Work Text:
“How do you plan to find someone else at your age? Aren’t you worried about having kids?”
Hermione nearly choked on her champagne. She swallowed forcefully, took another sip for good measure, and straightened her shoulders before responding. “I’m more focused on my career at the moment, but no, I am not worried about my age.”
Damn all these Ministry wives and the influential pure-bloods that attended these galas. This was at least the third time Hermione had answered a similar question tonight, not to mention the sleazy men (including some of their husbands) that had tried to take advantage of how “lonely” she was. Most of all, fuck Rita Skeeter, and the ridiculous Prophet article she’d published about Ron and Hermione’s breakup, which celebrated that he was back on the market and criticised her for being too focused on work, for being too “progressive,” and for allowing a catch such as Ron to slip through her fingers by trying to be the wizard in the relationship.
They’d managed to keep the breakup private for nearly six months, so she wasn’t sure where Rita had gotten her “information,” but now it invited every gala attendee to offer up their unsolicited opinions on her personal life. Never mind that she was the youngest lead solicitor in DMLE history, that she spent her free time volunteering for a civil rights legal advocacy group, or that her split with Ron had been mutual and amicable due to how they’d finally accepted that they wanted different things and were better off as friends. None of that mattered to the wizarding elite, who blatantly believed that women were little more than baby-making arm candy for their more intelligent husbands.
Even though she was only twenty-five. Twenty-five!
“Yes, well, I know you’re still young, dear, but your clock is still ticking, and you best not wait until all the good men are—”
“Granger,” a new voice interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Malfoy. It was odd to be relieved to see him, but a lot had changed in the five years they’d worked together. They weren’t friends, per se, but they were cordial workplace associates, and they’d gotten even more used to one another since Harry and Theo had started dating last year.
Plus, they’d discovered that they actually worked exceptionally well together, once they’d gotten over their egos. He was possibly her favourite Auror in the department (don’t tell Harry)—because of his competence and nothing else, of course.
“Malfoy,” she greeted through the gritted teeth of her plastered smile. The women currently lambasting her tittered with excitement at his arrival, which he managed to address with only a single, disarming grin.
“There’s an emergency with the Gloucester case. I need you upstairs.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she immediately activated work mode. “Pardon me, ladies,” she bid to the women with a fleeting glance, before following Malfoy through the crowd and out of the ballroom. She gasped in a few breaths of much-needed air once they were in the corridor, but she didn’t speak again until they were in the lift and on their way to the DMLE.
“What’s happened? Is there another victim? Is Evangeline alright?”
Malfoy leaned against the wall of the lift, long legs stretched out in front of him, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Everything’s fine. You just looked like you were about to hex someone.”
Hermione frowned. She thought she’d been doing a good job of masking her fury, though Crookshanks was definitely going to be hearing some tangents once she made it home. The lift announced their arrival at the DMLE, and Malfoy gestured for her to exit first. She paused as soon as she stepped out, though, and spun on him so quickly they nearly collided. “Why are we here, then?”
He shrugged. “It’s still a good place to hide.”
Hermione didn’t ask why they couldn’t have just gone to their respective homes; if she was honest with herself, she was intrigued by the idea of spending time with him, without having to do any work. He stepped to her side and pressed his hand against the small of her back to encourage her forward, leading them toward her office with ease.
“Do you have any snacks?” he asked, heading toward her desk with blatant plans to pilfer through her drawers like they hadn’t just left behind platters of gourmet appetisers at the gala.
“Bottom right,” she offered without thinking. She stayed in the doorway, her brow still furrowed. “I wasn’t going to hex anyone.”
Malfoy paused, lifting his head from her snack drawer to glance up at her. Perhaps it was something in her expression, because he straightened completely and stepped around the desk to approach her. “Maybe I was,” he admitted with a smirk, but his eyes didn’t glint with the same humour. His movements were stiff, and it was only because of years of working together that she recognised how angry he was.
Her face scrunched up with confusion. “Who were you going to hex?”
He stopped walking when he was within arm’s reach of her. “The next bint who spouted out any of that dragon shit to you, or maybe one of the pricks eyeing you like an object. Who has the audacity to treat the future Minister for Magic that way?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed him lingering nearby, listening to the conversations she’d been subjected to tonight. “It’s not that big of a deal. I should be used to it by now.”
But then her heart stopped as he reached out to place a hand just above her elbow. And if she leaned in closer to him, it was completely subconscious. She was well aware of how dark and quiet the rest of the office was, that Robards might be angry with them for skipping the rest of the gala, but she couldn’t focus on anything except how close his body was.
They weren’t friends. They didn’t chat about their personal lives, or spend time together outside of work. Until recently, she’d been in a committed relationship, too, so obviously she’d never let herself be attracted to him. She shouldn’t think about it now, either, but it was hard not to compare him to the person he had been growing up. How his arrogance had softened into confidence, how he’d grown into his features, how he’d become an Auror not only to restore his name, but to make amends for his part in the war. How he’d apologised to her one day back in eighth year, and gradually earned her respect—and her trust—everyday since.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb against her arm. “Not with me.”
She sucked in a breath. “I . . .”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you and Weasley broke up?”
Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered as she tried to process the intensity in his eyes. They were like a storm cloud, and she was waiting to find out just how severe the tempest was going to be.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, but then she cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “We don’t talk about our personal lives like that. I didn’t expect you to care.”
All she knew about his, after all, was courtesy of Witch Weekly and the Prophet, that after getting out of his marriage contract with Astoria Greengrass, he’d earned a playboy reputation. It’s not like he ever shared the details of his exploits with her.
Draco slid the hand on her arm up until it cupped her jaw, wrapping around the back of her neck and allowing him to tilt her head back toward him. She met his eyes again; they promised lightning, a torrential downpour, dangerous winds, maybe even hail. “I wouldn’t care?”
Hermione gulped.
His thumb began to trace the outline of her lips. “I wouldn’t care,” he repeated, this time with a dark chuckle. “Five years, and you still think I don’t care about you.”
“I didn’t say that,” she insisted, but even to her own ears it sounded weak.
His fingers dug deeper into the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. His breath ghosted across her lips. “Prove it.”
She was going to kiss him. Apparently it only took two flutes of champagne and a series of women telling her she had to hurry to secure a husband, and now she was teetering on the edge of a one-night stand with her former-childhood-bully-turned-favourite-coworker.
That caught her attention, and she stumbled away from him slightly, steadied only by a hand that shot up to her waist.
“I don’t want to be just another one of your one-night stands,” she admitted. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, which hopefully she could blame on the alcohol—hopefully everything else that had happened since they’d stepped off the lift, too. Perhaps it would be an awkward few weeks, but they could still salvage their working relationship if they stopped now.
Even though her body really didn’t want her to stop. It was singing beneath his touch.
Draco’s reaction, though, was a rather wolfish grin. “Good. You’re not.”
His tone was commanding, but when he bent down to her, his mouth hovered for a moment, giving her an opportunity to pull away. Her mind was too distracted puzzling out what he meant by you’re not, instead of reminding her what a bad idea this would be.
“And I won’t be abandoning my career any time soon to start a family,” she added.
“Thank Merlin. I need you here.”
When his lips finally met hers, instead of pushing him away, her arms wrapped around his neck and tugged him closer. He was still hesitant, gentle, as he kissed her. His tongue ran along her bottom lip, slipping inside when she parted her mouth. She pressed into him as much as she could manage, overwhelmed not only with the sensations of kissing Draco Malfoy, but the reminder of how many times she’d thought about doing this and quickly shut it down, beginning much earlier than she’d admit to even herself.
Draco pulled away, she assumed to take a breath or maybe announce that this was a bad idea, but then he began to kiss along her jaw, travelling to a spot beneath her ear. “Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he whispered before placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on her neck, eliciting a moan from her.
“I—”
“Ah, there you—holy shit.”
Hermione sprang away from Malfoy, her entire body flaming. She spun around to find Harry gaping at them, too horrified to process the way Draco stepped back into her, wrapping his arms around her waist and dropping his chin onto her shoulder.
“Potter,” he drawled. “Terrific timing.”
She didn’t need to see his face to register the sarcasm.
Harry cleared his throat, a blush crossing his own cheeks. “I came to check on Hermione—and I suppose I’m not surprised, but seriously, neither of you thought to shut the door? I know the office is empty, but . . .” He was rambling now, and Hermione decided to rescue him.
“Sorry, Harry,” she cut in. “And thank you. Though, why would you come to check on me?”
Harry shrugged. “I noticed you had disappeared, and, well, I heard some of the conversations . . .” He grimaced, and Hermione followed.
“I’m alright. I’ve heard worse.”
Draco, likely in his impatience, squeezed her a bit tighter. When no one else said anything, continuing to stare at one another in discomfort, he added a sigh. “You can leave now, Potter.”
Harry stiffened and cleared his throat. “Right, um . . . I’ll just . . .” He offered a nod of farewell and began to scurry away, pausing only to throw over his shoulder, “Be safe!”
Hermione chuckled nervously as she settled into being alone with Draco once more. What should she say now? Was he going to—
“Do you want to get out of here?” he murmured beside her ear, pulling her back against his chest so he could place a kiss on her cheek.
She turned her head to glance up at him. “Lead the way.”