Ready Ankles (4/5) - a gift for thebigdisaster
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Title: Ready Ankles (4/5)
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!
Four
Pansy started awake and groaned when she saw the time.
2:46AM.
Sleep was evading her with expert precision. And she knew why.
Upon returning from a Saturday evening out with Daphne, Pansy had been exhausted. However, instead of napping, she’d taken the time to Floo call her mother where she spent several minutes listening to the summation of her day and answering her probing questions.
Yes, she was fine.
No, she had not started dating a new pureblood.
Yes, she would be at dinner on Friday, but only if the auction didn’t run over.
The moment her mother took a breath, Pansy had made her excuses, ended the call, and attempted to wash off the stress and dirt of the day with a hot shower. It hadn’t work. The shower revived her and left her a restless mess. And for half an hour, she’d sat and smoked one of Daphne’s cigarettes while listening to the muted sounds of the Wireless. Pansy tried to think about any and everything, but thoughts of Ron intruded and inhabited the four corners of her mind, forcing her to admit yet again that she was unhappy.
And it was that misery that sent her pacing in the room, stalking an imaginary dragon in her head. She’d lied to Granger about, well, everything. She knew exactly what had happened after Ron gave her promise ring. She knew the awful things she’d said and done…and the guilt had begun to manifest into self-loathing and agitation. Pansy had been the one who walked out on him, but for hours, she paced and internally debated her decision.
Was her leaving good or bad? Right or wrong?
It had become a convoluted mess in her mind that couldn’t be sorted.
By two-thirty, she’d succumbed to guilt, misery, and then sleep that only lasted sixteen minutes.
She didn’t want to move, but knew lying in bed would only make matters worse. So she indulged herself with half a container of chocolate ice-cream, watched a late night movie, and sulked at nothing in particular. Maybe at herself? Pansy didn’t know, nor did she want to think about it. Work seemed like the best option and she successfully dived into her latest project. It was a party for a five-year-old, but she worked on planning ever detail as if it was the biggest party of her career and another two hours passed in the blink of an eye. She yawned for the first time at four-thirty and began gathering her work into a neat pile. The black address book Daphne had used as a personal ad earlier had accidentally been shuffled in with the folders and files for the party. Pansy took it out, tossing it aside with a casual flick of her wrist.
Daphne was a lot like her mother. Neither of them approved of her relationship with Ron. Apparently their relationship went against the natural order of things.
Slytherins did not date Weasleys.
Needless to say, she’d been thrilled when Pansy had come to her the night she’d left him. Daphne didn’t even wait an hour before she started trying to set her up with some other bloke. Pansy, who was an expert at avoiding commitment before Ron, was not interested in being pushed into something that would only be temporary.
Funny how things could change in one year.
When Pansy finished reorganising everything and slipped it all into her briefcase, Pansy picked up the book and began leafing through it.
Baddock, Malcolm.
“Too young.”
Cauldwell, Owen.
“Too Hufflepuff.”
Why did Daphne have his address? She made a mental note to badger her about it later.
Goldstein, Anthony.
“Too gay.” Literally. He had a partner and everything. It was a shame, really.
Goyle, Gregory.
“Too…Goyle.”
Pansy closed the address book and tossed it on the floor. Her thoughts had brought the fatigue back, fuddling her brain with too many things to deal with on less than four hours of sleep in the past two days. She’d lain down with a book and fell back to sleep with it over her face. On waking for the second time, she didn’t know what had roused her, and she glanced at the clock to see if her alarm had rung. It was five in the morning. The Wireless was still playing, sending strains of easy-listening music across the room.
“Pans?”
She looked in the direction of the voice and saw the door to her room open. A single hand came around the frame, followed by an arm, then a shoulder, then the rest of Ron. She knew it was him. The light in the hallway highlighted his red hair, but she still squinted and called out, “Ron?”
“Shit, I woke you up, didn’t I?” he said, coming full into the room.
“It’s five in the morning…”
“Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well and-”
Pansy felt like she’d eaten a mouthful of sand. “I haven’t been asleep that long.” Or at all. “Shut the door, will you.”
Ron did as she asked, closing the door with great care. Then he just stood there, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his sweats as she got out of bed and wrapped herself in a blanket. He was nervous-had been for the better part of the night. He’d locked himself in his room with enough food from the one cupboard Harry left open to feed a family of five, and stared at the address to Daphne’s flat. The paper was still in his pocket, stained with water and oily fingerprints from the crisps, but he’d made it. Not that it really mattered. Even though he’d overcome his trepidation, Ron was still wary and unsure around her. Pansy padded across the room until she was standing within touching distance, but she didn’t say anything for several minutes.
He had hair in his eyes and Pansy had to restrain herself from reaching up and brushing it away. She’d done it every day since the first, and habits were a hard thing to break. She knew that for certain. “How’d you know I was here?”
Her question was asked so softly that Ron had to replay it in his head to figure out what she’d said. “How did I-oh, I forced it out of Hermione.”
She blinked at him, unconvinced.
A blush warmed his cheeks. “Okay, she told me…after she hexed me so hard I almost forgot how to eat.”
Pansy wanted to smile, but couldn’t because she felt a wave of guilt so strong it made her nauseous. He didn’t deserve that. You did, she thought sadly. Because she’d lied to Granger. Because this entire mess was her fault, right from the beginning. Because Ron was just so-Pansy nearly wretched. She had to turn and sit on the end of the bed before she lost even more control. “Go home, Ron. Daphne will curse the bollocks off of you if she found out that you were in her flat.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do,” she retorted sharply.
“That’s hard to believe.”
The bitterness in his voice cut like broken glass, but she maintained what was left of her composure. “You’re right. I don’t. Not at all.”
Ron stared at her. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Pansy decided the answer would be better left unsaid. After drawing her knees into her chest, she rested her head on her knees and took several deep breaths to calm down. More than exhaustion and nausea, she was disgusted with herself for feeling so awful. This was supposed to be for the best, right? Then why did she feel this way? Why couldn’t she sleep? Why did she feel like crying all the time? “Just go.”
“Not a chance. Not until-” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t look at him. “Did Granger tell you to say that?”
“Yes, but I would’ve said it anyway if I knew where you were. I’m sorry. I really am. And I want you to come home.” When Pansy didn’t say anything immediately, Ron frowned. “You’re mad at me.”
“And you’re just as intelligent as you’ve always been.”
Ron bristled at her cold words and unconsciously took a step backwards.
Pansy watched him awkwardly stare at his shoes before asking, “Aren’t you tired of me yet?”
Perplexed, he ran a hand through his hair and briefly considered yanking it all out. “Am I supposed to be?”
“Yes! I’ve been terrible to you lately, and you just take it. You-”
“I know it’s not the real Pansy saying all those things, so…” Ron trailed off with a shrug.
“You’re too nice to me.”
“Because I love you.”
Pansy flinched. “Don’t say that. Stop saying that.”
“I know you don’t want to hear it and I know you might hate me, but it’s the truth.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Later, she would beat herself up over her next words, but right then, she couldn’t let him sit here and think that. “I meant…no, I don’t hate you.”
He didn’t understand. “But you’re mad at me.” Kneeling in front of her, Ron pondered his words before he said, “I know what I said was wrong, and it doesn’t mean shit to you at this point, but-”
Pansy hushed him. “What you said didn’t make me leave, so don’t punish yourself like that. Truthfully, I left because of me. I didn’t leave because of you.”
“So come home for me. I’ll sleep on the couch and I won’t tell you that I love you. We’ll talk tomorrow. Really talk. We’ll figure this out, Pans, and we’ll do and be better after this.”
Her heart felt incredibly heavy and she felt fifty years older. “I-”
Ron cut her off, voice thick with determination. “I know things have been rough for us, but we’ve had good times. Loads of them. Like when we-”
“Please,” Pansy’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Please stop.”
“I’ll stop if you don’t give up.”
A sad smile spread across her face. “You know I’m not known for my stamina.”
“So? I’m not known for my patience, but I’m willing. Are you?”
◊ ◊ ◊
The library was crowded to the point of suffocation when Hermione walked in. And noisy. Teenagers walked around in packs, chatting loudly while annoyed adults stared on but said nothing. She gave a smile to the tired-looking librarian that knew her by name. She was timid and passive, which weren’t traits that would ensure a silent library. One of the witches in the loudest group busted out laughing, and Hermione shook her head.
Madam Pince wouldn’t have any of this nonsense.
Not in her library.
Because no one else would, Hermione silently sent a Silencing Charm in the direction of the laughing witch, rendering her temporarily mute while her friends looked around to see who had sent the charm. Two Stinging hexes and Trip Jinxes later, and the group of girls were running out of the library. Fast.
But at least they were quiet about it.
“Thank you, Miss Granger.” The librarian smiled meekly.
After hitting two running boys with a Trip Jinx that sent them sprawling on the carpeted floor, she turned around and said, “It’s not a problem.”
“Mr Malfoy is waiting for you over there.” She pointed him out with a shy smile.
He was sitting at a table near the back wall, lazily flipping through a book. Early again.
A little girl ran past his table with a book for her mother, who was sitting two tables away. The scowl he gave that woman was fierce enough to make her gather everything and usher her daughter to another section. Great, Hermione though as she exhaled and walked towards him. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with a grumpy Malfoy. She’d dealt with her fair share of irritable clients and Zara today, and right then, all she wanted to do was compile the list of celebrities, send out the letters inviting them to participate in the auction, and go home.
Draco looked up when she sat down across from him. “This place is a bloody zoo. I can’t even think.”
“Hello to you, too, Malfoy.”
It didn’t go unnoticed that this was the first time she’d used the word ‘hello’ while greeting him. Even if it was sarcastic.
“Are you going to be a temperamental arse tonight?” she asked.
“I hadn’t planned on it, but who knows?” he shrugged casually. “It’s been a long enough day. Anything is possible.”
“I bet that your long day wasn’t as long as mine.”
“Try me.” Draco challenged.
“What did you do?”
As a prelude, Draco inhaled deeply and shut the book he had been reading. “Besides the general meetings and whatnot, I interviewed five people to fill the position of my accountant and I presented list of employee incentives to the Board of Trustees. I’m looking to get them implemented by the start of Fourth Quarter.”
“Ah,” Hermione smiled for the first time in several hours. “Taking my advice?”
“Surprised?”
“Not really. Your pocket means more to you than your vanity.”
“Or maybe I just respect your opinion.”
She considered the possibility for a moment, but didn’t say anything else. “Any prospects?”
“Two.”
“Would you like me to screen them for you?”
“Already done.” He shifted in his seat. “Now, tell me about your day.”
She looked at him with wary eyes. “You were serious? You want to know about my day?” That was…strange.
“I don’t say, ask, or do anything that I don’t mean.”
“Okay then.” Hermione tried not to smile. “Well, it started at like six in the morning with Ron barging in. Pansy didn’t take him back like I’d anticipated. She told him she needed time.” Hermione glanced at the book he’d been reading. Volume two of The Philosophy of the Mundane. She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her. “I’m starting to think that there’s more to it than she’s saying, which irritates me to no end.”
Draco shrugged. “Pansy’s a little unpredictable. Believe me. I never expected her and Weasley to make it two days, much less a year.”
“Why do you say that?” Hermione leaned forward, her brows coming together with curiosity.
“Pansy had high hopes to…secure a husband. Even after the war. Her mother set her up with several pure-blooded wizards; all who used and disposed of her. From what I remember, she gave up on getting married and that’s when the sporadic dating started. No wizard made it more than a few weeks with her, if that, but I thought it stopped with Weasley.”
Hermione stored his words away for future reference.
“So far,” he flashed a very rare smile. “Your day isn’t matching up to mine at all.”
“Well, I’m not nearly done yet. I got to work late because my cat sat on my alarm clock, which would have been okay any other day, but not this one. I walked into a maelstrom of insignificant drama, most of it stemming from the new Paris office. But Padma handled that for me since she’s there. I’m not looking forward to my trip there anymore.”
“Trip?”
“Next week. Purely business. I won’t have enough time to see anything.”
“Pity.”
“That, it is.” Hermione agreed with a nod. “Anyway, I had seven meetings back-to-back and I had to help out with the auction’s media blitz and I helped plan the order of events.”
“The order?”
“Yes. First, the president of W.O.W.R. will show everyone what their organization is all about during a brief-and I do mean brief-presentation. I told her to make it entertaining. Second, a Weird Sisters cover band will perform a few songs. And then the auction will begin.”
“This is turning into quite an event.”
“I know. There will be approximately two hundred people in attendance, which is better than I anticipated.”
“How many people ended up sending submissions?”
“Just under a hundred. I have all their submissions in my briefcase. I made my interns transfer all the information to Muggle notecards. Makes them easier to read.”
“Interesting.”
“Very.” Hermione tapped her fingers on the table. “The auction is looking to be a huge success since you’ve stepped in to sponsor it. Several restaurants and spas have stepped up and are donating meals and services to go along with the eligible bachelor or bachelorette at the auction, which will inspire more bidding action. I ran my assistant nearly ragged today because I sent him to every place to-” she yawned suddenly. “Oh, excuse me.”
“That’s fine.” Draco leaned forward. “I’m only slightly convinced that your day was busier than mine.” The smirk on his face was bordering on playful.
Hermione crossed her legs, clearly taking his challenge. “All of my clients this afternoon decided that they wanted to act like a bunch of sodding wankers. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I broke a heel. My secretary is trying to set me up with her son. Seamus is relentlessly shoving Dean in my face, too. They both showed up at my office today, wanting to go to lunch, just the three of us. Obviously, they think I’m stupid. I could see exactly what was going to happen. Seamus was going to have an emergency and I’d be stuck with Dean. I’d rather starve than have another awkward, silent-oh goodness! I’m unloading on you.”
Draco didn’t mind. Really. But he didn’t tell her that. He watched her hands as she talked; how she used them to underline her statements and clasped them together when she realised she was doing it. Draco watched her eyes; how they moved when she talked and narrowed when she recalled the many details of her day. He even watched her lips; how they pursed when she was irritated and wrapped themselves around words he actually listened to. He’d learned more about Granger in the last five minutes than he had during that lunch with Pansy. She was probably the hardest working witch he knew, and she took some sort of demented pride in it. Granger was also in desperate need of a vacation…and food.
Oh, and she was-he hoped not-going to be dating her secretary’s son soon.
“Perhaps when we’re done here, you could give your secretary’s son a-”
“Whoa there, Malfoy.” She held up her hands. “My secretary’s son is gay, and she hasn’t figured it out yet.”
“And this Dean?”
“I went out with Dean Thomas, you remember him, right?”
Draco shifted uncomfortably. Dean Thomas was one of the classmates that had frequented the prison under the drawing room. “Yes. I remember.”
Not that he could ever forget.
“You know,” Hermione said carefully after noticing the distinct change in his demeanour. “The war was a long time ago. You-”
“I know,” he replied. “Just go on.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay,” she paused for a moment and picked right back up where she’d left off. “Dean and I went out once-”
“When?” he interrupted, hoping to bring back the ease of their pre-Dean conversation.
Hermione thought about it for a moment. “About a month ago, I think, but that doesn’t even matter. It will go down in history as a raging disaster. The problem now is Seamus. He insists that I come with Dean to his party next week, but I’d rather chew on reconstituted sawdust.”
The look on her face was priceless, but Draco was focused more on the latest thing he’d learned about her. Granger was perfectly single. And he tried not to smile-or do anything that would suggest anything other than indifference on his part. “You win, by the way. Your day was much longer.”
She smiled, mentally noting just how easy it was for her to talk to him…and how comfortable she felt. It was odd, but-Hermione gasped and suddenly remembered just what they were supposed to be doing. “Oh! Right. We have a lot of work to do-”
“Do we have to do it here?”
“Excuse me?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I was thinking we could go somewhere for dinner and maybe work at my flat instead.”
“I might have to endorse this idea of yours. I am starving.” Hermione thought for a few moments. “I live in walking distance from here. Now that I’ve properly restocked my cabinets after Hurricane Ron went through, I can make dinner and we can work there. It’ll be quiet, for the most part.” She regarded him with a curious look. “Is that fine?”
More than. Hell, it was more than he’d anticipated. “That’s fine.”
Granger’s flat was large, bigger than he would have thought. It was done up in that non-committal yet tasteful way he’d seen pictures of in decorating magazines, but with a flair that he’d come to recognise as ‘Granger’. All Granger. Her sitting room had almost a feminine quality to it, tastefully painted walls, numerous wooden bookshelves, pictures of friends and family on the mantle, and corridors lined with lightly framed paintings and lit by small, silver lamps. And while Hermione read her messages and listened to her voicemail, Draco had explored it all, even the spare bedroom, which had been converted into a home office.
It was, by far, the most lived-in room in her flat.
But as he rounded his way through the classy dining room, open kitchen, and back into the sitting room, Draco decided her flat suited her. There was something feminine about Granger, too. And she was certainly tasteful. Maybe a little dry, but he was slowly coming to the understanding that maybe-just maybe-she might be holding back her charm on purpose. At least to him, or better yet, them. Her clients.
For the first time, he really didn’t want to be her client. Just so she could-
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Draco whipped his head around, noticing immediately that Granger had changed into something more comfortable. His mouth went dry, and it was puzzling because all she had changed into were navy joggers and a maroon short-sleeved shirt that said Gryffindors do it better-definitely not hers.
Hermione caught him looking at her funny and awkwardly pulled at the end of her shirt. “Ginny’s idea of fun. Shame it’s so comfortable.” When he didn’t say anything, she pulled at her ear. “You can take the floo home to change into something else, if you want. I’ll get started on food.”
After a moment of thinking and considering, he took her up on her offer and left. Instead of rushing, which would show his eagerness, he took his time. He read his owl posts and replied to one from his mother before changing.
By the time Draco returned to Granger’s flat, she had everything organised to a science and her flat smelled like a Thai restaurant. It wasn’t bad because he actually liked Thai food, but the table settings and wine glasses made the room feel oddly intimate in a way he couldn’t explain. Unfortunately, he spotted the four stacks of white notecards which served as the centrepiece, and they almost put things back to perspective.
Almost.
The sight of Granger did a good job of tossing all thoughts of-hell, everything-from his mind.
Her back was to him, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to observe her as she hummed a tune while cooking. The sight was oddly…cute in a repressed, academic sort of way. Granger was starting to unwind right before his eyes. Her shoulders had dropped from where they had been up around her ears and she was moving fluidly around her kitchen. Draco would have felt guilty for intruding, but didn’t.
Not even for a moment.
Not even when she turned around and froze.
Once she recovered from the initial shock, Hermione asked. “How-how long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.”
The look on his face was a mix between amusement and something that made a blush start on her neck, and spread painfully upward. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“What are you making?”
His question pulled her from the pit of mortification that she was freefalling into. “Gang Gai-or chicken curry. I usually make it for Harry and Ron, but it’s quick and easy to make. Besides, the sauce is amazing. I’ve made several modifications that just-well, you can taste it for yourself.” As Malfoy slowly approached, Hermione busied herself with summoning a spoon and dipping it into the sauce. And when she turned again, he was closer than anticipated and felt a twinge of something inexplicable. All she knew was that it nearly made her drop the spoon, as if it were suddenly too warm. “It’s hot.”
Granger’s hand shook slightly as Draco leaned and bent his head to blow on the spoon. He looked directly into her eyes as he tasted the sauce, and the moment seemed incisive and stretched into oblivion. As soon as he realized it, he broke his gaze. “It’s really good.” She gave him a tense smile and turned to check on the bubbling rice, leaving Draco to wonder what would happen if he dragged his lips across the exposed part of her neck.
A shiver ran through him that he couldn’t control.
And for the first time, he wasn’t irritated by his attraction to her.
“You should…” Hermione cleared her throat. “Probably start looking at the submissions. They’re on the table.”
Neither moved at first. She marked the moment, the feel of his breath on the back of her neck, and tucked it away for later. Hermione also made note of Malfoy’s hesitation and the near sigh that made her shiver in the warm air of her kitchen. She put that sensation away for later analysis, too. Then, she took a cleansing breath, forced the thoughts out, and continued.
But the tension would not be ignored.
It continued on into their actual dinner where they ate in complete silence, and Malfoy paid her two compliments-one after his first bite and the second after he helped her clear the dishes from the table. After dinner, Hermione busied herself with one of the stacks and Malfoy worked through another. Occasionally, they’d read out one of the responses for the other’s amusement, but no words were uttered outside of that. The one thing that stood out in Hermione’s mind was Malfoy’s eyes as they cut between her and the stack of notecards he casually looked through. She could easily imagine them cutting someone down with a glance, but she could also imagine a lot of things in them that gave her another twinge. This one she recognised and dismissed without giving it any credence for what it was.
She needed some wine.
The Chianti wasn’t chilled enough, but she didn’t care…and neither did Malfoy. He polished off the first glass before she could sit the bottle down, and the second was gone before she finished her first. Only after she finished her second glass, did the tension start the long process of dissipating.
Draco began leaning back in his chair more, and Granger started laughing more and making jokes. Something began shifting in her fact that left her looking more attractive than he’d ever seen her. More approachable. Less tense. And as the transformation occurred, Draco finally began to see some of her actual charm. Not the charm she used in meetings, or when she was in a cajoling mood as opposed to her normal mood.
Real charm. Personal charm.
And he felt the beginnings of a transformation in himself; where he began to accept that he wanted a lot more than just to get to know her so he could shag her senseless.
Draco wanted-well, he wanted a lot more.
That was for sure.
◊ ◊ ◊
It was well after three in the morning when Hermione tied the final letter to the ankle of the owl and sent it off to Bethany Hope-their final participant. Malfoy was inside, attempting to clean the mess they’d made, but he seemed a little preoccupied.
Well, as far as she could tell from out here.
After days of rain, the night time sky was finally crisp and clear. She looked out at the view of London and gave a contented sigh all to herself. Although there was still a chill in the air, Hermione could feel something else, something warming pushing under the breeze that heralded the first real days of spring. She liked spring. It-
The opening of the screen doors behind her effectively severed the thought.
Draco watched as she leaned out over the railing and lifted her face to the sky. He could tell that she wanted some alone time, but of all the people he’d worked with or for, she had the ability to make him go against his nature and judgment. And right then, his judgment was telling him to go back into her flat and leave before she saw him staring at her. His feet, however, had other ideas, and Draco found himself approaching her.
But it was the look she’d given him over her shoulder that made him take the last few steps.
“Nice night?”
“Exceptional,” Hermione replied with a sleepy smile. “Too bad I can feel myself fading.”
“Early morning?”
“Not if I can help it, but most likely,” she yawned. “Lots to do in so little time. And I still have my actual work to do.”
A very small part of Draco thought about excusing himself, but a larger part of him wanted to stay. Just to see what would happen. He had an idea about what wouldn’t happen. They weren’t going to have some fascinating conversation. Hell, they weren’t going to talk too much at all. And they certainly weren’t going to touch, even though he wanted her to stop leaning forward on the railing and over on him. He knew all that, but he stood there anyway, not touching, talking, or even looking at the night time sky anymore.
Hermione glanced at her clock. It was almost pointless to go to sleep, and the thought made her very tired. All-nighters made the days harder. The weight of her rigorous schedule, to which she was more than partly to blame, bore down on her at that moment and made her think about a vacation. She needed one badly, but the idea was laughable, at best. There was always somewhere to be, something that needed doing, and it usually occupied her time and mind.
Tonight, there were other things clouding her mind. Some had to do with the much needed time off she needed to take, and strangely enough, others had to do with Malfoy. The notes she’d made and sensations she’d felt earlier started flooding her brain. Hermione looked over at him and felt a familiar blush creep up the back of her neck. She’d been around Malfoy a considerable amount of time since Pansy and Ron had started dating, but he hadn’t really evoked such a strong feeling in her before this week-before tonight.
And that was a potential problem.
He was a client, but she hadn’t treated him like one. At all. She’d gotten personal with him, which was a huge no-no in her line of work. Everything was supposed to remain pleasant yet distant, and here they were, in her flat at almost four in the morning, nearly touching. What made matters worse was her realisation that she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about her behaviour. She actually liked talking and listening to him. She liked-
“Is there any other time we need to meet before the auction on Friday?” Draco asked. It had gotten far too silent for his tastes.
“N-no,” Hermione stammered inelegantly, much to her dismay. She quickly re-gathered all the sensations and notes that had spilled from her mind and shoved them back into their corner. She had to get it together. Fast. “I’ve got everything covered. Just make sure that you’re prompt on Friday.” She felt him exhale beside her and shivered involuntarily.
“Cold?”
“A bit. I should get to bed. You can let yourself out, right?”
Hermione didn’t wait for an answer before rushing back into her flat.
Click here to continue.
Title: Ready Ankles (4/5)
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!
Four
Pansy started awake and groaned when she saw the time.
2:46AM.
Sleep was evading her with expert precision. And she knew why.
Upon returning from a Saturday evening out with Daphne, Pansy had been exhausted. However, instead of napping, she’d taken the time to Floo call her mother where she spent several minutes listening to the summation of her day and answering her probing questions.
Yes, she was fine.
No, she had not started dating a new pureblood.
Yes, she would be at dinner on Friday, but only if the auction didn’t run over.
The moment her mother took a breath, Pansy had made her excuses, ended the call, and attempted to wash off the stress and dirt of the day with a hot shower. It hadn’t work. The shower revived her and left her a restless mess. And for half an hour, she’d sat and smoked one of Daphne’s cigarettes while listening to the muted sounds of the Wireless. Pansy tried to think about any and everything, but thoughts of Ron intruded and inhabited the four corners of her mind, forcing her to admit yet again that she was unhappy.
And it was that misery that sent her pacing in the room, stalking an imaginary dragon in her head. She’d lied to Granger about, well, everything. She knew exactly what had happened after Ron gave her promise ring. She knew the awful things she’d said and done…and the guilt had begun to manifest into self-loathing and agitation. Pansy had been the one who walked out on him, but for hours, she paced and internally debated her decision.
Was her leaving good or bad? Right or wrong?
It had become a convoluted mess in her mind that couldn’t be sorted.
By two-thirty, she’d succumbed to guilt, misery, and then sleep that only lasted sixteen minutes.
She didn’t want to move, but knew lying in bed would only make matters worse. So she indulged herself with half a container of chocolate ice-cream, watched a late night movie, and sulked at nothing in particular. Maybe at herself? Pansy didn’t know, nor did she want to think about it. Work seemed like the best option and she successfully dived into her latest project. It was a party for a five-year-old, but she worked on planning ever detail as if it was the biggest party of her career and another two hours passed in the blink of an eye. She yawned for the first time at four-thirty and began gathering her work into a neat pile. The black address book Daphne had used as a personal ad earlier had accidentally been shuffled in with the folders and files for the party. Pansy took it out, tossing it aside with a casual flick of her wrist.
Daphne was a lot like her mother. Neither of them approved of her relationship with Ron. Apparently their relationship went against the natural order of things.
Slytherins did not date Weasleys.
Needless to say, she’d been thrilled when Pansy had come to her the night she’d left him. Daphne didn’t even wait an hour before she started trying to set her up with some other bloke. Pansy, who was an expert at avoiding commitment before Ron, was not interested in being pushed into something that would only be temporary.
Funny how things could change in one year.
When Pansy finished reorganising everything and slipped it all into her briefcase, Pansy picked up the book and began leafing through it.
Baddock, Malcolm.
“Too young.”
Cauldwell, Owen.
“Too Hufflepuff.”
Why did Daphne have his address? She made a mental note to badger her about it later.
Goldstein, Anthony.
“Too gay.” Literally. He had a partner and everything. It was a shame, really.
Goyle, Gregory.
“Too…Goyle.”
Pansy closed the address book and tossed it on the floor. Her thoughts had brought the fatigue back, fuddling her brain with too many things to deal with on less than four hours of sleep in the past two days. She’d lain down with a book and fell back to sleep with it over her face. On waking for the second time, she didn’t know what had roused her, and she glanced at the clock to see if her alarm had rung. It was five in the morning. The Wireless was still playing, sending strains of easy-listening music across the room.
“Pans?”
She looked in the direction of the voice and saw the door to her room open. A single hand came around the frame, followed by an arm, then a shoulder, then the rest of Ron. She knew it was him. The light in the hallway highlighted his red hair, but she still squinted and called out, “Ron?”
“Shit, I woke you up, didn’t I?” he said, coming full into the room.
“It’s five in the morning…”
“Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well and-”
Pansy felt like she’d eaten a mouthful of sand. “I haven’t been asleep that long.” Or at all. “Shut the door, will you.”
Ron did as she asked, closing the door with great care. Then he just stood there, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his sweats as she got out of bed and wrapped herself in a blanket. He was nervous-had been for the better part of the night. He’d locked himself in his room with enough food from the one cupboard Harry left open to feed a family of five, and stared at the address to Daphne’s flat. The paper was still in his pocket, stained with water and oily fingerprints from the crisps, but he’d made it. Not that it really mattered. Even though he’d overcome his trepidation, Ron was still wary and unsure around her. Pansy padded across the room until she was standing within touching distance, but she didn’t say anything for several minutes.
He had hair in his eyes and Pansy had to restrain herself from reaching up and brushing it away. She’d done it every day since the first, and habits were a hard thing to break. She knew that for certain. “How’d you know I was here?”
Her question was asked so softly that Ron had to replay it in his head to figure out what she’d said. “How did I-oh, I forced it out of Hermione.”
She blinked at him, unconvinced.
A blush warmed his cheeks. “Okay, she told me…after she hexed me so hard I almost forgot how to eat.”
Pansy wanted to smile, but couldn’t because she felt a wave of guilt so strong it made her nauseous. He didn’t deserve that. You did, she thought sadly. Because she’d lied to Granger. Because this entire mess was her fault, right from the beginning. Because Ron was just so-Pansy nearly wretched. She had to turn and sit on the end of the bed before she lost even more control. “Go home, Ron. Daphne will curse the bollocks off of you if she found out that you were in her flat.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do,” she retorted sharply.
“That’s hard to believe.”
The bitterness in his voice cut like broken glass, but she maintained what was left of her composure. “You’re right. I don’t. Not at all.”
Ron stared at her. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Pansy decided the answer would be better left unsaid. After drawing her knees into her chest, she rested her head on her knees and took several deep breaths to calm down. More than exhaustion and nausea, she was disgusted with herself for feeling so awful. This was supposed to be for the best, right? Then why did she feel this way? Why couldn’t she sleep? Why did she feel like crying all the time? “Just go.”
“Not a chance. Not until-” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t look at him. “Did Granger tell you to say that?”
“Yes, but I would’ve said it anyway if I knew where you were. I’m sorry. I really am. And I want you to come home.” When Pansy didn’t say anything immediately, Ron frowned. “You’re mad at me.”
“And you’re just as intelligent as you’ve always been.”
Ron bristled at her cold words and unconsciously took a step backwards.
Pansy watched him awkwardly stare at his shoes before asking, “Aren’t you tired of me yet?”
Perplexed, he ran a hand through his hair and briefly considered yanking it all out. “Am I supposed to be?”
“Yes! I’ve been terrible to you lately, and you just take it. You-”
“I know it’s not the real Pansy saying all those things, so…” Ron trailed off with a shrug.
“You’re too nice to me.”
“Because I love you.”
Pansy flinched. “Don’t say that. Stop saying that.”
“I know you don’t want to hear it and I know you might hate me, but it’s the truth.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Later, she would beat herself up over her next words, but right then, she couldn’t let him sit here and think that. “I meant…no, I don’t hate you.”
He didn’t understand. “But you’re mad at me.” Kneeling in front of her, Ron pondered his words before he said, “I know what I said was wrong, and it doesn’t mean shit to you at this point, but-”
Pansy hushed him. “What you said didn’t make me leave, so don’t punish yourself like that. Truthfully, I left because of me. I didn’t leave because of you.”
“So come home for me. I’ll sleep on the couch and I won’t tell you that I love you. We’ll talk tomorrow. Really talk. We’ll figure this out, Pans, and we’ll do and be better after this.”
Her heart felt incredibly heavy and she felt fifty years older. “I-”
Ron cut her off, voice thick with determination. “I know things have been rough for us, but we’ve had good times. Loads of them. Like when we-”
“Please,” Pansy’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Please stop.”
“I’ll stop if you don’t give up.”
A sad smile spread across her face. “You know I’m not known for my stamina.”
“So? I’m not known for my patience, but I’m willing. Are you?”
◊ ◊ ◊
The library was crowded to the point of suffocation when Hermione walked in. And noisy. Teenagers walked around in packs, chatting loudly while annoyed adults stared on but said nothing. She gave a smile to the tired-looking librarian that knew her by name. She was timid and passive, which weren’t traits that would ensure a silent library. One of the witches in the loudest group busted out laughing, and Hermione shook her head.
Madam Pince wouldn’t have any of this nonsense.
Not in her library.
Because no one else would, Hermione silently sent a Silencing Charm in the direction of the laughing witch, rendering her temporarily mute while her friends looked around to see who had sent the charm. Two Stinging hexes and Trip Jinxes later, and the group of girls were running out of the library. Fast.
But at least they were quiet about it.
“Thank you, Miss Granger.” The librarian smiled meekly.
After hitting two running boys with a Trip Jinx that sent them sprawling on the carpeted floor, she turned around and said, “It’s not a problem.”
“Mr Malfoy is waiting for you over there.” She pointed him out with a shy smile.
He was sitting at a table near the back wall, lazily flipping through a book. Early again.
A little girl ran past his table with a book for her mother, who was sitting two tables away. The scowl he gave that woman was fierce enough to make her gather everything and usher her daughter to another section. Great, Hermione though as she exhaled and walked towards him. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with a grumpy Malfoy. She’d dealt with her fair share of irritable clients and Zara today, and right then, all she wanted to do was compile the list of celebrities, send out the letters inviting them to participate in the auction, and go home.
Draco looked up when she sat down across from him. “This place is a bloody zoo. I can’t even think.”
“Hello to you, too, Malfoy.”
It didn’t go unnoticed that this was the first time she’d used the word ‘hello’ while greeting him. Even if it was sarcastic.
“Are you going to be a temperamental arse tonight?” she asked.
“I hadn’t planned on it, but who knows?” he shrugged casually. “It’s been a long enough day. Anything is possible.”
“I bet that your long day wasn’t as long as mine.”
“Try me.” Draco challenged.
“What did you do?”
As a prelude, Draco inhaled deeply and shut the book he had been reading. “Besides the general meetings and whatnot, I interviewed five people to fill the position of my accountant and I presented list of employee incentives to the Board of Trustees. I’m looking to get them implemented by the start of Fourth Quarter.”
“Ah,” Hermione smiled for the first time in several hours. “Taking my advice?”
“Surprised?”
“Not really. Your pocket means more to you than your vanity.”
“Or maybe I just respect your opinion.”
She considered the possibility for a moment, but didn’t say anything else. “Any prospects?”
“Two.”
“Would you like me to screen them for you?”
“Already done.” He shifted in his seat. “Now, tell me about your day.”
She looked at him with wary eyes. “You were serious? You want to know about my day?” That was…strange.
“I don’t say, ask, or do anything that I don’t mean.”
“Okay then.” Hermione tried not to smile. “Well, it started at like six in the morning with Ron barging in. Pansy didn’t take him back like I’d anticipated. She told him she needed time.” Hermione glanced at the book he’d been reading. Volume two of The Philosophy of the Mundane. She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her. “I’m starting to think that there’s more to it than she’s saying, which irritates me to no end.”
Draco shrugged. “Pansy’s a little unpredictable. Believe me. I never expected her and Weasley to make it two days, much less a year.”
“Why do you say that?” Hermione leaned forward, her brows coming together with curiosity.
“Pansy had high hopes to…secure a husband. Even after the war. Her mother set her up with several pure-blooded wizards; all who used and disposed of her. From what I remember, she gave up on getting married and that’s when the sporadic dating started. No wizard made it more than a few weeks with her, if that, but I thought it stopped with Weasley.”
Hermione stored his words away for future reference.
“So far,” he flashed a very rare smile. “Your day isn’t matching up to mine at all.”
“Well, I’m not nearly done yet. I got to work late because my cat sat on my alarm clock, which would have been okay any other day, but not this one. I walked into a maelstrom of insignificant drama, most of it stemming from the new Paris office. But Padma handled that for me since she’s there. I’m not looking forward to my trip there anymore.”
“Trip?”
“Next week. Purely business. I won’t have enough time to see anything.”
“Pity.”
“That, it is.” Hermione agreed with a nod. “Anyway, I had seven meetings back-to-back and I had to help out with the auction’s media blitz and I helped plan the order of events.”
“The order?”
“Yes. First, the president of W.O.W.R. will show everyone what their organization is all about during a brief-and I do mean brief-presentation. I told her to make it entertaining. Second, a Weird Sisters cover band will perform a few songs. And then the auction will begin.”
“This is turning into quite an event.”
“I know. There will be approximately two hundred people in attendance, which is better than I anticipated.”
“How many people ended up sending submissions?”
“Just under a hundred. I have all their submissions in my briefcase. I made my interns transfer all the information to Muggle notecards. Makes them easier to read.”
“Interesting.”
“Very.” Hermione tapped her fingers on the table. “The auction is looking to be a huge success since you’ve stepped in to sponsor it. Several restaurants and spas have stepped up and are donating meals and services to go along with the eligible bachelor or bachelorette at the auction, which will inspire more bidding action. I ran my assistant nearly ragged today because I sent him to every place to-” she yawned suddenly. “Oh, excuse me.”
“That’s fine.” Draco leaned forward. “I’m only slightly convinced that your day was busier than mine.” The smirk on his face was bordering on playful.
Hermione crossed her legs, clearly taking his challenge. “All of my clients this afternoon decided that they wanted to act like a bunch of sodding wankers. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I broke a heel. My secretary is trying to set me up with her son. Seamus is relentlessly shoving Dean in my face, too. They both showed up at my office today, wanting to go to lunch, just the three of us. Obviously, they think I’m stupid. I could see exactly what was going to happen. Seamus was going to have an emergency and I’d be stuck with Dean. I’d rather starve than have another awkward, silent-oh goodness! I’m unloading on you.”
Draco didn’t mind. Really. But he didn’t tell her that. He watched her hands as she talked; how she used them to underline her statements and clasped them together when she realised she was doing it. Draco watched her eyes; how they moved when she talked and narrowed when she recalled the many details of her day. He even watched her lips; how they pursed when she was irritated and wrapped themselves around words he actually listened to. He’d learned more about Granger in the last five minutes than he had during that lunch with Pansy. She was probably the hardest working witch he knew, and she took some sort of demented pride in it. Granger was also in desperate need of a vacation…and food.
Oh, and she was-he hoped not-going to be dating her secretary’s son soon.
“Perhaps when we’re done here, you could give your secretary’s son a-”
“Whoa there, Malfoy.” She held up her hands. “My secretary’s son is gay, and she hasn’t figured it out yet.”
“And this Dean?”
“I went out with Dean Thomas, you remember him, right?”
Draco shifted uncomfortably. Dean Thomas was one of the classmates that had frequented the prison under the drawing room. “Yes. I remember.”
Not that he could ever forget.
“You know,” Hermione said carefully after noticing the distinct change in his demeanour. “The war was a long time ago. You-”
“I know,” he replied. “Just go on.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay,” she paused for a moment and picked right back up where she’d left off. “Dean and I went out once-”
“When?” he interrupted, hoping to bring back the ease of their pre-Dean conversation.
Hermione thought about it for a moment. “About a month ago, I think, but that doesn’t even matter. It will go down in history as a raging disaster. The problem now is Seamus. He insists that I come with Dean to his party next week, but I’d rather chew on reconstituted sawdust.”
The look on her face was priceless, but Draco was focused more on the latest thing he’d learned about her. Granger was perfectly single. And he tried not to smile-or do anything that would suggest anything other than indifference on his part. “You win, by the way. Your day was much longer.”
She smiled, mentally noting just how easy it was for her to talk to him…and how comfortable she felt. It was odd, but-Hermione gasped and suddenly remembered just what they were supposed to be doing. “Oh! Right. We have a lot of work to do-”
“Do we have to do it here?”
“Excuse me?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I was thinking we could go somewhere for dinner and maybe work at my flat instead.”
“I might have to endorse this idea of yours. I am starving.” Hermione thought for a few moments. “I live in walking distance from here. Now that I’ve properly restocked my cabinets after Hurricane Ron went through, I can make dinner and we can work there. It’ll be quiet, for the most part.” She regarded him with a curious look. “Is that fine?”
More than. Hell, it was more than he’d anticipated. “That’s fine.”
Granger’s flat was large, bigger than he would have thought. It was done up in that non-committal yet tasteful way he’d seen pictures of in decorating magazines, but with a flair that he’d come to recognise as ‘Granger’. All Granger. Her sitting room had almost a feminine quality to it, tastefully painted walls, numerous wooden bookshelves, pictures of friends and family on the mantle, and corridors lined with lightly framed paintings and lit by small, silver lamps. And while Hermione read her messages and listened to her voicemail, Draco had explored it all, even the spare bedroom, which had been converted into a home office.
It was, by far, the most lived-in room in her flat.
But as he rounded his way through the classy dining room, open kitchen, and back into the sitting room, Draco decided her flat suited her. There was something feminine about Granger, too. And she was certainly tasteful. Maybe a little dry, but he was slowly coming to the understanding that maybe-just maybe-she might be holding back her charm on purpose. At least to him, or better yet, them. Her clients.
For the first time, he really didn’t want to be her client. Just so she could-
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Draco whipped his head around, noticing immediately that Granger had changed into something more comfortable. His mouth went dry, and it was puzzling because all she had changed into were navy joggers and a maroon short-sleeved shirt that said Gryffindors do it better-definitely not hers.
Hermione caught him looking at her funny and awkwardly pulled at the end of her shirt. “Ginny’s idea of fun. Shame it’s so comfortable.” When he didn’t say anything, she pulled at her ear. “You can take the floo home to change into something else, if you want. I’ll get started on food.”
After a moment of thinking and considering, he took her up on her offer and left. Instead of rushing, which would show his eagerness, he took his time. He read his owl posts and replied to one from his mother before changing.
By the time Draco returned to Granger’s flat, she had everything organised to a science and her flat smelled like a Thai restaurant. It wasn’t bad because he actually liked Thai food, but the table settings and wine glasses made the room feel oddly intimate in a way he couldn’t explain. Unfortunately, he spotted the four stacks of white notecards which served as the centrepiece, and they almost put things back to perspective.
Almost.
The sight of Granger did a good job of tossing all thoughts of-hell, everything-from his mind.
Her back was to him, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to observe her as she hummed a tune while cooking. The sight was oddly…cute in a repressed, academic sort of way. Granger was starting to unwind right before his eyes. Her shoulders had dropped from where they had been up around her ears and she was moving fluidly around her kitchen. Draco would have felt guilty for intruding, but didn’t.
Not even for a moment.
Not even when she turned around and froze.
Once she recovered from the initial shock, Hermione asked. “How-how long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.”
The look on his face was a mix between amusement and something that made a blush start on her neck, and spread painfully upward. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“What are you making?”
His question pulled her from the pit of mortification that she was freefalling into. “Gang Gai-or chicken curry. I usually make it for Harry and Ron, but it’s quick and easy to make. Besides, the sauce is amazing. I’ve made several modifications that just-well, you can taste it for yourself.” As Malfoy slowly approached, Hermione busied herself with summoning a spoon and dipping it into the sauce. And when she turned again, he was closer than anticipated and felt a twinge of something inexplicable. All she knew was that it nearly made her drop the spoon, as if it were suddenly too warm. “It’s hot.”
Granger’s hand shook slightly as Draco leaned and bent his head to blow on the spoon. He looked directly into her eyes as he tasted the sauce, and the moment seemed incisive and stretched into oblivion. As soon as he realized it, he broke his gaze. “It’s really good.” She gave him a tense smile and turned to check on the bubbling rice, leaving Draco to wonder what would happen if he dragged his lips across the exposed part of her neck.
A shiver ran through him that he couldn’t control.
And for the first time, he wasn’t irritated by his attraction to her.
“You should…” Hermione cleared her throat. “Probably start looking at the submissions. They’re on the table.”
Neither moved at first. She marked the moment, the feel of his breath on the back of her neck, and tucked it away for later. Hermione also made note of Malfoy’s hesitation and the near sigh that made her shiver in the warm air of her kitchen. She put that sensation away for later analysis, too. Then, she took a cleansing breath, forced the thoughts out, and continued.
But the tension would not be ignored.
It continued on into their actual dinner where they ate in complete silence, and Malfoy paid her two compliments-one after his first bite and the second after he helped her clear the dishes from the table. After dinner, Hermione busied herself with one of the stacks and Malfoy worked through another. Occasionally, they’d read out one of the responses for the other’s amusement, but no words were uttered outside of that. The one thing that stood out in Hermione’s mind was Malfoy’s eyes as they cut between her and the stack of notecards he casually looked through. She could easily imagine them cutting someone down with a glance, but she could also imagine a lot of things in them that gave her another twinge. This one she recognised and dismissed without giving it any credence for what it was.
She needed some wine.
The Chianti wasn’t chilled enough, but she didn’t care…and neither did Malfoy. He polished off the first glass before she could sit the bottle down, and the second was gone before she finished her first. Only after she finished her second glass, did the tension start the long process of dissipating.
Draco began leaning back in his chair more, and Granger started laughing more and making jokes. Something began shifting in her fact that left her looking more attractive than he’d ever seen her. More approachable. Less tense. And as the transformation occurred, Draco finally began to see some of her actual charm. Not the charm she used in meetings, or when she was in a cajoling mood as opposed to her normal mood.
Real charm. Personal charm.
And he felt the beginnings of a transformation in himself; where he began to accept that he wanted a lot more than just to get to know her so he could shag her senseless.
Draco wanted-well, he wanted a lot more.
That was for sure.
◊ ◊ ◊
It was well after three in the morning when Hermione tied the final letter to the ankle of the owl and sent it off to Bethany Hope-their final participant. Malfoy was inside, attempting to clean the mess they’d made, but he seemed a little preoccupied.
Well, as far as she could tell from out here.
After days of rain, the night time sky was finally crisp and clear. She looked out at the view of London and gave a contented sigh all to herself. Although there was still a chill in the air, Hermione could feel something else, something warming pushing under the breeze that heralded the first real days of spring. She liked spring. It-
The opening of the screen doors behind her effectively severed the thought.
Draco watched as she leaned out over the railing and lifted her face to the sky. He could tell that she wanted some alone time, but of all the people he’d worked with or for, she had the ability to make him go against his nature and judgment. And right then, his judgment was telling him to go back into her flat and leave before she saw him staring at her. His feet, however, had other ideas, and Draco found himself approaching her.
But it was the look she’d given him over her shoulder that made him take the last few steps.
“Nice night?”
“Exceptional,” Hermione replied with a sleepy smile. “Too bad I can feel myself fading.”
“Early morning?”
“Not if I can help it, but most likely,” she yawned. “Lots to do in so little time. And I still have my actual work to do.”
A very small part of Draco thought about excusing himself, but a larger part of him wanted to stay. Just to see what would happen. He had an idea about what wouldn’t happen. They weren’t going to have some fascinating conversation. Hell, they weren’t going to talk too much at all. And they certainly weren’t going to touch, even though he wanted her to stop leaning forward on the railing and over on him. He knew all that, but he stood there anyway, not touching, talking, or even looking at the night time sky anymore.
Hermione glanced at her clock. It was almost pointless to go to sleep, and the thought made her very tired. All-nighters made the days harder. The weight of her rigorous schedule, to which she was more than partly to blame, bore down on her at that moment and made her think about a vacation. She needed one badly, but the idea was laughable, at best. There was always somewhere to be, something that needed doing, and it usually occupied her time and mind.
Tonight, there were other things clouding her mind. Some had to do with the much needed time off she needed to take, and strangely enough, others had to do with Malfoy. The notes she’d made and sensations she’d felt earlier started flooding her brain. Hermione looked over at him and felt a familiar blush creep up the back of her neck. She’d been around Malfoy a considerable amount of time since Pansy and Ron had started dating, but he hadn’t really evoked such a strong feeling in her before this week-before tonight.
And that was a potential problem.
He was a client, but she hadn’t treated him like one. At all. She’d gotten personal with him, which was a huge no-no in her line of work. Everything was supposed to remain pleasant yet distant, and here they were, in her flat at almost four in the morning, nearly touching. What made matters worse was her realisation that she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about her behaviour. She actually liked talking and listening to him. She liked-
“Is there any other time we need to meet before the auction on Friday?” Draco asked. It had gotten far too silent for his tastes.
“N-no,” Hermione stammered inelegantly, much to her dismay. She quickly re-gathered all the sensations and notes that had spilled from her mind and shoved them back into their corner. She had to get it together. Fast. “I’ve got everything covered. Just make sure that you’re prompt on Friday.” She felt him exhale beside her and shivered involuntarily.
“Cold?”
“A bit. I should get to bed. You can let yourself out, right?”
Hermione didn’t wait for an answer before rushing back into her flat.
Click here to continue.