Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Hermione wanted to make clear was that she was absolutely, under no circumstances, willing to share office space with one Draco Malfoy. Over her dead body, thank you very much. Did she testify in his favor at his post-war trial? Yes. However, not believing someone should be imprisoned for actions they were coerced into doing and wanting to spend regular, professional time with them in a small room were two entirely different things. 

“Come on Hermione, it’s just for the next few months,” Harry said placatingly, ever the mediator. 

“‘ Just the next few months!’ This from the man who was convinced he was the devil incarnate back in school. Didn’t you once accuse him of murder because he laughed at Ron in Potions?” Really, Harry’s zeal for disliking Malfoy had bordered on and crossed into the insane at times. Of course, that was then.

“He’s really not that bad, if you’d just take the time to talk to him for more than a minute without baring your teeth. You two actually have a lot in common.” Hermione scoffed at this.

Though a lot of things had changed in the years following Voldemort’s defeat, Harry’s attitude towards their Slytherin classmate was one of the most baffling to her. 

It all started when Harry went to speak with the Malfoys directly following their trial. Something about ‘clearing the air,’ ‘starting over fresh in the new world,’ or something painfully akin to it. In theory, Hermione was all for it. That was what they had fought for, wasn’t it? Defeat the evil wizard so that all magic users (of a human persuasion, at least, an endless source of outrage for Hermione) could live on more or less equal footing?

But it hadn’t stopped with laying the past to rest, healing old wounds. No, Harry and Draco sodding Malfoy had slowly, painstakingly, formed a tentative working relationship which had eventually morphed into a solid workplace friendship, from there becoming regular, outside-work, tea-with-Harry-and-his-wife-on-Saturdays friendship. And Hermione was baffled. 

Wasn’t this the same Malfoy that had teased and bullied the three of them, Hermione especially, for years? The same Malfoy whose selfishness and need for attention got Buckbeak a death sentence? Who nearly got a teacher fired? 

Privately, when her thoughts did flow down that pattern, a small voice in her head would whisper that she knew she wasn’t being exactly fair, that he had been just as misused and mistreated as a child in the war as they had. However, that voice was easily squashed, along with any hesitant optimism Hermione had for starting over fresh with the blond bane of pleasantness herself, the moment they were reintroduced at work.

In school, Hermione had hated Malfoy partly because of the reasons previously stated, partly because he stood for an elitist, racist, and bigoted system whose damage she had firsthand experience with, and partly on principal of him hating her. Now however, Hermione was graced with the opportunity to dislike him for reasons wholly her own and unaffiliated with the blood prejudice and Harry-bullying it previously had been.

No, the simple fact of the matter was that Draco Malfoy, while no longer a blood purist (the very sincere apology letter expressing very honest and shockingly eloquent remorse for how he treated her throughout their years at Hogwarts and his part in the war— unwilling though it might have been— she had received from him after his trial one of the things that little voice in her head would point to when she railed against him too harshly) he was, at least in his interactions with Hermione, still a grade-A git.

The first day she had walked into work to see Draco Malfoy, uniformed and waiting with the other members of the DMLE, she had been a bit surprised. He looked much the same as he had in their school days, if a bit more chiseled and less buttoned-up. 

He looked… good , Hermione was big enough to admit. It was strange how when you’ve held a perception for a person so long where they’ve more or less stayed the same level of unappealing and it suddenly falls away, you notice the strangest things. Like how his brow furrows just so and his lips purse ever so slightly as he concentrates on reading the files before him. 

Then Whittier walked past her, turning sideways to squeeze through the doorway she was currently occupying and Hermione rushed forward to grab an outline from the front of the room. Paper in hand, she turned to find a seat, and found that the only one available was right across from the very Malfoy who she had distractedly been studying.

As she pulled out her chair, his eyes lifted briefly and caught on hers. Hermione stared for a moment, eyebrows lifted in unspoken question, and nodded. He nodded back, the ghost of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. 

The room must have been quite warm, for Hermione suddenly felt unaccountably flushed. 

Then the meeting began and things went to shit, and that, as they say, was that. That had been six months ago

Since then, their working relationship had been a mix of single-word sentences, the occasional sharp verbal barbs, and terse exchanges of information when necessary. Which suited Hermione just fine. Until now.

“Harry, taking your tea the same as a person does not a ‘friendship make’. It doesn’t even a ‘workplace relationship make’! I’m not about to rejoice over spending my days with an antagonistic prick, even if you get along now.”

Harry sighed, familiar with the Gryffindor pride that made so many people outside their former house shudder to do verbal battle with any of them. “I didn’t just mean that, Hermione. He’s a decent bloke! And a damn good worker, too. You of all people have to respect that. Besides, wasn’t it you who pushed for Slytherins from our year to have equal employment opportunity post-war? ‘Not letting history define the past,’ and all that.” He decided it was best not to point out that he had not told Hermione what she and Draco had in common, and had certainly not disclosed his preferred tea. 

Hermione had done that, and more. She and Harry had both testified at the hearings of Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa, but Hermione had made sure that in the sentencing for all the school-aged Slytherins, they were not held accountable for actions forced upon them and that the whole circumstance was taken into consideration. 

Hermione didn’t have an issue with Malfoy because he was a Slytherin, though, or because they were enemies as schoolchildren. She took issue with Malfoy because he took issue with her, because he was a rude and inconsiderate prat, and because he was annoyingly attractive generally insufferable to be around. “That’s not the issue, Harry, and you know it!”

Harry started to protest, but Hermione cut him off. “Why do we even need to share an office in the first place? I get that ‘the regular offices are flooded, someone put a cursed object down the pipes, it’ll take time to fix, blah blah,’ but why does the office he shares have to be mine ?”

“Well, Whittier and Jupes already put in requests to share offices with Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones, so that leaves Malfoy and McLaggen office-less. Ron and I’s space is bigger, so you don’t have to share with both of them, but I felt considering your history and McLagggen’s… entire personality, really, you’d prefer sharing with the one who wouldn’t be trying shamelessly and hopelessly to get in your pants.” Hermione flushed. Knowing the alternative, Malfoy suddenly seemed like the ideal office mate. She opened her mouth to say so, but was cut off before she could.

“Who’s not trying to get into Granger’s pants?” Malfoy said from the doorway, having walked up mid-conversation with a box filled with his ‘office luggage.’

“You’re not, if you want an office space instead of a cleaning closet,” Harry said, nodding to him and stepping aside to let him in. 

Draco set the box on the desk that had been moved into Hermione’s office from storage and began unshrinking its contents. The first thing to come out off it was a bookshelf, its paper contents flying out of the box after it, organizing itself into neat rows along the wall behind it. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, meeting Hermione’s eyes with a solemn nod. 

Harry smiled brightly at Hermione, gesturing at Malfoy hopefully, as if to say, “See? What more could you possibly want in a close-proximity coworker?”

Hermione let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, smiling defeatedly and looking at her new office mate. “Well, what more could I ask for in a close-proximity coworker? Welcome to your temporary work home, Malfoy.”

“Delighted, Granger,” he said, nodding to Harry who took this as a good time to leave before either of them changed their minds or broke the tentative truce to start arguing, and turned back to his unpacking. They worked in silence for a while, her finishing her paperwork, him finishing his unpacking and organizing, but when Hermione snuck glances over at the intruder, this new inhabitant in her space every now and then, she noticed his eyes stayed crinkled at the corners, almost as if from a hidden smile.

This should be interesting.

Chapter Text

“Harry, I have no idea what you are talking about. Malfoy and I are perfectly adult and civil to one another.” She pushed open the door to the office she and Malfoy reluctantly shared and confidently strode across the threshold to put her things on her desk, straightening the files already piled there.

Harry looked pointedly at the line dividing the room into exact halves, which was magically drawn onto the floor, walls and ceiling of the office, but Hermione’s back was firmly turned and she therefore did not receive the benefit of his full sarcasm. “Right. Silly me,” he said.

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Hermione primly said, “I’ll have you know we have a highly developed system.” Malfoy scoffed without looking up from his work. Hermione ignored him. “Really. We do just fine so long as we stay in our own areas and pretend the other isn’t there.” At this, Harry had to laugh. She said it so matter-of-factly, without a single drop of sarcasm. He looked to Malfoy to gauge his reaction, but in this they seemed to be in complete agreement.

“It does make things easier,” he said, glancing briefly towards Hermione before making eye contact with Harry again. Privately, Harry thought he rather resembled someone who had tried disagreeing with a bear, only to come out the other side accepting that the bear’s opinion was absolutely better and in no way related to the danger of it being a bear. If smirks could be sympathetic, the look Harry gave Malfoy then would have qualified as one.

Hermione turned and gestured for him to sit down, but Harry shook his head. “No, I just came by to make sure you were both settling in alright. Call it a one-week check in, if you like. Alright, Malfoy?”

Malfoy nodded to Harry, leaning back in his chair that was, in Hermione’s opinion, entirely too ostentatious for the workplace. The wingback gray leather beast of a chair looked like it belonged someplace next to a roaring fire, preferably with classical music playing ominously through a vinyl player in the background, rather than in a Ministry office that was too small for the contents it already contained. “Not too bad. Yourself, Potter?”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Ron and I are taking turns responding to McLaggen’s endless monologues. We’ve made a game out of it. Whoever can reply with a sentence that makes the least sense without him noticing gets free drinks, courtesy of the other one. How that man gets any work done, I’ll never know.” Malfoy laughed, head tipping back, lips curving up to reveal perfect, pearly teeth. An annoyingly charming laugh.

“You and everyone else in the world. I’m told his uncle pulled some strings with Robards, though I’m sure he’s regretting allowing the prat to work here more every day. ”

“Finally acknowledging the damage nepotism in the ministry can bring, Malfoy?” Hermione let slip before she could stop herself. 

Malfoy stopped and turned to look at her, but to her surprise he didn’t crumble or yell or get angry. He leveled her with an even gaze. “I don’t think any amount of family clout or reputation could save that wreck from his own incompetence.” As he held her gaze, Hermione could see in his eyes, he knew exactly what she had meant by her remark and it didn’t bother him. Stormy eyes met fiery, and the moment seemed to stretch a beat longer than intended, then two. 

Harry snorted, breaking the trance she had almost fallen into. Hermione smiled, too, looking to Harry’s own amusement. He walked to the door, throwing out a final “Don’t kill each other,” over his shoulder, which was met with inexact noises of probable agreement from both of them.

____

Hours later, Hermione sat back from her desk, eyes widening from the strain, blinking away the intensity of staring so close at words on a page for so long. Every part of her body from the hips up ached . Her bum was sore from sitting so long, her back tense from her position hunched over the desk, and her shoulders burned from the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. 

She made an effort to lower them, wincing slightly at the sensation and earning her a brief glance from Malfoy before his eyes flicked back to his own work. Almost done , she told herself. She just had this final report to finish before she could turn in for the weekend. 

Groaning softly, she reached her arms high above her head, relishing the pleasant pull in her muscles from stretching after sitting in one place for so long. Her spine cracked slightly as she moved side to side, and she thought she saw Malfoy look over at her again. She rolled her neck, taking the opportunity to look over at him. He was diligently focused on the work before him.

Hermione lowered her arms, meaning to grab her quill and finish so she could go home, but as she did so the pot of ink balanced at the edge of her desk teetered a moment, and then fell to the floor, rolling out of sight. The containment spell on it would keep it from spilling, thankfully, but it did nothing to help her find it. 

Checking under her desk, she looked around her work space, trying to judge where the container might have got to, but couldn’t see it anywhere. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she slowly turned her head to Malfoy’s side of the room. It was there, of course it was, nestled just slightly under the edge of his desk. 

Of course.

Gritting her teeth, she said, in the most polite tone she could muster: “Malfoy, my ink bottle rolled under your desk, could you please hand it to me?” 

Draco looked up, meeting her gaze directly for the first time in hours, brow raised in mock surprise. “A thousand apologies, Granger; I wish I could, but the rules are quite clear. ‘Neither of us may remove a possession from the other’s half of the office.’” 

“But it’s already mine!” Hermione huffed indignantly.

Draco smirked. “I don’t see your name on it.” He pointedly looked at her stack of folders and office supplies, each with a thin label on the edge with ‘H. Granger’ written in neat lettering. It was probably the only written thing in her office that would be legible to anyone other than herself. “If it's so important, why don't you just summon it? You're a witch, or have you forgotten?"

"Because," Hermione ground out through clenched teeth, "it has an anti-summoning charm on it. Something which is useful if you're used to working around the Weasley twins or those who use their havoc-wreaking products, but entirely unconducive to having an uncooperative office mate."

Draco leaned back in his chair, twirling a quill between his fingers. "Uncooperative? I prefer the term 'efficient.' And speaking of efficiency, you might want to work on your organization skills, Granger. I can barely move in this office without tripping over one of your stacks."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I don't see how that's relevant to the matter at hand."

"It's very relevant," Draco said, leaning forward. "If you were more organized, you wouldn't have lost your ink bottle in the first place."

"I didn't lose it," Hermione snapped. "It rolled under your desk."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And whose fault is that? Perhaps if you had taken better care of your possessions, this wouldn't be an issue."

Hermione sighed, exasperated. "Look, can we please just put our differences aside for one minute and help each other out here? I need that ink bottle to finish a report due tomorrow, and unlike some people, I have a reputation to uphold."

Draco gave her a patronizing look. “Well, we can't have that, can we? Maybe I'll remove the charm for you, if you ask nicely. And I’ll thank you to note that I have not been late for a single project, report, or meeting since my hiring in this department.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't have time for your games, Malfoy, and I don’t want the charm removed. It serves its purpose! Just hand me the damn ink bottle."

He grinned as though she hadn’t just sworn at him and insulted his work ethic, shaking his head like a disappointed schoolteacher. “That does not sound particularly nice to me, or do Muggles have a different standard of ‘nice’ and ‘rude’?” Hermione huffed. “All you have to say is please, Granger.” He winked. Git .

Hermione continued to glare at him. In any other circumstance, she would just take out a new one from her drawer, and give the old ink bottle up for lost at this point rather than let Malfoy win this interaction. Unfortunately, the small pot currently resting under Malfoy’s desk was her last— it was one of the many things scribbled on the to-do list sticking halfway out from under the large pile of files on her desk: ‘buy more ink.’ 

Malfoy continued smiling patiently at her, as one would an angry child. Accepting that she had no other recourse but to accept his help, she reminded herself they were both adults and ministry workers at that, capable of respectful discourse, and let out the most polite request she could muster. “Would you please,” she said, each word falling out as though they tasted sour in her mouth, “be so kind as to return me my ink bottle, Mister Malfoy?”

Across from her, Draco’s smile widened somehow. “Well since you asked so nicely, proper prefixes and everything.” He got up from his chair and bent down to look under his desk.

Hermione watched him, and very purposefully did not notice the way his shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, the way his hair fell in his eyes. And she absolutely did not allow her gaze to flicker towards where he was bent in half to admire how his trousers hugged him just so. 

Merlin, but he’s fit, she definitely didn’t think to herself.

Draco emerged from under his desk, ink bottle held triumphantly in his hand. He placed it dramatically on her desk, hand still holding on to it. “For you, my most esteemed and valued coworker. Try not to lose it again.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but the corners of her mouth quirked up just slightly. "Thank you, Malfoy. I'll try my best."

Draco finally released the ink bottle and took a step back, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. "You know, Granger," he said slowly, "we don't always have to be at each other's throats."

Hermione scoffed. "I think our history proves otherwise."

"History doesn't have to dictate our future," Draco replied, his voice softening just a touch as he echoed the words she’d said to him years ago back to her. "We're coworkers now, and we have to find a way to make it work."

Hermione sighed, feeling a knot of tension loosening in her chest. "I suppose you're right."

Draco grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Of course I am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He returned to his desk, still smiling, but it was softer now, and almost… sweet.

Hermione watched him, feeling a strange mix of irritation and... something else. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She definitely did not just feel a flutter in her stomach as she turned his words— her words— over in her head. 

Opening her newly returned ink bottle, she dipped her quill into it, before carefully marking a small change to her to-do list: ‘buy more un-charmed ink.’