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Draco slouched in the uncomfortable office chair while stupid Potter’s stupid voice droned on and on and on. His fingers drummed against his lips as he fought the urge to pull his wand out of its holster and just hex the bastard. Then he could go about his evening.
Every single one of Potter’s mandatory meetings could be memos. Draco knew it, the hitwizards knew it, all of the other Aurors on the Dark Wizard Task Force knew it, but Potter had always loved attention, and Draco was sure the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Torture-Draco-Malfoy got off on making him sit through these utterly useless Friday evening snooze fests.
“Right,” Potter said, clapping his hands and smiling sheepishly, the fucking tosser. “That’s settled then. How about we go over next week’s assignments and we can get out of here, yeah?”
Finally. Draco straightened in his seat, ready to bolt from the meeting room as soon as Potter dismissed them.
“Let’s see what we have here for standby—Smith and Parker on weekday mornings with myself and Dawlish on evenings. Spencer and Thomas on weekend mornings, and that leaves Malfoy and Gibson on weekend nights.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Draco huffed, glaring at Potter like he could force the four-eyed fuck to combust with his hatred alone. “We’ve had weekend nights all month, Potter. This is an abuse of power!”
Potter smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, Malfoy. You’re a rookie. That’s how it works.”
“Rookie my arse! I’m a transfer, Potter. Not some fresh off the Hogwarts Express trainee. If you can’t be fair with the schedule, I’ll be forced to—”
“To what, Malfoy?” Potter’s brows rose. “Tattle to Kingsley on me? Go ahead. I think you’ll find he agrees with me. You and Gibson are the freshest on the task force. You take the worst shifts. If you continue speaking to me, your boss, like this, I’ll have no choice but to write you up for insubordination.”
Draco clenched his jaw to refrain from saying anything that might get him fired. He liked being an Auror. It would be the perfect job if it wasn’t for Harry fucking Potter breathing down his neck, just waiting for him to fuck up.
When Potter finally let them go, Draco stormed back to his office, not listening to a single complaint from Gibson who was just as fed up with Potter’s nonsense as Draco was, but Draco didn’t feel like doing any partner bonding at the moment.
Draco slammed his office door in Gibson’s face. He was incensed! Draco had made plans for the weekend, and now they were ruined. Worse, he was going to have to cancel for a third weekend in a row, and he wasn’t sure if she’d be willing to reschedule again. He started to pace, raking his hands through his hair and shaking his head, muttering to himself madly.
A snort shocked him out of his rampage. When he looked up, he stopped dead. Granger was sitting in his office chair, chin resting on her elbow as she leaned over his desk. The coy smile on her lips told him the snort had come from her.
“Some Auror you are,” she said, leaning back and assessing him. “I could’ve been a death eater.”
Draco sighed, walking over to stand before her. “I doubt a death eater could get past Doris. She’s a bloody bulldog, but a lovely secretary.”
“She let me walk right in.” Granger looked up at him with a cheeky grin, her big brown eyes so doe-like from this angle. “Offered me tea and biscuits as well.”
Draco leaned back on his desk casually, folding his arms. “How else is she meant to treat the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”
Granger huffed, blowing a curl from her face. “That name is changing.”
“That name is changing,” he agreed, reaching out to stroke his thumb over her cheek. “Listen, Granger, I have bad news.”
“Does it have anything to do with the way you stormed in here like a rogue nundu?”
Draco sighed, searching her face. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her up out of his chair, slotting her between his thighs and kissed her soundly. Granger’s lips were always impossibly soft, and she tasted like tea and mint, and her tongue—oh, merlin, he could devour her.
Too soon, however, she pulled away, eyes narrowed. “Stop trying to distract yourself. You can’t avoid it, whatever it is, so just tell me.”
He grabbed a curl, twirling it around his finger and looking her right in the eyes, trying to smolder at her, but it didn’t seem to be working. “It’s not my fault.”
“Out with it!”
Draco cringed. “I need to cancel our reservations for tomorrow night.”
“Are you serious?” Granger didn’t look angry. No, it was far worse—she looked hurt.
“Potter scheduled me for weekend nights again. I have to be here in case we get an alert. There’s nothing I can do, Granger. I swear.” Granger deflated, and Draco seethed. He fucking hated Harry Potter. He always had, and he always would. Even on the same team, working on the same side battling dark wizards, they would always be enemies.
“I could talk to him,” Granger suggested, then bit her lip because she knew it was a terrible idea.
“And say what?” Draco gave her a brief kiss, forcing her to release her poor bottom lip. “Oh, Harry, please don’t make Draco work on the weekends. The current schedule just isn’t fair because I want to fuck him, you see, and—”
Granger hit his arm. “Malfoy!”
“Besides,” Draco continued. “I thought you wanted to keep this a secret from…your family for a while longer.”
Draco knew that Potter was Granger’s brother in all but blood, same with the Weasel. It made very little sense to him, but they were all she had, and they were incredibly close. If Draco had to tolerate a bunch of self important Gryffindorks to have a chance at being with her—like for real, not just making out after ministry functions or their offices on lunch break—he’d do it.
“I do,” Hermione agreed. “But only because I want to ease them into it.”
Draco kissed away the worry lines on her forehead. “I understand, Granger. I told you we could do this at your pace.”
“My pace requires dinner dates, talking, and time spent together without Doris right outside the door,” she said.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” Draco said again, giving her another pouty smolder to prove it.
Granger kissed him, and he mentally patted himself on the back. He hadn’t lost his touch.
“It’s fine,” she said, after coming up for air. “We’ll have to make do with a weeknight, I suppose.”
“But you’ve got your research and that thing at Hogwarts.”
“I’ll reschedule,” Granger said. “But you’ll have to make it worth my while.”
Draco smiled, lifting her off her feet and kissing her chin, neck, cheek. “That I can promise.”