Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hermione stared down at the parchment in front of her, as if glaring hard enough could cause all seven remaining names to disappear.

She chewed on her lower lip, reading the list over once again. She had them all memorized, of course. They were the seven Pureblood families she had to secure signatures from in order for the House Elf Protection Clause to go into effect.

Drumming her fingertips on her desk, she knew she’d made loads of progress. Securing approval from 13 of the 20 most prominent Pureblood families had been quite a feat. Some, like the gracious and terrifying Narcissa Malfoy, had smiled and signed quite willingly. Others refused any of her owls--Ministry sealed and personal.

You need an in her boss had chimed unhelpfully.

And in! She nearly huffed. What did that mean?! Were there Pureblood, old-money-only social gatherings she was currently barred from? She sighed. Of course there were...

With newfound determination, Hermione decided to tackle what she hoped was the least intimidating name remaining and owled another request to meet with Ms. Zabini.

Four days later, she received a reply with an invitation for tea. Dressed in her best black dress and her least sensible shoes, Hermione tossed the green powder into the floo and gave her destination with determination pinning her brow. When she stepped into the Zabini Manor, she had no time to project confidence or plaster a fake, professional smile. In the center of the tea room, Ms. Zabini stood arguing with her son.

“Why can’t you find a decent witch to settle down with?! You’re gallivanting around the world, a different girl on each content, yachting and flirting and not taking any of this seriously.” Her face was impossibly pretty, even pinched in a scowl. “Our family reputation has never been the best, but you insist on taking none of it seriously.”

“Our poor reputation has less to do with my gallivanting and more with your bad luck with husbands.”

Hermione cleared her throat, and then flushed as the pair turned in her direction.

Ms. Zabini didn’t bother to hide her snarl. “Miss Granger, I apologize for my son’s poor manners. Please, have a seat.”

With a small nod, Hermione watched the fluid way the beautiful witch on the other side of the table moved. Hermione had felt clunky meeting with other Pureblood women in the past, but there was something especially graceful about Ms. Zabini.

Was it a charm or just exceptional breeding? Hermione could hear herself swallowing as she shifted in her chair.

Ms. Zabini poured them each a cup of tea and Hermione bit the tip of her tongue. It was always tea before business talk with these great, old-money witches. She’d barely scraped the surface of maneuvering within their posh inner circle, but she’d learned that much at least.

After she had a perfectly prepared cup set in front of her, Hermione brought it to her lips as Ms. Zabini arched a sculpted brow and said, “Miss Granger, I read your letter thoroughly, and I understand you’d like to meet about the House Elves.”

Hermione set her cup down on its saucer, trying not to wince and the thunk it made.

“Yes, that’s right!” she beamed.

“I must admit, I am confused. All my House Elves are perfectly happy. They’ve all been freed, we pay them a very competitive salary, and they come and go as they please.”

“That’s lovely to hear, Ms. Zabini.”

The woman inclined her head, and Hermione marveled at how not a single strand of dark hair escaped her elaborate updo. It had to be a charm...

“Yes, they buy themselves little trinkets and clothing. Snip even got me a Christmas present last year. It was all very unnecessary, of course, but quite a nice gesture.” Ms. Zabini folded her arms on her lap, her eyes never leaving Hermione’s. “You’ve interviewed them all and found them perfectly happy. Thus my confusion on your being here.”

“Yes, yes. That’s quite right, Ms. Zabini. I’m working on a clause for the House Elf bill we passed five years ago. It’s all very straight-forward, and won’t have any effect on your household. However, in order for this to gain any traction, the Ministry would like twenty signatures from prominent households such as yours. Twenty families that we feel have really embraced recent changes and who can serve as examples for other families who haven’t quite been as… eager as the Zabini family when it comes to change.”

Hermione knew flattery could work well, and bit her lip as she watched the cool, confident witch think it over.

“Very well, then. Do you have a copy on you for review?”

Reaching into her beaded bag, Hermione procured the fat stack of documents and handed it across the table. Ms. Zabini nearly went cross eyed.

“This is lengthy, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, but I assure you, it’s all very straight-forward.”

The other witch sighed. “I’m sure, but I’ll have to give it to my lawyer to review before I sign anything.”

“Of course.” Hermione smiled.

Setting the papers on the table, Ms. Zabini lifted her gaze and studied Hermione’s features for a long moment.

“You’re very beautiful, Miss Granger.”

“Ah--” Hermione nearly dropped her teacup. “Thank you. You are, of course, known for your beauty Ms. Zabini.”

“And you’re brilliant, too. The brightest witch in my son’s year, and probably every year before and after for a long while.” Ms. Zabini’s dark eyes continued ticking across her features, pausing on her hair--Hermione was thankful she’d used a charm and a potion to tame it that morning--before moving down to her simple black dress. “You’re also kind. This is a lot of work for House Elf accommodations. I wish my idiot son could find a nice, accomplished witch such as yourself. The boy has absolutely no drive.”

Hermione giggled nervously and then winced at the shrill sound. While her hands fumbled with her teacup, her brain fumbled for a compliment.

“Blaise is very… handsome.”

Ms. Zabini rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. He is that, at least.” Then she picked up her cup and said, “I’ll owl you once my lawyer has finished reviewing your law.”

It wasn’t a law, but Hermione knew correcting the older witch wouldn’t be doing any favors for her cause. So instead, she got to her feet and thanked Ms. Zabini for her time. Then she flooed back to the ministry and nearly sprinted to her office.

Seven signatures were left, but she felt closer to six, at least. The remaining names… She wanted to cry. She’d never get an audience. Not without an in .

…….

The next time she saw Blaise Zabini, she was the Leaky with Ginny listening to her friend rant about Quidditch--the single subject Hermione felt utterly useless chatting about--and knocking back shots of Firewhiskey.

Ginny winced. “I should be keeping count. I don’t have practice in the morning, so Harry wants to have a picnic down by the lake.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “I don’t think there’ll be anything lovely about what he has planned.”

Hermione scrunched her nose. “Oh, please, don’t talk like that. Harry’s like a brother to me.”

“Hey, now! I had to listen to you talk about my actual brother back when you were dating.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s fair, I guess. But I never overshared, did I?”

Ginny sighed dramatically before tossing back another shot. “No, sadly you’ve always been an underwhelming sharer. I want details . Some of us have been in boring, monogamous relationships for nearly a decade. I want all the sordid details about your one-night-stands so I can live vicariously through you.”

“Gin, you know I’m not out there having one-night-stands, right?”

“No, I wouldn’t know.” The redhead blinked innocently. “You never tell me.”

“It’s nothing like that. I hardly have time to think about dating recently, except…”

Ginny’s eyes twinkled. “Except?!”

“Except I’ve been thinking over a pretty… dodgy plan.”

“Hermione Granger and the Dodgy Plan? Do tell.”

Hermione took the last full shot glass on the table and knocked it back. It was cheap Firewhiskey and not her favorite, but Ginny had never been fussy about her booze. Once the burn had settled, Hermione admitted, “I was thinking about approaching Blaise Zabini and asking him to be my fake boyfriend.”

Ginny squinted at her, like she was having trouble making out Hermione’s words.

“I need an in with six prominent, pureblood wizarding families. The sort that I can’t seem to get an audience with--”

“But you’re the Golden Girl,” Ginny slurred.

“Yes, yes. Funny how that doesn’t work in all circles.” Hermione bit her lip to contain her smile. “But I figure with Zabini as my date, I can at least have a foot in the door. If he can get me an in, I can manage the rest.”

“Doesn’t help that he’s bloody gorgeous .”

Hermione waved a hand in her air. “He isn’t really my type.”

“So you won’t be shagging him in this scenario?”

“Of course not!”

“Of course not,” Ginny intoned. Then she got that thoughtful look in her eyes that Hermione sometimes dreaded. “If you aren’t shagging him, what makes you think Zabini’s going to agree to taking you to all these Pureblood parties, then?”

Hermione exhaled. “Well… that’s the thing. I overheard his mother getting onto him. She wants to improve his reputation. He’s known as a flirt, and while he does fine with the ladies, I looked into it and found he isn’t being taken seriously in some Pureblood circles. He hasn’t had a promotion in ages , and apparently--”

“Did you break into his private work records, Hermione Granger?”

She huffed. “It was for the House Elves.”

“The House Elves have already been freed, ‘Mione. Can you just pretend not to take shagging Blaise Zabini off the table completely?”

“Sorry, Gin. This is going to be a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Shagging makes things…”

“Better.”

“ Complicated, ” Hermione reprimanded. And then, waving the barkeep over for another round of drinks, she sighed. “Now, I just need to approach Blaise.”

“Oh, hey three-year winner or Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile, would you like to stop shagging random women for a couple months so you can shag no one and take me to parties instead? It’s for the House Elves.”

“Gin…”

Their drinks arrived. And then, like it was fate, the doors opened and a confident, collected and impossibly handsome Blaise Zabini breezed through the door. His smile was charming, sure, and his in-season robes were tailored perfectly to his frame.

Hermione squinted. She ought to have been attracted to him, but for some reason, she didn’t flush when he leaned against the bar. Didn’t feel her heartbeat pick up when Gin leaned over and winked at him.

“Hey Blaise, mate,” the redhead greeted. “Just the wizard we were talking about.”

“Weasley, Granger,” he drawled, sweeping his gaze over both their bodies with the sort of candid forwardness of an accomplished flirt. “You witches were talking about me, eh?”

“Yes, yes.” Ginny picked up one of the Firewhiskey shots, her eyes gleaming in the bar lights. “Hermione had a proposition for you.”

His smile didn’t falter. “Yeah?”

Hermione sighed. “Yeah. But I think it’d be best if we talked about this back at your place.”

At this, his eyes widened a fraction. “My place?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Ginny sighed. “She won’t nudge on the shagging you, apparently. This is business.”

“Granger, surely you’ve heard that there’s a bit of fun in mixing business with pleasure.”

“I have, actually. But shagging isn’t the sort of fun I have in mind.”

He ordered a drink and Hermione guessed the bottle of Firewhiskey that was poured for him cost six times what she and Ginny were drinking. She almost sighed wistfully. Instead, she sat up and clutched the strap of her beaded bag.

“So, your place? I have a contract already drawn up.”

At her side, Ginny snorted into her shot glass. “Of course you do…”

Blaise raised a brow. “Mind if I finish my drink first? I’ll be nice and let you talk business after.”

…….

Blaise Zabini’s flat was nice. The furnishings were leather but not cold. There was a mahogany bookcase stuffed with well-worn tomes that Hermione’s fingers itched to pursue. The kitchen was sleek and modern, and one entire wall boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto Muggle London at night.

Brilliant lights twinkled in the distance, and she nearly gasped as she stepped out of the floo.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied honestly. It was a stunning view.

Blaise glanced around the flat for a moment before loosening his tie. “My flatmate must still be out. But if you’d like some privacy, my bedroom’s this way.”

She flashed him a sharp look that had him chuckling. “Fine, fine. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. As fit as you are, Granger, I’m sorry to say that know-it-all swots aren’t really my type.”

“That’s good to hear. You’re very fuckable, Zabini, but for some reason I don’t actually want to shuck my knickers and jump you. It’s kind of confounding.”

“Surely you’ve had platonic male friends?” he asked conversationally, like he didn’t know she and Ron and Harry were best mates.

“And you have female friends you haven’t fooled around with?”

He paused like he was pretending to think, and then flashed her a grin. “Not without my trying.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine then, show me to your room. We have a contract to look over.”

She’d gone over the big picture stuff in the Leaky, and he’d been very intrigued. Apparently his reputation had taken quite a hit, and though he liked dating, the last girl he’d tried to be serious about thought his reputation was too smudged to be settling down material.

“That’s awful.”

“Some witches aren’t as open minded as you, Granger.”

Hermione bit down on her lower lip, pausing in her perusal of the document she had in hand. “You should probably call me Hermione, since we’re going to be dating.”

His nose scrunched like he’d just found muck on his shoe. She fought the urge to whack him with the contract. Instead, she exhaled.

“I’ll call you Blaise.”

“And what does this fake dating entail?”

“Dinner parties, like we discussed. I need to get close to six specific witches to convince them to come on board with some new House Elf protections--”

“Oh, this is about the bloody House Elves, of course it is.”

“--and we’d need to be photographed for the Prophet to make it look like we’re really dating one another.”

Blaise stretched his neck, like talking this through was physically exerting, and then conceded; “Fine. Okay. So we do an interview for the Prophet and go to some boring house parties. Then, what? A month or two down the road we break up amicably?”

“Yes, keeping things very civil for the papers would be best for both our interests.”

His dark eyes watched her, and she shifted under the weight of them.

“I assume you were eavesdropping on my conversation with my mother?”

“Yes.”

“And you know about the promotion…”

Hermione drummed her fingers on the document. “Well. I have a problem with boundaries. Probably why I’m still single. But you don’t have to like me. Just pretend to date me. Show everyone that you’ve charmed the pants off the Brightest Witch of Our Age, twirl me around in an obnoxiously sparkly dress at a couple parties, and then, bam , just imagine the headlines: Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor is Single Again . Witches will be falling all over themselves after I’ve reformed you.”

He smirked. “I don’t want to be reformed. Besides, you’re positive you’re so bright that you’ll shiny my tarnished reputation?”

She stared at him and he exhaled.

“Fair point. Fine then, Granger. We have a deal.”

“Hermione .”

He pulled a face, and then Hermione went over the remainder of the contract. When she glanced at the clock, she was only half surprised to see that it was nearing three o’clock in the morning. The shots she’d done earlier were no longer giving her a pleasant buzz, and she found herself drained and exhausted.

Blaise was driving her insane. He fought her on everything but came to the table with no ideas of his own. He couldn’t sit still, and wasn’t taking anything she said seriously.

Part of her was already ready to drop this charade before it’d even begun, but they’d already put in so much effort…

“I need tea,” she announced, standing up from his desk chair and stretching her legs. She’d met Ginny after work, still wearing her charcoal dress with capped sleeves and sensible black pumps. Bending down, she removed her shoes and sighed. She probably should’ve done that sooner.

Despite all his breeding and the rumors of his gentlemanly ways, Blaise shucked a thumb over her shoulder and said, “Kitchen’s that way.”

She rolled her eyes and strode out, trying not to be impressed or intimidated by the sleek kitchen. Blaise hadn’t given her any specifics, so she searched through the cupboards until she found a mug and set the kettle to heat with her wand.

She was on her toes, rummaging for tea when a door opened, and she said, “Your kitchen is very tidy given how bloody disorganized your bedroom is.”

The footsteps stopped abruptly, and Hermione finished her task, helping herself to a posh looking tin of tea she’d never splurge on for herself.

When she’d made the cup, she spun on her heel and nearly dropped all her hard work.

“Malfoy,” she gasped.

He looked equally as shocked to find Hermione Granger is in his kitchen, helping herself to tea.

“Evening, Granger,” he drawled. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Hermione blew on the surface of her tea and willed herself to look anywhere other than at the shirtless man slowly walking toward her like he was a wildcat and she his prey.

When she finally felt confident her features were schooled enough to escape mortification, she asked, “You’re Blaise’s flatmate, then?”

Realization dawned on his face, and then he was laughing. Laughing. Hermione had to crane her neck to look at his face--it was nearly impossible with so much of his pale skin on display. His chest was right at eye level, lean muscle all the way down to a set of abs that her throat drying, down further still to where his obliques met the transversus abdominis muscles in what her brain could only define as a thoroughly lickable V.

Why were his pajama pants so low on his hips?! Where was his shirt ?! When had Draco bloody Malfoy gotten so tall?!

He stopped laughing, though his grey eyes still shone with mirth.

“You shagged Blaise?”

She wrinkled her nose and straightened her posture, looking very snooty as she sipped her tea and said, “I’m dating him, actually.”

Malfoy frowned at her, his body still.

Hermione found the issue with not looking at his body was that his face was equally distracting. Platinum hair that fell roguishly across his forehead. A straight, aristocratic nose. Grey eyes and lips that… She blinked and looked down at her bare feet feeling small and silly.

“Well, I should get back to Blaise…” she said, and left without casting him a second glance.

As Hermione Granger flounced off with a cup of his good tea, Draco could only stare after her, shaking his head.

He could hardly pretend what he felt for Granger was hate anymore--he’d barely even disliked her, really--but he hadn’t realized Blaise fancied the swot.

But sure enough, two days later in the Prophet there was a photo of them looking very cozy, sharing a booth at a cafe. There was a book on the table, and Malfoy squinted. Did Granger read during their dates and then try to talk to Blaise about it? He couldn’t picture it. Blaise hardly liked talking about anything besides himself and what he wanted to do to pretty witches.

Below their picture was a kitschy story about them meeting back up after so many years after Hogwarts and them hitting it off.

Draco stuffed a slice of toast in his mouth as he stared at the words. According to Skeeter, Blaise was very supportive of Granger’s efforts with the House Elf Protection Clause, and after she’d met with his mother, they’d spent hours chatting before they’d lost track of time.

The toast tasted like sand in his mouth. When Blaise strolled out of his room, Draco lifted a brow at his flatmate.

“You don’t give a shit about any House Elf protection clauses.”

“Funny what a pretty witch can do to a bloke,” Blaise said with a wink, snatching the extra slice of toast before disappearing into the bathroom.

The shower turned on and Draco closed the Daily Prophet. He needed something stronger than tea.

………..

At her first dinner party, Hermione wore a glittering gold dress that stopped just above her knees and she’d managed to snag two signatures from her list.

Ms. Zabini was thrilled to pass over her contract to her son’s new girlfriend, and Mrs. Macmillan assured her that she’d been meaning to respond to Hermione’s owls but she’d just been so busy planning her youngest daughter’s wedding.

The silver-haired witch signed the document without so much as reading it over. Hermione tucked it carefully in her bag and smiled kindly.

After the party, they flooed back to Blaise’s and her fake boyfriend disappeared to his room to change.

While she was waiting for him to return, Hermione made herself another cup of tea before making herself comfortable on the sofa. Ever so often, her eyes would flash to the shelves of books, wondering if she could take a peek at any of the weathered tomes whose spines she didn’t recognize. Malfoy flooed back while she’d been debating, finding Hermione tucked on his sofa wearing a gold dress and sipping another cup of his good tea.

She nodded at him in greeting just as Blaise strolled into the room.

“Let’s go out. I want to get sloshed.”

“Didn’t you just drink your weight in free booze, Blaise?” she asked. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I…” she bit her lip, her eyes flashing toward the bookshelf. “I’d rather stay in.”

Blaise sighed. “Fine, fine. Whatever you want, darling .” His eyes flashed toward Draco. “I can run out and get some takeaway. You want anything, mate?”

Draco paused, and Hermione noticed his casual dress. She wondered where he’d been off to that evening, but she didn’t know him well enough to press.

He shrugged. “Sure. I could eat something.”

The moment Blaise was gone, Hermione realized how incredibly awkward being alone with Draco Malfoy in his flat was.

She finished her tea in silence, avoiding looking at the boy who’d made her youth so miserable.

He might’ve been granted a full pardon for his war crimes, and he might now work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and sure, Hermione herself might’ve spoken on his behalf because even she hadn’t believed he deserved life in Azkaban, but that didn’t mean she liked him. In fact, she just really didn’t think much about him at all. He’d come up in some conversations at work, she’d see his smirking face on the cover of Witch Weekly from time to time, but she hadn’t contemplated being alone with him, here, in his flat.

When she stood to rinse her mug in the immaculate sink, Hermione paused to look out at the beautiful view from the wall of windows. The twinkling lights of the city against the dark sky was breathtaking. Once again, all she wanted was to snuggle up with a book and this view and…

“I still can’t believe you’re shagging Blaise.”

Hermione turned toward him. “Am I not his type?”

He regarded her with a neutral expression. “Not really, no.”

She tried not to be offended by his words, and instead, took a few cautious steps toward the shelf. With a careful hand, she reached forward and gingerly ran her fingertips across the spines of the books at eye level. She read their titles, marveling at the history Malfoy and Blaise had just sitting out in their living room.

“May I…” She bit her lower lip, trying not to seem too eager, but by the way Malfoy was grinning at her, she knew she’d been unsuccessful. Putting on a casual face, she pressed, “May I read one?”

“Go for it.”

Hermione plucked an ancient book on potions and counter potions she’d never heard of, feeling the weight of the tome in her hands and exhaling a reverent breath.

She settled herself back on the sofa and tucked her feet under herself. She longed for some cozy pajamas, maybe another cup of the delicious posh tea Blaise and Malfoy kept stocked in their flat. However, she had to settle with her stiff gold dress and Malfoy’s eyes on her face.

Finally, not able to relax beneath the weight of his stare, her eyes snapped to meet his.

“What?!” she demanded.

He grinned as he dropped into the chair across from her. “Like I said, not really Blaise’s type. Can’t remember a single girl he’s brought back giving my bookshelf a second glance.”

Hermione paused on the book’s forward, and the words were out of her mouth the moment she’d thought them. “Ah, so they’re your books, then.”

A corner of his mouth curled to a smirk. “Blaise isn’t much of a reader.”

She knew he was, though. Malfoy might’ve been a prissy, arrogant snot, but she couldn’t fault him for being dull or stupid. No, unfortunately, he was fit and well-read. Hermione shook her head, quickly, hoping he didn’t notice her flush.

“It’s a lovely collection you have.”

He hummed in agreement. “You have my permission to read anything while you’re here. Just don’t spill any tea on the pages.”

Her excitement evaporated and was replaced with exasperation. “I would never!”

He chuckled, leaning further back against the sofa and shrugged. “You Gryffindors have no sense of proprietary. I once checked out a book on parsel root after Longbottom that had chocolate smudged all over the margins.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “And you’d imply that Neville and I would give the same level of care to a book?”

“No. I suppose that is unfair.”

She smiled, turning her attention back to the potions text. Malfoy got up and she could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, the telltale signs of a kettle whistling as he made tea. She opened her mouth to ask for a cup, but immediately snapped her lips back together. That would be far too domestic, cozying up on Malfoy’s couch, reading his book, drinking his tea…

A few minutes later he set a steaming cuppa at her side and settled back down on the chair he’d previously occupied. Casually, he said, “I find chapter four the most interesting. There are loads of counter-potions I’d never heard of--really fascinating stuff.”

She paused, not wanting to give in, but curiosity won her over. It had been ages since someone had lent their opinion of a book to her, and she found herself interested in seeing what Draco Malfoy found fascinating .

She read the chapter over, pausing to ask him questions which he answered readily, and she had to bite back a grin at his snide comments. He even told her a story of his attempt to brew one of the remedies in the chapter, but it had been wildly unsuccessful and he’d burnt off his left eyebrow.

She was laughing, fingers clutching the book’s edges.

“Blaise has been gone for nearly an hour…” Malfoy grumbled.

“Maybe he had trouble deciding where to get takeaway?” she suggested.

Malfoy scoffed. “No. Probably got distracted. That idiot sees someone everywhere he goes and loves to hear himself talk.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the expense of her pretend boyfriend. Malfoy wasn’t wrong.

It was strange, getting along with Draco Malfoy. Even stranger when Blaise returned with their food and she found herself settling in, laughing and joking with the pair of Slytherins over Thai food and tea like it was just a regular Friday night.

…….

The next time she showed up at Blaise’s flat, it was to make him fill out a dating questionnaire Ginny had given her from that week’s most recent issue of Witch Weekly .

She stepped from the green flames of the floo to find Malfoy reading a heavy tome on the sofa, his feet propped up, reading glasses perched on his nose, and a glass of red wine sat next to him.

He looked from her casual dress to the magazine in her hand before lifting a brow. “Interesting reading choice, Granger. I see you’ve gone a bit lighter than ancient counter potions this time.”

She frowned at him. “Blaise in?”

“In his room.”

She marched past him and knocked on Blaise’s door.

The door swung open to reveal his handsome features and wolfish grin, and he greeted her with, “Making house calls now, are we?”

She rolled her eyes. “Can I come in?”

“Please do.”

His room was a mess. His clothes strewn about, his desk littered with trinkets and parchment and a red lace bra that was not hers. Hermione shook her head.

“Right. I have some homework for you.”

“You really know how to get a bloke off.”

She handed him the How Well Do You Really Know Your Warlock? quiz she’d taken.

“Will you grade this? I feel like I don’t know you very well, and I’d hate for that to be too obvious at our next outing.”

They had another dinner party that weekend, and she wanted to be prepared this time. In her daydreams, she’d be charming and lovely, and she’d knock the pockets off the Pureblooded wizards at their table. The remaining five signatures she’d needed would practically sign themselves…

Blaise handed her back the quiz. She’d scored a zero. Hermione’s face fell. She hadn’t done so poorly on a quiz in, well, ever . She huffed. She might have been better at Deviation than knowing anything about her fake boyfriend.

“In your defense, I don’t know anything about you besides the obvious things.”

“The obvious things?” she asked.

“You know, that you’re the swottiest swot that ever lived, that you’re a bleeding-heart Gryffindor, that you’re so fucking sexy with that librarian scowl and those indecently tight skirts. Merlin, Granger, do you know what your arse does to blokes who--”

She whacked him with the cover of Witch Weekly .

“I need tea.”

Two steps into the living room and she remembered that Draco Malfoy was reading on the sofa. He still had his feet propped up, still had those glasses on the edge of his nose… She cleared her throat because it’d gone dry, but the noise made him look over at her.

“What some wine?” he asked, already closing his book and setting it aside.

Wine did sound loads better than tea. Hermione nodded. “Yes, please.”

He poured her a glass of wine and asked if she’d heard the latest work gossip. It was so out of character for him to joke about their coworkers with her that Hermione couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped her.

She’d forgotten about Blaise and quiz, slipping into an easy conversation with Draco Malfoy there against the kitchen counter.

She watched his face as he talked--straight nose and grey eyes, strong jaw and blond hair. He was tall and Seeker-fit, and she took a long pull from her wineglass and tried not to notice the flutter in her stomach as his lips curled in mirth.

Though technically a single witch, Hermione knew she was making things far too complicated by finding her fake-boyfriend’s flatmate attractive.

When her glass was empty, she set it down and smiled. “Thanks for the wine.”

“Thanks for the conversation,” he replied, and then he refilled his glass and she pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on her. The flush was from the wine, she told herself, and when she disappeared back into Blaise’s room, she found her thoughts drifting back to the blond reading on the sofa.

Then, the strangest thing happened--Malfoy started greeting her when they crossed paths at work. She spotted him once in the Atrium and he’d given her a passing nod and a short Granger. Once he even dropped by her office at the ministry to chat like nothing was out of the ordinary. Like Draco fucking Malfoy and she were close enough friends that he just dropped in to say hey.

The following Friday evening, Malfoy grinned at her when she stepped from the floo and into his flat, a black dress hugging her waist and hips. She hated the pathetic way she longed to know if he found her attractive.

The party had gone well. Blaise was smooth and charming, and with his help she’d secured three more signatures from her list.

Only two to go...

When they flooed back to his flat to celebrate with champagne, disappointment clouded her vision to find Malfoy wasn’t there.

…….

Draco wasn’t sure when it had become the three of them , but there they were--Blaise, Granger, and himself once again hanging out at his flat. Laughing and teasing like it wasn’t the most bizarre situation in the world.

And he knew he was the odd man out. If anyone should step away and leave the other two be, it was him. But for some reason he wasn’t quite ready to ponder on for too long, he didn’t want to leave them be. Didn’t want to let them be a couple, alone in his flat, while he sulked in his room. Alone.

Blaise rose to uncork a bottle of wine. They were celebrating something, but Draco couldn’t quite keep up with what it was. Sometimes, the pair of them spoke in riddles, making him realize the gravity of his third-wheel status. Something about promotions and signatures.

Hermione was dressed casually in Muggle denims and a jumper, and she made herself comfortable on his sofa while Blaise brought them each a full glass of red wine.

Draco sipped it, listening to Blaise chatter about what a good-looking couple McLaggen and his latest flavor-of-the-week made on the society pages of the Prophet.

Then, Blaise lifted a brow. “Didn’t you used to fool around with him?”

Granger snorted. “Hardly. But he does look a bit handsome here, doesn’t he?”

Draco watched the way her nose crinkled as she studied the moving photograph. McLaggen draped his arm over the shoulders of a pretty blonde, and Granger shook her head.

“Finding that prat attractive… That settles it, I need a shag!”

Blaise swirled his wine around in his glass before throwing himself back onto the leather armchair. “Oh, love, if only there was someone who could help with that…”

Draco could feel the stone of envy settling lower in his gut. He should excuse himself, flee before he had to watch them flirt.

Only, they didn’t flirt. Granger finished her wine before pursuing the shelves. Blaise swapped his eyes between his girlfriend then to his best mate and then back again before getting to his feet with a sigh.

“I should leave you two for another night of bookclub, then,” Blaise joked, and then he was down the hall, shutting his door.

Granger bent to inspect a book on the shelf, and Draco turned his eyes from her. It wasn’t decent to eye-up your friend’s girl. He wanted to, though, and he found himself hating himself for it.

He also found himself wondering why Granger was here, out in the living room with him, after her boyfriend had retreated to his bedroom.

…….

This was it. Hermione’s hands grasped her linen napkin beneath the table, not even having to fake the smile on her lips. 

Blaise had taken her to a dinner party at the Greengrass’ Manor, and everyone was in attendance.

She did her part first, making rounds on Blaise’s arm, greeting the foremost of Pureblood society with polite words and small curtseys. What Pureblooded women had against shaking hands made no sense to her…

Then Blaise finally let her sit down and eat some food. She’d taken one sip from her champagne flute when one of the wizards at the table smiled broadly at her fake-boyfriend.

“Blaise, congratulations on the promotion!” he spoke, voice boisterous. Hermione could feel her brows lifting toward her hairline. Blaise, as frequently as he talked in her direction, had failed to mention that he’d secured the promotion he’d been previously sidelined for. “A long time coming, I understand.”

“Yes, yes. Finally started to be seen as a changed man.” Blaise winked at her, lifting his own flute to his lips and taking a generous sip.

Conversation shifted to work talk, and after Hermione had a few bites of food, she stood and excused herself. She’d had the last two Pureblood names memorized, of course, but finding the occasion to just come up and speak to them was an art… She was more of a charge in head-first kind of witch.

As she made her way across the room, trying not to gape at the splendor of high ceilings and floating tea lights, she was approached by Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione had always thought Draco favored his father’s sharp and pale features, but in that moment she saw the regal arrogance of Malfoy in his mother's expression.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione greeted, inclining her head and hoping she sounded pleasant and not startled.

“Yes, Miss Granger, I was hoping to catch you this evening.” Narcissa Malfoy had red lips and high cheekbones. Her eyes were blue and her voice crisp and polished. Slightly cold, but the sort of aloof poshness Hermione had come to expect from great women such as these. The difference between the witch in front of her and the other women around them, however, was that Narcissa Malfoy had protected her best friend from the dark lord. Selfish motivations aside, Hermione was forever grateful for the gesture. Some part of her heartbeat picked up at being seen favorably by the impressive mistress of the Malfoy family.

“Oh?” Hermione cleared her throat. Her dress was suddenly too stiff, too heavy. “And what do I owe the pleasure?

“I understand that you’re acquainted with my son.”

“Oh yes, M--” Hermione bit her lip, testing the word, “Draco and I are… friends.” She wasn’t sure which statement was stranger--his first name coming from her mouth or the admission that they were friends.

“Yes. He was talking about you just the other night at dinner. He comes by ever so often. Despite his airs, he is a good son.”

Hermione shifted on her heels. She bit down on the tip of her tongue, stopping herself from asking what Draco had said about her.

Narcissa Malfoy, thankfully, kept talking, sparing Hermione the humiliation of looking like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“You’re an impressive witch, Miss Granger.”

“Ah, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

The woman nodded, her eyes moving over Hermione’s dress. It was fitting for the occasion--open back and capped sleeves, emerald sequins catching light and brushing against the floor. Hermione straightened as Narcissa’s eyes settled back on her face.

“I see you, working this room. I admire that in a person, especially in a young witch such as yourself. You’re beautiful and charming, but more than that, you’re sharp. Even though this is a social occasion, you’re still managing to get what you want. I’d love to have tea with you again sometime, we can discuss the House Elf Protection Clause if you’d like. I know getting the signatures is only the first step in changing centuries of tradition.” The blonde woman inclined her head, appraising Hermione for a moment longer. “I think our conversations could be most beneficial.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. An ally like Narcissa Malfoy would open more doors than dating Blaise Zabini ever could. “I would like that very much, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Call me Narcissa, dear.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Hermione blinked, wondering how she’d gotten to a first-name basis with two Malfoy’s in one conversation. “Thank you, Narcissa.”

When she was back at Blaise’s side, she’d secured no more signatures but felt she’d made enough progress to call the evening a success.

Her fake-boyfriend leaned in her direction and teased, “Chatting it up with Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Yes. She’s an impressive woman.”

“And I’ve noticed you’ve grown quite close to her son.” Blaise’s smirk was insufferable. “He’s a prick, and this is murdering him, you know?”

Hermione felt her face pinch in confusion. No, she hadn’t the faintest clue what Blaise was referring to.

Her date sighed. “But I guess we should tell him about our arrangement eventually. Even if it kills all the fun I’m having...”

“You haven’t told him?!” Hermione snapped, then flushed as her voice carried around the room.

Blaise chucked. “I’m a prick, what can I say?”

Hermione shook her head. She assumed Malfoy knew, but it didn’t matter. This charade would be over soon enough. Blaise had his promotion, his image was as changed as it was going to get, and they were so boring on their outings that her name hadn’t come up in the Prophet society pages in ages.

“I have a ministry event next week. There will be booze.”

“There won’t be Pureblood families there, though.” Blaise leaned back in his chair, champagne inches from his lips. “Why do I have to go?”

“I have to be there, and it’d be weird not to bring my boyfriend along.”

He made a face. “Can’t you go with Malfoy?”

“No, I cannot take my boyfriend’s flatmate as a date to a work function,” she scoffed.

“I just mean, he works there, too, so he has to go, right?”

“Yes.”

“If you get lonely, you can chat with him.”

Hermione frowned. “Are you saying you won’t go with me?”

“No, no. Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll go.”

……..

Draco was securing his dress robes when the floo lit with a flash of green, and then Hermione Granger was stepping into his flat. Her curls were tidy and loose, her dress long and green. He could feel his throat tightening at the sight of her, his hands grasping his collar as Blaise stepped into the room.

His flatmate frowned at her, and she glared back at him, as though daring him to comment.

After a moment, Blaise laughed. “That dress again?”

“I don’t have a vast array of fancy dresses in my arsenal, Blaise. Besides, you’re the only one who has to see it twice. And I thought it was fitting.” She flashed a smile--lots of teeth and a slight mean edge to it. “Green, for my Slytherin bloke.”

Under his service to the dark lord, Malfoy had once been hit by an avalanche curse. Just as he’d managed to counteract the rock slide with a countercurse, a boulder the size of a large owl collided with his chest. It’d knocked the air out of him, caused him to lose his footing for a moment, and left a bruise on his torso that ached for a week.

This feeling in his chest now… It reminds him an awful lot of that wound.

He looked away, quickly, and tried not to think of the ache in his chest. He tried not to think of anything as he followed Granger and Blaise through the floo to the Ministry Gala.

He had loads of experience at functions like these, but work functions were simpler to navigate than the Pureblood parties of his youth. It was easy to joke with his coworkers from legal, easy to nod at Potter from across the room and not sneer. Easy to ignore the way the lights glimmered off of Granger’s green dress--easy to ignore the way the back dipped low, so much of her skin on display, all the way down to where the green fabric hugged her perfect arse.

He drank cheap Firewhiskey and chatted with his workmates, and kept his mind off Granger for half an hour--until he turned and spotted Blaise flirting and drinking with a pretty receptionist from the Department of Magical Games.

Draco felt his molars grind, and without excusing himself from his current conversation, he was across the bar, grabbing hold of Blaise’s robes and glaring at his friend.

“Penelope,” Blaise winked at the flustered witch, “we’ll have to continue this conversation at a later time.”

Draco let go, and Blaise made a show of straightening out his robes. “What’s your problem, mate?”

“My problem is that you’re here with Granger,” he growled, frustration simmering as Blaise only rolled his eyes in reply. Draco clarified, “Your girlfriend .”

“Right, right,” Blaise sighed. “Have you noticed the booze here is shite?”

“Yes,” Draco replied. He’d left his glass over at his table, but he turned and quickly ordered a new drink.

As the night died down, the trio left the party together, spilling back into his flat through the floo.

“I want to go out,” Blaise groaned. “It’s still early, and that was absolutely dull.”

Hermione shook her head, looking slightly amused. “I just want to get this dress off. Fuck, it’s heavy.”

“You’re really gonna stay in?” Blaise chuckled. “You trust me?”

She looked unamused as she flicked his shoulder. “Go, have your fun.”

“Don’t wait up,” he sang. And then Blaise shifted his focus to Draco, a conspiratorial grin pulling at his features. “What do you say, Draco? Want to make it a boys night?”

He tried to pretend he didn’t feel Granger’s eyes on his profile as he replied, “No. I’ll stay in.”

“Suit yourself, homebodies.” Blaise winked, and then he was grabbing for the bag of floo powder and escaping to the Leaky in a flash of green.

Draco couldn’t help clucking his tongue and muttering, “What do you see in him?”

He’d thought he’d gotten away with the words being under his breath, but Granger laughed and shrugged, like she herself didn’t quite understand, and then she was looking right at him and biting her lip. Draco knew instantly whatever she asked of him was hers.

“I don’t want to go back home tonight…” she confessed, and he replied too quickly,

“Stay.”

“This dress is heavy! No wonder Blaise hates it,” she chuckled, grasping for the clasp at her neck, struggling for a moment before frowning at him.

Draco steeled himself before closing the distance between them. With light fingers, he reached out and unhooked the dress, watching as she caught it before it could be too revealing.

“I suppose I could transfigure it into some pajamas,” she mused, staring down at the glittering green fabric.

He quickly removed his hand from her bare back and took a step away. It was easier further away, where he couldn’t smell her hair or feel the warmth of her skin.

“It’s a lovely dress. Don’t--I’ll grab you some pajamas.”

She thanked him as he scurried to his room, and she stepped into the bathroom, clutching her gown and a pair of borrowed pajamas to her chest. With a nervous smile, she avoided eye contact as the door clicked shut behind her.

When he was alone, Draco exhaled, and when she returned, she was drowning in a long sleeved button-down that sported DM on the pocket.

She grinned at him, teasing him. “You have monogrammed pajamas?!”

“They were a gift from my mother.”

“Lovely woman. I chatted with her the other day.” Granger sank onto the couch at his side and drew her knees to her chest. “I think she even complimented me.”

“And why shouldn’t she? You’re an impressive witch.”

“That’s what she said!” Granger laughed; it sounded like music.

His eyes moved from her curls to her smiling mouth and down her too-big pajamas with his initials on her pocket. She looked like his .

He… He liked it.

“What do you want to do? Read?”

She leaned against the back of the couch, stretching out her legs and sighing at the ceiling. “I’m too tired.”

“Hermione Granger, not in the mood for books?”

She pouted. “I said I was tired, not that I wasn’t in the mood.”

He smirked and she smiled back at him. It was quiet for a moment until she sighed.

“You could read to me?”

Surely she had some idea what that sleepy grin did to him… Exhaling dramatically at her request, Draco walked toward the shelves and moved his eyes across the titles of the books he’d “borrowed” from the Malfoy family library. They were his favorites, ones he’d thought beneficial to keep close. His foresight was paying off in the most unexpected of ways.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll read aloud, but I get to pick the book.”

Her smile was content as he sunk into the chair. Hermione Granger was sprawled out on the sofa at his side as he started with the title: A History of Transfiguration . She let him read, only stopping to ask his thoughts on the subject matter or to give her own opinion.

When she’d stopped interrupting him, Draco lifted his gaze to find her sleeping. Her face was smashed against the armrest, her lips parted as she snored softly.

He stood and closed the book, lingering for a moment too long as he watched Granger sleep. Her hair was a mess around her head, and he brushed a lock of it behind her ear, heart stuttering as she leaned into his touch. Then he pulled a blanket over her shoulders, covering his initials on the pocket of her breast and snapping his eyes together. Tightly.

Fuck he was screwed.

……...

The Leaky wasn’t too busy on a Sunday evening, so Hermione kept her voice quiet as she admitted, “I think… I think I like him.”

Ginny squealed, slamming her Butterbeer onto the sticky surface of the table. A knowing look lit her eyes. “A-ha! I knew this would happen!”

Hermione’s brows lifted. “How?”

“I told you you’d want to shag him. He’s attractive--it was only a matter of time, really.”

“Not… Not Blaise ,” Hermione groaned.

Ginny blinked. “What? Then who? What are we even talking about, Hermione?”

“Malfoy.”

“Draco Malfoy?”

“No, Narcissa. Yes! Of course Draco .” Saying his name was strange. It did funny things to her insides, like a flurry of pixie wings batting against her ribs.

“The ferret?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

“I guess he’s fit. I mean, he is fit, but I didn’t think… The two of you never really have gotten along, have you?”

“We weren’t exactly the best of mates in school, true, but we were kids back then. He’s… he’s different now.”

Ginny snorted. “Oh shit, Hermione. He must’ve gotten really, really fit since I’ve seen him last.” She appraised her friend, taking in the slight flush and the dreamy look in her eyes. “He’s friends with Harry. Maybe he’s asked about you?”

“Ginny, please don’t meddle.”

“But I love to meddle...” The redhead rolled her eyes. “Fine, okay… So, Malfoy. You like him?”

“Yes.”

“How? Why?!”

Hermione tapped a nervous finger against the side of her Butterbeer. Saying it aloud felt different--like cementing a secret she’d never planned to acknowledge.

“Blaise goes to bed because he’s sloshed, or he wants to go out because he needs one more drink, and Draco and I…”

“Draco?!”

Hermione glared. “We talk. He makes a mean cuppa, he reads me books aloud, he talks to me about my day, gives me advice on my work projects. We joke about people who work for the Ministry. It’s nice.”

“Oh shit .” Ginny’s eyes had gone wide. “You like him.”

“I like him.”

“You like, really fucking like him.”

“That is what I’m saying…”

Ginny laughed maniacally. She squinted, trying to place the last time she’d seen him. Then she hummed. “He is fit.”

Hermione groaned into her Butterbeer. “So fit. And he’s funny, snooty like he used to be, but he doesn’t take himself as seriously. And he’s clever.”

“Well, I told you this arrangement would be complicated, but I hadn’t expected this .”

……...

When Draco stepped back into his flat, declining drinks with his coworkers because there was a slim chance she would be there, he grinned at the sight of her.

She was in his kitchen, laughing as Blaise teased her.

“You really don’t know these cooking spells?!” Blaise grinned. “These are things you should’ve been taught as a child, Hermione.”

Hermione . Blaise called her by her first name. Draco frowned. Of course he did--they were close. They were, fuck, they were a couple. He was such a fool.

“I’m Muggle-born, you prat,” Granger shot back. But she wasn’t offended, her voice holding a jovial edge as her eyes crinkled with mirth.

It was then that Blaise lifted his eyes to meet his, and his flatmate grinned. “Oh, Draco! You’re back. Hermione was going to make us dinner, but it looks like I’ll be ordering takeaway....”

“Ah.” Draco stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m just grabbing something real quick, then meeting the boys at the pub.”

He’d turned his officemates down, but they wouldn’t mind if he showed up. He needed space--he couldn’t do this anymore. Crushing on Granger from afar like a schoolboy prat, practically tugging at her pigtails whenever she gave him her attention, giving her monogrammed pajamas like the heartsick fool he’d become… He was a fool.

Disappearing back into the floo and stepping out into the bar, he had two things on his mind--he needed a drink and a shag. Preferably in that order.

The small circle of his officemates opened to allow him to step in. They slipped into easy conversation, ordering drinks and talking about work and gossip and nothing Draco really cared about. He ordered his fourth drink at the bar, and found a pretty witch smiling coyly at him.

It only took a short conversation with her before he downed his drink and was taking her back to his place.

She gasped at his flat. “Wow! It’s so nice.”

Draco hummed in agreement, his eyes moving over the sofa where Granger and Blaise sat wearing matching expressions of surprise.

Blaise recovered quicker, rising to his feet and winking at the witch at Draco’s side.

“Evening. Let me get you both a drink.”

“Ohh,” the girl giggled. “Thank you. I’m Sala.”

Draco thought he’d probably been told that already. He could feel Hermione’s eyes on his face, and when he looked at her again she looked surprised. There might’ve been a bit of terror in those wide, brown eyes, too.

He kept his expression neutral, accepting the Firewhiskey from Blaise while Sala chatted amicably at his side.

“What are you two up to? Hermione and I were about to play a game. We could double.”

“Actually,” Granger snapped, standing quickly and wincing. “Ah, actually, I should go…”

Blaise chuckled. “You sure? But we have that game plan to discuss. Remember? The two families left before you’re right done with me.”

She blinked at her boyfriend, expression softening. “Blaise…” And then her eyes moved back over to Sala and Malfoy knew she wanted out of there. It was like she was trying to flee. “I have to go. Nice to meet you, Sala. See you around, Malfoy.”

Blaise grabbed her arm before she could disappear. “You want me to come with you?”

“No.” Her smile was tight. “You have the night off. Go out and enjoy yourself.”

Draco watched her leave as Blaise exhaled. Then his flatmate glared at Draco, like her running off was all his fault. “You’re a right prick, you know that?”

…..…

Later that evening, after Blaise decided to head off to the pub and Draco sent Sala back to her flat, Draco was awoken to the sounds of moaning, groaning, and a heavy wooden headboard smacking against the wall.

His flatmate was usually considerate enough to cast a silencing charm, but if Blaise were drunk, well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten.

Draco sat up, feeling ill, and cast a silencing charm too late; he could hear the feminine moan that cut through his chest like a hex. He considered briefly throwing himself off his balcony, but he wasn’t positive that the action would make him feel any better.

It was quiet, too quiet, and Draco stared at his ceiling, willing himself to sleep. It was far too early in the morning before he gave in, chugging down a dreamless sleep potion and not waking until afternoon sunlight poured through his window.

When he got up and padded out into the kitchen, he could hear laughter coming from Blaise’s room. Jumping from his balcony was starting to heighten its appeal…

Just as he set the kettle to heat with a flick of his wand, a flash of green caught his eyes and he turned to the floo to watch Hermione Granger step into his flat.

Her smile was tight, her eyes tired, and Draco got the distinct impression he wasn’t the only one who’d had a shit night.

Shit . His eyes flew open, frozen as the kettle whistled. He just stood there, staring openly at the casually dressed witch frowning back at him. Helpless but to watch as Granger rolled her eyes and lifted her wand to finish making tea.

Another peal of laughter erupted from Blaise’s room, and Draco flashed his eyes to the closed door, trepidation settling low in his gut. “That’s not you?”

She’d stared at Blaise’s door. “Is there a girl in there?”

Draco stirred honey in his tea, mouth tight.

Hermione sighed, but she stood by his side, not moving. He could practically hear her thinking. It was annoying, really. But it was a small comfort that he hadn’t heard Blaise fucking Granger last night. No… This was a different mess entirely.

Blaise chose that moment to stroll into the kitchen, his pleased expression evaporating as he met Granger’s gaze.

“Ah, shit.”

“Dammit Blaise. You really couldn’t keep it in your trousers for one bloody month?!”

Blaise sighed. “I’m a man with needs, ‘Mione. And besides, you said I had the night off.”

“The night off from hanging out with me, not being with me! Ugh.” She snatched the tea Draco had prepared for her, grumbling across the steaming surface, “ This is why I should’ve gone with Theo...”

“But Theo’s gay, love.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t going to snog him.”

“No.” Blaise laughed. “I suppose you weren’t.”

Draco swapped his gaze back and forth between the couple. Their fight was odd. Were they fighting? There was something light and teasing about their exchange. Draco once again felt like an outsider looking in on something that was beyond his comprehension.

When Granger shook her head, curls tossing around her shoulders in the most appealing way, Draco couldn’t help but be reminded of the expression she had when a teacher corrected her. Kind of annoyed and on edge, something burning the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t hurt. She didn’t look heartbroken.

“Okay then,” she conceded, sounding tired. “I guess this is it, then.”

“Who do you have left? I know I’ve fucked this up for you, but I can see it out.”

“Just Margaret Fawley and Seana Ollivander.”

“Ah.” Blaise scratched his neck. “I can get them for you. I promise.”

Granger smiled. “Thank you, Blaise. Let me… I just want to finish my tea.”

“I suspect half the reason you were always here was because of that damn tea,” Blaise joked. Then his dark eyes flashed to Draco, his smile turning teasing. “We can all guess the other half, can’t we, Draco?”

“I have no idea what’s going on here,” Draco mumbled.

Hermione sipped her tea in silence. When she was done, she set it down with reverence and sighed. Her eyes met his, and Draco felt a tremor at the weight of her stare.

“Right then. See you around, Blaise.” She bit her lip. “And goodbye, Draco.”

Draco . He blinked, feeling helpless as she slipped through the floo with no reason to come back.

……….

Running her hands through her curls, Hermione ignored the letter she’d received earlier from Blaise containing the final two signatures needed for the House Elf Protection Clause. She knew that the signatures were enough to move forward, but like Mrs. Malfoy had said, now the real work would begin.

Hermione chewed on her lip, carefully adding the last signatures to the stack. It had been four days since she and Blaise had broken up. They’d each submitted a short blurb to the Prophet about how they were better as friends and they wished the best for one another. It all felt very simple.

The bill was put together--she should be happy, but she wasn’t. Hermione missed him.

As though sensing the path of her thoughts, Draco Malfoy rapped his knuckles against the doorframe and strode into her office.

“Good afternoon, Malfoy,” she greeted, keeping the surprise from her voice. It wasn’t the first time he’d popped into her office, but it was the first time she’d seen him since she and Blaise had broken it off.

“I come bearing gifts.” He set a tin on her desk before making himself comfortable on one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. Hermione’s eyes went wide.

“It’s your good tea!” She laughed. “Thank you.”

He hummed. “I know you can’t afford it with your shit salary, so you’re welcome.”

She bit her lip, picking up the tin. “Thank you. I missed this.” A small, pathetic part of her hoped he understood that she missed more than the tea.

His grey eyes were on her. “I’m sorry Blaise is a prat.”

Hermione shrugged, like it was perfectly fine.

“For what it’s worth I... He…” Draco sighed. “He’s an idiot. How a bloke could have you by his side and…” his voice trailed and Hermione felt her heart drumming against her ribs. Draco’s teeth ground together. “I don’t know how he fucking screwed that up.”

“Yeah? And what, if you’d had me you wouldn’t have gone around shagging other girls?”

“No.”

She smiled. “Draco, Blaise and I--”

There was another knock on the door and her boss breezed through the doorway, lifting a brow at the pair.

“Ah, Malfoy. Didn’t you know you had any business with our department today.”

“I didn’t,” he grinned. “Just dropped by to give Granger something.”

Hermione fiddled with the tin of tea, listening to their conversation.

“Draco, that’s nice. Hermione’s just broken up with that smarmy gentleman-- What was it?”

“Blaise,” Hermione supplied.

“Yes, yes. That’s the one. But you . You’re far more her type. What do you think? Care to take Hermione out on a date.”

Draco coughed. A box to tea unpinned itself onto the surface of her desk.

“Ah, I think I should go,” Draco said, getting to his feet and practically sprinting out of her office. She watched him flee, chewing on her lip, and then staring at her boss.

“That probably wasn’t the best way to go about things.” Her boss sighed. “Well, never mind then. The House Elf Protection Clause?”

“Right, right. I have the final signatures right here…”

…….

As many times as Draco Malfoy had popped into her office over the last few weeks, Hermione had never had occasion to come by his.

His door was closed, and she paused--fist hovering for a long moment as she gathered her thoughts.

“What are you doing ?!” she whispered to herself.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Draco replied, his voice coming from behind her. Spinning on her heels, eyes going wide, Hermione could feel her cheeks flushing as Draco smirked at her. “Care to step into my office?”

“Yes.” The heat was climbing up her neck now, her hand dropping like a clumsy weight to her side.

He closed the door behind them and rested his backside against his desk, and Hermione found herself hovering awkwardly by the door.

“Thank you for the tea.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, looking amused, “sure.”

“And thank you for letting me read your books, and for reading them aloud to me when I was too sleepy. God I miss your books.” She smiled, eyes tight. “And, ah, thank you for staying up with me after Blaise had gone to bed all those nights.”

He nodded, and she could see the faint blush on his pale, high cheekbones. Taking a step in his direction, Hermione exhaled.

“I like you, Malfoy.”

His eyes widened a fraction. It was an eternity of a moment while he sat there, staring at her, warring with himself. And then he was in front of her, his hands in her curls, crushing his mouth against hers.

Hermione gasped against his mouth, her eyes going wide, before closing her eyes and kissing him back.

Draco Malfoy was a good kisser. For all the reluctance he’d shown moments ago, there was nothing hesitant about his movements now. His hands moved from her curls, trailing over her shoulders, sides, settling at her hips and yanking her flush against him. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, his tongue sliding against her mouth, and she ran her tongue against his, tasting him.

He lifted her onto his desk, thighs parting as he stepped between her legs. Fuck he was already hard. She pressed flush against him, trying to create some friction to settle the heat between her legs….

His lips moved from the corner of her mouth to her cheek before trailing down her throat, and when he nipped the sensitive spot on her neck, Hermione moaned his name.

Then he pulled back like the word had burned him, and Draco’s grey eyes were wide and hard--his expression suddenly difficult to read.

Hermione lifted a hand, brushing her fingertips across the soft, blond fringe falling across his forehead.

“Shite,” he cursed. “ Fuck .”

“Uh. Draco is... everything okay?” She was still sitting on his desk, her knees pressing together as she watched him take another step back.

“No! I want this--I want you, Granger. Fuck I’ve wanted you since you sat on my couch, wearing my pajamas.” He grinned at the memory, and Hermione wondered why he was talking instead of kissing her again… “No, earlier than that. Since you wore that fucking green dress. No, probably one of the nights I made you laugh so hard you snorted into your takeout. Or earlier, that first night in my flat, arse in a black skirt as you reached up for my tea…”

That fucking tea. It was going to be the end of her.

“No, earlier still. When you were the loveliest witch at the Yule Ball,” he said, voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Or maybe earlier, third year, remember when I fell off my broom?”

She shook her head, feeling flushed.

“No,” he grinned, “you wouldn’t. I was showing off for you, and after I crashed back down to the ground reminding myself we would never happen, you looked almost worried. Biting your lip-- Merlin, those lips.”

Hermione leaned forward, his words washing over her. The pad of his thumb traced her lower lip, and then he was moving away from her again.

“But I can’t do this.”

“Draco…”

“No.” His eyes were hard, his words final. “I don’t want this now, okay?”

…….

“Do you think he just doesn’t want to date his best mate’s ex? Some kind of gentlemanly bro-code?”

Hermione squinted into her Butterbeer, thinking Ginny’s words over.

“Maybe,” the redhead continued easily. “Maybe it’s something immature like not wanting to dip his quill in ink that--”

“Gin... I doubt it’s anything like that.”

“Yeah? He seems kind of honorable, right? I bet he doesn’t want to muck his friendship up with Blaise.” Ginny’s smile was tight, her eyes kind. “But he likes you. He told you he’s liked you since school, Hermione.”

“Yeah, but he said, and I quote--’I don’t want this now, okay?’” she groaned miserably.

“Oh, off it. Now implies that he’ll want it later, right? He definitely still wants you.”

Hermione snorted. “How would you know that? You weren’t even there. Maybe he meant now like anymore. He doesn’t want me anymore...”

“Every bloke wants you, silly bint. You’re gorgeous and smart, and your arse…”

“Gin.”

Ginny cackled. The door to the leaky opened, a splattering of bells above the doors singing a song of patrons coming and going, and then Ginny’s eyes flashed in the way that had Hermione’s stomach dropping.

“Go over, say hello.”

Hermione glanced at the trio entering the pub. Blaise had his hand on the small of a pretty witch’s back, her dark blonde hair down and straight. Just to their left stood Draco Malfoy, his scowl firmly set as he sunk his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“No.” Hermione picked up her drink. “I’m talking to you.”

“Oh, but I’m about to head off. Got an early practice tomorrow anyway.”

“By early do you mean noon?”

“That’s early for some.” Ginny winked before shoving her arms into her coat. “See you ‘round. And do us both a favor? Go over, say hello.”

Hermione sat alone after Ginny left, sipping her drink and gathering her courage. Then, with a sigh, she moved to the table where Blaise and Draco were sat, the girl Hermione didn’t recognize was chattering away, but her words stopped suddenly as Hermione paused at their table.

“Blaise, Malfoy,” she greeted, hoping her voice betrayed none of her nerves. “I hope you’re both well.”

“Yep.” Blaise flashed her his most dazzling smile, the one that had grazed more than his fair share of Witch Weekly covers. “Got myself a serious gal and everything. This is Astrid Morganson.”

Hermione extended her hand, and Astrid took it, shaking it up and down enthusiastically.

“Ohmygosh! Hermione Granger!”

“Er-- yes.” Hermione’s lips parted, and she stared at Draco, a silent plea for help. He simply shrugged and sipped his Firewhiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’d love it if you stayed to chat, if… If it isn’t too awkward?”

“Awkward? Of course not! Why would it be awkward?” Hermione laughed easily, feeling her cheeks heat. It was probably the drinks, nothing to do with Draco’s eyes ticking across her features.

Astrid blinked her eyes at Hermione. They were very blue. “Well, because you two used to…”

Hermione laughed and sat at the empty seat across from Astrid and next to Malfoy. With a wave of her hand, she grinned and confessed, “Oh, no, no. It wasn’t like that between Blaise and I. We weren’t actually dating. Blaise, you can tell people now. It’s fine.”

“Eh, I liked it when people thought I was shagging Hermione Granger. Even if, sadly, she wouldn’t even let me so much as touch her, even for show. She’d come into my room and make me fill out quizzes and questionnaires. It was all very drab.”

She felt Draco stiffen as her side, his voice strangled as he asked, “What?”

She turned to face him, her suspicions correct.

“You think Blaise and I...?” she frowned, then turned her glare to Blaise. “He said he’d tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Hermione swapped her attention back to Malfoy. His handsome features were coiled tight, making it difficult to tell what he was feeling.

“I needed to meet with some Pureblood families for a House Elf protection clause, and I overheard Blaise’s mom upset with him for not being more serious about things. I thought it would be mutually beneficial to pretend to date for a bit of time.”

Draco watched her, his grey eyes sharp.

“It seems a bit juvenile now, doesn’t it?” She stared at Draco, even as she addressed Blaise. “Fake dating. What were we thinking?”

“Fake…” Draco breathed.

“Fake as Astrid’s tits.” Blaise smoothed his hand over her shoulder. “Which are lovely, by the way.”

She giggled at his side, and Draco blinked.

“Blaise never touched you? And he didn’t cheat on you…”

“Gods he was so horny all the time. Asking him to go one bloody month without a shag was his limit…”

“He didn’t tell me…” His glare hardened. “ You didn’t tell me!”

Hermione straightened in her chair. “I thought you knew!”

It was silent. Draco stared disbelievingly at her for a long moment before turning toward his flatmate.

“You dick.”

Blaise smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “Watching you two dance around one another was quite satisfying. You know I’m a sadist--you shouldn’t be surprised.”

Then Draco turned to face her, his knees knocking against her thighs.

“If I haven’t fucked this up too badly yet…” Draco’s tongue darted to his lower lip, drawing Hermione’s attention to his mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

He reached for her, his knuckles grazing her cheek.

All those nights she’d spent imagining kissing Draco Malfoy, she never pictured it would be at a table in the Leaky, with Blaise and his date watching on. But she kissed him, hard, and he sighed against her. It was different from their kiss in his office. Slower, with a promise of what was to come.

Astrid squealed and clapped, and Blaise sipped from his tumbler, looking oddly pleased with himself.

“Come home with me,” Draco whispered against her mouth.

Hermione grinned. “I will. But in the morning, I want some of your good tea.”

“It’s yours.”

“And I want to read your books…”

Draco laughed. “All of them. They’re yours.”

She pressed her forehead against his. “Draco…”

He pulled her closer. She sat there for a long moment, questions burning but not wanting to ruin the moment.

Draco’s grey eyes met hers, and he sighed. “Out with it. I can hear you thinking again.”

“Why did you push me away in my office? Why wouldn't you…”

“I didn’t want to be a rebound for you getting over Blaise. I wanted it to be the real thing, when you finally gave me a chance.”

“You prat. The only reason I spent all that time in your flat was because I wanted to be with you.”

He smirked. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, but for the tea.” Hermione tried to look prim. “And the books.”

“And a shag?” One of his blond brows arched high in question.

She laughed, kissing his mouth. “Yes, fine. And for a shag.”