Work Text:
Hermione had hardly slept a wink all night. Instead, she had stressed over what the next morning might be. They'd timed everything right, there hadn't been any slip ups as far as she could tell, but paps always had a way of finding your worst angles. Draco and her had given them plenty of opportunities, but you could never know until you knew. And when you knew, so did everyone else. It was nerve racking: the not knowing.
But having all kinds of mixed feelings about the night before hadn't stopped Hermione from keeping to the plan of coming in just a smidge later than usual with a cheerful spring in her step. She had picked up an issue of The Daily Prophet at the shop instead of waiting for the owl to come by with a copy. If anyone had read it yet, they hadn't been the handful of people waiting quietly in line for tea.
By the time she'd gotten to the DMLE, the people who had read it increased greatly and she had to force herself to pretend not to notice just how many copies were being read and how many eyes were on her. Of course, she couldn't be seen with a copy of her own, but she'd read over the article a dozen times on her walk to work and watched the looped photographs even more.
What a pleasant surprise to see the scathing article that her and Draco had come to accept as the most likely outcome absent from the front page. Instead, The Daily Prophet had leaned wholeheartedly into their status as a happy and in-love couple. Speculating over what they were laughing at together. Commenting on how comfortable they were around each other. Guessing at when they'd "finally" gotten together. As if the Prophet had predicted it years before. Hermione did blush at the caption beneath the photo on the followup page seven that narrated the loving looks they were giving each other from across the dinner table.
Dinner conversation topics had been carefully mapped out before so as to not give any chances for paparazzi to catch them in any kind of disagreement. That had gone out the window almost immediately. When it came to pretending to be in love with him, she had no trouble in pretending his barbs were playful and not condescending. Giving her opinion didn't feel defensive or unwelcome. And she was genuinely interested in what he had to say.
But it wasn't page 7 that flashed at her as she made her way through the Ministry. On any other occasion, seeing her suck face on the front of every newspaper in front of seemingly every co worker would've made her stomach roll. It was nobody's business who she was kissing. On this particular occasion, she was very pleased to see herself on the front page. The planned bounce in her step became less forced and more genuine as she traveled to the elevators.
'A plan well executed', she told herself over the million other thoughts buzzing around in her head.
Distant but connected, they loosely held hands outside of the restaurant. Hermione had caught sight of the the paps conspicuously hiding across the street and had signaled Draco as to their location. Years of being Aurors made silent communication easy. And if it was a little easier tonight, after their lengthy dinner, Hermione would never admit it. Some might call it magic, but really it was just came with the job.
Draco spun her close with a single tug on her hand and the angle was so perfect and the motion so smooth, she could almost swear she heard the camera shutters. She felt his hand catch her at the waist, her own automatically moving to grasp his upper arm. It was something straight out of one of the cheesy romance novels that Ginny had passed around back at Hogwarts. Hermione supposed that's what made it perfect.
The material of his suit jacket was expensive, and what an odd thing to think when he was pulling her even closer. Of course it was expensive. They might both make Auror salaries, but he still was old money. Not that Hermione wasn't comfortable. She was a 'war hero' with an Order of Merlin and that was worth more than just a gold star on her CV. Her own dress was an expense a younger her would've shuttered to spend money on, or even think about wearing out in public.
There was nothing really wrong with it. There wasn't any skin showing that wouldn't be appropriate for a dinner date with someone she was supposed to be entirely in love with and completely comfortable around. Ginny had actually helped her pick it out years ago when she'd needed something to make herself feel not just beautiful but sexy. A deep v-neck wrap dress that accentuated her curves and an asymmetrical hemline that drew the eyes down and up her legs was just the scenario her friend had been secretly hoping for. The only adjustment was to transfigure the silky forest green fabric to a deep wine red.
When she was looking in the mirror hours before, it had felt a little too on the nose. And pressed close enough to Draco that all she could smell was him and all she could see was him, it felt right. His black suit accented only by a slightly less deep red tie and gold tie pin. She doubted it was unintentional. Nothing he ever did was, but it seemed unrealistic to think the cameras would pick up on such a small detail.
Before she could think more of it, she was fixing his tie. Gentle fingers that she was acutely aware of every time they brushed against the skin of his neck. When he swallowed her eyes darted up to his sharp chin. She wondered if anyone had ever really cut themselves on it. The hand not holding her to him by the waist traveled up her back to pull on a curl. Not a rough tug, but enough that had her looking up from his chin to his eyes. Enough to make her heart rattle a different rhythm against her sternum.
They just looked at each for what felt like years. Hermione brought one hand up from his collar to his neck. It was like she was a spectator in her body. Her hands holding him gently but desperate to never let him go. Her eyes dancing over his face, but always coming back to his eyes. A face that she knew but had never really, actually studied. A face leaning in, arms pulling her impossibly closer, and a single hand now grasping at her hair to tip her head back so that he might kiss her.
On the elevator, someone was holding a newspaper just right that she didn't have to strain to see the front page. Hermione watched Draco catch her lips in black and white. It looked so natural, it was hard to imagine that it had been their first. Not that it really counted given how it had been staged. No matter how real it looked, and it certainly looked real.
Hermione leaned into the kiss, but Draco was relentless. She remembered how it felt to feel completely reliant on his arms to keep her from stumbling back. The hand in her hair was only barely visible through the curls, but she vividly remembered the feel of it on her scalp. In the looped photo, he looked like he wanted to absorb her into his body. He was the one looking desperate to taste her even as she watched her own hungry hands.
It was like a movie kiss. Too perfect, but just what you wanted. Hermione had never been kissed like that before, but damn her if she didn't want more.
And she might've continued down that line of thinking if the man with the newspaper hadn't turned back to look at her. Harry Potter was not nearly as cheerful as Hermione was. He looked every inch the ruffled, tired man that Hermione supposed she ought to have looked like after a night of restless tossing and turning.