, and about how sometimes he was an ass and that he was sorry. It was a speech about how going forward he would remember to discuss policy changes with his Senior Undersecretary, and had he told her about the great house-elf protection programme he was working on?
It was a good speech, and he was still going over the finer points when he reached her floor. The words he meant to say were still clear in his mind when he got to the door, and he could still recall every last word when he knocked. But somewhere between the time he knocked and the moment she opened the door, all the words fled, leaving only a bitter aftertaste. What had he broken that she hadn't broken first and worse? And maybe they were beyond fixing. Maybe those few months had been nothing more than a small interlude — brief and sweet, and not meant to last. Because there was no changing the past. There was no changing any of it.
Hermione looked surprised when she answered the door. "Draco, what—"
Draco pulled her to him, cutting off what she was about to say with a kiss that was as spiteful as it was misguided. He was tired of fighting, and tired of denying himself the things he wanted. If he couldn't have what he'd lost, he'd take what he could get.
Hermione gasped against his mouth and pushed him off, looking for a moment so mad that she could hit him. And then she closed the space between them, kissing him in turn because as it turned out, there was not an ounce of common sense between them. She backed blindly into the flat and he followed without letting go, pushing the door shut in passing.