Chapter Text
It was hard to fish a cigarette out of your purse, get a coffee from the not functioning coffee maker – courtesy to magic for fixing it! –, and balance on red stilettos all together. High heels were never her favourite pieces of accessories.
“Damn it!” she cursed under her nose when even the rain started falling, her unruly curls getting more. . . well, unruly at that instant. She cursed London for its unholy weather and decided to get her shoes off to sprint back to her office, lest the skyfall ruin her new, fancy costume she had just purchased last week. She didn’t even care about the money she wasted in the automat by this point. It was still less than the dress, even though she wasn’t the one who paid for that.
Hermione knew she looked ridiculous, wet hair sticking to her face, lipstick stained and her eyeliner probably running down on her cheeks while hissing out of rage like a cat freshly kicked out of its home. She was adamant on getting shelter, the sooner the better – but to her utmost luck, she crashed with someone, at full force, bringing both of them down, ending up on the hard asphalt.
It was not a pleasant encounter.
She heard a familiar groan from under her – as she was on the top of him – and she came face to face with her something-like-boyfriend, “Malfoy?” she asked vacantly, as if the confirmation was necessary.
Draco scoffed at her.
He gently rubbed the back of his head, trying to estimate the rate of his potential concussion, but not urging Hermione to get off of him. No, that was the least bothering in the situation they toppled into. And this position definitely brought back the memories of the last night. Malfoy let a lopsided and ever-so-confident smirk settle on his lips despite the thudding against his skull, “Shit Granger, I understand you wanna’ ride me, but chill for a minute. We’re in public.”
Even though their right out dripping wet clothes, their inappropriate position, and her damp hair getting in her eyes, she couldn’t help grinning down at the idiot. Hermione mischievously rolled her hips and yet again, heard him groan – but this was definitely not pain inflicted.
Pale fingers sank in the flesh of her hips abruptly, halting her next movement at that instant before she could have got to the best part. She had always liked to hear him groan, so masculine and deep.
She looked in his eyes, questioning his actions, knowing full well he was just as in as her. His irises were the same colour as the darkened sky above them, warningly narrowed at her and shutting out the outside world for her. Even though she wanted to deny it, her heart started hammering within her ribcage at full force.
She turned her head away out of shame and confusion. Hermione still didn’t understand why he had so big of an impact on her.
“You sure are an idiot,” he chastised and lifted her up easily, slipping out of the cage of her tights. Until now, Hermione didn’t notice her ridden up costume skirt or how wet for that matter. It was slightly awkward pulling the dripping material down, with one of her hands in Draco’s, both of them running toward the Ministry. At least no one was out in the street beside them to witness their embarrassing interlude.
“Thank you,” she sighed in the air when they reached the Ministry’s entrance. Finally getting her craved cigarette out of its prison, she nearly moaned in delight. Getting hold of is wand – as it was in his robe’s right pocket – she ignited the nicotine rod. Draco scowled, but didn’t comment otherwise. “Still hate it?” she asked with humorously narrowed eyes.
“Can’t believe you still sucking that rod,” he murmured out of dismay and Hermione mockingly blew the smoke on him. He overzealously waved it away from his face lest his expensive robes overtake the scent. Never mind his denial, she knew he loved it. He only kept up the pretence for Narcissa – that delicate lady of vicious snake thought cigarette was inappropriate for any member of the human race, including Muggles, of course. So she simply forbade her to smoke in the Manor.
Never mind that she and Lucius always found a loophole in the spells. Or Narcissa just did that to provide them some bonding time as the mood was Ice Age kind of frosty in the first few months when Draco came home with her in his arms.
“You’d rather I sucked another rod, don’t you?” and she pointedly looked down at his crotch, taunting him without no success at all. Whenever he was doing the baiting it always worked on her so easily, than how come she couldn’t even embarrass him?
Draco conveniently ignored her and sank his hands deeper in his pockets. He looked out at the empty street; the downpour seemed to pull up a translucent veil between them and the other side of the pavement. It was really idyllic.
“You wanted to drink coffee,” he turned to her direction slowly after he blurted his thoughts out, as if the oddity of the situation had just struck him. Hermione, still looking unfazed, pulled a brow up, mimicking his usual expression. He rolled his eyes. “You hate coffee,” he added.
Hermione – not so elegantly – snorted; the smoke coming out of her nose, reminding him of a bull, “Of course I hate coffee.” It was his turn to pull up his elegant, perfect brow in question, knowing her answer well enough, “It’s not healthy.”
“And you have the gall to call me an idiot,” with that, he suddenly snatched the cigarette out of her hands with a swift move, threw it out in the rain. Hermione watched in fright with widened eyes as the wind scooped it up and was away with it in a second. It was like watching a horror movie in slow motions.
“Hey!”
Draco snickered and as an answer Hermione hit him on the bicep, totally aware how big those muscles were, hardly fitting in his sleek robe’s sleeves. However, she was pissed so much it wasn’t enough. This time.
“You’re the chain-smoker out of the two of us,” Malfoy scowled in disgust, bumping his side to her hips, nearly pushing her off her balance. It wasn’t playful – it was just flat out mean with the intention of making her fall on her bum. He continued, not least bothered by her dark glance, “So you don’t get to ramble on and on about healthy lifestyle! Hermione you smoke more than you literally eat! And you’re stinkin’ most of the time! And you wonder why we never sleep at your place – beside that menace you call cat. The Manor at least has large enough windows to properly breeze out a room!”
A weak smile grazed his lips when seeing her getting herself worked up on his words, his eyes glinting playfully at her in the way that made it clear: he was just pulling her leg. Her fuming intensified when realizing that and she stomped – quite adorably – with her leg just to make it more efficient.
“If I’m the chain-smoker, then you’re the asshole out of the two of us,” she snapped at him, her arms crossed under her breasts, making them look bigger under the tight fitting costume. She didn’t miss how his eyes were quite engrossed with studying that particular region. She bit in her lip to distract herself before she jumped the idiot out of fury.
Now he was looking at her red lips.
“You’re pointing out the obvious, love,” he murmured suddenly with dragging in an unexpected change of mood in the middle of their conversation. While Hermione tried to ignore the fluttering butterflies in the pit of the stomach, he stepped closer to her, towering above her.
The annoying insects recently took up a resident in there, and whenever Draco called her love – which he did quite frequently –, or really did anything that suggested he remotely cared for her, the invaders were in uproar.
She huffed some more, refusing to acknowledge everything that happened within her due to Draco’s closeness. It was getting to be ridiculous – she was undoubtedly and unfortunately getting attached to him, by the hips as it seemed.
“So you had a frustrating day,” he concluded, seeing her tense position. His hand brushed against hers as he let them fall beside him, his fingers absently playing with hers. It calmed her immediately.
Hermione watched as her toes curled and uncurled a few times before answering, noticing just now how cold the pavement really was. It did no good to stand there with only nylons on, but damn, she hated the overly-high stilettos.
“You know it was,” she said, peering up at him shyly, “You were there the entire time.”
Draco sighed and thought back; yes, they had met, but during the trial of the Lestranges – given they had just managed to capture Rodolphus and Rabastan, after nearly three years of running in circles for the brothers –, they didn’t even see each other between the rows. Draco was there to make sure the both of them get to rent a cell in Azkaban for a lifetime, while Hermione was there as a delegate of the MLE, presenting evidences against the pair – which wasn’t that hard, given there were at least a thousand, per person.
After five super long hours of negotiating and quarrelling for rightful justice that was good enough for the audience and was also lawful, it was good to be out of the courtroom. It was good to be alone, with her – Draco thought. Even though they still didn’t know where their ‘something-like-relationship’ was going, they slowly started noticing how it was essential for them to see each other daily.
Always running late and having no free time, they barely had ten minutes for getting take away or watching a half episode of silly muggle shows at her flat (which Draco said he hated), or going to the local pub for cheap beer. Not to mention sex. It was always hurried and too fast for his liking, only getting his fill in the weekends, which was – he confessed with a sour taste on his tongue – definitely not enough to sate him.
But at least they were together... shitty day after the even shittier.
Draco shook his head, aware how they became so boring in their adulthood, without a change of environment, without something that could have meant challenge for both of them! They were slowly going insane in confinement, he knew that. And they were just twenty-one, for fuck’s sake! They desperately needed to get away from these grey days or else, they would be as lively as two-week corpses by the time they hit twenty-eight! They needed adventures; they needed something exciting to bring back the thrilling smile on Hermione’s lips like he once saw in Hogwarts. That smile, happy and bold and fuck, did his heart forget to beat for a moment back then!
And that’s when the thought stuck him with the force of a lighting bolt.
“We should get away,” he offered, even his own words feeling alien on his tongue, “Like, escape from here. Should go now, like today,” he looked out in the rain longingly, his eyes hard and weighted by the uneventful reality they were living in. It was clear his mind was far away already, probably at the French Riviera, sipping cocktails and enjoying the idiotic chicks’ attention that he always seemed to attract. He was like the honey for the uninteresting and clearly annoying flies that were called simply women by other – normal – people.
“I’ll get portkey,” he blurted out flatly and turned away to pull some strings to get what he wanted. “Just wait here.”
If Hermione was drinking, she was sure that she would have spit the whole thing out, “What?” she asked, half laughing half-worrying for his sanity. Draco Malfoy did not just suggest them to go for a vacation, as in, together, did he?
He glanced at her side-way, his body hovering over her as he lifted his hand to start playing with one of her curly ringlet, absently twisting it around and letting it go – it was like a stubborn spring, always getting back to its original place.
He had always enjoyed the feeling of his fingers sleeking through the silky hair – it was definitely better state then when they were just foolish teenagers. Foolish teenagers but at least adventurous.
“Get away from this whole thing,” he muttered in her ear in his deep voice, his lips brushing against her earlobe. Hermione – was again – red from head to toe, shamelessly enjoying the earthquake he caused within her guts. “Look at yourself Granger, you’re full of contradictions. I say, we go away for a few weeks, just the two of us?” he prompted, his excitement carefully suppressed in his voice as he measured her up and down, seeking for any sign of objection in her body language.
Not that she didn’t know he was literally buzzing with the idea! And his excitement was nearly sticking, and Hermione got the same vibe almost immediately. She put the weight from her left to the right leg, jutting her hips out to imperceptibly lean on him.
She looked away defensively, knowing all too well if she was this close to him she’d undoubtedly nod on things without thinking it through. She nibbled on her lips, trying to not think about how it would cost her literally nothing and have her wicked way for a few weeks with her lover. She smiled under her nose, painfully aware of Draco’s ghosting breathe along her neck. She was hardly able to suppress a smile.
It didn’t help her case that he knew he was close to persuade her to the jump in the unknown.
That damned Slytherin!
He stifled a chuckle – seeing her expression and feeling the tremors of her fake fury fizzing in the air –, he bent down to kiss her forehead, whispering against her skin: “So are you in, love?”
He knew exactly what to do make her finally agree without getting out, and with the last thought of ‘I’m retarded’, Hermione nodded weakly, still chewing on her lip relentless, “Yeah. In. Totally in. Even though I’ll regret it tomorrow, I somewhat trust you.”
His smugly grinned at her, “Oh, Granger, somewhat is maybe a touch too much.”