Ready Ankles (2/5) - a gift for thebigdisaster
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Title: Ready Ankles (2/5)
Author: inadaze22
Gift for: thebigdisaster
Rating: Strong PG-13 or the lightest R you’ve ever seen, you decide.
Word Count: 25,412 total
Pairing: Draco/Hermione, Ron/Pansy
Warnings: Nothing too squicky, well, except for if you are squicked out by fluff, angst, humor, and budding romance.
Summary: When Draco and Hermione join forces in an effort to mend a broken relationship, things instantly start to change. Before they know it, nothing is safe anymore. Not the margarine…or even their own hearts.
A/N: Man, where do I start? I’m sure I felt everything between intense frustration and extreme elation while working on this. I wrote a very large part of this in two weeks, but alas, I persevered. *flops* I thought the prompt was interesting. Intractable, but I pulled a Tim Gunn and made it work for me. And I hope it works for you *fingers crossed* Let’s see, Draco’s company name is a homage to my love of The Office. I think I listened to the prompt song (’Which to Bury, Us or the Hatchet’ by Relient K) maybe once in hopes that it would inspire me, but…after playing around with the many types of ‘hatchets’, I got this idea…that wasn’t based on the Relient K song. Go figure. I actually got the title and idea for all the deep-seated drama from a song called ‘Ready Ankles’ by Ace Enders & A Million Different People. YouTube it. It’s a great song. Anyway, I have to thank my beta and all my buddies who cheered me on, right to the end. You guys rule, and so do you, Kalina, for putting this show together. I really hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor, thebigdisaster. All mistakes are mine since I decided to do some adding after it was beta’d. Enjoy!
Two
It was well after midnight when Hermione said, “I’ll be right down,” and set the phone on the receiver. She gathered her purse and briefcase, placed all her unfinished work into a neat pile on her desk, shrugged on her jacket, and left her empty office. Her driver, Ellis, stood patiently beside a silver Sedan. Upon seeing her, he hurried to open the back door.
“Evening, Miss Granger.”
She stopped and gave him a mock angry look. “And here I was thinking we’d finally got passed the stiff formalities.” Ellis Bates had been her driver for just under four years. He was a nice older man, who wore round glasses and was on the short and stout side. Prompt and polite, she constantly asked him to call her ‘Hermione’, but his professional nature had not once wavered. Secretly, she liked that best about him.
“I apologise.”
Hermione slipped into the back of the Sedan, placed her briefcase and purse on the seat beside her, and exhaled. Ellis shut the door behind her and soon, he was pulling off. Truthfully, she could do without the car or on-call chauffeur. There were other more efficient modes of travel. The entire Floo system, right down to the powder, had been modernised. And Apparition was an effective alternative. Both could quickly get her from place-to-place in little to no time. This was why she had a car. Hermione’s days were chaotic, at best. She was endlessly on the go and never spent more than a couple of hours in the same place. With instant travel, she would have run herself ragged much sooner. In the car, she could spend the travel time thinking, relaxing, and preparing for the next thing or problem.
Oh, and Ellis. He was like a second father and she would’ve gone mad without him.
He was loyal, agreeable, and a damn good listener-a trait she admired, but was in short supply.
“You look tired tonight.” Ellis looked at her from the rear-view mirror.
Hermione flashed him a tired smile. “I am. How are Martha and the kids?”
“Very well. Martha wanted to thank you for the gift certificate. Dinner was wonderful.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem, at all.”
“How was your day?”
“Long. Very long.”
“Tell me about it.”
And she did.
It took the entire trip to her flat, but she unloaded the new troubles with the Paris office. “Zara is even more of a perfectionist than I am, and I keep telling Padma that she better be worth the headache she gives me everyday.” She told him about her irritation with Seamus, who was badgering her to give Dean another shot. “There’s nothing wrong with Dean, honest. I’ve known him since I was eleven. He’s attractive and funny, but he’s a terrible conversationalist and listener. When we talk, it seems like everything just flies over his head…if he’s even listening, at all! How can I date someone like that?” Hermione even told him about the conversation she’d had with her mother. “She didn’t get married until she was thirty, and she’s worried about me at twenty-six. It’s ridiculous. She keeps dropping hints about wanting grandchildren and how there are wonderful, available men in Australia, just for me. And she wonders why I’m not flying there for her birthday in June. I can barely take the international phone calls; I don’t think I can take her in person for a week.”
By the time she finished, Ellis, who had been listening quietly, was parking in front of her building. He put the Sedan in park and killed the ignition. “First, I’ve listened to you talk about this Zara woman for weeks and I think no one is worth that kind of irritation, I don’t care how good she is or how many clients will come along with her. Second, you can’t date someone who doesn’t communicate effectively. It never ends well. So stick to your guns and don’t let your friend, Seamus, convince you to change your mind. And third, your mother loves you and wants you to be happy. There must be something you’re saying or doing that isn’t convincing her. Don’t make any excuses when it comes time to visit her. Just go. You’re not going to have forever with her, just think about it.” Ellis smile at her. “Now, it’s late. I’ll pick you up right here at seven.”
“Better make it six-thirty.” At the concerned look on his face, she added, “I’m going to go right in and sleep, promise.”
The ride up to her floor was uneventful. Thankfully. By the time she closed the door behind her, a wave of exhaustion hit her hard and she was in no mood to look at her mail or owl posts. Hermione abandoned her briefcase at the door of her office and trudged into her bedroom, yawning. She heard a strange noise filter from her den, but figured it was Crookshanks. Ever since he figured out how to turn on the telly, it had been a battle to get him off the Ottoman. But Hermione wasn’t going to fight him tonight. He could sit and watch the telly all night for all she cared.
Her answering machine on her bedside blinked, indicating messages, and her stomach rumbled for food, but what she wanted most was sleep. It seemed as if it had been forever since she’d slept more than four hours at any one time. She unbuttoned and shrugged her blouse off, then her skirt and shoes.
A bath. That would be just what she needed to fully relax.
The water was warm, filled with scented bubbles and a vial of potion that would loosen her tired limbs. Music trickled in from the wireless in her room. The only thing missing were candles, but it was perfect enough for her. Hermione sank into the deep, wide tub and gave a contented sigh. Yes, this was perfect. Steam. Moisture. Heat. She took her time, thoroughly soaking before washing off all the grime of the day.
When the music on the wireless changed to a slower melody, it caused an odd image of Draco Malfoy to flash in her mind. It took her back to yesterday’s bogus meeting in The Greenhouse, and back to the way he’d stared at her. The look in his eyes wasn’t heavy with hatred or disgust, but with fire-fire and curiosity. And it made her feel-Hermione dashed the thought away and sunk under the frothy water.
Only when her lungs burned for air did she resurface. The gasp of breath that followed made her cough and ultimately decide that the bath was over. She got out, dried her body and hair, and changed for bed. However, the moment she settled under the covers, her stomach decided that it would no longer be ignored.
“Fine then.” With a low growl of annoyance, Hermione rolled out of bed, mindlessly grabbed her wand, and headed in the direction of the kitchen. And she froze mid-step when she heard more noises. Crunching and mumbling noises, to be exact.
Definitely not Crookshanks.
Stealthily, she walked down the hall, making sure not to be heard. Whoever this was had to a wizard-and a powerful one, at that. Her flat was warded and locked tighter than Draco Malfoy’s wallet. Hermione frowned. She needed a better analogy. A drum. Yes. Perfect. There was only one person who knew the code to get into her flat via Floo, and Harry Potter was not stupid enough to come over after midnight without writing or calling first. With her wand at the ready, Hermione leaned against the wall next to the archway to the living room and peeked in. The telly was on and there was a person wearing a grey hood sitting on her sofa.
Crookshanks was nowhere to be found.
And just when she was about to breathe the hex that would bring them crumbling to their knees, the person let out a great sigh and wistfully asked, “Crook, where’s my Mr Coulston?”
What the-“Ron?!”
At the sound of her voice, Ron jumped clean off the sofa with a high-pitched-and un-manly-screech. He bumped into Hermione’s coffee table, which sent everything he’d scrounged from her fridge-and Crookshanks, who had been enjoying a few crisps of his own-flying. As the cat yowled and scurried under the sofa, Ron pulled the hood off his head and ruffled his red hair in an attempt to avoid meeting her eyes. The decision to turn and face the music only happened when Hermione shifted her weight from foot-to-foot-a sure sign that she was about to start yelling. He bet her hand was on her hip.
Ron glanced and cringed.
Yes, yes it was.
His face was beet red when he breathed, “Hey Hermione.”
She blinked at him. “Is that all you have to say to me?” When he said nothing, her other hand went to her hip. “What the hell are you doing in my flat at almost one in the morning? Why are you watching movies with my cat? I was about to hex the muffins out of you!” Hermione paused and sniffed the air. “And why the hell does it smell like pie and cheese!”
“I was waiting for you, and I got hungry.” Which was a bit of an understatement. Ron was nearly ravenous by the time he got there. Harry’s cabinets were always empty…or locked.
Finally, she moved out of the doorway and into her sitting room to assess the damage. She paused when she reached the sofa. How much food had he eaten? Better yet, was there anything left? “Do I still have butter?”
Ron paled. “Uhh…”
“Margarine?”
“Erm…”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Ron!”
“Sorry.” His demur apology sounded a little too dejected for her tastes. It snuffed out the anger that had started to flare behind her eyes. He looked a mess. His hair was wilder than Harry’s on a good day, and there was a yellow stain on the centre of his jumper. Probably mustard.
“Missed your mouth again?” she joked.
Ron looked down and shrugged weakly.
Hermione frowned. She’d never really seen him so…depressed. Not even when the Cannons didn’t make it to the playoffs his first year. Not even when she decided to end things between them. He took most everything in stride. After the war, Ron had transformed into the ‘we’ll make it next year’ and the ‘you’re right about us’ man. But not now. Right now, he looked as if he’d lost his last friend on Earth.
“I would still be at Harry’s, but he had some Auror thing to do tonight. I didn’t want to be alone, so I asked him for your passcode, but I’ll just…go back to Harry’s and wait.”
“No, no. You can stay. Just…go shower. You smell like butterbeer and burritos.”
While Ron showered in the guest bathroom, Hermione kept herself busy despite her fatigue. She cleaned the mess he’d made of her den, eliminated the food odours, and managed to coax Crookshanks from underneath the sofa by waving the remote control in front of him. Then, she went to Harry’s to pick up a set of changing clothes for Ron…and heard Harry snoring away in his room. Curious. Instead of barging in on his shower to demand answers for why he lied, she laid his clothes on the toilet after asking, “Still alive?” and receiving a muttered response. When Hermione heard the shower cut off, she raided her secret food stash, and was done munching on her chocolate chip cookies long before he came dragging into the living room with wet hair.
“Thanks Hermione, and I’m real sorry about the mess I made.”
“It’s fine. We can finish…watching whatever movie...” she glanced at the screen. “Never Been Kissed? Really? I don’t own that-”
“It’s Pansy’s favourite. She knows it by heart.” Hermione’s eyebrow rose. Pansy Parkinson watched Muggle movies? Bizarre. As if he’d heard her internal query, Ron said, “The telly was the only Muggle invention that Pansy said she could respect. There’s nothing like it in the wizarding world, she said.”
“Oh…maybe we should watch something different…”
Ron sighed. “No, that’s okay.”
“You’re really broken up over Pansy, huh?”
“I love her.” Not past tense. Present. As in, he presently wasn’t over her.
This was the main reason they had decided not to interfere-or even comment-on the other’s love life. It had been hard enough for them to preserve their friendship after their pathetic attempt at a relationship went up into flames, without them meddling in the other’s business. And, really, what could she say or do to make him feel better? Move on? There are other witches in the sea and witches out there more suitable-and nicer-than Pansy Parkinson? None of that even sounded right in her head. It sounded bitter and made her look like a jealous ex-which she was not, for the record.
So, to fill the tense moments following his comment, Hermione went to fetch blankets and Ron ventured to her kitchen for more food.
“You honestly can’t be hungry,” she called after him.
Ron stared at her empty refrigerator. “I eat when I’m depressed.” Then, he opened her freezer. Jackpot.
She relaxed on the sofa. “And happy and sad and…what is that?”
He’d returned from her kitchen with the very last item from her freezer. It was wrapped in foil paper that he was tentatively peeling off. “Looks like a piece of key lime pie.” Ron plopped down next to her.
“I have no idea how long it’s been-”
It was gone in three bites.
When Ron didn’t drop dead, Hermione decided to restart the movie. Minutes in, she was frowning at the telly as Ron’s mood declined even further. Never Been Kissed had always left her with mixed feelings, which was why she’d never bothered to purchase a copy of it. Whenever she watched it, the romantic in her always got lost, busy imagining what it would be like when she finally found the elusive ‘one’…and if he would look like Mr Coulson. And then reality would smack her in the face and remind her that in the real world, men like that didn’t go for frumpy copy editors.
It was a huge let down.
When the credits started rolling, Hermione turned to her best friend and sweetly asked, “So, Ron, why did you really come here?”
Ron went white. He wasn’t sure why, but that tone of voice made him want to wet his trousers like he did when Mum caught him playing show-and-tell games with his third cousin, Darla, behind the shed.
“Harry’s at home, snoring.”
“Oh,” he laughed nervously. “He-he must’ve g-gotten back after I-I left.”
Plausible, but he was hiding something. She could smell it. “Ron,” she patted his knee. “You’re not being honest with me.”
“Of c-course I am,” he gave a high-pitched laugh and focused on anything but her. Crookshanks gave him a disapproving look. Traitor.
“Ron.”
He focused on the mantle of her fireplace. Were those pictures new?
“Ronald Bilius Weasley, look at me.” Her voice took on a sterner quality.
Blue eyes drifted to the blank telly screen. “La, la, la….” If he didn’t look at her, he’d be just fine. Just fine.
Hermione shifted next to him and decided to use another tactic. “I’m not going to get mad, promise.”
Without thinking, his head whipped in her direction. “Oh yes you will. Malfoy-”
“Malfoy?” she shrieked.
“Oops.” He clasped both hands over his mouth.
It took some work and a little magic, but she was successful in pulling his hands away from his mouth. “What did Malfoy say?”
Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise at the very mention of his name. It was a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling that she eviscerated as soon as she could. When she could think about what Ron had said, the tingling in her fingers stopped. What had Malfoy done? Harry had been unusually accepting of her refusal to help Ron win back Pansy. He would’ve persisted for days, but he hadn’t so much as mentioned it since. Well, the only time she’d seen him since that strange meeting. Hermione had been too busy to be suspicious, and now she was paying for it.
“Tell me, Ron.”
And he cracked. “He said-he told me to come over here and convince you because they couldn’t. He said that with a little push, you’d help, despite our agreement about not interfering.”
“Why would he have the audacity to think that I’d cave just because of you?”
“He said you would because it’s important to me.”
She frowned, lost in thought. “He didn’t say those exact words, did he?”
“Hell no. This is Malfoy we’re talking about. I had to paraphrase. A lot.” He looked at her, a bit sheepish. “So are you?”
◊ ◊ ◊
Draco Malfoy was known in every Muggle café within a five mile radius of his office. He was in and out of them all day, every day. He always picked up a coffee on his way to whatever destination he was headed towards. Whether it be another meeting or back to his office.
It was no different that morning.
The hour was early; slightly earlier than he was used to, but he’d been oddly restless and unable to stay home. Dawn was a couple of hours away when he walked out of the café, coffee in hand. He could’ve easily Apparated directly to his office, but decided to walk the short distance instead. The air was crisp and cold. The sky was leaden and brooding. It would rain soon, and he didn’t want to get caught in it. Luckily, his schedule didn’t require him to leave his office much. Just meetings with his Board of Trustees, his accountants, and a few potential parchment buyers.
He could’ve come in much later, but Draco liked arriving to work before anyone else. He enjoyed the silence a quiet office provided because it was the best way to and prepare for the day ahead and his high-strung assistant, Medora. She drove him insane during the very best of times, but she was very exceptional at her job.
With the exception of the night crew and security, the Dunder-Malfoy building was nearly vacant when he arrived. He gave a nod to the old wizard, who stood in the centre of the lobby, before heading in the direction of the elevator. The ride up to the fourth floor was quiet and he serenely sipped on his coffee. Muggles made the best coffee, he was convinced. They weren’t nearly as incompetent as his father had thought.
They weren’t nearly as incompetent as his father had thought. Draco frowned. His father had been wrong about a lot of things, but he forced himself not to think about it and walked past the waiting area, Medora’s desk, and unlocked the door to his office with a wave of his hand. He stepped in and…blinked.
Hermione Granger was sitting quite comfortably in his chair.
Waiting.
Draco almost dropped his coffee.
Hermione, on the other hand, appreciated the ‘just-shit-my-trousers’ look upon his face.
She was slightly reclined, sipping on her coffee and reading the contents of a green folder. Granger was wearing a teal skirt and jacket, and to his dismay, he noticed that the heels she wore made her short legs look infinitely longer. She had nice legs. And he’d gotten a nice view of them because they were propped up on a stack of financial folders his accountant had left on his desk-green folders. “What the hell are you doing, Granger?”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon, Malfoy!” she said pleasantly. There was a hint of a glare on her face and an undercurrent of steel in her voice that told him just how false her greeting was.
It took several moments for him to find his voice. “How did you get in here? I have Anti-Apparition wards set up for anyone who isn’t me.”
“Manipulation, but I’m sure you’re very familiar with that tactic,” she answered accusingly. “Using a heartbroken Ron to convince me to help me on your little mission was such a classy move.”
Son of a-she knew everything. No matter how good she looked in that skirt, right then, he couldn’t stand her. Potter was right. Granger was always two steps ahead. What in the hell had that oaf said to her? Weasley was supposed to convince her without bringing him up.
“Do you deny it,” she asked, raising her eyebrows daringly.
“Of course not. I’d do it again, only I’d revise my plan so you wouldn’t be sitting in my office at six in the morning.”
“Sending Ron wasn’t a bad idea in theory, but it proved to be a tactical error in the end. Put a little pressure on him and he’ll squeal like a stuck pig.” She glanced at her watch. There was plenty of time before her next order of business.
“I’ll remember that.” Draco murmured as he walked towards the desk, closing the door behind him with a wave of his finger. “Now, why exactly are you reading my company’s financial statements?”
“I was bored.” Hermione shrugged. And curious, but she didn’t tell him that. Instead, she said, “Did you know that you can increase revenue by tweaking a few marketing strategies in your company? Dunder-Malfoy might be the top parchment company in Western Europe, but your competitors are right at your heels and your salespeople are getting lazy. If you provide more incentives, perhaps they will become more aggressive. According to this.” She tossed the green folder she had been perusing and it landed wide open on his blotter. “You had a surplus this past year and didn’t hand out any raises. Not smart, Malfoy.” She shook her head admonishingly. “Not smart at all.”
Draco frowned.
She gracefully dropped her legs from his desk before jabbing her finger at the paper the folder was open to. “And your accountant is an idiot. There are two mathematical errors in that statement alone. Sloppy work at its finest.”
Draco glowered at her. “Is there an actual point to your visit, Granger?”
Fluidly, she pushed the chair out, standing up. He didn’t notice the manila envelope on his desk until she picked it up and handed it to him. “I’ve decided to help. Not for your sake or Harry’s, but Ron’s. He was honest and upfront about it.”
Looks like Weasley could do something right, after all.
“Now, I’ve taken a good look at your company spending while sitting here, and it looks like you’re pretty cheap-”
“I prefer the term frugal,” he told her as he set down his coffee on the sideboard next to his Fanged-Geranium.
Bemusedly, she quirked her mouth. “Well, ‘cheap’ is the one you’re going to get. Your charitable market is non-existent. You’ve never sponsored a charity-you’ve never sponsored anything. Forced altruism and value of goodwill have gone up in recent years, Malfoy, and you need to jump on the bandwagon before your buyers decide to leave you behind. Besides, there are benefits. You can write it off on your taxes, for starts. Also, recent studies statistically validate the fact that companies that are charitable have improved financial performance, enhanced brand image and reputation, increased sales and customer loyalty, and increased ability to attract and retain employees.”
Draco opened the envelope and pulled out its contents while she talked. There was so much written on at least twelve pieces of parchment in Granger’s neat handwriting that he’d have to read it later. He was about to walk around to sit down in his chair, but stopped when he recognised that the parchment she’d used was made by one of his competitors. It made him frown inexplicably. “So, what does this have to do with your plan to get Weasley and Pansy back together?”
With an air of superiority, she tucked her fluffy hair behind her ear. “To help your company and Ron, I’ve orchestrated a singles auction that your company will sponsor. It’s being hosted by W.O.W.R, which stands for Wizarding World Orphan Relief, and I suggest that you find as much out about them as humanly possible in the next twenty-four hours. I plan to have your company’s publicity team announce it later on today-”
He was so shocked that he barely kept his mouth from falling open. “How did you manage that?”
“I’m good at what I do.” Granger smiled. It was genuine, cunning, and made his stomach do flip with momentary nausea. Damn.
“The event is set in a week, and I’ve set the ball in motion to expand the event from ten witches and wizards to thirty. I already have a journalist working on an article about the event to place into today’s Prophet. It will discuss your company’s interest in the W.O.W.R., the organization itself, and a ‘casting call’ of sorts for twenty additional single witches and wizard willing to participate in a date auction. Questionaires will be due on Monday to give us enough time to sort through them and contact the lucky twenty. I got them to print the questionnaire card the W.O.W.R had their original participants fill out, which will likely sell more papers. Win-win for everyone. We’ll be working with volunteers-”
“Wait. Did you say ‘we’?”
“Yes. You’re going to help. It’ll make you look better.”
He thought about arguing, but Draco had learned how and went to pick his battles over the years, and this wasn’t the time or place. “What exactly will I be doing?”
“Well, you’ll be working with me. First and foremost, we’ll be looking for a bigger place to hold the event and we’ll have to do that first...so we can announce it in the Sunday Prophet. We’re going sort through the submissions and determine the rest of the participant list. Ron is participating, so that’s one. We’re also going to send out the letters and-”
“You could just tap your war hero friends.”
“Most of them are married.”
“Surely the Snake Wranlger isn’t married.”
“Actually, Neville married Luna last month.”
“Loony’s married?” Draco made a face. “Now I feel disgustingly single.”
Hermione was agreeing with him before she realised what she was saying. “Tell me about-nevermind.” She froze. Malfoy’s eyebrow cocked curiously, but she diverted her attention elsewhere and continued on. “We have several appointments tomorrow with wizarding venue managers to look for an upgraded location for the event.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Your point? The auction is next Friday. We don’t have a moment to lose. So bring Galleons and Pansy, and wear comfortable shoes. We’ll meet here at nine o’clock, and expect to be out most of the day.”
“Why Pansy?”
“The only way for this to work is if I have a chance to figure out exactly what happened after he gave her the promise ring. Ron was too embarrassed to tell me, and she’s the only other person who knows. It’s really the only way, and I’ve considered them all.” Strangely enough, Draco had no doubt about that. By the time he dragged himself from his thoughts, she was walking to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in twenty minutes with another client.”
“You can use my Floo.”
“Thanks, but no. My driver is downstairs waiting.”
Draco was perplexed. “Driver?”
“Yes, driver. Some people come into work early to get peace and quiet.” She eyed him pointedly, and he wondered how in the hell she managed to figure that out. “But I have a driver. You’ll be meeting him tomorrow, so keep your Muggle-hate down to a minimum.”
“For your information, Granger, I don’t hate Muggles. They make great coffee.”
The corners of Hermione’s lips started to turn up in what was the beginning of a smile. “This is going to be very interesting."
“I was thinking a similar thought.”
That time, she actually did smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Malfoy. Owl me if you have any questions.”
He would. Most definitely.
When Hermione shut the door, Draco collapsed into his chair and spent the next fifteen minutes drinking his coffee and trying to wrap his head around everything she’d said, set up, and accomplished. She wasn’t human, that was for sure. It was half past seven when his mind stopped swirling. Granger had completely changed his day around, put thoughts in his head, and changed his routine. He had to talk to Pansy and public relations team, research the W.O.W.R., and really consider the things she’d told him about his business. Draco picked up the green folder she’d been looking in when he walked in, and sure enough, there were mistakes. He finished the rest of his now tepid coffee in several gulps and calmly set off on his first order of business.
Draco pulled out a clean piece of parchment, dipped his favourite quill into ink, and drafted his accountant’s termination letter.
Effective immediately.
Click here to continue.
Title: Ready Ankles (2/5)
Author: inadaze22
Gift for: thebigdisaster
Rating: Strong PG-13 or the lightest R you’ve ever seen, you decide.
Word Count: 25,412 total
Pairing: Draco/Hermione, Ron/Pansy
Warnings: Nothing too squicky, well, except for if you are squicked out by fluff, angst, humor, and budding romance.
Summary: When Draco and Hermione join forces in an effort to mend a broken relationship, things instantly start to change. Before they know it, nothing is safe anymore. Not the margarine…or even their own hearts.
A/N: Man, where do I start? I’m sure I felt everything between intense frustration and extreme elation while working on this. I wrote a very large part of this in two weeks, but alas, I persevered. *flops* I thought the prompt was interesting. Intractable, but I pulled a Tim Gunn and made it work for me. And I hope it works for you *fingers crossed* Let’s see, Draco’s company name is a homage to my love of The Office. I think I listened to the prompt song (’Which to Bury, Us or the Hatchet’ by Relient K) maybe once in hopes that it would inspire me, but…after playing around with the many types of ‘hatchets’, I got this idea…that wasn’t based on the Relient K song. Go figure. I actually got the title and idea for all the deep-seated drama from a song called ‘Ready Ankles’ by Ace Enders & A Million Different People. YouTube it. It’s a great song. Anyway, I have to thank my beta and all my buddies who cheered me on, right to the end. You guys rule, and so do you, Kalina, for putting this show together. I really hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor, thebigdisaster. All mistakes are mine since I decided to do some adding after it was beta’d. Enjoy!
Two
It was well after midnight when Hermione said, “I’ll be right down,” and set the phone on the receiver. She gathered her purse and briefcase, placed all her unfinished work into a neat pile on her desk, shrugged on her jacket, and left her empty office. Her driver, Ellis, stood patiently beside a silver Sedan. Upon seeing her, he hurried to open the back door.
“Evening, Miss Granger.”
She stopped and gave him a mock angry look. “And here I was thinking we’d finally got passed the stiff formalities.” Ellis Bates had been her driver for just under four years. He was a nice older man, who wore round glasses and was on the short and stout side. Prompt and polite, she constantly asked him to call her ‘Hermione’, but his professional nature had not once wavered. Secretly, she liked that best about him.
“I apologise.”
Hermione slipped into the back of the Sedan, placed her briefcase and purse on the seat beside her, and exhaled. Ellis shut the door behind her and soon, he was pulling off. Truthfully, she could do without the car or on-call chauffeur. There were other more efficient modes of travel. The entire Floo system, right down to the powder, had been modernised. And Apparition was an effective alternative. Both could quickly get her from place-to-place in little to no time. This was why she had a car. Hermione’s days were chaotic, at best. She was endlessly on the go and never spent more than a couple of hours in the same place. With instant travel, she would have run herself ragged much sooner. In the car, she could spend the travel time thinking, relaxing, and preparing for the next thing or problem.
Oh, and Ellis. He was like a second father and she would’ve gone mad without him.
He was loyal, agreeable, and a damn good listener-a trait she admired, but was in short supply.
“You look tired tonight.” Ellis looked at her from the rear-view mirror.
Hermione flashed him a tired smile. “I am. How are Martha and the kids?”
“Very well. Martha wanted to thank you for the gift certificate. Dinner was wonderful.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem, at all.”
“How was your day?”
“Long. Very long.”
“Tell me about it.”
And she did.
It took the entire trip to her flat, but she unloaded the new troubles with the Paris office. “Zara is even more of a perfectionist than I am, and I keep telling Padma that she better be worth the headache she gives me everyday.” She told him about her irritation with Seamus, who was badgering her to give Dean another shot. “There’s nothing wrong with Dean, honest. I’ve known him since I was eleven. He’s attractive and funny, but he’s a terrible conversationalist and listener. When we talk, it seems like everything just flies over his head…if he’s even listening, at all! How can I date someone like that?” Hermione even told him about the conversation she’d had with her mother. “She didn’t get married until she was thirty, and she’s worried about me at twenty-six. It’s ridiculous. She keeps dropping hints about wanting grandchildren and how there are wonderful, available men in Australia, just for me. And she wonders why I’m not flying there for her birthday in June. I can barely take the international phone calls; I don’t think I can take her in person for a week.”
By the time she finished, Ellis, who had been listening quietly, was parking in front of her building. He put the Sedan in park and killed the ignition. “First, I’ve listened to you talk about this Zara woman for weeks and I think no one is worth that kind of irritation, I don’t care how good she is or how many clients will come along with her. Second, you can’t date someone who doesn’t communicate effectively. It never ends well. So stick to your guns and don’t let your friend, Seamus, convince you to change your mind. And third, your mother loves you and wants you to be happy. There must be something you’re saying or doing that isn’t convincing her. Don’t make any excuses when it comes time to visit her. Just go. You’re not going to have forever with her, just think about it.” Ellis smile at her. “Now, it’s late. I’ll pick you up right here at seven.”
“Better make it six-thirty.” At the concerned look on his face, she added, “I’m going to go right in and sleep, promise.”
The ride up to her floor was uneventful. Thankfully. By the time she closed the door behind her, a wave of exhaustion hit her hard and she was in no mood to look at her mail or owl posts. Hermione abandoned her briefcase at the door of her office and trudged into her bedroom, yawning. She heard a strange noise filter from her den, but figured it was Crookshanks. Ever since he figured out how to turn on the telly, it had been a battle to get him off the Ottoman. But Hermione wasn’t going to fight him tonight. He could sit and watch the telly all night for all she cared.
Her answering machine on her bedside blinked, indicating messages, and her stomach rumbled for food, but what she wanted most was sleep. It seemed as if it had been forever since she’d slept more than four hours at any one time. She unbuttoned and shrugged her blouse off, then her skirt and shoes.
A bath. That would be just what she needed to fully relax.
The water was warm, filled with scented bubbles and a vial of potion that would loosen her tired limbs. Music trickled in from the wireless in her room. The only thing missing were candles, but it was perfect enough for her. Hermione sank into the deep, wide tub and gave a contented sigh. Yes, this was perfect. Steam. Moisture. Heat. She took her time, thoroughly soaking before washing off all the grime of the day.
When the music on the wireless changed to a slower melody, it caused an odd image of Draco Malfoy to flash in her mind. It took her back to yesterday’s bogus meeting in The Greenhouse, and back to the way he’d stared at her. The look in his eyes wasn’t heavy with hatred or disgust, but with fire-fire and curiosity. And it made her feel-Hermione dashed the thought away and sunk under the frothy water.
Only when her lungs burned for air did she resurface. The gasp of breath that followed made her cough and ultimately decide that the bath was over. She got out, dried her body and hair, and changed for bed. However, the moment she settled under the covers, her stomach decided that it would no longer be ignored.
“Fine then.” With a low growl of annoyance, Hermione rolled out of bed, mindlessly grabbed her wand, and headed in the direction of the kitchen. And she froze mid-step when she heard more noises. Crunching and mumbling noises, to be exact.
Definitely not Crookshanks.
Stealthily, she walked down the hall, making sure not to be heard. Whoever this was had to a wizard-and a powerful one, at that. Her flat was warded and locked tighter than Draco Malfoy’s wallet. Hermione frowned. She needed a better analogy. A drum. Yes. Perfect. There was only one person who knew the code to get into her flat via Floo, and Harry Potter was not stupid enough to come over after midnight without writing or calling first. With her wand at the ready, Hermione leaned against the wall next to the archway to the living room and peeked in. The telly was on and there was a person wearing a grey hood sitting on her sofa.
Crookshanks was nowhere to be found.
And just when she was about to breathe the hex that would bring them crumbling to their knees, the person let out a great sigh and wistfully asked, “Crook, where’s my Mr Coulston?”
What the-“Ron?!”
At the sound of her voice, Ron jumped clean off the sofa with a high-pitched-and un-manly-screech. He bumped into Hermione’s coffee table, which sent everything he’d scrounged from her fridge-and Crookshanks, who had been enjoying a few crisps of his own-flying. As the cat yowled and scurried under the sofa, Ron pulled the hood off his head and ruffled his red hair in an attempt to avoid meeting her eyes. The decision to turn and face the music only happened when Hermione shifted her weight from foot-to-foot-a sure sign that she was about to start yelling. He bet her hand was on her hip.
Ron glanced and cringed.
Yes, yes it was.
His face was beet red when he breathed, “Hey Hermione.”
She blinked at him. “Is that all you have to say to me?” When he said nothing, her other hand went to her hip. “What the hell are you doing in my flat at almost one in the morning? Why are you watching movies with my cat? I was about to hex the muffins out of you!” Hermione paused and sniffed the air. “And why the hell does it smell like pie and cheese!”
“I was waiting for you, and I got hungry.” Which was a bit of an understatement. Ron was nearly ravenous by the time he got there. Harry’s cabinets were always empty…or locked.
Finally, she moved out of the doorway and into her sitting room to assess the damage. She paused when she reached the sofa. How much food had he eaten? Better yet, was there anything left? “Do I still have butter?”
Ron paled. “Uhh…”
“Margarine?”
“Erm…”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Ron!”
“Sorry.” His demur apology sounded a little too dejected for her tastes. It snuffed out the anger that had started to flare behind her eyes. He looked a mess. His hair was wilder than Harry’s on a good day, and there was a yellow stain on the centre of his jumper. Probably mustard.
“Missed your mouth again?” she joked.
Ron looked down and shrugged weakly.
Hermione frowned. She’d never really seen him so…depressed. Not even when the Cannons didn’t make it to the playoffs his first year. Not even when she decided to end things between them. He took most everything in stride. After the war, Ron had transformed into the ‘we’ll make it next year’ and the ‘you’re right about us’ man. But not now. Right now, he looked as if he’d lost his last friend on Earth.
“I would still be at Harry’s, but he had some Auror thing to do tonight. I didn’t want to be alone, so I asked him for your passcode, but I’ll just…go back to Harry’s and wait.”
“No, no. You can stay. Just…go shower. You smell like butterbeer and burritos.”
While Ron showered in the guest bathroom, Hermione kept herself busy despite her fatigue. She cleaned the mess he’d made of her den, eliminated the food odours, and managed to coax Crookshanks from underneath the sofa by waving the remote control in front of him. Then, she went to Harry’s to pick up a set of changing clothes for Ron…and heard Harry snoring away in his room. Curious. Instead of barging in on his shower to demand answers for why he lied, she laid his clothes on the toilet after asking, “Still alive?” and receiving a muttered response. When Hermione heard the shower cut off, she raided her secret food stash, and was done munching on her chocolate chip cookies long before he came dragging into the living room with wet hair.
“Thanks Hermione, and I’m real sorry about the mess I made.”
“It’s fine. We can finish…watching whatever movie...” she glanced at the screen. “Never Been Kissed? Really? I don’t own that-”
“It’s Pansy’s favourite. She knows it by heart.” Hermione’s eyebrow rose. Pansy Parkinson watched Muggle movies? Bizarre. As if he’d heard her internal query, Ron said, “The telly was the only Muggle invention that Pansy said she could respect. There’s nothing like it in the wizarding world, she said.”
“Oh…maybe we should watch something different…”
Ron sighed. “No, that’s okay.”
“You’re really broken up over Pansy, huh?”
“I love her.” Not past tense. Present. As in, he presently wasn’t over her.
This was the main reason they had decided not to interfere-or even comment-on the other’s love life. It had been hard enough for them to preserve their friendship after their pathetic attempt at a relationship went up into flames, without them meddling in the other’s business. And, really, what could she say or do to make him feel better? Move on? There are other witches in the sea and witches out there more suitable-and nicer-than Pansy Parkinson? None of that even sounded right in her head. It sounded bitter and made her look like a jealous ex-which she was not, for the record.
So, to fill the tense moments following his comment, Hermione went to fetch blankets and Ron ventured to her kitchen for more food.
“You honestly can’t be hungry,” she called after him.
Ron stared at her empty refrigerator. “I eat when I’m depressed.” Then, he opened her freezer. Jackpot.
She relaxed on the sofa. “And happy and sad and…what is that?”
He’d returned from her kitchen with the very last item from her freezer. It was wrapped in foil paper that he was tentatively peeling off. “Looks like a piece of key lime pie.” Ron plopped down next to her.
“I have no idea how long it’s been-”
It was gone in three bites.
When Ron didn’t drop dead, Hermione decided to restart the movie. Minutes in, she was frowning at the telly as Ron’s mood declined even further. Never Been Kissed had always left her with mixed feelings, which was why she’d never bothered to purchase a copy of it. Whenever she watched it, the romantic in her always got lost, busy imagining what it would be like when she finally found the elusive ‘one’…and if he would look like Mr Coulson. And then reality would smack her in the face and remind her that in the real world, men like that didn’t go for frumpy copy editors.
It was a huge let down.
When the credits started rolling, Hermione turned to her best friend and sweetly asked, “So, Ron, why did you really come here?”
Ron went white. He wasn’t sure why, but that tone of voice made him want to wet his trousers like he did when Mum caught him playing show-and-tell games with his third cousin, Darla, behind the shed.
“Harry’s at home, snoring.”
“Oh,” he laughed nervously. “He-he must’ve g-gotten back after I-I left.”
Plausible, but he was hiding something. She could smell it. “Ron,” she patted his knee. “You’re not being honest with me.”
“Of c-course I am,” he gave a high-pitched laugh and focused on anything but her. Crookshanks gave him a disapproving look. Traitor.
“Ron.”
He focused on the mantle of her fireplace. Were those pictures new?
“Ronald Bilius Weasley, look at me.” Her voice took on a sterner quality.
Blue eyes drifted to the blank telly screen. “La, la, la….” If he didn’t look at her, he’d be just fine. Just fine.
Hermione shifted next to him and decided to use another tactic. “I’m not going to get mad, promise.”
Without thinking, his head whipped in her direction. “Oh yes you will. Malfoy-”
“Malfoy?” she shrieked.
“Oops.” He clasped both hands over his mouth.
It took some work and a little magic, but she was successful in pulling his hands away from his mouth. “What did Malfoy say?”
Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise at the very mention of his name. It was a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling that she eviscerated as soon as she could. When she could think about what Ron had said, the tingling in her fingers stopped. What had Malfoy done? Harry had been unusually accepting of her refusal to help Ron win back Pansy. He would’ve persisted for days, but he hadn’t so much as mentioned it since. Well, the only time she’d seen him since that strange meeting. Hermione had been too busy to be suspicious, and now she was paying for it.
“Tell me, Ron.”
And he cracked. “He said-he told me to come over here and convince you because they couldn’t. He said that with a little push, you’d help, despite our agreement about not interfering.”
“Why would he have the audacity to think that I’d cave just because of you?”
“He said you would because it’s important to me.”
She frowned, lost in thought. “He didn’t say those exact words, did he?”
“Hell no. This is Malfoy we’re talking about. I had to paraphrase. A lot.” He looked at her, a bit sheepish. “So are you?”
◊ ◊ ◊
Draco Malfoy was known in every Muggle café within a five mile radius of his office. He was in and out of them all day, every day. He always picked up a coffee on his way to whatever destination he was headed towards. Whether it be another meeting or back to his office.
It was no different that morning.
The hour was early; slightly earlier than he was used to, but he’d been oddly restless and unable to stay home. Dawn was a couple of hours away when he walked out of the café, coffee in hand. He could’ve easily Apparated directly to his office, but decided to walk the short distance instead. The air was crisp and cold. The sky was leaden and brooding. It would rain soon, and he didn’t want to get caught in it. Luckily, his schedule didn’t require him to leave his office much. Just meetings with his Board of Trustees, his accountants, and a few potential parchment buyers.
He could’ve come in much later, but Draco liked arriving to work before anyone else. He enjoyed the silence a quiet office provided because it was the best way to and prepare for the day ahead and his high-strung assistant, Medora. She drove him insane during the very best of times, but she was very exceptional at her job.
With the exception of the night crew and security, the Dunder-Malfoy building was nearly vacant when he arrived. He gave a nod to the old wizard, who stood in the centre of the lobby, before heading in the direction of the elevator. The ride up to the fourth floor was quiet and he serenely sipped on his coffee. Muggles made the best coffee, he was convinced. They weren’t nearly as incompetent as his father had thought.
They weren’t nearly as incompetent as his father had thought. Draco frowned. His father had been wrong about a lot of things, but he forced himself not to think about it and walked past the waiting area, Medora’s desk, and unlocked the door to his office with a wave of his hand. He stepped in and…blinked.
Hermione Granger was sitting quite comfortably in his chair.
Waiting.
Draco almost dropped his coffee.
Hermione, on the other hand, appreciated the ‘just-shit-my-trousers’ look upon his face.
She was slightly reclined, sipping on her coffee and reading the contents of a green folder. Granger was wearing a teal skirt and jacket, and to his dismay, he noticed that the heels she wore made her short legs look infinitely longer. She had nice legs. And he’d gotten a nice view of them because they were propped up on a stack of financial folders his accountant had left on his desk-green folders. “What the hell are you doing, Granger?”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon, Malfoy!” she said pleasantly. There was a hint of a glare on her face and an undercurrent of steel in her voice that told him just how false her greeting was.
It took several moments for him to find his voice. “How did you get in here? I have Anti-Apparition wards set up for anyone who isn’t me.”
“Manipulation, but I’m sure you’re very familiar with that tactic,” she answered accusingly. “Using a heartbroken Ron to convince me to help me on your little mission was such a classy move.”
Son of a-she knew everything. No matter how good she looked in that skirt, right then, he couldn’t stand her. Potter was right. Granger was always two steps ahead. What in the hell had that oaf said to her? Weasley was supposed to convince her without bringing him up.
“Do you deny it,” she asked, raising her eyebrows daringly.
“Of course not. I’d do it again, only I’d revise my plan so you wouldn’t be sitting in my office at six in the morning.”
“Sending Ron wasn’t a bad idea in theory, but it proved to be a tactical error in the end. Put a little pressure on him and he’ll squeal like a stuck pig.” She glanced at her watch. There was plenty of time before her next order of business.
“I’ll remember that.” Draco murmured as he walked towards the desk, closing the door behind him with a wave of his finger. “Now, why exactly are you reading my company’s financial statements?”
“I was bored.” Hermione shrugged. And curious, but she didn’t tell him that. Instead, she said, “Did you know that you can increase revenue by tweaking a few marketing strategies in your company? Dunder-Malfoy might be the top parchment company in Western Europe, but your competitors are right at your heels and your salespeople are getting lazy. If you provide more incentives, perhaps they will become more aggressive. According to this.” She tossed the green folder she had been perusing and it landed wide open on his blotter. “You had a surplus this past year and didn’t hand out any raises. Not smart, Malfoy.” She shook her head admonishingly. “Not smart at all.”
Draco frowned.
She gracefully dropped her legs from his desk before jabbing her finger at the paper the folder was open to. “And your accountant is an idiot. There are two mathematical errors in that statement alone. Sloppy work at its finest.”
Draco glowered at her. “Is there an actual point to your visit, Granger?”
Fluidly, she pushed the chair out, standing up. He didn’t notice the manila envelope on his desk until she picked it up and handed it to him. “I’ve decided to help. Not for your sake or Harry’s, but Ron’s. He was honest and upfront about it.”
Looks like Weasley could do something right, after all.
“Now, I’ve taken a good look at your company spending while sitting here, and it looks like you’re pretty cheap-”
“I prefer the term frugal,” he told her as he set down his coffee on the sideboard next to his Fanged-Geranium.
Bemusedly, she quirked her mouth. “Well, ‘cheap’ is the one you’re going to get. Your charitable market is non-existent. You’ve never sponsored a charity-you’ve never sponsored anything. Forced altruism and value of goodwill have gone up in recent years, Malfoy, and you need to jump on the bandwagon before your buyers decide to leave you behind. Besides, there are benefits. You can write it off on your taxes, for starts. Also, recent studies statistically validate the fact that companies that are charitable have improved financial performance, enhanced brand image and reputation, increased sales and customer loyalty, and increased ability to attract and retain employees.”
Draco opened the envelope and pulled out its contents while she talked. There was so much written on at least twelve pieces of parchment in Granger’s neat handwriting that he’d have to read it later. He was about to walk around to sit down in his chair, but stopped when he recognised that the parchment she’d used was made by one of his competitors. It made him frown inexplicably. “So, what does this have to do with your plan to get Weasley and Pansy back together?”
With an air of superiority, she tucked her fluffy hair behind her ear. “To help your company and Ron, I’ve orchestrated a singles auction that your company will sponsor. It’s being hosted by W.O.W.R, which stands for Wizarding World Orphan Relief, and I suggest that you find as much out about them as humanly possible in the next twenty-four hours. I plan to have your company’s publicity team announce it later on today-”
He was so shocked that he barely kept his mouth from falling open. “How did you manage that?”
“I’m good at what I do.” Granger smiled. It was genuine, cunning, and made his stomach do flip with momentary nausea. Damn.
“The event is set in a week, and I’ve set the ball in motion to expand the event from ten witches and wizards to thirty. I already have a journalist working on an article about the event to place into today’s Prophet. It will discuss your company’s interest in the W.O.W.R., the organization itself, and a ‘casting call’ of sorts for twenty additional single witches and wizard willing to participate in a date auction. Questionaires will be due on Monday to give us enough time to sort through them and contact the lucky twenty. I got them to print the questionnaire card the W.O.W.R had their original participants fill out, which will likely sell more papers. Win-win for everyone. We’ll be working with volunteers-”
“Wait. Did you say ‘we’?”
“Yes. You’re going to help. It’ll make you look better.”
He thought about arguing, but Draco had learned how and went to pick his battles over the years, and this wasn’t the time or place. “What exactly will I be doing?”
“Well, you’ll be working with me. First and foremost, we’ll be looking for a bigger place to hold the event and we’ll have to do that first...so we can announce it in the Sunday Prophet. We’re going sort through the submissions and determine the rest of the participant list. Ron is participating, so that’s one. We’re also going to send out the letters and-”
“You could just tap your war hero friends.”
“Most of them are married.”
“Surely the Snake Wranlger isn’t married.”
“Actually, Neville married Luna last month.”
“Loony’s married?” Draco made a face. “Now I feel disgustingly single.”
Hermione was agreeing with him before she realised what she was saying. “Tell me about-nevermind.” She froze. Malfoy’s eyebrow cocked curiously, but she diverted her attention elsewhere and continued on. “We have several appointments tomorrow with wizarding venue managers to look for an upgraded location for the event.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Your point? The auction is next Friday. We don’t have a moment to lose. So bring Galleons and Pansy, and wear comfortable shoes. We’ll meet here at nine o’clock, and expect to be out most of the day.”
“Why Pansy?”
“The only way for this to work is if I have a chance to figure out exactly what happened after he gave her the promise ring. Ron was too embarrassed to tell me, and she’s the only other person who knows. It’s really the only way, and I’ve considered them all.” Strangely enough, Draco had no doubt about that. By the time he dragged himself from his thoughts, she was walking to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in twenty minutes with another client.”
“You can use my Floo.”
“Thanks, but no. My driver is downstairs waiting.”
Draco was perplexed. “Driver?”
“Yes, driver. Some people come into work early to get peace and quiet.” She eyed him pointedly, and he wondered how in the hell she managed to figure that out. “But I have a driver. You’ll be meeting him tomorrow, so keep your Muggle-hate down to a minimum.”
“For your information, Granger, I don’t hate Muggles. They make great coffee.”
The corners of Hermione’s lips started to turn up in what was the beginning of a smile. “This is going to be very interesting."
“I was thinking a similar thought.”
That time, she actually did smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Malfoy. Owl me if you have any questions.”
He would. Most definitely.
When Hermione shut the door, Draco collapsed into his chair and spent the next fifteen minutes drinking his coffee and trying to wrap his head around everything she’d said, set up, and accomplished. She wasn’t human, that was for sure. It was half past seven when his mind stopped swirling. Granger had completely changed his day around, put thoughts in his head, and changed his routine. He had to talk to Pansy and public relations team, research the W.O.W.R., and really consider the things she’d told him about his business. Draco picked up the green folder she’d been looking in when he walked in, and sure enough, there were mistakes. He finished the rest of his now tepid coffee in several gulps and calmly set off on his first order of business.
Draco pulled out a clean piece of parchment, dipped his favourite quill into ink, and drafted his accountant’s termination letter.
Effective immediately.
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