A/N: I picture Hermione dressing like Tak Dong-Kyung in Doom At Your Service. Skirts, usually very long, and sweaters, usually big.

Chapter 3:

Sound

With their heads bent over the pages of The Wizard's Wand, Malfoy pointed out some of the funnier passages in the fourth book in Fifi Lafolle's Enchanted Encounters series. Magic Mirrors In Your Hall laid closed next to Hermione's plate.

Hermione clutched her sides, trying to catch her breath from laughing. "When you told me the restaurant was lined with books, I didn't expect them to be trashy romance novels."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure that's something you should be admitting?"

"Why? What's wrong with that?"

"Only that it shows a distinct lack of imagination and taste that is unbecoming to a person in your profession." Malfoy sniffed in mock disdain. "And you call yourself a librarian. Perhaps you are not as widely-read as you'd like everyone to believe."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "I never said I didn't read them, only that I didn't imagine we'd be sitting between," she looked over his shoulder and read off the first three titles she saw, "Riding His Broom: The Fast and the Furious, Chasing Her Golden Snitch, and Elev-," she stumbled and her eyes widened, "Eleven Inches of Pure Magic."

Malfoy leaned in, grinning wolfishly at her. "I was right. You do read them."

"Occasionally," Hermione said, dabbing delicately at her mouth with her napkin. "When I have nothing else to read."

"Right."

"Wait. Did you think I'd love the decor because the walls are covered with books, or because they're covered with romance novels?"

"Both."

It was time to change the subject, before Malfoy learned any more about her reading habits and tastes. Hermione picked up a biscuit and nibbled on it as she thought of a new topic.

"Oh! I never got to thank you for helping me that day in the Love Chamber...with the Primamore."

"You were so quick to denigrate these stories, and yet they just provided you with the perfect segue to this topic."

"What are you going on about now?"

Malfoy reached over her shoulder, his sleeve brushing against her hair. Hermione held her breath, but it was too late. Parchment, soap, and sandalwood flooded her senses. Malfoy then sat back in his chair, holding a book aloft. "Under His Spell. Just like in the Love Chamber." The book obscured most of his face, though his playful grey gaze met hersover the top of the novel. "Is it Amortentia or True Love?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows as he read the tagline.

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Right. Well, all joking aside, it's not the first impression I wanted to make. I know Sharon thinks I'm an idiot." Hermione shook her head, still agitated by the lapse of professionalism she'd displayed, and on her first day no less.

"What right does she have to think you're an idiot? She's the one who left you-a new employee she was responsible for training-unattended and uninformed in a potentially dangerous place, all so she could gossip with one of her friends. Why should you care what she thinks?"

"I don't." But it still irked her. To have such a blemish on what should have been the perfect first day at her ideal job. Such a costly mistake, and one she was still paying for too. Not because of Sharon's low opinion either, but because Hermione could barely keep it together around Malfoy. It had been two months, and she was still reduced to a swooning, lovestruck idiot in his vicinity. It was as if her brain couldn't function, because her senses were overloaded and overwhelmed whenever he drew near.

"I can only imagine what would have happened if I had actually touched the potion," she mumbled, picking angrily at the lint on the table cloth.

"Funny, I have too," Malfoy said.

Hermione froze.

"I was glad to help, so you can stop being embarrassed." His large, pale hand grasped hers. "And you can stop picking a hole through the tablecloth, Hermione."

Hermione looked down at The Wizard's Wand. Under the table, she squeezed her knees together to stop her legs from bouncing up and down. She'd heard her name said thousands of times. In playful tones, annoyed, scared, mispronounced, but never in the way Malfoy spoke it. Not that she could describe how it differed, just that it did. An ineffable quality that unsettled and excited her, as if she were standing once again in the grand entryway of the Department of Mysteries, with all the doors, possibilities, and adventures awaiting her.

"May I call you that?"

"Hmm?"

"Hermione," he said her name again, careful to enunciate each of her four syllables though still in that lazy, honeyed drawl of his.

"It's alright," she said, her voice a quiet rasp. She took another sip of tea.

"You don't think it's presumptuous?"

"Why would I?" She cleared her throat, tried to make her voice sound more substantial, anything to lessen the intimacy that filled the air between them. "After all, you did save me from the Primamore potion. That should warrant being on a first-name basis."

"And yet-despite having first-hand knowledge of what it feels like to be in love with me-you've not once called me Draco."

Hermione took another slow sip of her tea. Setting the teacup down, she ignored the way it rattled against the saucer. "Habit, I suppose. I mean, that's what I've been calling you since we were little."

"About that…" Malfoy paused, setting Under His Spell down on the table. "I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just come right out with it."

Hermione's heart slammed against her chest.

"If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to start over with you...if you'd allow it."

She exhaled. That wasn't what she expected. "What do you mean?"

Malfoy scooped out a spoonful of sugar and dumped it into his tea, staring into the caramel-colored liquid as he swirled it around. "I can't look at you without thinking of what an absolute beast I was to you. I regret...everything. The things I said, the names I called you, the way I behaved toward you. The way my family treated you. I know none of it can be erased, but I am sorry for everything. I should have apologized years ago, but we didn't run in the same circles and I didn't know if you'd even want to speak to me." Malfoy paused, taking a slow breath before continuing. "I will never treat you in that way again."

Hermione looked at him, eyes wide and teary, so that the lines around Malfoy softened and blurred. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Malfoy still looked pensively into his tea cup, rubbing at the back of his neck in clear discomfort. Hermione hastened to add, "If it makes you feel better, you have been nothing but kind to me since I started working here."

Malfoy's jaw clenched. "It's not for you to make me feel better."

Hermione's hands twisted in her lap. "Still, I appreciate you all the same. It's well established that I don't have the best record with meeting new people. Having you here has made it seem...less lonely." It was true. Hermione loved her job, but she had not considered the emotional toll of being unable to share her happiness about it with anyone. Knowing Malfoy and being able to talk with him had been an unexpected blessing.

Malfoy ran his hand through his hair, causing the blond strands to somehow fall even more flatteringly across his forehead. "I hope you will allow me the opportunity to show you I've changed and that in time you can forgive me and we-"

"I forgive you."

He blinked, his mouth falling open. "Just like that?" Malfoy quickly shut his lips, retreating behind his usual facade, as if he could not allow himself even this smallest of vulnerabilities. His mouth curved in a familiar smirk, though she thought he did it merely because it was expected of him, not because he actually found humor in their situation. "At least extract some kind of promise from me."

Hermione's nose wrinkled. "I don't attach conditions to forgiveness."

Malfoy reached for his cup of tea and took a sip. "How very un-Slytherin of you."

Hermione too took another sip. "Perhaps. But if you can earn or pay for your forgiveness, you'll think you're entitled to it. This way you are in my debt. And everytime you think of this, you'll remember it's because of my benevolence and not anything you did."

He raised his cup to her in salute. "Merlin. That's surprisingly savage of you."

Hermione gave him a smirk of her own. "The phrase 'kill them with kindness' existed long before I did."

Malfoy nodded, this time gracing her with a roguish smile. Hermione returned it, glad that the storm clouds had dissipated from his eyes. "I have it on good authority that it originated with House Hufflepuff and is actually their motto."

Hermione shook her head, giggling as she pushed the curls that had gotten loose back behind her ears. "How odd, since I've read in the most comprehensive and well-researched work on the subject that their motto is actually about loyalty and hard work."

"The most comprehensive and well-researched work? You can't possibly mean Hogwarts: A History."

"The very same," Hermione said, her eyes beaming over the rim of her teacup, which she set at her lips.

"That rag? Lies! It's even written on their crest."

"Where?"

"On the badger's toenails on the," he paused, as if trying to remember, "right, no, it's the left hind paw. The inscription is so small because it was sewn on by fairies. You can only see it if you squint really hard."

This time Hermione did laugh, nearly choking on the sip of tea she just took. She covered her mouth with her hand, unable to contain her laughter.

Malfoy leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Most people don't know this, but the badger's name is Beau."

"Oh really?" she said, playing along.

"Yes, it's short for Beauregard."

"Not Beaufort?" she asked, raising a quizzical brow.

Malfoy sat back in his chair, as if in shock. "Don't be absurd. Who ever heard of naming a badger Beaufort?"

Hermione's cheeks began to hurt, but she couldn't stop smiling at Malfoy. She finally had to stop looking at him as he continued to regale her with little known "facts" about their school, which he swore up and down he found in a book in the Department of Mysteries Library.

"And where can I find this book?" she finally asked, pressing her hands to her aching cheeks.

"That's the thing. The book has the nastiest habit of disappearing whenever anyone asks me to show it to them."

"Imagine that. Well, we'll have to try when we get back, and see if you have better luck searching for it with an actual librarian."

Only they didn't look for the book when they returned.

Seven days had passed since they had sat at that small table in the corner of The Tempest and the Teapot, surrounded by shelves of naughty wizard romances. She hadn't seen him since.

Their trip to Winchester to test and hopefully retrieve the magic mirror had been moved up by a week, so she had to scramble to get everything ready. Hermione had been swamped with compiling all the information she could, but whatever time wasn't spent on researching and thinking about mirrors and reflections was filled with recollections of Malfoy. He was constantly in her thoughts, and she finally had to admit that while she had initially been in thrall to the Primamore, she had now fallen under Malfoy's spell.

But what should she do about it? Her research provided no answers.

There had been no time to investigate regulations on dating coworkers. Harry and Ron, who treated the Ministry like their very own matchmaking service, had never said anything on the subject, though they weren't really sticklers for rules to begin with. And even if there were no guidelines on dating for Ministry employees in general, she would not have been surprised if there were a different set of rules for Unspeakables.

But did it really matter? Something told her Malfoy might be interested in her, but even if the attraction was mutual, would he act on it? Would Draco Malfoy ask Hermione Granger on a date? Introduce her to his friends? (Re)introduce her to his family? She knew she was getting ahead of herself, but that's how her mind worked-comprehensive to the uttermost. Sadly, she couldn't really picture herself in his world, anymore than she could picture him in hers.

Not that something like that would deter her; she was the patron saint of stubbornness and dreaming impossible dreams. But somehow this was different.

Malfoy had been a surprise, and she didn't know what to do. Her brief, tepid relationship with Ron had not prepared her for this. Oddly enough, the only help she'd received in that regard had been from the Primamore. It had shown her what first love was supposed to feel like. What she had come to feel for Malfoy. What she wanted him to feel for her.

What terrible timing! She had just begun her career. This wasn't the time to start falling in love! The smart thing to do was wait. Yes, that was the wisest course of action. Focus on the job at hand!

Right! She promised to think about it later, once she'd established herself in the department. And who knew, maybe by then her feelings would disappear and it would all be moot.

With her research now done, all that was left was to deliver it to Malfoy. Digging out her tube of strawberry chapstick, she ran it across her lips. Her hair was, well, her hair. It was crazier than normal, though, as she'd been running her fingers through it with increasing frequency as the deadline for the assignment drew nearer. Throwing it up into a bun, she grabbed the bundle of files. Clutching them to her chest, she willed her heart to stop its escape attempts from the confines of her ribcage. The way it pounded, one would think she was walking into Voldemort's lair instead of delivering her research to a fellow coworker.

She exited the Library and made her way towards Malfoy's office. Rounding the last corner, she saw the light spilling out of his open office door at the end of the hall and smiled. Good, he wasn't busy. Picking up her pace, she strode towards Malfoy, eager to share what she'd found in Magic Mirrors in Your Hall.

"You'd think with as much time as she spends studying mirrors, she'd make it a point to actually look in one. That hair!"

Sharon's voice traveled down the hallway, stopping Hermione in her tracks. It didn't take a genius to realize Sharon was speaking about her. She reached for her hair, but when she realized what she was doing she yanked her hand from her head.

With as much time as Sharon spent in front of mirrors, you'd think she'd make it a point to know more about them!

Whatever. Hermione didn't care for Sharon's good opinion anyway. Malfoy's, on the other hand, meant the world to her and she braced herself, agonizing over his response.

"Her hair is fine," Malfoy answered, his voice flat.

That was it? She had hoped for something a bit more positive. A bit more...impassioned.

"The way you carry on," he continued, "one would think you are jealous of her."

Sharon laughed, long and loud. "Me?! Jealous of her?! Why would I be jealous of her?"

"Any number of reasons. She is the brightest witch of her age. She's kind, professional, universally-well, almost universally-liked. And she possesses that ineffable quality, let's call it Grangerness, where she just-she is-"

Hermione pressed her back against the wall, biting the inside of her lips to keep from smiling, as Malfoy unsuccessfully tried to finish his thought.

"Effable?" Sharon said, "What are we, two years old? Just say you want to fuck her."

Hermione would have laughed-she'd had almost this same discussion with Ron and Harry about this very word-but she was more disturbed that Sharon seemed to know toddlers that used the word effable.

Malfoy sighed, his voice strained like he was reasoning with an f-bomb alluding two year old. "Hermione is an esteemed colleague. I wouldn't speak about her in that manner. I only meant that she has an indescribable quality. Like...she's a walking bottle of Felix Felicis. Good things just gravitate toward her."

"Like you, apparently."

"Try to be professional. Like Hermione. She's always a consummate professional."

"Professional?! Her wardrobe is a joke. She dresses like she can just lounge around on a couch and read all day, which she probably does. You know what? I'm done talking about her. When are we going to reschedule our dinner? Don't think I've forgotten."

Draco and Sharon had scheduled a dinner date with each other?!

Whatever high Hermione felt from Draco's inability to describe her evaporated, probably disappearing to the same place where all her hopes and dreams had bolted. Hermione rubbed at her chest, at an ache that seemed to radiate from the vicinity of her heart. She could not quantify how much it hurt, but this indeterminate amount of pain resulted in a quiet, though perfectly audible, gasp.

All chatter in Draco's office stopped.

Mouthing a profanity of her own, Hermione retreated as quickly and quietly as she could. She turned the corner and raced to the Library.

Once there, she shut the door behind her. She fell back against it, letting the sturdy wood hold her up. Making sure she was out of sight and sound from her coworker at the reference desk, she stood there for a minute as she tried to catch her breath. Ignoring the way her chest shuddered as she tried not to cry, she breathed in the familiar and comforting scents of her books and manuscripts.

Avoiding her fellow librarian, she took the long way around, trudging up the many flights of stairs and traversing the uneven, whorled wood of the tree branch floors before sinking into her chair in her makeshift office. Setting down the research she had intended to give to Draco, she propped her elbows on her desk and cupped her chin in her hands as she stared out of the leafy branches of her alcove. In the short time since she had returned to the Library the sunny blue skies had given way to storm clouds. A bolt of lighting electrified the ever darkening sky, and rain began to lash against her reading nook.

Well, she had been right. A relationship with Draco would have been most unwise, especially since he was already seeing Sharon Vernus.

What basis did she have for her crush on Draco anyway? Some physical response her body had while high on the vapors of some stupid love potion? That was hardly enough. And the two months of undeniable chemistry, shared laughs and secrets, and meaningful conversations? Apparently it was all in her head. He was a good coworker, and she was an idiot for mistaking his general pleasantness as meaning she was something special to him. His kindness was nothing more than his own consummate professionalism.

She was merely a colleague.

Obviously. If he were interested in her, he would have asked her out to dinner, like he had with Sharon.

Hermione wiped a silly tear from her eye and forced herself to smile. This was a good thing. Truly. If Draco could be interested in a girl like Sharon Vernus, Hermione Granger did not think she could be interested in him.

How unwise, and very, very foolish she had been.

Hermione continued to stare out at the rain, would have done so for hours had not the sound of the splash of footsteps through puddles startled her from her self-flagellation.

Hermione inhaled sharply, the hairs on the back of her neck and arms rising in alarm. Did someone know she was here?

She wiped dry her tears and for good measure muttered a quick cleansing charm under her breath. Gripping her wand, she continued to stare at the shapes the raindrops made as they dashed themselves against her alcove. Hopefully if she was quiet, she wouldn't be found. Or if someone did find her, they would notice she was busy and walk on by.

"Hiding in your book bower, I see," Draco said, his cheerful voice at odds with the wretched weather.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione swiveled around in her chair.

Draco looked like a drowned kneazle. His clothes were thoroughly drenched and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Everything stuck to him in a way that was most distracting, and probably as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. Yet he smiled at her as he wiped his hair out of his face. "Wonder what's gotten the Library in such an uproar?" he said as he ducked into her alcove, out from the pouring rain.

They stared at each other, neither saying anything for long moments as lightning crackled across the enchanted sky. Finally, Draco spoke. "Sorry for tracking in the wet." Pulling out his wand, he cast a quick drying spell, directing it at the puddle of water at his feet, then his clothes, and finally his hair. His normally well-tamed locks fell across his forehead in soft, fluffy waves. Hermione's fingers twitched at her side, but she folded her arms against her chest, resisting the urge to push his hair behind his ear. His unstyled hair made him look younger, and when he grinned down at her, he looked so boyishly handsome and adorable she couldn't look away in spite of herself.

He took a step closer, slowly surveying her secret hiding place.

"Nice setup you have here, though sadly lacking in romance novels. I'll make sure to bring some of my favorites the next time I visit."

Hermione pressed her lips together, reminding herself that these little comments didn't mean as much to him as they did to her.

He took another step towards her. "I feel like I'm approaching Rapunzel in her tower, and I should be asking you to let down your hair."

"Actually, I'm glad you're here," she lied.

"Why's that?"

"I've finished your research materials." Standing from her seat, she grabbed the stack of papers and held them out to him, staring at her weeks of work. "As you can see," she said, gesturing to the many tabs that poked out of the papers, "I've highlighted the portions I thought would be most useful. If you need anything else before you leave for Winchester, just let me know. I'll be happy to help."

She was, after all, a consummate professional.

"Actually, I do have another question."

"Anything," she said.

"Am I correct in assuming that the little gasp I heard outside my office was made by you?" he asked, not taking the papers. She pulled them back, holding them against her chest.

Hermione shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. "I came to deliver this to you and heard you and Ms. Vernus talking about me. Naturally, I was curious. But don't worry. When things took a more personal turn between you and Ms. Vernus, I gave you the privacy you needed." She gestured down the aisle to the "exit." "If you need anything else," she repeated, "feel free to ask." Once again, she held out the papers to him.

"Personal turn?" Draco said, holding the papers, but not taking them from her.

"It's none of my business," she said, plastering a smile on her face, like the ideal coworker that she was.

"There's nothing personal between Vernus and me."

"It's none of my business," she said, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. She let go of the papers-if they fell to the ground, that was his fault-and sat back in her chair.

Draco cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "That is, we had agreed to go on a date a couple of months back, but I canceled, roughly around the time you became an Unspeakable. I've since decided against rescheduling, and she has been made aware of that."

Hermione turned back to her desk, away from Draco. Picking up her pen, she hunched over herself to shield her work from his prying eyes, then pretended to take notes though in reality she was scribbling all over a piece of paper. "Too busy with work, I suppose. Though again it's none of my business."

"Not at all."

Not at all he wasn't too busy with work to date, or not at all it wasn't her business?

It didn't matter. Hermione stabbed the nib of her pen into the paper more forcefully than necessary. Why would he not leave?

Determined to look busy, Hermione picked up another piece of paper, then set it down once it began to quiver in her shaking fingers. Pretending to look for another paper, she shuffled them about on her desk. "Well, office romances can be difficult to navigate. Not that I would know, or ever will know, as I've decided that dating in one's office is a bad idea."

The wind picked up outside the alcove, the gusts howling as they raced down the stacks.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Draco said.

"Yes, well."

The silence stretched between them for so long, Hermione wondered if he had left the room. She glanced over her shoulder to find Draco staring at her.

"Having never had an office romance either, I can't speak with certainty, but I think it would not be so difficult a thing to navigate with the right person," he said.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.

Hermione looked back at her desk. "And you thought that person could be Sharon Vernus?" Hermione said, unable to stop herself. Hermione wasn't even upset with Sharon. It was Draco. Draco who could have told Sharon months ago that he wasn't interested. Draco who had asked Hermione to a working lunch, apparently out of years-old guilt for an esteemed colleague. Draco who had made her fall in love with him without giving it a second thought.

Hermione's pen dragged across her paper as Draco spun her chair around, forcing her to face him. His cheeks flushed red, and he worked his jaw, trying to compose himself. "I never thought any such thing about Sharon Vernus. I couldn't care less about her. She's not-" he said angrily before suddenly snapping his mouth shut. More calmly, he said, "It's well established that I don't have the best record with decision-making. But I had hoped...I hope I'm getting better at recognizing and fixing my errors with age. And just so you know, she asked me. And I canceled. Months ago. I thought that would be the end of it, and nothing further needed to be said."

Her heart, which felt like it had stopped when she heard of their dinner date, thudded back to life in her chest. But she dismissed whatever hope had sprung up at his words, reminding herself why she had been foolish to fall for Draco in the first place. "It's none of my business," she said, looking away.

Draco reached for the stack of papers on her desk. "Thank you for preparing this," he said, gently.

"Just doing my job," she chirped, though inside she felt miserable.

Hermione stared past him, ostensibly to look at the tumultuous weather as she squeezed her hands together in her lap.

"Hermione?" Draco said, his voice barely audible over the falling rain.

Their eyes met as thunder clapped loudly overhead. "Yes?" she said, in the stillness that followed.

His eyes flashed, but he looked away, quickly rifling through the papers he held. "Is there anything else I should be aware of before I leave for Winchester?"

I wish you felt for me what I feel for you.

I think I have to let you go, and the thought makes me unbearably sad.

"Not that I can think of. I tried to be as comprehensive as possible with the preparation packet."

"Of course. When will you be joining us?"

"That depends on how long it takes to secure the permits to move the mirror to the Ministry. Maybe one week, no more than two."

Malfoy kept flipping through the papers, clearly not reading any of them. "Well, hopefully it won't be long."

"Try not to miss me too much," Hermione said, unable to keep the sarcasm from creeping into her voice as she once again took up her pen to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting sheet of paper.

"I will try, but your guidance and judgment will be sorely missed. Among other things."

Yes, she was his esteemed colleague.

"I may be a consummate professional, but I am not the only one," she said, dismissing his compliments. "You're a smart guy. Trust your gut," she bit out tersely.

Draco stepped up to her desk, standing so close she felt his leg against her thigh. She tried to hide her angry markings, but he placed his hand on the paper, now full of angry scribbles. When he didn't say anything for agonizing seconds, she glanced up. His gaze shifted from her paper to her. His eyes looked like molten silver, burning so bright in their intensity that she swore she felt it like warmth caressing her neck and face. "As you wish, Hermione. From now on, I will follow my instincts," he promised, his voice a low murmur that rolled down her spine.

A rumble of thunder far in the distance signaled that the worst of the storm had passed. Though it still rained, the quiet pitter patter could not be heard over the rise and fall of their breathing.

Hermione swallowed, ending the thrall he had on her. Unable to speak, she just nodded, her eyes dropping back down to her scribbles.

"Try to hurry, Hermione. You make things less lonely for me too."

The nape of her neck tingled, as if Draco had run his fingers over a curl too short to have been pulled into her bun. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, and she sat up straight, trying to hide the shiver that coursed down her spine.

Hermione felt him leave, immediately missing the heat of him against her body. She heard his retreating footsteps, heard him splash through the lingering puddles outside her bower. Unable to stop herself, she turned around to watch him leave, gazing as his retreating form made its way under the arch of a rainbow.

To Be Continued

Please review. I'd like that very much. :)

I apologize in advance for any typos/mistakes.

Have a wonderful day!