Work Text:
Hermione sat on her bed studying the textbook in front of her and cursing under her breath at the intricacies of contract law when her text alert went off. It was a Friday night, and she had a hot date with a glass of wine, pasta, and five chapters to revise. Being a law student and interning at a medium-sized law firm in the city didn’t leave as many hours as she wished to study. Normally on a Friday night, she would still be in the office doing the week's filing, but the case she and Malfoy had been helping with had been settled earlier in the week making the weekend relatively free for her studying.
So, when she received a text from him, Hermione was shocked, to say the least. She and Draco Malfoy were friendly in that they worked well together, but rarely did they see each other out of their few shared classes or their hours interning.
Get me out of this stupid date, and I’ll do the office filing for a week. PLEASE HELP!
Hermione smirked at the words on her phone. The thought of Draco Malfoy, sexiest man she had ever seen, not enjoying a date made her want to giggle. His white-blond hair, perfect ass, and broad shoulders made most women swoon at the sight of him. For the three and a half years that Hermione had known the man, he had never texted her for anything that wasn’t law or school-related. Well, the one time she missed class because her grandfather died, and she was attending the funeral, he had texted her to let her know he had made a copy of his notes.
Hermione decided to go with her gut and help Draco Malfoy out of his horrible date. She dialed his number, seconds later when he answered she said, “Do the office filing for two weeks and help me understand this chapter for the test and I will help you.”
“Something happened in the case. We will have to track those leads down, won’t we? This can’t wait until the morning can it? No, damn! Ok, I’ll be there in twenty. Thanks, Granger.” Draco spoke frantically and hung up.
She giggled, unable to keep the mirth that bubbled up inside. Hermione Granger the rescuer of Draco Malfoy. She may never let him live it down. Not for the first time was she wondering what type of woman Draco Malfoy would beg for help to get away from.
Hermione would never be considered anything more than plain with extremely curly brown hair, brown eyes, freckles, and stick-thin figure. To Hermione her mind was beautiful. She was creative and intellectual, smart bordering on brilliant. Where her looks were a disappointment, her mind satisfied and thrived. She very much doubted Malfoy had ever looked at her as more than a mere acquaintance.
The walk to her kitchen was short to begin preparing her meager meal of pasta and alfredo sauce. She rummaged through her cabinets in search of canned chicken, but alas, she was out. Cooking chicken was not something she had ever gotten the hang of, so her mother had shown her how to make canned chicken palatable in simple dishes. One too many bouts of food poisoning and Hermione would never cook chicken again. There was a lovely bottle of Pinot Grigio in her fridge with at least one glass left, which brought a smile to Hermione’s face.
Puttering around her tiny kitchen, she heard a knock at her door. She glanced at her phone and saw that it was only half seven, but she wasn’t expecting anyone. Taking a fleeting look at what she was wearing to make sure she was decent, she looked through the peephole and saw Draco Malfoy standing at her door.
She swung the door open quickly in shock. “What are you doing here?” She demanded; her mouth suddenly dry at the sight before her. Draco Malfoy looked good on any normal day, tonight he looked breathtaking. Slate grey pinstriped suit, white shirt, and black tie, he was delicious. Heat filled Hermione’s cheeks in embarrassment at having checked out her co-intern.
“I told you I would be here in twenty minutes. Thank you for rescuing me! That date was brutal. I want to help you with the chapter you are having trouble with. Chapter 27 on contract law, right? That was a beast of a chapter! Can I come in? I brought wine,” he spoke quietly, and yet quickly, almost as if he was terrified she would slam the door in his face.
“Yes, of course. You just shocked me. I figured you would go home, or find another date, or something. It is a Friday night after all. Are you hungry? I made pasta.” She waved her arm to show he was welcome to come in.
Draco smiled and walked through the door. “I’m starving so yes, please. My parents set me up for the fourth time in two weeks. I’m expected to marry well, to uphold the family image and name. I just want to live a quiet life as a lawyer, helping businesses in any way I can stay afloat. But that isn’t glamorous enough for my parents.” Draco unbuttoned and shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the back of the couch as he walked by following the Hermione to the kitchen. Hermione missed how he watched her hips sway as she walked in her blue yoga pants.
Hermione rummaged in the drawer for her corkscrew as Draco looked around her small apartment. Her apartment was essentially three small rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, and a shared kitchen and living area. Hermione usually ate on the floor in front of the couch at the coffee table.
Pulling a glass out for each of them, Hermione gave them to Draco. “So, they are choosing your future bride? Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know…old fashioned? Do you like alfredo? I’m afraid that’s all I have, no red sauce or chicken. I’m rubbish at chicken,” Hermione asked.
“Alfredo is fine. And my parents are the epitome of old fashioned. Expectations are the name of the game. I hate it. I wish I were free to make my own choices. At least law is an acceptable profession, especially since that is one of my passions.”
Hermione dished up the pasta into two bowls and handed one to Draco with a fork sticking out and nodded toward the table in the living room. Hermione balanced her food on her textbook as she carried them and her glass of wine to the table.
“Sounds slightly barbaric to me, choosing your future for you. You are your own person after all. My parents could care less as long as I’m happy and safe,” she said assuredly.
Four hours later
Hermione was a little more than tipsy as she tried to think of another question to ask Draco. Chapter twenty-seven had long since been discussed, and Hermione felt she understood it better than she had. She wasn’t sure how the study session had dissolved into a rousing game of twenty questions. Draco had torn off his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his shirt sleeves after eating his bowl of pasta.
“If you could do anything at all in the world, what would you do?” Hermione finally asked. She was leaning against the couch, sitting on the floor cross-legged. Draco’s legs were stretched out under the coffee table as he leaned against the couch as well.
“Anything? I have no idea. Maybe a professor? I love law, but I could see teaching as a wonderful profession. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Draco turned the question back to her.
Hermione thought for a moment. “I would love to visit India or Japan. I’ve not been to many places, but the gardens in Japan seem to be calling me. Are you drunk?” She blushed as she asked her question.
“Well since I had three whiskeys before taking a cab here, then two glasses of wine, I’m not drunk, but if we had more alcohol, I easily could be. What about you, are you drunk after two glasses of wine?” Draco asked with a teasing smile.
Hermione blushed even deeper. “I’m delightfully tipsy.” She took a breath and quietly asked the question she had been afraid to ask, “What’s your ideal woman?”
Draco looked at her searchingly for what seemed like forever, piercing her with his gaze. Finally, he spoke quietly as he turned toward her, “Brilliant mind, beautiful brown eyes, the curliest hair I have ever seen, her height is perfect to fit under my arm as we walk.” As he spoke, he leaned toward her and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her bottom lip. Hermione’s breathing grew shallower with every swipe of his thumb and word out of his mouth.
“Lips that are kissable, cheeks that fit perfectly in my hand, I can only imagine what other parts of you would fit perfectly in my hands. You, Hermione Granger, are my ideal woman. I texted you tonight because I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I want you, no one else.” He leaned closer to her almost touching her lips with his.
Hermione pulled back infinitesimally. “I think you are drunker than you thought. There is no way you find me remotely pretty,” she said sadly.
“Oh, I find you gorgeous. I may be slightly inebriated, but that doesn’t hurt my eyesight. We each have two more questions. Can I kiss you?” Draco’s eyes were hopeful, almost pleading with her to say yes. After looking at him for a moment, she nodded.
Hermione had never been kissed the way Draco kissed her right then. Slowly, tenderly, give, and take. His lips pressed against hers, nipping her bottom lip gently sucking it between his lips. As strong and hard as the rest of the man appeared, his lips were surprisingly soft. He gentled his kiss and pulled away slowly.
“Why did you stop?” Hermione asked breathlessly.
“Well, we do need to breathe, but mostly because I wanted to see your face again. You are so beautiful. I could get used to the sight of you freshly snogged.” Draco grinned smugly.
“Shut it you and kiss me again,” Hermione commanded and yanked his shirt to pull him closer, lips meeting frantically.
The game was forgotten, and Hermione couldn’t have been happier at his questions.