Work Text:
CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT
Daphne was responsible for the poster. Judging by the adhesive charm she’d used, it would take the rest of the week to remove it from the wall. She was always good at those kinds of charms. He might have believed she had charmed herself with one of them, the way she clung too long to him now as she bid him goodnight.
He was dating Astoria—had gone on a few dates, anyway. For a few months. For a few moments of something to do other than sort through his father’s estate holdings—his responsibility, while Narcissa convalesced in grief in the wake of his father’s passing. It wasn’t right for Daphne to press a kiss into the crook of his neck. Cold washed over him as she whispered so that only he could hear, “The happiest of birthdays, for our Prince Prat.”
Daphne’s hazel eyes measured his distaste, which he took no pains to hide. The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of her full lips. Even if it was repulsion, she had always loved eliciting any reaction from him.
“Your sister is waiting for you,” said Draco.
“Let her wait,” Daphne said in another whisper.
Astoria had already made it to the gate. No lingering goodbyes from the woman he was seeing. She was as unemotional as her older sister was devious. A coping mechanism, she had told Draco in a candid moment in a quiet pub in the city, from a lifetime of protecting herself against Daphne’s manipulation. He suspected that Astoria had walled herself permanently away from feeling much of anything for other people. A shame, really. She was pretty enough that they could have had some fun, instead of letting their casual dating drag on endlessly. Draco would have enjoyed the distraction.
“And I have work in the morning,” Draco continued. He glanced at the wall clock, noted the hands reminding him how many hours had passed at this ill-conceived birthday party, and amended, “Today.” A muscle in his neck twitched where she had kissed it. Daphne was prettier than Astoria. A beautiful, emotional vampire of a witch. Everything in him reviled at the very thought of her, until he found himself gently guiding her bodily away from him.
Daphne sighed. “More like Prince Prick,” she said, louder, pulling away from his touch suddenly. “If we’re honest.”
She sauntered away down the manicured path of his front walk.
A full-throated laugh resounded behind him.
Draco reddened as he turned to find Hermione Granger exiting the kitchen, nearly tumbling off her sky-high heels in laughter. He had barely gotten to see her all night, entangled as he’d been in Daphne Greengrass’s talons. Astoria had invited everyone close to him from the Ministry to celebrate his birthday tonight, and Merlin knew he had spent enough time with Granger the last few months in legislative study that they could copy each other’s signature. When his father passed and Draco prepared to assume his peerage on the Wizengamot, he was surprised during his first filing at the Ministry to find Granger nearly beating down his office door first thing in the morning. Granger had a passion project she wanted to get passed, and for the first time in her life she finally had a personal connection with a soon-to-be member of the wizarding world’s parliamentary body.
Even if they’d been… less than friendly to one another as children. But years had passed, wars had been fought, the world had ended and started over again. People either fell into their grief over it all, like his mother, or they put it behind them and got on with the business of living, like he did. Like Granger did, when she lobbied him for support that first day, months ago.
Coworkers. They were friendly coworkers. Friendly coworkers in silky black dresses and sky-high heels…
“Daphne Greengrass is the thirstiest witch this side of Coventry,” said Granger as she choked back her laughter. “Revolting, really, to do that to her own sister.” She walked up to where he stood at the front door and gestured behind her, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took a turn cleaning up the pantry. Your girlfriend left quite a lot of good food out to spoil.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said. Funny, how he felt warmth replace the cold that Daphne had left in him, at Granger’s words. “And Astoria is not my girlfriend.”
“What else do you call it, when you’re dating someone?”
“We’ve gone on dates,” said Draco. He gestured to where the Greengrass sisters had disapparated from outside the front gate of Malfoy Manor. “Girlfriends stay the night, don’t they?”
(Granger had a way of putting her hair up in the earliest hours of the morning, full-bodied and soft, a frame around her clear and clever face, so that she could focus on the work, and Draco found himself staring at the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her—)
“Call it what you want,” Granger said with a grin. “Happy birthday, old man.” She held out a wrapped box.
“You really did not have to do this, Granger,” said Draco.
“Oh, but I did,” said Granger with a smirk.
(Was she tipsy? Was her grin from the buzz of the champagne that Pansy Parkinson had poured in a spontaneous tower of coupes? Had Granger enjoyed herself here, in his home, where he had begun to imagine he might one day invite her himself, just so they could work in far greater comfort than the creaky old ministerial offices—)
The gift was a gorgeously engraved quill with “Draco Malfoy, Bart.” in tiny, shining lettering along the shaft. The title would be his, come tomorrow morning when he was sworn in as the newest peer of the Wizengamot.
It was beautiful. Thoughtful. Something he could hold in his hand that, somehow, embodied so much of Hermione Granger herself.
His coworker. Standing in a barely-there slip dress in the wee hours of the night on his doorstep, the last guest to leave his home.
“Thank you,” he said. Too much time had passed in silence since opening it. “This is incredible.”
“It’s very credible, actually,” said Granger. “You can use it when you sign your first bill tomorrow morning.”
The bill would be the first step in a long campaign to shut down mining that had ravaged the northern parts of the country for decades. Mines that, as it happened, had filled the Greengrass family’s Gringott’s vault, among those of other pureblood families.
Daphne would be furious.
Draco smiled. He stroked the beautiful pen. It was credibly thoughtful, just like she’d said. Just like she always was. He looked down into Granger’s smiling brown eyes.
(She was the only coworker he had ever thought could be quite kissable, if he was honest with himself…)
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, before he realized what he was saying.
Granger groaned. “Malfoy, it’s three in the morning. You’re expected at the office in three more hours, and me in four.”
(Why was he thinking of Granger like that? Was he desperate, driven mad by boredom and lackluster romance and exhaustion preparing for his future in the government?)
He ran his fingers along the quill again. He could tell by the sizing and color pattern that it was made of a hippogriff feather. (He remembered a few things from school, in spite of everything that had happened.) He looked at his engraved title and felt a thrill run up his spine.
He had been bored and exhausted when he had thought of assuming the peerage months ago. He had been staring down the long road to formally announce his inheritance and, one day, sit in the Wizengamot only after vetting, hiring, and training staff, and going through a new, aggressive vetting process himself. He had been irritated when Granger’s head popped around the doorsill of his office on the first day of his—presumed—life sentence in this office.
And then…
Somewhere in the last few months, he had shown up to his weekly appointment with Granger, and found himself arriving early to the meeting. Then he was staying late, too. She had a way of making everything they worked on together feel like the most important project in the world. He had never cared about working on anything before, really. She had brought something new into his life, and that made him feel… grateful?
That was something else new, too.
He had started to wonder if Granger acted this way with everyone—passionate, funny, friendly. (Cute.) He had tried to observe her lobbying activities with others, and was dismayed to find that she was. She even gave some of her team mates frequent and affectionate hugs.
After that, she had given him his third new feeling: jealousy. He had coveted others’ belongings before, of course—he wouldn’t be much of a Pureblood heir if he didn’t have an instinct to amass fortunes, after all. He had also felt resentment toward others who had what he wanted. But he had never felt possessiveness toward a person before. Back in school he had received as much attention from girls as he wanted, and after school he had spent years avoiding women as he learned to navigate the new world he found himself in. He had never felt jealous for a woman’s attention, but he recognized the feeling as suddenly and sharply as though it was a constant companion.
In those years on his own he had learned to reassess some of his instincts. Wrong beliefs and bad behavior had been bred into him, had wormed their ways into his unconscious thoughts. He wouldn’t get more chances than this last, very big chance to become someone different in this world. As he had mulled over his jealousy that Granger might show interest and affection toward anyone other than himself, he had his fourth new feeling: the drive to earn it from her. That one felt more right the more he thought about it.
He freed another button on his shirt, enjoying the warm night air on his neck. He caught Granger’s gaze going to his hand—the newly bared top of his chest—before she glanced back out at the front walk.
“I could use your help, actually,” said Draco.
“With what else?” Granger replied with a grin. “I’ve already fixed up your kitchen as good as a scullery…”
“This bloody poster,” he interrupted, pointing at Daphne’s efforts to deface the walls of Malfoy Manor. “It’s stuck beyond my abilities to remove it.”
Granger glance shifted between the poster inside and the walk outside.
“I can’t stand that kind of… nonsense for the next few days while it wears down. It reminds me of things I don’t need reminding of… right now.”
Granger’s eyes snapped to his. (Clear as amber, no buzz—sheer goodwill and… interest, in his wellbeing, in… him?)
“Oh, that,” she said. “We can make short work of it together.”
She followed him back inside the house. He didn’t think he’d ever heard a sound as good as her closing the door behind her.
Even with Hermione’s encyclopedic knowledge of counter charms, it took some time before the poster finally released from the wall. Draco caught it in his arms and set it to lean against the wall. After a moment’s contemplation, he turned it around so that the words faced away from him.
“It is late,” he said at last, “I’ll bin it in the morning.”
He felt her hand on his arm. He thrilled at her touch. She patted him twice, and then let it linger.
“Thank you,” he said. He could only keep his eyes on the poster’s back, couldn’t trust himself to look at her now.
“You’re welcome. Again,” she responded. He could hear the grin in her voice. “You’ve got some good friends, you know.”
“I know,” he agreed.
And then, he felt the tug on his arm.
Now he could look at her. In fact, nothing could stop him from looking at her. He looked down into her waiting face and registered the way her eyes crinkled as she smiled, the way her whole face seemed to beam at him, and he saw her other arm coming up, and then he was in her arms. Really, she was in his, as his embrace practically engulfed her. He expected her to perch her head just over his shoulder, maybe give him another pat or two on the back, but she leaned in to the embrace and, quickly and gently, leaned her head where it reached just under his collar bone.
“Happy Birthday, Malfoy,” she said again. “I can’t wait to see you in three and a half hours.”
She held him in the hug, and he let go when he felt her arms loosen.
“I do have to go,” Granger said. She made the way to the door and was ready to let herself out. She turned to say over her shoulder, “But sometime, when we’re not hours away from drumming a new bill through the parliament, we could get together again, like this.”
Then she was gone, and Draco found himself sagging against the wall where the poster had once been.
He had felt his heart beating hard, excitedly, underneath her soft, warm cheek.
She had given him a fifth new feeling, then.