HP Fic: Can't Change Me, Draco/Hermione, R
Title: Can't Change Me
Author: yamapea
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I also don't own the song used to inspire this fic - Chris Cornell's "Can't change me".
Warnings: dirty talk
Summary: Hermione has worked hard to become Senior Auror of the Deception Division. Will Draco Malfoy's transfer to her department ruin everything?
Notes: Written back in September for dmhgficexchange, for Gravidy! Many thanks to a certain someone who helped me plot this out... I would have been lost without your help.
Malfoy starts on a Tuesday morning.
They find out via owls from higher-ups on Monday; just a little note scrawled out on parchment about the man rumored to be in cahoots with remaining Death Eaters, just a casual mention that he's coming to work for the Ministry.
The first gossip she hears about it is in the bathroom that day, after lunch. Lisa Turpin is washing her hands when Hermione comes in, looking fit to burst with the news.
"Well, I don't believe he's on our side, not for a minute!" she says in a rush, like they're just picking up a conversation from earlier. Hermione stops short, opens and closes her mouth but can't figure out what to say. "I mean, after all that he did, back at Hogwarts!"
"Well…" Hermione says tactfully, not knowing why she feels like she ought to defend him but unable to help herself. "If the Ministry trusts him…"
Lisa purses her lips as she dries her hands. "Whatever," Lisa says, and then she's striding out of the bathroom, and the rumors really start.
The thing is, Hermione doesn't really believe he's coming, not when she gets that owl, not when Lisa Turpin confronts her in the bathroom, not when she starts feeling that long-forgotten nervous twisting in her stomach… not until he comes breezing through the door of her office on Tuesday morning.
"Granger," he says in greeting, and Hermione tries in vain to save the stack of papers she just bumped into before they go tumbling to the floor. Her face already feels hot with embarrassment, and he's only been here for a few seconds.
She expects to hear him laughing as she stoops to gather the fallen papers, but he's strangely silent. She clears her throat.
"Malfoy," she says evenly, glancing up at him from where she's kneeling, arms laden with papers, glasses slipping down her nose.
There's an odd expression on his face, one that she can't quite make out before it's morphing into the obnoxious smirk she remembers so well.
"Hope you aren't too happy here," he breathes. "Should be my office soon."
And just like that, he's leaving, turning on his heel and sweeping out the door. Hermione watches him go, heart pounding in her chest and feeling like it's in her throat. It's not until she's restacked the papers and collapsed into her chair that she realizes she's holding her breath.
*
By day three of Malfoy's employment, it's brutally obvious that he isn't welcome. Hermione hasn't seen him much-he's been in and out of HR for transfer paperwork and she's been in and out of the office, hot on the case of a phony wand dealer-but even in passing she can tell it's starting to get to him.
She's not sure if that makes him more likable, but it certainly makes his position seem more genuine. She doesn't realize that she feels sorry for him until she's leaving her office late Thursday night.
Generally, when Hermione works late, she works the latest. She's accustomed to finding empty desks and, sometimes, an empty Ministry when she leaves. It's encroaching on 10 already, so she's genuinely surprised when she hears papers shuffling as she locks her office door.
Malfoy's there, at the desk closest to her office door, bent over a stack of papers that look uncannily similar to a defective glamours case that Padma Patil should be working on. He's so engrossed in what he's doing (or so good at pretending to be) that he doesn't look up until she's standing directly in front of him.
"Working late, aren't you?" Hermione asks.
Malfoy gives her a little half grin and shrugs, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. "Afraid of the competition, Granger? Thought you had 'biggest brownnoser' in the bag this year?"
Hermione snorts. The idea that Malfoy could even hope to threaten her position here is ludicrous. And yet…
"Still think you're going to take my office?"
Malfoy pauses, wrinkling his nose as he glances towards her office, dropping his hands to toy with a quill as he considers it. "No, it's a little… small for my taste."
Hermione rolls her eyes and turns to leave, but suddenly his fingers are on her wrist, loosely catching hold of her arm. She stops short, feeling like her heart has jumped into her throat again, half hoping he'll release her and half desperate that he won't.
"Seriously," he says quietly. "Who are you trying to impress?"
She meets his eyes for a long, silent moment, finding that she really has no response, and just like that, his fingers slide down over her wrist bone and he releases her, shaking his head and returning his attention to his work as if the conversation is over. Hermione feels like it hasn't even started.
"It's not a matter of trying to impress… anyone," she says stupidly, and she wonders why it's always so hard with him, why she can never manage a smarter comeback.
Malfoy doesn't even bother looking up when he replies this time. "Same old Granger, I see."
*
It has been a week since Malfoy was transferred in from the Bulgarian Ministry office, and the shunning and rumors have only gotten more intense. The following Wednesday, Hermione arrives back from a strategic lunch with the new Head Goblin of Gringotts to find a cluster of her coworkers gathered by the elevator, so engrossed in angry whispers that they don't notice Hermione stepping off. She hears the words "Death Eater" and "Malfoy" and glances nervously towards his desk.
Malfoy is bent studiously over the financial reports she'd handed him that morning, looking anything but focused, and Hermione feels a sharp pang of pity. She clears her throat, and the whispers die down as they notice her.
"What?" Seamus Finnegan challenges, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think we're wrong?"
Hermione opens her mouth to reply, but Lisa interrupts.
"He's a Death Eater."
Hermione sighs. "He's not a Death Eater," she says quietly. "He's been working for the Bulgarian office for three years and-"
"Oh please!" Seamus says. "Like that means anything! We can't trust him."
"Well," Hermione says, steeling herself. "Dumbledore would want us to forgive him for the past, at least."
That shuts everyone up, just as Hermione had hoped it would, and with that she turns on her heel, marching directly over to Malfoy's desk.
"Malfoy."
"Granger?" Malfoy says, icily polite.
Hermione falters a little but plunges on, words all rushed so that she won't stop herself from saying them. "We're going out for drinks tonight."
"What time?" Malfoy asks, nearly smiling as he watches her.
The last thing Hermione had expected was for Malfoy to take her up on this, and suddenly she is caught in her own bluff. "I… oh… well, um…"
"I wouldn't pass up a chance to be in your company, Granger," Malfoy says, and he is smiling this time.
She knows he's being sarcastic and she hates him for it, and she knows her coworkers are watching her embarrass herself and she hates them for it. But mostly she knows that she just blushed a shade that would put Ron to shame, and she hates herself the most of all.
"Whenever we finish up our work tonight," she mumbles, hurriedly stepping into her office and closing the door behind her.
*
Hermione keeps herself locked in her office for the remainder of the afternoon.
At 5:30, when most of her coworkers should have already left, she makes a brief trip to the restroom, pointedly ignoring Malfoy's desk as she passes him. Unfortunately, Padma and Lisa are in the loo, applying makeup charms and gossiping. They fall silent as Hermione enters.
"Hermione," Padma says, watching Hermione in the mirror as she pockets her wand and scrutinizes her lip gloss. "You can't go out with him."
"Yeah," Lisa chimes in, "Don't be fooled by his charm."
Hermione watchers sourly as Lisa attempts some sort of glamour that makes half of her face sparkle. "I don't know many people who would be fooled by yours," she mutters under her breath.
*
At 7 that evening, after an exhausting floo conference with a frightened new head of finances, Hermione is ready for a drink.
She locks up her office quietly, expecting to find Malfoy long gone, but she's surprised to find him sitting at his desk, watching her.
"Oh," she says, stopping short. "Are you-"
"We're going out for drinks tonight," he says, pushing away from his desk with a weird little half-smile, and Hermione feels like she's blushing all over again.
"Malfoy, you know, we don't have to… It was just-"
He's stepped around his desk, and Hermione suddenly finds herself face to face with him. She can smell his cologne, can make out a faint line of stubble along his jaw, can feel him breathing in little puffs of air against her neck, and she's starting to feel dizzy.
"Trying to back out on me, Granger?"
Before she can faint, Hermione shakes her head and Malfoy laughs.
"I have to go back by my flat, so I'll meet you…" he pauses, and Hermione risks glancing up at him. Malfoy's watching her, and she feels his fingers brush ever so slightly against the hem of her skirt. It's so slight it could be accidental, but Hermione knows that it's anything but. "… at The Tipsy Troll."
Hermione nods dizzily and Malfoy turns, swaggering away towards the elevators as she regains her senses. From what she's heard, the Tipsy Troll is a trendy place with the under 30 crowd, and Hermione feels like she's being put to the trendy test.
*
The Tipsy Troll is every bit as offensively loud and bright and uncomfortable as Hermione had anticipated, but she manages to find an empty, awkwardly shaped neon green booth in an unnecessarily dark corner, and has downed two shots of Firewhiskey by the time Malfoy arrives.
She's just tipping back her third when he slides easily into the booth across from her, and she tries her best not to choke or look too horrified by the whiskey burning its way down her throat. She wants Malfoy to think that she's a pro at this, that she goes out all the time, that she's used to downing shots of Firewhiskey in loud clubs and can handle her liquor.
"So," Malfoy says, just as the waitress arrives. She sets another two shots down in front of Hermione, who pretends not to notice the way Malfoy's eyebrows shoot up.
"For you sir…"
"I'll have what she's having," Malfoy says smoothly, sliding one of Hermione's shot glasses across the table. The waitress nods and leaves, and Malfoy downs the shot he's usurped before Hermione can object.
"Malfoy, why are you here?" Hermione asks. It's not what she meant to ask-what she'd meant to say would have been something like… "I can't believe you actually showed up" or "It's strange to be having a drink with you," but those are harder to say. Those are things that imply that Hermione cares, somehow, about what Malfoy thinks or says or does, and she doesn't. Not at all.
Malfoy raises his eyebrows as he toys with the empty shot glass. "You invited me, Granger."
"No, not-" She catches herself before she's even really begun to explain what she meant, and after a moment's awkward pause, she decides she should change the subject. "Do you like art?"
Malfoy laughs, and it's weird. It's almost a pleasant laugh-not derisive or sneering or nasty, but soft and genuine. "Art?"
Hermione rolls her eyes but can't bite back a smile. "You know, paintings and sculpture and photography and-"
"Yes, Granger," Malfoy says. "I do know what art is, I'm just curious as to why you've suddenly decided to bring it up."
"Well," Hermione says, uneasily. She knows she's blushing again and she hates that he keeps seeing her this way… that he keeps making her so flustered when it's Malfoy and she has no reason to be embarrassed about anything. "I just thought it would be nice to discuss some culture with you, you know. Have some intelligent conversation."
The waitress arrives with another round of shots-two for Hermione, two for Malfoy, and Draco smiles as he traces the rim of his shot glasses with his fingers. Hermione downs one to fill the awkward pause, and it isn't as bad this time-it still burns, it's still horrific tasting, but somehow it's easier than the others.
"Granger, you know, we could have intelligent conversation without talking about paintings."
Malfoy downs a shot at that, and Hermione considers him. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
He sets his glass back down on the table and sighs, and there's a long moment of silence as he considers her. Hermione feels a terrible blush stealing over her face as she tries to prepare the best Occlumency defense she can muster, but the whiskey has taken its toll, and she feels that she's weak. If Malfoy wanted to read her mind right now, he probably could.
"Tell me a secret," Malfoy says, lifting his second shot. "Something you never thought you'd tell me."
Hermione laughs nervously. "I… what? You want to know… I… it's… you're… why do you think I'd tell you anything?"
Malfoy only smiles at her stuttering and tips back his second shot in answer. Hermione stares dismally down at her next two, and decides it's best that she match him. Can't let Malfoy win, after all.
*
Hermione wakes up with a headache.
This happens sometimes, when she's stressed over work or her seemingly continually unsuccessful attempt to become an Unspeakable, but this is different. Her throat is horrifically dry, the lights in her room are far too bright for lights that shouldn't be on in the first place, and as she stares up at her ceiling, it occurs to her that she does not remember how she got here.
She clambers out of bed in a panic, crossing and uncrossing her arms over her chest as she tries to remember this, tries desperately to remember coming back to her flat, stripping down to her underwear and climbing under the covers, but it's not there. She wonders when she and Malfoy left the bar, what all she confessed to him…
And then it hits her. Malfoy must have taken her home. Malfoy must have taken her here, taken her out of her clothes, Malfoy must have-
Hermione has never been so angry in her entire life.
*
It's a little after ten in the morning when Hermione gets to Malfoy's flat, having swung by the office and searched personnel files to find his address. The office had been mostly empty, to her relief, though no one would have asked many questions about Hermione dropping in on a Saturday anyway.
Malfoy's flat is in one of the nicest parts of Muggle London, in one of the nicest buildings, on the very top floor. Hermione's anger grows with every floor the elevator ascends, and by the time she reaches his door, she's livid.
She knocks as calmly as possible, though her wand is already in her hand, and she's ready to blow the door off its hinges if he doesn't answer soon.
"In a minute, Granger," Malfoy calls from somewhere inside, and Hermione glowers at the door, wondering what sort of creepy security system he has set up to know who's visiting him.
The door swings open before she can give it much thought, and she's momentarily struck by how incredibly rough Malfoy looks-his hair is mussed, his eyes are a bit bloodshot, and his clothes are rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed. She can't remember ever seeing him look so… unkempt.
"Granger?"
He looks like he's been expecting her, and there's a faint hint of a smirk to his expression, like he's won some sort of game and that's why she's here. Hermione shoves him hard without really meaning to, and follows him as he stumbles backwards into his apartment.
"Malfoy," she says coolly, kicking the door closed behind her. "Just what do you think you were doing-"
"Oh please," Malfoy says, looking almost annoyed. "Like you didn't want me to. You're just embarrassed, right? You stupid Gryffindors and your stupid-"
"Incendio!" Hermione says, promptly setting fire to an expensive looking armoire.
"GRANGER!" Malfoy shrieks, "HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT?"
As he frantically extinguishes his furniture, Hermione starts another small fire in the center of his coffee table. "You thought I wanted you to? You're disgusting!"
Malfoy gives her an exasperated look over his shoulder as he tends to the table. "You'd rather I just left you at the bar then? Merlin knows what would have become of you, but I don't suppose I should care, should I, you complete loon?"
"Incendio!" Hermione shouts, and watches in satisfaction as his leather armchair bursts into flames. "I'd rather that than have you take advantage of me! I can take care of myself!"
She's eyeing the curtains, ready for his next defense, when suddenly Malfoy is shoving her up against the door, pinning her arms to her sides and looking furious. "Can you?" he breathes, and Hermione's wand slips from her fingers, clatters to the floor.
"I can't believe you-" she starts, but Malfoy releases one of her arms to press a finger against her lips.
"I didn't," he says. "I took you home, I put you in bed, and I left."
Hermione stares, a little dumbstruck but also distrustful, and Malfoy sighs, twisting away from her to extinguish the fire in his chair.
"Please go home, Granger. I'll bill your for your psychotic rampage some other time."
*
In the week following the fires, Hermione is achingly nice to Malfoy.
She gives him the cushiest assignments she can find, she passes along invitations to exciting, exclusive Ministry events, and on one unfortunate morning she tries to bake him some muffins.
Malfoy ignores her for the larger part of the week, choosing to pretend that she doesn't exist and making Hermione feel steadily worse. By Friday, she has resigned herself to a future of awkward and embarrassing silence. As usual, she deals with her discomfort by overworking, and it's not until 9:30 that night that she finally packs it in for the day and decides to go home.
She's not expecting to find him still in the office but he is, perched arrogantly on the edge of his desk, waiting for her.
"Granger," he says easily, like he hasn't been ignoring her all week, like she never showed up and started setting his possessions on fire.
"Malfoy," Hermione says slowly. "I didn't know you'd be working this late-"
"I wanted to personally deliver the invoice for the furniture you destroyed," he says, and Hermione's heart sinks as she fumbles for her checkbook.
"Oh… right… I'm sorry, I'll just-"
"Granger," he says again, and Hermione looks up. "Stop apologizing. It's annoying."
"But I-"
"I'm well aware of what you did, and you'll pay for it, but it doesn't mean you should keep harassing me."
Hermione scowls. "Just because you're not gracious enough to accept an apology-"
"Gracious?!" Malfoy laughs. "You think I'm not being gracious? Oh, that's rich."
Hermione crosses her arms over her chest as Malfoy slides off his desk and steps up to her, a parchment that Hermione can only assume is the bill for the damage in his hand. Suddenly he's close though; too close, and Hermione feels hot all over and strangely desperate to kiss him. She glances nervously up at Malfoy and finds, to her surprise, that he seems to be experiencing the same thing.
They freeze like that, just a few breaths apart in the empty office, and that's when the invoice slips from his fingers and Malfoy kisses her.
*
It's Hermione's idea to use her office, Hermione who unlocks the door and shuts it back behind them as Malfoy toys with the hem of her skirt and grazes her thighs with his fingertips.
"Do you think anyone is still here?" Hermione breathes as she backs towards her desk.
Malfoy already has his robes unbuttoned and he follows her, dropping them on a chair as Hermione props herself up on the desk.
"Probably those suckups downstairs," Malfoy says quietly as he reaches her.
Hermione chooses to ignore the slight against her hardworking coworkers in Misuse of Magic. "I guess we'll just have to be quiet, then."
Malfoy kisses her again, stepping up between her thighs and Hermione grabs hold of his tie, tugging him closer until they're both breathless and desperate. Malfoy's hand is sliding up under her skirt and Hermione's starting to wonder what the hell they're doing, but it feels too good to stop now.
They fall back against her desk, sending parchments and quills rolling in every direction, and Malfoy starts to work on the buttons of her blouse with one hand, while he brushes the edge of her knickers with his other.
"Granger," Malfoy whispers against her neck, and Hermione shifts underneath him, wonders why now, of all times, he can't just call her Hermione.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever been fucked on your desk before?"
Hermione bites down hard on her lower lip, but still manages a little whimper at the words, the way they roll off of Malfoy's tongue like it's the dirtiest idea in the world.
"Never," she promises, as Malfoy's fingers dance across her knickers, brushing against her through the silk before he starts to tug them aside.
"I'm surprised," he murmurs against her ear. "Being the little office slut that you are, I'd think you'd prefer it to your bed. Fuck, they're all soaked through."
Hermione feels hot with embarrassment and a little bit of outrage but as she opens her mouth to object to being called an "office slut," he kisses her, starts to slide his fingers inside her wet little knickers, and she knows she won't regret this.
*
She does regret it, sometimes.
He tells her that she's the same old Granger, that she hasn't changed at all, but she thinks that's what he likes about her. So much has changed for the both of them-through the war and afterwards-that it's comforting. Malfoy is still the same arrogant, self-righteous jerk he's always been, and Hermione is still the same uptight workaholic she's always been, but somehow that's what they both need.
"Granger," Malfoy will sometimes say, when Hermione's complaining about something offensive he's said, "You can't change me."
And Hermione knows. She knows, and though she'll never admit it, she would never want to.
Author: yamapea
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I also don't own the song used to inspire this fic - Chris Cornell's "Can't change me".
Warnings: dirty talk
Summary: Hermione has worked hard to become Senior Auror of the Deception Division. Will Draco Malfoy's transfer to her department ruin everything?
Notes: Written back in September for dmhgficexchange, for Gravidy! Many thanks to a certain someone who helped me plot this out... I would have been lost without your help.
Malfoy starts on a Tuesday morning.
They find out via owls from higher-ups on Monday; just a little note scrawled out on parchment about the man rumored to be in cahoots with remaining Death Eaters, just a casual mention that he's coming to work for the Ministry.
The first gossip she hears about it is in the bathroom that day, after lunch. Lisa Turpin is washing her hands when Hermione comes in, looking fit to burst with the news.
"Well, I don't believe he's on our side, not for a minute!" she says in a rush, like they're just picking up a conversation from earlier. Hermione stops short, opens and closes her mouth but can't figure out what to say. "I mean, after all that he did, back at Hogwarts!"
"Well…" Hermione says tactfully, not knowing why she feels like she ought to defend him but unable to help herself. "If the Ministry trusts him…"
Lisa purses her lips as she dries her hands. "Whatever," Lisa says, and then she's striding out of the bathroom, and the rumors really start.
The thing is, Hermione doesn't really believe he's coming, not when she gets that owl, not when Lisa Turpin confronts her in the bathroom, not when she starts feeling that long-forgotten nervous twisting in her stomach… not until he comes breezing through the door of her office on Tuesday morning.
"Granger," he says in greeting, and Hermione tries in vain to save the stack of papers she just bumped into before they go tumbling to the floor. Her face already feels hot with embarrassment, and he's only been here for a few seconds.
She expects to hear him laughing as she stoops to gather the fallen papers, but he's strangely silent. She clears her throat.
"Malfoy," she says evenly, glancing up at him from where she's kneeling, arms laden with papers, glasses slipping down her nose.
There's an odd expression on his face, one that she can't quite make out before it's morphing into the obnoxious smirk she remembers so well.
"Hope you aren't too happy here," he breathes. "Should be my office soon."
And just like that, he's leaving, turning on his heel and sweeping out the door. Hermione watches him go, heart pounding in her chest and feeling like it's in her throat. It's not until she's restacked the papers and collapsed into her chair that she realizes she's holding her breath.
*
By day three of Malfoy's employment, it's brutally obvious that he isn't welcome. Hermione hasn't seen him much-he's been in and out of HR for transfer paperwork and she's been in and out of the office, hot on the case of a phony wand dealer-but even in passing she can tell it's starting to get to him.
She's not sure if that makes him more likable, but it certainly makes his position seem more genuine. She doesn't realize that she feels sorry for him until she's leaving her office late Thursday night.
Generally, when Hermione works late, she works the latest. She's accustomed to finding empty desks and, sometimes, an empty Ministry when she leaves. It's encroaching on 10 already, so she's genuinely surprised when she hears papers shuffling as she locks her office door.
Malfoy's there, at the desk closest to her office door, bent over a stack of papers that look uncannily similar to a defective glamours case that Padma Patil should be working on. He's so engrossed in what he's doing (or so good at pretending to be) that he doesn't look up until she's standing directly in front of him.
"Working late, aren't you?" Hermione asks.
Malfoy gives her a little half grin and shrugs, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. "Afraid of the competition, Granger? Thought you had 'biggest brownnoser' in the bag this year?"
Hermione snorts. The idea that Malfoy could even hope to threaten her position here is ludicrous. And yet…
"Still think you're going to take my office?"
Malfoy pauses, wrinkling his nose as he glances towards her office, dropping his hands to toy with a quill as he considers it. "No, it's a little… small for my taste."
Hermione rolls her eyes and turns to leave, but suddenly his fingers are on her wrist, loosely catching hold of her arm. She stops short, feeling like her heart has jumped into her throat again, half hoping he'll release her and half desperate that he won't.
"Seriously," he says quietly. "Who are you trying to impress?"
She meets his eyes for a long, silent moment, finding that she really has no response, and just like that, his fingers slide down over her wrist bone and he releases her, shaking his head and returning his attention to his work as if the conversation is over. Hermione feels like it hasn't even started.
"It's not a matter of trying to impress… anyone," she says stupidly, and she wonders why it's always so hard with him, why she can never manage a smarter comeback.
Malfoy doesn't even bother looking up when he replies this time. "Same old Granger, I see."
*
It has been a week since Malfoy was transferred in from the Bulgarian Ministry office, and the shunning and rumors have only gotten more intense. The following Wednesday, Hermione arrives back from a strategic lunch with the new Head Goblin of Gringotts to find a cluster of her coworkers gathered by the elevator, so engrossed in angry whispers that they don't notice Hermione stepping off. She hears the words "Death Eater" and "Malfoy" and glances nervously towards his desk.
Malfoy is bent studiously over the financial reports she'd handed him that morning, looking anything but focused, and Hermione feels a sharp pang of pity. She clears her throat, and the whispers die down as they notice her.
"What?" Seamus Finnegan challenges, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think we're wrong?"
Hermione opens her mouth to reply, but Lisa interrupts.
"He's a Death Eater."
Hermione sighs. "He's not a Death Eater," she says quietly. "He's been working for the Bulgarian office for three years and-"
"Oh please!" Seamus says. "Like that means anything! We can't trust him."
"Well," Hermione says, steeling herself. "Dumbledore would want us to forgive him for the past, at least."
That shuts everyone up, just as Hermione had hoped it would, and with that she turns on her heel, marching directly over to Malfoy's desk.
"Malfoy."
"Granger?" Malfoy says, icily polite.
Hermione falters a little but plunges on, words all rushed so that she won't stop herself from saying them. "We're going out for drinks tonight."
"What time?" Malfoy asks, nearly smiling as he watches her.
The last thing Hermione had expected was for Malfoy to take her up on this, and suddenly she is caught in her own bluff. "I… oh… well, um…"
"I wouldn't pass up a chance to be in your company, Granger," Malfoy says, and he is smiling this time.
She knows he's being sarcastic and she hates him for it, and she knows her coworkers are watching her embarrass herself and she hates them for it. But mostly she knows that she just blushed a shade that would put Ron to shame, and she hates herself the most of all.
"Whenever we finish up our work tonight," she mumbles, hurriedly stepping into her office and closing the door behind her.
*
Hermione keeps herself locked in her office for the remainder of the afternoon.
At 5:30, when most of her coworkers should have already left, she makes a brief trip to the restroom, pointedly ignoring Malfoy's desk as she passes him. Unfortunately, Padma and Lisa are in the loo, applying makeup charms and gossiping. They fall silent as Hermione enters.
"Hermione," Padma says, watching Hermione in the mirror as she pockets her wand and scrutinizes her lip gloss. "You can't go out with him."
"Yeah," Lisa chimes in, "Don't be fooled by his charm."
Hermione watchers sourly as Lisa attempts some sort of glamour that makes half of her face sparkle. "I don't know many people who would be fooled by yours," she mutters under her breath.
*
At 7 that evening, after an exhausting floo conference with a frightened new head of finances, Hermione is ready for a drink.
She locks up her office quietly, expecting to find Malfoy long gone, but she's surprised to find him sitting at his desk, watching her.
"Oh," she says, stopping short. "Are you-"
"We're going out for drinks tonight," he says, pushing away from his desk with a weird little half-smile, and Hermione feels like she's blushing all over again.
"Malfoy, you know, we don't have to… It was just-"
He's stepped around his desk, and Hermione suddenly finds herself face to face with him. She can smell his cologne, can make out a faint line of stubble along his jaw, can feel him breathing in little puffs of air against her neck, and she's starting to feel dizzy.
"Trying to back out on me, Granger?"
Before she can faint, Hermione shakes her head and Malfoy laughs.
"I have to go back by my flat, so I'll meet you…" he pauses, and Hermione risks glancing up at him. Malfoy's watching her, and she feels his fingers brush ever so slightly against the hem of her skirt. It's so slight it could be accidental, but Hermione knows that it's anything but. "… at The Tipsy Troll."
Hermione nods dizzily and Malfoy turns, swaggering away towards the elevators as she regains her senses. From what she's heard, the Tipsy Troll is a trendy place with the under 30 crowd, and Hermione feels like she's being put to the trendy test.
*
The Tipsy Troll is every bit as offensively loud and bright and uncomfortable as Hermione had anticipated, but she manages to find an empty, awkwardly shaped neon green booth in an unnecessarily dark corner, and has downed two shots of Firewhiskey by the time Malfoy arrives.
She's just tipping back her third when he slides easily into the booth across from her, and she tries her best not to choke or look too horrified by the whiskey burning its way down her throat. She wants Malfoy to think that she's a pro at this, that she goes out all the time, that she's used to downing shots of Firewhiskey in loud clubs and can handle her liquor.
"So," Malfoy says, just as the waitress arrives. She sets another two shots down in front of Hermione, who pretends not to notice the way Malfoy's eyebrows shoot up.
"For you sir…"
"I'll have what she's having," Malfoy says smoothly, sliding one of Hermione's shot glasses across the table. The waitress nods and leaves, and Malfoy downs the shot he's usurped before Hermione can object.
"Malfoy, why are you here?" Hermione asks. It's not what she meant to ask-what she'd meant to say would have been something like… "I can't believe you actually showed up" or "It's strange to be having a drink with you," but those are harder to say. Those are things that imply that Hermione cares, somehow, about what Malfoy thinks or says or does, and she doesn't. Not at all.
Malfoy raises his eyebrows as he toys with the empty shot glass. "You invited me, Granger."
"No, not-" She catches herself before she's even really begun to explain what she meant, and after a moment's awkward pause, she decides she should change the subject. "Do you like art?"
Malfoy laughs, and it's weird. It's almost a pleasant laugh-not derisive or sneering or nasty, but soft and genuine. "Art?"
Hermione rolls her eyes but can't bite back a smile. "You know, paintings and sculpture and photography and-"
"Yes, Granger," Malfoy says. "I do know what art is, I'm just curious as to why you've suddenly decided to bring it up."
"Well," Hermione says, uneasily. She knows she's blushing again and she hates that he keeps seeing her this way… that he keeps making her so flustered when it's Malfoy and she has no reason to be embarrassed about anything. "I just thought it would be nice to discuss some culture with you, you know. Have some intelligent conversation."
The waitress arrives with another round of shots-two for Hermione, two for Malfoy, and Draco smiles as he traces the rim of his shot glasses with his fingers. Hermione downs one to fill the awkward pause, and it isn't as bad this time-it still burns, it's still horrific tasting, but somehow it's easier than the others.
"Granger, you know, we could have intelligent conversation without talking about paintings."
Malfoy downs a shot at that, and Hermione considers him. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
He sets his glass back down on the table and sighs, and there's a long moment of silence as he considers her. Hermione feels a terrible blush stealing over her face as she tries to prepare the best Occlumency defense she can muster, but the whiskey has taken its toll, and she feels that she's weak. If Malfoy wanted to read her mind right now, he probably could.
"Tell me a secret," Malfoy says, lifting his second shot. "Something you never thought you'd tell me."
Hermione laughs nervously. "I… what? You want to know… I… it's… you're… why do you think I'd tell you anything?"
Malfoy only smiles at her stuttering and tips back his second shot in answer. Hermione stares dismally down at her next two, and decides it's best that she match him. Can't let Malfoy win, after all.
*
Hermione wakes up with a headache.
This happens sometimes, when she's stressed over work or her seemingly continually unsuccessful attempt to become an Unspeakable, but this is different. Her throat is horrifically dry, the lights in her room are far too bright for lights that shouldn't be on in the first place, and as she stares up at her ceiling, it occurs to her that she does not remember how she got here.
She clambers out of bed in a panic, crossing and uncrossing her arms over her chest as she tries to remember this, tries desperately to remember coming back to her flat, stripping down to her underwear and climbing under the covers, but it's not there. She wonders when she and Malfoy left the bar, what all she confessed to him…
And then it hits her. Malfoy must have taken her home. Malfoy must have taken her here, taken her out of her clothes, Malfoy must have-
Hermione has never been so angry in her entire life.
*
It's a little after ten in the morning when Hermione gets to Malfoy's flat, having swung by the office and searched personnel files to find his address. The office had been mostly empty, to her relief, though no one would have asked many questions about Hermione dropping in on a Saturday anyway.
Malfoy's flat is in one of the nicest parts of Muggle London, in one of the nicest buildings, on the very top floor. Hermione's anger grows with every floor the elevator ascends, and by the time she reaches his door, she's livid.
She knocks as calmly as possible, though her wand is already in her hand, and she's ready to blow the door off its hinges if he doesn't answer soon.
"In a minute, Granger," Malfoy calls from somewhere inside, and Hermione glowers at the door, wondering what sort of creepy security system he has set up to know who's visiting him.
The door swings open before she can give it much thought, and she's momentarily struck by how incredibly rough Malfoy looks-his hair is mussed, his eyes are a bit bloodshot, and his clothes are rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed. She can't remember ever seeing him look so… unkempt.
"Granger?"
He looks like he's been expecting her, and there's a faint hint of a smirk to his expression, like he's won some sort of game and that's why she's here. Hermione shoves him hard without really meaning to, and follows him as he stumbles backwards into his apartment.
"Malfoy," she says coolly, kicking the door closed behind her. "Just what do you think you were doing-"
"Oh please," Malfoy says, looking almost annoyed. "Like you didn't want me to. You're just embarrassed, right? You stupid Gryffindors and your stupid-"
"Incendio!" Hermione says, promptly setting fire to an expensive looking armoire.
"GRANGER!" Malfoy shrieks, "HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT?"
As he frantically extinguishes his furniture, Hermione starts another small fire in the center of his coffee table. "You thought I wanted you to? You're disgusting!"
Malfoy gives her an exasperated look over his shoulder as he tends to the table. "You'd rather I just left you at the bar then? Merlin knows what would have become of you, but I don't suppose I should care, should I, you complete loon?"
"Incendio!" Hermione shouts, and watches in satisfaction as his leather armchair bursts into flames. "I'd rather that than have you take advantage of me! I can take care of myself!"
She's eyeing the curtains, ready for his next defense, when suddenly Malfoy is shoving her up against the door, pinning her arms to her sides and looking furious. "Can you?" he breathes, and Hermione's wand slips from her fingers, clatters to the floor.
"I can't believe you-" she starts, but Malfoy releases one of her arms to press a finger against her lips.
"I didn't," he says. "I took you home, I put you in bed, and I left."
Hermione stares, a little dumbstruck but also distrustful, and Malfoy sighs, twisting away from her to extinguish the fire in his chair.
"Please go home, Granger. I'll bill your for your psychotic rampage some other time."
*
In the week following the fires, Hermione is achingly nice to Malfoy.
She gives him the cushiest assignments she can find, she passes along invitations to exciting, exclusive Ministry events, and on one unfortunate morning she tries to bake him some muffins.
Malfoy ignores her for the larger part of the week, choosing to pretend that she doesn't exist and making Hermione feel steadily worse. By Friday, she has resigned herself to a future of awkward and embarrassing silence. As usual, she deals with her discomfort by overworking, and it's not until 9:30 that night that she finally packs it in for the day and decides to go home.
She's not expecting to find him still in the office but he is, perched arrogantly on the edge of his desk, waiting for her.
"Granger," he says easily, like he hasn't been ignoring her all week, like she never showed up and started setting his possessions on fire.
"Malfoy," Hermione says slowly. "I didn't know you'd be working this late-"
"I wanted to personally deliver the invoice for the furniture you destroyed," he says, and Hermione's heart sinks as she fumbles for her checkbook.
"Oh… right… I'm sorry, I'll just-"
"Granger," he says again, and Hermione looks up. "Stop apologizing. It's annoying."
"But I-"
"I'm well aware of what you did, and you'll pay for it, but it doesn't mean you should keep harassing me."
Hermione scowls. "Just because you're not gracious enough to accept an apology-"
"Gracious?!" Malfoy laughs. "You think I'm not being gracious? Oh, that's rich."
Hermione crosses her arms over her chest as Malfoy slides off his desk and steps up to her, a parchment that Hermione can only assume is the bill for the damage in his hand. Suddenly he's close though; too close, and Hermione feels hot all over and strangely desperate to kiss him. She glances nervously up at Malfoy and finds, to her surprise, that he seems to be experiencing the same thing.
They freeze like that, just a few breaths apart in the empty office, and that's when the invoice slips from his fingers and Malfoy kisses her.
*
It's Hermione's idea to use her office, Hermione who unlocks the door and shuts it back behind them as Malfoy toys with the hem of her skirt and grazes her thighs with his fingertips.
"Do you think anyone is still here?" Hermione breathes as she backs towards her desk.
Malfoy already has his robes unbuttoned and he follows her, dropping them on a chair as Hermione props herself up on the desk.
"Probably those suckups downstairs," Malfoy says quietly as he reaches her.
Hermione chooses to ignore the slight against her hardworking coworkers in Misuse of Magic. "I guess we'll just have to be quiet, then."
Malfoy kisses her again, stepping up between her thighs and Hermione grabs hold of his tie, tugging him closer until they're both breathless and desperate. Malfoy's hand is sliding up under her skirt and Hermione's starting to wonder what the hell they're doing, but it feels too good to stop now.
They fall back against her desk, sending parchments and quills rolling in every direction, and Malfoy starts to work on the buttons of her blouse with one hand, while he brushes the edge of her knickers with his other.
"Granger," Malfoy whispers against her neck, and Hermione shifts underneath him, wonders why now, of all times, he can't just call her Hermione.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever been fucked on your desk before?"
Hermione bites down hard on her lower lip, but still manages a little whimper at the words, the way they roll off of Malfoy's tongue like it's the dirtiest idea in the world.
"Never," she promises, as Malfoy's fingers dance across her knickers, brushing against her through the silk before he starts to tug them aside.
"I'm surprised," he murmurs against her ear. "Being the little office slut that you are, I'd think you'd prefer it to your bed. Fuck, they're all soaked through."
Hermione feels hot with embarrassment and a little bit of outrage but as she opens her mouth to object to being called an "office slut," he kisses her, starts to slide his fingers inside her wet little knickers, and she knows she won't regret this.
*
She does regret it, sometimes.
He tells her that she's the same old Granger, that she hasn't changed at all, but she thinks that's what he likes about her. So much has changed for the both of them-through the war and afterwards-that it's comforting. Malfoy is still the same arrogant, self-righteous jerk he's always been, and Hermione is still the same uptight workaholic she's always been, but somehow that's what they both need.
"Granger," Malfoy will sometimes say, when Hermione's complaining about something offensive he's said, "You can't change me."
And Hermione knows. She knows, and though she'll never admit it, she would never want to.