By the time Hermione arrived at her flat that evening, none of her owls to Malfoy had been returned. She began to worry about his whereabouts, but her stubbornness would not allow for her to investigate it any further. After an abbreviated meal followed by another short lie-in on her sitting room couch, she was awakened by Crookshanks persistent mewling for his dinner. She reluctantly got up and dropped a few vittles into his dish before stumbling over and sinking back into her couch.
It wasn't long before her inner ruminations turned yet again to the wayward wizard who seemed to have dropped clear off the face of the earth without explanation. A rather fortunate consequence of his absence was he never had the explosive encounter with Ron that she had expected would occur. But all the same, it struck her as odd that he had completely abandoned work for the day.
Without realizing it, her mind began to consider Ginny's supposition that her plans with Cormac had something to do with it, but as the word regret still echoed loudly in her ears from the night before, she immediately shrugged it off as being highly unlikely. Of course, he was perfectly at liberty to disappear to any place of his choosing- he was a grown man after all and she most certainly was not his keeper- but, if she were being honest, she was more than slightly irked that he had so recklessly neglected the MacNair case at a time when it required assiduous attention.
As she toiled with her thoughts for longer than she would care to admit, her impatience with the situation overcame her rationality. What began as a scant ember of resentment burned into outright outrage when she recalled he still possessed the book they procured from the Chateau which she had yet to have the opportunity to analyse. It felt a lot like disregard for him to withhold information from her that she had more than a right to see.
And that is how she concluded, courtesy be damned, she would march right over to the Manor and demand to see it.
Still dressed in her lounge clothes and her hair in disarray, she stepped into her fireplace and directly through the Floo into the Manor receiving room to confront the elusive tosser. Only when she glanced up to dust off her clothing did she realize what a colossal error in judgment she had made.
On the settee, wearing a loose pair of flannel pajamas slung low on his hips and an obnoxiously alluring grey crewneck t-shirt which hugged him in all the right places, sat Malfoy holding a tumbler of firewhisky. When he looked up and saw her, his jaw hung mid-sentence as he quickly flashed a strained look across the couch to where a pug-faced brunette lay sprawled out drinking a glass of wine. Hermione immediately recognized the other witch as her former tormentor from Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson. Her face heated as she took in the intimate setting, trying with a fortitude she somehow lacked to focus on Draco and not on the scantily-clad witch who appraised her with a self-satisfied smirk.
She gruffly cleared her throat to make her presence known, but before she could speak, Draco cut in. "Granger, what are you doing here?" He leaned over to place his tumbler on the coffee table before rising to stand.
With blatant disregard for any form of self-preservation, she cleared her throat again and proceeded with her cavalier agenda. "I hadn't received a reply from any of my owls and seeing as the case is my top priority- I decided I'd swing by on my way home from work and retrieve the necessary items to continue my research. Namely, the book," she clarified, angling her chin upward as she spoke.
Draco looked at his wristwatch and raised his eyebrows. "You're just getting home from work at eight o'clock at night? Dressed like that?"
She folded her arms across her chest, jutting her chin out even further. "Do you have the book or not?" she asked challengingly.
Draco narrowed his eyes at her before looking over to Pansy. "Pansy, you remember Hermione Granger from Hogwarts." He glanced back. "Granger, Pansy Parkinson."
"How charming of you to drop by this time of night for work," she said with a smug glint in her eye, peering at Hermione over the rim of her wine glass as she took a long draw of what looked to be the same variety Hermione had enjoyed the night she ate dinner at the Manor.
"Yes, well for those of us who are wholly dedicated to our jobs, the work never really ends, now does it?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she looked brazenly at Draco.
He bristled at the obvious slight. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, Pansy. We need to step away to address a minor business matter." He grabbed Hermione firmly by the elbow and dragged her into the adjoining hallway.
When they were securely out of earshot, he rounded on her, his towering form precariously close as he glared down. "What is the meaning of this, Granger?"
She squared her shoulders, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You'll have to elaborate as I'm unsure I know what it is you're referring to."
"I think you know precisely what I'm referring to- your barging in here unannounced and interrupting a perfectly enjoyable evening with your- your- your petty demands! This couldn't have waited until morning?"
Her brows snapped together, jaw tightening as she tried and failed to hold in her fury. "You're acting like I was supposed to know you'd be entertaining a witch tonight! Excuse me if I actually believed you when you told me Theo was your only house guest."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pansy is an old friend. Not that I should feel the need to declare that fact. But since you seem to have an affinity for drawing the wrong conclusions, I feel it worth mentioning."
He watched as her eyes raked over his pyjama-clad form. "Right," she said doubtfully.
Registering her undisguised skepticism, he lurched forward, compelling her to step backwards against the wall.
With both arms firmly braced on either side of her head, he inclined his chin and whispered in a low, gravelly voice against her ear, "Lucky for you, we've decided to resume our personal lives- so you needn't concern yourself with who I am or am not entertaining."
Suddenly acutely aware that one faint gust of wind at his back would cause the hard planes of his body to press up against hers, she cursed her labored breathing, hoping beyond hope he wouldn't notice how his close proximity set her on edge.
It would be remarkably effortless for her to turn her head an infinitesimal degree to where his awaiting lips were hovering, to pick up where they'd left off on the dance floor, her mind constructing traitorous scenarios as she inhaled the heady aroma of his recent shower mingled with a faint hint of whiskey on his breath.
Her hand moved on its own accord to grip the flat edge of his hip where his pajama pants hung enticingly low, eager to feel his skin against hers. But before she committed her second egregious error in judgment for the evening, he'd pushed off the wall, leaving her bereft of the heat that radiated between them.
"I will get your book, Granger. Then you can be on your merry little way."
Without warning, he turned sharply, stalking down the dimly-lit hallway abandoning a flustered Hermione Granger in his wake.
