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Draco Malfoy stalked his way through the entrance of The Magical Congress of the United States of America, his large, deep brown coloured scatchel over his shoulder as he stalked through the Ministry building. He was supposed to be meeting someone in the entrance, but they had yet to show their face, and he would need to be at training in less than an hour.
"So much for this being quick," Draco mumbled to himself, chuckling. He waited against a black marble pillar, keeping out of the way. He was wary that he may have become a celebrity even in this part of the Wizarding World, which hadn't been his plan when he escaped out here to New York City.
This hadn't been the plan, but he was here now, and he was away from all of the bad memories.
And it hadn't been the plan for Hermione either.
She was rushing through the entrance of The Magical Congress of the United States of America, accidentally bumping shoulders with someone as she tried to make it in time for the interview that her boss had scheduled for her.
"Oh, I'm sorry-" Hermione glanced up at the person she bumped into. "Malfoy?" She stares into his eyes — the grey pools that she had once loved — and glances at the platinum blond waves that now sat upon his head.
"Granger?" Draco stared back at her. "How are you here? Why are you here?" He couldn't believe that she was standing right here in front of him; surely he was dreaming. This felt like something plucked straight out of a Muggle romance movie that Theodore always loved showing him and sending him indie ones that were always quite strange.
"I work in New York, I'm a reporter." Hermione smiles, bouncing backwards and forwards on the balls of her ankles. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" She pants out the question, shuffling her scatchel properly on her shoulder.
"I also work in New York. I play Quidditch for the national team." Draco boasts, smirking as he stares down at her as he observing her body and how grown up she had gotten since the last time he would have seen her.
She looked incredible.
She was absolutely gorgeous, radiating happiness in the gold sparks that erupted from her tamed curls.
"Wow, Malfoy playing Quidditch. Not surprised." She laughs. And the noise was something else, just how he remembered it being when the sound echoed around the Great Hall during meal times. The sound sent goosebumps erupting over his arms and legs, as the memories flushed through his system, as all of the feelings he had for the Muggleborn all throughout their schooling years.
"And you are a reporter for a newspaper, no surprise there either, Granger. Though I am surprised the Ministry here weren't falling over its feet to offer you a job here." Draco chuckled, joking about with her as they moved out of the way of the bustling crowds.
"Oh, stop." Hermione pushed him, rolling her eyes. "And I don't use my name here, even back home, I didn't use it to get anything, unlike Ron." She admits, trying to hide her discomfort with bringing up her ex-best friend. She hadn't spoken to the ginger since they broke up at the end of the war, and she made the decision to move her life to New York City.
The only few people she spoke to from school were Harry, occassionally Neville and the majority of the Slytherin crew that made up Draco's group of friends. Mainly Theo because he was over at 12 Grimmuald Place — and yes, it took her an embarrassingly long time to figure out the relationship that had blossomed between Harry and Theo, which was still going strong.
She missed Harry; they hadn't spoken in what felt like months, but it was really just a few long weeks. Hermione made a quick mental note that she would need to either Floo call Harry and Theo or call them on her Muggle mobile phone.
Hermione turned her attention back to Malfoy.
"If you are a Quidditch player, then why are you in the Ministry?" Hermione questioned, staring at his face.
"I was supposed to be collecting a reporter, I've got training in less than an hour, and they were supposed to be writing a report on the team." Draco watched as Hermione's face fell and realisation struck her body.
"I—" Hermione coughed, clearing her throat as she awkwardly bounced on the balls of her feet.
"You've got to be kidding me." Draco rubbed his face, scrubbing at his eyebrows.
"I'm sorry, I am not kidding. I didn't exactly want to be reporting on Quidditch, but I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Look, I'm sure it will all work out fine." Hermione muttered, her words zooming out of her body as she started panicking about the situation her boss had placed her in.
Was there some way that her boss had found out about the years-long crush that she had on a certain blond?
There was no way that anyone had found out about it. Right?
"Well then, Granger, follow me," Draco smirked as he stalked out of the Ministry, striding out onto the streets of New York City with his long legs as Hermione struggled to catch up with him.
"Draco, wait for me. Slow down!" Hermione shouted after him, which forced him to stop suddenly, and Hermione fell into his back with a thump. She stuttered as he slowly turned around, clutching her arms as he stared into her eyes.
"Why are we here together, Hermione?" Draco asked.
"What do you mean?" Her eyes flickered about, searching his face.
"Why have we been brought together here?" He questioned, raising his brows at her.
"What?" She stuttered.
"I love you, Hermione Jean Granger." He admitted, shouting it for all to hear. Draco clutched her closer, staring into her eyes as he admitted everything. He had been holding it in for years, and it felt amazing to finally get it all out into the open, especially with her here with him in New York City.
"You—?" Hermione gasps, but the noise was swallowed by Draco's mouth as he pressed their lips together, kissing her and taking every noise from hers with him.
"I love you, Hermione Granger." Draco declared once again.
"I love you, Draco Malfoy. I have loved you for so long." Hermione admitted with a gentle blush appearing across her cheeks and neck.
"Fucking finally." He chuckles, kissing her harder this time and not letting her go.
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