It had been over a month since the fuck up at the bar, and only a few days since the gym mishap. Draco caught himself thinking of Hermione at the most inopportune times, and had resigned himself to the slow torture of his imagination. as it rewrote the ending of their altercation in a variety of interesting iterations. Reading through case notes of several recent arrests, he marked similarities with those they had already reviewed.
He was making notes in the margin when Hermione hopped onto the edge of the table. Draco froze for a moment, trying to observe her while pretending nonchalance and keeping his eyes on the page. The problem was, she hadn't sat on her side of the table — it was his corner she perched on. Their invisible line was crossed again, but this time, he suspected it was intentional. When she leaned in to see what he was reading, her curls brushed his shoulder; he inhaled sharply, the light scent of jasmine and sandalwood enveloping him.
Head spinning, he felt intoxicated by her closeness. If he just turned… A curl brushed his cheek and he jerked away, overturning his inkpot. Swearing, he jumped up, snatching the pages that hadn't been completely soiled yet. Hermione leapt up as well, casting a quick Tergeo and stopping the ink from spreading further. The papers in Draco's hand were now dry, but discoloured from the ink. They would need to send for clean copies.
"I'm sorry, I'm not usually that clumsy," he said nervously, avoiding her gaze.
"I keep telling the Minister that we should switch to pens. I can't even tell you how many times I've seen spilled inkpots in this office."
He shifted his chair to the side inconspicuously; she was standing now, but a bit of space was probably a good idea. Draco opened his bag, rummaging around inside it before extracting what he was looking for. Placing a clean sheaf of paper on the table, he began to write out his request to the archives for another copy of the reports with his Montblanc fountain pen. He couldn't resist sneaking a glance to see if she had noticed. Hermione's mouth was hanging open, and he couldn't suppress his satisfied smirk.
"Draco, is that what I think it is?" she asked disbelievingly.
Continuing to write, he observed her from the corner of his eye. "Really, Granger," he drawled in amusement, "we just talked about how I attended Muggle Uni. Did you really think I showed up to lecture every day in full dress robes with an inkpot and quill? I thought you were more clever than that." He scoffed for emphasis and was rewarded by splotches of colour blooming on her cheeks.
Apparently, Granger hadn't considered all the implications of Draco attending a Muggle college. He struggled to keep a grin from breaking out across his face; he loved the way her eyes lit up when she was angry. What is wrong with me? he thought, mentally slapping himself across the face.
"Well, of course not. Don't be ridiculous." She stalked away from him, cheeks still red, back to the relative safety of her wall of notes.
Draco knew it was best to maintain physical distance, but seeing her so flustered did things to him. Unwilling to let her retreat, he stood and joined her at the wall. He pretended to read a few notes to himself (trying to come up with some reason for being next to her), and asked several inane questions, turning to watch as she pointed out various notes and charts. But Draco didn't notice the charts, and wasn't paying much attention to what she was saying — though he tried to nod in the right places to keep her talking. She was mesmerising this close, and he found himself drawn in by the scent of her perfume, like a moth to a flame. He watched her lips form words and searched her face for new details — the ones he'd never been close enough to see, like the fullness of her lashes and the kiss of freckles across the bridge of her nose. His fingers twitched, and he gripped them into fists to keep from reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.
Suddenly, she turned to him and cut off whatever she'd been saying. "Draco, are you all right?" she asked with concern. He wondered what emotions he'd allowed to creep into his expression that would have led her to ask — clearly, it was too much.
"Yes, I'm fine," he said thickly, moving back to the desk, feeling warm and unsettled.
In the back of his mind, Draco knew something was different; they played a strange game of cat and mouse, orbiting each other throughout the day. Hermione occasionally brushed against him in ways that he might have interpreted as accidental… if it wasn't happening so frequently. After the incident at the Leaky, he'd assumed that her behaviour towards him was driven by her lowered inhibitions, a simple physical reaction. But when he reflected on it, the way she'd touched him had been markedly different from the platonic way she'd touched Potter. And after the embarrassing event in the gym… She hadn't brought it up again (and he certainly wasn't going to), and while he'd expected her to pull away. She didn't. There was a certain level of awkwardness (to be expected), but after a few days, she seemed more at ease around him. It was baffling, to be sure.
Whenever she moved too near, or brushed against him, he moved back to create space. He wanted her to the point of pain — his head was dizzy with it. It was a slow torture that he could end at any point, but couldn't bring himself to close the distance. What if she didn't want him? After everything he'd done to her, he didn't know how it would be possible; she deserved someone better anyway.
Another brush against his arm had him stepping back to lean against the table. Draco's skin felt like it was on fire, his nerve endings overly sensitive from her endless teasing touches. She had to be aware... The look she gave him over her shoulder pinned him to the table, like he was a difficult arithmancy puzzle she was trying to solve. Holding her gaze, he tried not to shift nervously under the assessing look. She turned towards him with something dangerous in her eyes, and he swallowed thickly as she approached.
Hermione had been trying to get close to him all day as Ginny had instructed, but just like Ginny had predicted (damn her ability to be right about everything), he casually moved away from her each time.
Trap him like the sneaky little ferret that he is. If you give him even the tiniest bit of room, he's going to wiggle out of it, Ginny had said.
Hermione had protested that if he wanted to get away from her that badly, he clearly wasn't interested and she ought to back off.
The response had been three rows of laughing emojis. It's classic Malfoy. Any time anyone gets too close to seeing something real, he runs. I've been talking with Ron and Harry. Don't get mad — we all just want what's best for you, and as much as I hate to say it… I think that involves you taking a chance with Malfoy. The sincerity of her statement somewhat ruined by the vomit emoji that followed, but it bolstered her confidence nonetheless.
So, when Draco obviously moved to lean against the table in order to create space, she worked up her courage, took a deep bracing lungful of air and sprung the trap. "You keep running away from me, Draco. Are you scared?" she teased.
He looked almost as nervous as she felt: eyes wide, throat working. It looked like he wanted to bolt, but his body appeared to be frozen in place. Her own stomach was roiling with anxiety, but she tried to keep it from showing on her face. I can do this, I can do this. Just do what Ginny said. Good Godric, I feel like an idiot.
He scoffed dismissively, but his eyes darted around the room, looking for escape. "Of course not, Granger, I just get antsy sitting too long in one place."
She noted that he did look somewhat like a creature in a trap and had to suppress a nervous giggle. Continuing her advance, she watched as his eyes darted to her lips.
"Besides," he blurted out, "I'm afraid to stand within a metre of you with your wand in your hair like that. You're liable to put someone's eye out. Is that how they teach Aurors to holster their wands these days?"
Now she really did have to suppress a laugh. It was just like at school. Any time she bested him, or when she caught his gaze lingering on her too long, he'd come up with a petty insult. It had bothered her back then, but it held no teeth now, and she recognised it for what it was — a deflection.
She smiled darkly at him. "You're right, of course. It's actually quite dangerous in the field. Usually I keep it strapped to my forearm." Her hand was shaky as she pulled her wand from her hair, allowing the curls to tumble free around shoulders. It felt absurd, like someone in a cliche romance novel would do, and she felt her cheeks heating. Why did I do that?! Draco's tongue darted out to wet his lips as she closed in on him.
"Better?" It took everything in her willpower not to hide her face in her hands and apologise for her ridiculous behaviour before running from the room. If this didn't work, she was going to murder Ginevra Weasley. Honestly, she was surprised he hadn't laughed in her face yet.
Draco's heart thundered in his chest as she approached. This was not how he had expected her to react.
"Better?" she asked with a feline smirk. He didn't respond. Yes. No. Yes. Fuck… Yes.
Hermione stood directly in front of him now, their toes almost touching. Hardly daring to breathe, he felt time stretch and lengthen; it could have been seconds or hours that she held him under her spell, he had no bloody idea. He should probably do something — move. The problem was, if he did, he wasn't sure which direction he would move, and was even less sure which direction was right. All he knew was that he wanted more than anything to close that gap.
"You didn't answer my question," she pressed, lifting her chin in a dare, just the way she used to back at school. It drove him fucking insane. "Are you scared, Draco?" His name dripped off her perfectly shaped lips, and a shiver of desire ran through him.
She reached over to place her wand on the desk, bringing her within a hairsbreadth of his body, and he stopped breathing. It was impossible to look away from her mouth, only inches from his. Pressing her fingertips into the desk on either side of his body, she forced him to lean back and caged him in momentarily. Hermione cocked her head to the side, a predatory glint in her eye, reminiscent of a hawk. Her eyes were on his lips as she waited for his response.
"Yes," he rasped. "I'm terrified."
Surprise flashed in her eyes and her mouth formed a little "o" as she pulled back, clearly misinterpreting what he'd meant. It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore and his restraint snapped.
Draco surged forward and captured her lips in a brutal, searing kiss, one hand cupping the back of her neck to prevent her from moving away. A dam burst within him when she began moving her lips in sync with his. His free hand snaked around her waist, pulling her between his legs. It was like he was catching fire, losing his physical form as they twined together.
Winding her hand in his shirt, she pulled him even closer, and the little sound she made pierced his chest. The hand on the back of her neck found its way into her beautiful curls; they were even softer than he'd imagined. Draco pivoted, lifting Hermione onto the table and stepping back between her legs.
Before he took utter leave of his senses, Draco heard a faint noise just outside the conference room door. He broke away from her and took several hurried steps back, panting just as the door opened.
"Afternoon," Harry said cheerily, slurping a mug of tea.
"What now Potter?" His voice was low and rough, somewhat sharper than he'd intended, and he didn't dare turn around. Instead, he opted to feign fascination with something out the window.
Harry didn't respond right away, sensing the edge to his tone.
"I was just about to head down to the canteen and wanted to see if I could fetch anything for either of you. You haven't come out of this room all morning and it's well past lunch."
Draco ground his teeth together. Fucking Potter and his do-gooder tendencies. The shock of Potter nearly walking in on them cooled his blood quickly, and he was able to safely turn around. Potter looked oblivious, though Draco wasn't sure how. His lips were puffy and he could still feel the heat of his flushed cheeks. And Hermione… Hermione was sitting where he'd left her, on the edge of the desk, looking slightly dazed, breathing more rapidly than normal. Despite Draco's attempt to be gentle with her hair, it was quite tangled, like she'd just rolled out of bed. In short, she looked glorious.
When she touched a hand to her swollen lips, his breath caught. Draco cleared his throat, returning his attention to their unwelcome intruder. "I've got everything I need here. Thank you, Potter."
"Hermione?" Harry inquired again, taking another obnoxiously loud sip of his tea, like it was too hot and he was trying not to burn himself. It was like the man had been raised in a closet or something. His manners were abysmal.
"Hmm? Yes, uh, I'll meet you at the lift in a moment, Harry." It deeply satisfied him to hear that her voice was still so affected.
Harry exited the room, leaving them alone again. In the ensuing silence, Draco carefully pasted a mask onto his face and waited to see what Hermione would do. Neither of them spoke, and Hermione hopped down from the table, grabbing her wand from where it had fallen and using it to pile her hair back on top of her head. She approached the wall and continued to review her notes silently, as if nothing had happened. The spell had broken. Whatever momentary madness had taken over them had fled — it wasn't going to happen again. He shouldn't have let it happen in the first place. The knowledge of how her soft curves had felt pressed against him was going to haunt his dreams. A taste would have to be enough, and he didn't regret it for a second.
Once he was confident that his voice would come out cool and detached, he turned to Granger (he found calling her "Granger" helped him maintain his distance). "That was… unprofessional of me. I apologise. I'm a bit out of sorts from our conversation this morning and I'm afraid that I've let things go all pear-shaped. I hope this doesn't change anything between us."
She laughed lightly to herself, as if he'd said something amusing; he stiffened. When she placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly, he could have sworn his brain short-circuited. Recovering enough to reciprocate, he kissed her back and placed his hands on her waist, but before he knew it, she spun away from him playfully. Her eyes sparkled as a teasing smile tugged at her lips.
"Pick me up for dinner at eight. My Floo will be open. Nothing too posh. Oh, and I've decided to work from home after lunch," she said as she left the room.
Dumbfounded, he stood in the empty room staring through the door after her, thoughts racing. What in the bloody hell was that? Did Hermione bloody Granger just demand that I take her on a date?
Feeling like an absolute wanker for not asking her first, he attempted to process the last half hour. She wanted him. That much was clear. After she'd bolted out of the training room like a startled deer, he'd crushed whatever fantasies he'd had that she might want something more. When she hadn't acknowledged it after the fact, he'd interpreted her silence as her drawing the line in the sand at flirting — nothing more. But now… Clearly, he had a lot to learn when it came to understanding her.
In a daze, he put his things away and left the office. He had dinner plans to make.