DUET 5: ochre_101 and darkcivet
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: The Curious Case of Malfoy and Granger
Author: ochre_101
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4013
Summary: A pesky ferret. Check. A fed-up bachelorette. Check. Unrequited love. Double check. A disastrous blind date. Hell yeah. It takes just a little amount of time for our beloved Granger and Malfoy to come clean about their feelings.
Warnings: None
Author's Note(s): This is my very first fanfiction that I'm putting up on the internet for dramione fans to read so please be kind.
Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of her generation for many reasons. Her intelligence for one. Her impeccable knowledge of topics; both Muggle and magical. And of course, her ability to master any spell except, perhaps, beauty charms. But this ‘brightness’ never stretched to an ability to hold a conversation about Quidditch.
Yes, Quidditch of all things.
She never quite liked the sport, anyway. It was barbarically horrendous, in her opinion. It might just be because of her fear of flying, but whatever. Hermione Granger couldn’t hold a conversation about Quidditch and that was why her mind was racing towards thoughts of doing her laundry once she got home instead of listening to the handsome wizard sitting across from her, blabbering on and on about his interest in Quidditch.
“Ay, Hermione. Where did you go?” Lee stopped suddenly and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, nowhere. Just enjoying you talk about Quidditch, is all.” She smiled sweetly, rolling her eyes inwardly.
And that was good enough for Lee Jordan, apparently, because he launched into another tale about his time spent commentating on Quidditch matches all around the wizarding world.
BBOOORRIINNGGG! Hermione’s mind drawled, and she made a mental note never to agree to any of Ginny’s blind date ideas ever again.
So far, there had been seven of these blind dates and all of them (including the current one) had been rather unsuccessful, if not downright failures. The first one was with Victor Krum who had been nothing but a pompous git boasting about his riches in Bulgaria and bloody Quidditch.
Dean Thomas had been another one of the Quidditch fanatics; borderline maniac, that one. Terry Boot, surprisingly, was nice if one ignored his rather annoying sense of dirty humor. Keith Applebee had been a downright stuttering mess in front of her. And let’s not forget Quentin Creevy; another boring bloke who had been too busy trying not to vomit at the taste of wine to actually hold a proper conversation. And at last, before Lee Jordan, there had been Zacharias Smith. Not a word on that one. It was a terrifying experience for the bushy-haired witch.
After the dinner date with Lee, Hermione apparated home, alone. No way was she ever going to spend another second listening to the dunderhead spout out Quidditch crap.
That night, she fell asleep on the couch with tears on her cheeks that had somehow leaked out during one of her bound-to-make-you-cry-Muggle-romance-films.
○-○
“Bloody hell,” Hermione Granger muttered, pushing her wild curls out of her face and making a face at her disgustingly sticky blouse. The day was getting worse by the minute.
She had woken up late, courtesy of watching Muggle films till late, and drinking.
Butterbeer? Mulled Mead? Or was it Firewhisky? Her hungover mind couldn’t quite decipher what exactly she was drinking last night. But whatever it was, it had her disgruntled to the very core. After hastily throwing on a black pencil skirt (that she forgot was a bit tight at her rear), her white blouse and a pair of black heels, she hadn’t even bothered with breakfast before darting towards the Ministry.
On the way to her office, a young intern had bumped into her and spilled a delicious cup of coffee over her. The poor intern had been on the verge of crying so Hermione had brushed it off and had walked into to her office only to collapse on her chair in defeat, with head pounding and the smell of coffee invading her nostrils.
“Couldn’t keep your abnormally large head from running into a mishap, could you, Granger?” a familiar voice drawled, making her head snap up towards the one and only, smirking git, Draco Malfoy, standing in the doorway of her office.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh nothing, love. Saw you barge in here and though of helping you with your…uh…mess.” His trademark smirk adorned his lips as he gestured towards her chest, upon which Hermione looked down and realized her blouse was see-through enough for the git to see the details of her lacy bra.
She gasped and put her arms up to her chest. “Get out of here, you prat,” she growled at him.
He chuckled and strolled towards her. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her desk and leaning towards her face so that their noses were an inch apart.
Hermione held her breath and willed herself not to react to him.
Sure he was a git. But he was a bloody shaggable one at that. Then again, puberty favors some people more than others. Where Hermione's hair had grown bushier and her freckles more prominent, and her looks just average, Draco Malfoy had been blessed by puberty.
His platinum hair was a tad darker, and hung over his eyes instead of being slicked back. He had broad, well-defined shoulders and, Hermione would die before admitting, she was particularly fond of his arse. He had dumped his dark, broody aristocratic wizarding robes and instead wore muggle suits (designer, of course) which in Hermione’s opinion made him look all the hotter. His eyes, however, always left her fascinated, and she cursed him for having such deep and beautiful eyes. Like two pools of liquid storm.
And currently, those eyes were holding her captive, too close for comfortable breathing.
Draco Malfoy leaned over a bit more, so their lips were a breath away from touching. Hermione’s hands quivered and all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around his neck and crash her lips to his. Why did he have to be so bloody gorgeous? He oozed sex appeal and not having been with a bloke for so long had left her sexually frustrated.
She was contemplating acting on her desires when…
“Scourgify,” he whispered, staring at the brunette intently.
Hermione blinked and the next moment, Malfoy was sitting across from her on the comfortable chair, smirking at her.
She looked down, her blouse was no longer see-through.
But damn!
She stared at the wizard with her mouth ajar watching him pocket his wand. When had he even got it out? Hermione mentally cursed herself for leaving her own wand at home in her haste.
“Now that you’re not dripping in coffee, mind telling me why you look like that blasted cat of yours just died?” Draco asked raising a questioning eyebrow at her.
“How many times do I have to tell you that his name is Crookshanks?! And he’s a very loyal cat,” Hermione snapped at him, making him raise his hands in surrender.
“Was just asking. Blasted Granger wouldn’t take kindness if it punched her in the face.” He muttered the last part to himself. “Granger, I was just being a concerned friend,” he said, aloud this time. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to sort out her paperwork, ignoring the blond wizard.
“Granger.” (Ignored).
“Granger.” (Ignored).
“GRANGER!”
“What?!” Hermione was trying so hard to ignore him but the prat had to make it impossible by tapping on the desk loudly and humming her name like a lost melody.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened to you. And why in the world do you look like you could murder someone?”
Draco Malfoy; the ultimate annoying prick.
“Get lost, Malfoy. Or you’ll be the one I’m going to murder,” Granger threatened, scowling at him.
“Granger, you won’t kill me, love. Who is going to be the object of your fantasies if you do?” Draco said, smiling sarcastically at her.
Prick.
Draco looked at her for a long moment before his mouth went agape. “Don’t tell me you went on another one of the blind dates the Weaselette sets you up with?!” he questioned, groaning at the possibility. When Hermione didn’t answer, he just sighed and rubbed his face.
Now here’s the thing. Draco Malfoy might be a bloody git but he had grown to become fast friends with the bushy-haired witch. They worked at the Ministry in different departments but ever since Malfoy apologized to her for all the years of bullying, Hermione had had a soft spot for him. It started with curt respectful nods, transformed to handshakes and polite conversation and then, somewhere along the way, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had become best of friends, especially after her two best friends got married and started families.
Hermione shared almost everything with Draco, except for the part about her feelings for him. She had told him about all her blind date disasters and Draco, being the ever-loyal best friend, had laughed his arse off at her misery. He didn't like her going on all these dates and Hermione could never make out why. Arrogant git.
“Who was the bloke?” Draco finally asked after Hermione remained silent for a long time.
“Lee Jordan,” she mumbled, looking dejected.
“Lee Jordan… Wait a minute! ISN’T THAT THE PRICK WHO COMMENTATED THE QUIDDITCH BACK AT HOGWARTS?! HE WAS SUCH A GIT. Hated Slytherins with a passion, that one,” Draco went on with a grimace.
“Draco Malfoy! I’m too tired for this. I’m hungover and I haven’t even had breakfast. Leave me alone,” Hermione said, tiredly dropping her head onto her desk with a resounding thud.
“You know what? NO! I’m not going to leave you alone in here to mope all day. Come on.” Draco stood up from his seat and walked towards her. “Get up, you crazy bint. You’re not in the condition to work.” He pried her from her seat and practically dragged her out of the office.
“DRACO MALFOY! I DO NOT LIKE TO BE MANHANDLED!” she screamed in frustration but he didn’t listen and continued to drag her towards the Apparition point.
“I’m not manhandling you, witch. I’m making sure my lovely know-it-all, bookworm is well-fed and doesn’t drop dead any second leaving me to endure the Ministry torture all by myself.”
And all Hermione could focus on was how he said ‘my lovely, know-it-all bookworm’. It did crazy things to her insides.
Oh, you wonderful git. She sighed softly and let him drag her to wherever it was he was going.
○-○
“Kingsley said you wanted to reopen the Yvette case.” Draco started the conversation casually as he sipped his coffee, sitting across from Hermione Granger at a quaint little café in Muggle London.
Hermione nodded taking a bite from her pancakes and spoke after swallowing.
“I did. It was closed unfinished, after Marina Yvette died. But a few days ago, when I was going through the Greyback case file, I found something that might help us end it,” Hermione explained thoughtfully.
Trust her to open up long buried cases. “And what is it that you found?” Draco asked eyeing her cautiously. She was exquisite. Her brown curls were always haphazard; untamable to the extreme; but they framed her face nicely and gave her the wild aura her heart possessed. Her eyes were honey brown and Draco often found himself staring at her especially when she was ranting passionately about a worthy cause.
He often wondered if he could get her to project that passion somewhere else…
“Fenrir Greyback was a werewolf by blood, or was he bitten?” Hermione countered with her own question.
“By blood, why?” Draco knew she was up to something big by the predatory grin on her face.
“Remember in one of the classes about werewolves, Snape said that despite being ruthless and dangerous creatures, their genes are only strong enough to be carried through three generations. After that, the werewolf gene ceases to exist and future generations are spared from being werewolves. Correct?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Correct.” Draco Malfoy wasn’t the smartest wizard of his generation for nothing. He was bested only by the witch opposite him.
“Trace the family line before Fenrir Greyback; his parents weren’t werewolves. His grandparents weren’t either. Actually, there were only two werewolves in the Greyback family, dating back to the seventh and eleventh generations prior to Fenrir,” Hermione explained setting down her knife and fork and turning to him with a serious expression.
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Draco muttered with a shake of his head which seemed to amuse Hermione as she smiled at him.
“Wise choice,” she commented, before straightening up again. “Anyway, as I was saying, either Fenrir wasn’t a werewolf by blood. But there are no records of him being bitten by a werewolf. Now, turn to the Yvette family. They were famous practitioners of the Dark Arts. The case was complicated. An unknown disease hit the family and about seven decades ago, and Marina Yvette was the only survivor. She filed the case claiming there was no disease and that her family was poisoned.” Her fingers tangled and untangled together as she spoke.
“Go on,” said Draco.
“The Ministry worked on the case but after Marina herself suddenly passed away, the case was closed abruptly. I have a theory that the Greyback family was behind the assassination of the family.”
That had Draco spurting out his coffee.
“WHAT?! Greyback and Yvette?! How?!”
“There was an article about Fenrir Greyback’s grandfather Werito Greyback being betrothed to Regina Yvette, Marina’s grandmother, but two days before the wedding, he was found in bed with Visalia Harrow. The article claimed Regina was furious and ended the engagement.”
“Obviously.”
Ignoring Draco’s comment, Hermione went on.
“But there’s more. Werito married Visalia and there was a rumor that Regina, who was conveniently no less than a master of Dark Arts, cursed the Greyback family. I did some research. Apparently, the curse she performed was the same one Xeliphes performed on Cartago.”
“That made Cartago give birth to a werewolf?”
“That exact one. Except Werito and Visalia didn’t give birth to a werewolf. Their eldest son, however, did. Thus, Fenrir Greyback was born. The Greyback family was furious with the Yvette clan for ruining their bloodline. Something they were very proud of. Their bloodline was sullied. And they were out for revenge.”
“So, they poisoned Marina’s family? And ended the entire family?”
“Exactly. And Marina, herself, was killed by Fenrir’s father. And that closed the case.”
“But we don’t have proof of that.”
“I do. Marina Yvette left her memories in her Gringotts Vault. There were conversations between the Greybacks which she witnessed in hiding.”
“So what are you doing sitting here? Get the case finished. So we can celebrate.” Draco was excited for her. He was bound to be. He loved her all the more when she was this brilliant, the little minx.
“Two days from now, I will have the written permission from the Minister to officially re-open the case. Then, this case will be closed. By yours truly.” Hermione chuckled.
“You’re brilliant, you know that?” Draco said, looking at her adoringly.
Hermione had the decency to blush. “Why, thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she quipped.
For the remainder of their meal, they talked about anything and everything.
Except Quidditch and, of course, her horrible date the night prior.
Hermione liked Draco for his uncanny ability to engage her in conversation, amusing her with silly banter and witty remarks.
Dare she say, she loved him for it.
She loved him for a lot of reasons.
A lot of unexplainable reasons.
○-○
“So Granger, be my plus one for the Ball?” Draco asked, seeming nonchalant but inside, his heart was beating rapidly.
“And why would I do that?” Hermione glanced up from her parchment and grinned at him.
“Oh I don’t know, I’m handsome and intelligent and a bloody amazing shag,” Draco said smirking at her.
She laughed and shook her head. “Not good enough, Malfoy.”
“Please, Granger. Hermione, don’t make me go with that crazy bint Astoria. She’s barmy. Even Trelawny has nothing on her. Mother won’t talk to me ever again if I don’t bring a date. You’re my only hope.” He was pleading now; his face a mask of hope and desperation.
“Okay. I’ll go. Might be fun seeing Astoria’s face when I’m the one on your arm.”
A Slytherin-worthy smile appeared on her lips. Draco felt proud of her.
○-○
Hermione Granger was a lot of things but a make-up artist wasn’t one of them. The night of the Annual Malfoy-Parkinson Charity Ball, she accompanied the Malfoy heir in an elegant, rich green floor-length gown with a slit up her right thigh, and only a small amount of mascara on her lashes and a touch of lip-gloss. The dress was made of silk, clinging to her body, with a scooping neckline and backless, exposing her creamy shoulders. Silver threaded flowers wove around the side of the gown; from her left shoulder down to her hip and below. Her hair was wild as ever, hanging down her back in a tousled mess.
Draco Malfoy, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. To him, no woman in the hall full of elegant, beautiful and fashionably gifted women held a flicker to his Hermione. His, he thought wryly. How he’d love to make her his! Green suited her pale complexion, and her riotous hair made her look like a forest nymph. One that he loved very much.
He himself looked handsome in his expensive, custom-tailored suit with his hair styled perfectly and his eyes shining with barely contained adoration for Hermione. Fools in love, were they. Anyone from a ten mile radius could see the spark between them except for the two dunderheads, themselves.
“Enjoying yourself, Granger?” Draco whispered close to her ear as she pressed a glass of champagne to her lips.
She smiled to herself. “Hardly.”
The whispered word made Draco smirk. She loved all the talk of up and coming charity projects with interested wizards and witches. They were standing among a group of Ministry workers discussing the construction of a new children ward at St. Mungo’s and Draco knew Hermione enjoyed talking about things she was passionate about but he hadn’t teased her all night and was itching to do so.
“Oh, come on, Granger. You know you love all this equality, justice and helping humanity thing. Don’t deny it,” he said, softly.
“I’m not denying it.” She was just too distracted by his hand on her back to enjoy the conversation.
“Mhmm.”
“Excuse us, Mrs. Kingsley. I just remembered Narcissa wanted Draco and I to meet her before the dinner.” Hermione practically dragged Draco towards his mother.
“Mother never said anything about that,” said Draco, confused as he looked at her.
His hand was now thankfully not on her back. It did strange things to her insides and she loved and hated it at the same time.
“Hermione, dear. I was just looking for you.” Narcissa cut short whatever Hermione was about to say, and smiled broadly at them. “I haven’t seen you dancing, love. Draco, where are your manners? When you bring a lady to a ball, you dance with her. Have I taught you nothing?” Narcissa was now scolding her son, who had the audacity to smirk in Hermione’s direction.
“Accompany this lovely woman to the dance floor, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Narcissa demanded.
“Listen to your mother, son.” Lucius came out of nowhere, putting an arm around his wife and looking at his son with an eyebrow raised that said, ‘Don't dare deny your mother that.’
“May I have this dance, milady?” Draco extended his hand for Hermione to take, which she did with an amused smile and a courteous nod towards the elder Malfoys.
“The sexual tension between them is suffocating,” Narcissa commented when the young couple was out of earshot. Lucius could do nothing but agree.
○-○
“Malf--”
“Shh… Would you mind keeping that smart mouth of yours closed for a while?” Draco Malfoy murmured, with his eyes closed, pulling Hermione flush against his chest and closing his hands around her waist. The gasp that escaped the witch’s lips went unheard as he continued to sway them slightly on their feet.
Giving up, Hermione circled her arms around his neck and put her head on his chest, closing her eyes.
“This feels nice,” she whispered to herself, not knowing the platinum haired git had heard.
“It does.” His reply made her blush as his hand tightened by a fraction around her back.
For once, they decided to push the barriers of their friendship and unrequited feelings aside and enjoy the moment while it lasted.
The two moved slowly, almost agonizingly, passionate in their sultry circles. The crowd around them had stopped dancing and were watching the young couple, who had their eyes closed, and whose bodies seemed to tingle with the fire burning between them.
The sight of them dancing so intimately was oddly attractive to everyone in the ballroom, including the 'crazy bint' Astoria, who had previously been envious of Hermione Granger but now admitted to herself, albeit begrudgingly, that the couple was well-suited. The sparks between them could set the world on fire.
“I do hope Narcissa is satisfied with this one dance,” Hermione voiced after some time, not opening her eyes for fear of losing the intimate moment.
“She might be. I’m not,” Draco said, pulling her even closer.
“And why not?” Hermione questioned, fingering the hair at the nape of his neck.
“This feels……like home. Feels too nice for me to let go.” He whispered the words so softly, Hermione almost missed them.
She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, peering in his now open, stormy eyes. He smiled down at her; the kind of lazy smile he wore only when he felt comfortable and happy and content with his life. She hadn’t seen that smile in a while and she admitted she had missed it.
She looked oddly vulnerable gazing up at him and he realized in that moment that he had never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did then.
“Malf--”
It came as a surprise as his soft lips descended upon hers and coaxed them into a sweet, tender kiss. The words died on her tongue as she tasted the wine on his. Despite the obvious sexual tension, the kiss was slow, passionate and absolutely awe-inspiring.
“I have wanted to do this for a distressingly long time,” Draco murmured against her lips, peppering feather-light kisses on her wine-sweetened lips. Hermione smiled into the kiss and whispered an agreement.
Draco pulled one hand free from her waist and trailed it up the length of her arm pulling it free from around his neck and enclosing her small hand in his with a kiss to her knuckles.
The silence, save the soft music, went unnoticed by the couple as the audience around them held their breaths and smiled in awe at them. The passion and the raw love rolled off of them in waves, consuming the crowd around them in its embrace.
“Malf--” Another interruption.
“Draco. You should be acquainted with my first name by now, Hermione,” he said, with smiling eyes and a gentle squeeze of her hands.
“I suppose so, Draco.”
○-○
A conversation in the aftermath of love-making in the gigantic Malfoy suite, featuring sleepy eyes and satisfied smiles and sated libidos, and eternal love…
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long have you harbored feelings for me, Draco?”
“Too long.”
“Still…”
“Ever since the third year.”
“That long?”
“That long. And you?”
“I suppose, ever since the day of the Yule Ball in our fourth year.”
“Well, I did look rather dashing that day.”
“Prat.”
“…”
“…”
“I love you, Hermione Granger.”
“And I love you, Draco ‘Ferret’ Malfoy.”
THE END
Title: The Curious Case of Malfoy and Granger
Author: ochre_101
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4013
Summary: A pesky ferret. Check. A fed-up bachelorette. Check. Unrequited love. Double check. A disastrous blind date. Hell yeah. It takes just a little amount of time for our beloved Granger and Malfoy to come clean about their feelings.
Warnings: None
Author's Note(s): This is my very first fanfiction that I'm putting up on the internet for dramione fans to read so please be kind.
Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of her generation for many reasons. Her intelligence for one. Her impeccable knowledge of topics; both Muggle and magical. And of course, her ability to master any spell except, perhaps, beauty charms. But this ‘brightness’ never stretched to an ability to hold a conversation about Quidditch.
Yes, Quidditch of all things.
She never quite liked the sport, anyway. It was barbarically horrendous, in her opinion. It might just be because of her fear of flying, but whatever. Hermione Granger couldn’t hold a conversation about Quidditch and that was why her mind was racing towards thoughts of doing her laundry once she got home instead of listening to the handsome wizard sitting across from her, blabbering on and on about his interest in Quidditch.
“Ay, Hermione. Where did you go?” Lee stopped suddenly and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, nowhere. Just enjoying you talk about Quidditch, is all.” She smiled sweetly, rolling her eyes inwardly.
And that was good enough for Lee Jordan, apparently, because he launched into another tale about his time spent commentating on Quidditch matches all around the wizarding world.
BBOOORRIINNGGG! Hermione’s mind drawled, and she made a mental note never to agree to any of Ginny’s blind date ideas ever again.
So far, there had been seven of these blind dates and all of them (including the current one) had been rather unsuccessful, if not downright failures. The first one was with Victor Krum who had been nothing but a pompous git boasting about his riches in Bulgaria and bloody Quidditch.
Dean Thomas had been another one of the Quidditch fanatics; borderline maniac, that one. Terry Boot, surprisingly, was nice if one ignored his rather annoying sense of dirty humor. Keith Applebee had been a downright stuttering mess in front of her. And let’s not forget Quentin Creevy; another boring bloke who had been too busy trying not to vomit at the taste of wine to actually hold a proper conversation. And at last, before Lee Jordan, there had been Zacharias Smith. Not a word on that one. It was a terrifying experience for the bushy-haired witch.
After the dinner date with Lee, Hermione apparated home, alone. No way was she ever going to spend another second listening to the dunderhead spout out Quidditch crap.
That night, she fell asleep on the couch with tears on her cheeks that had somehow leaked out during one of her bound-to-make-you-cry-Muggle-romance-films.
○-○
“Bloody hell,” Hermione Granger muttered, pushing her wild curls out of her face and making a face at her disgustingly sticky blouse. The day was getting worse by the minute.
She had woken up late, courtesy of watching Muggle films till late, and drinking.
Butterbeer? Mulled Mead? Or was it Firewhisky? Her hungover mind couldn’t quite decipher what exactly she was drinking last night. But whatever it was, it had her disgruntled to the very core. After hastily throwing on a black pencil skirt (that she forgot was a bit tight at her rear), her white blouse and a pair of black heels, she hadn’t even bothered with breakfast before darting towards the Ministry.
On the way to her office, a young intern had bumped into her and spilled a delicious cup of coffee over her. The poor intern had been on the verge of crying so Hermione had brushed it off and had walked into to her office only to collapse on her chair in defeat, with head pounding and the smell of coffee invading her nostrils.
“Couldn’t keep your abnormally large head from running into a mishap, could you, Granger?” a familiar voice drawled, making her head snap up towards the one and only, smirking git, Draco Malfoy, standing in the doorway of her office.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh nothing, love. Saw you barge in here and though of helping you with your…uh…mess.” His trademark smirk adorned his lips as he gestured towards her chest, upon which Hermione looked down and realized her blouse was see-through enough for the git to see the details of her lacy bra.
She gasped and put her arms up to her chest. “Get out of here, you prat,” she growled at him.
He chuckled and strolled towards her. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her desk and leaning towards her face so that their noses were an inch apart.
Hermione held her breath and willed herself not to react to him.
Sure he was a git. But he was a bloody shaggable one at that. Then again, puberty favors some people more than others. Where Hermione's hair had grown bushier and her freckles more prominent, and her looks just average, Draco Malfoy had been blessed by puberty.
His platinum hair was a tad darker, and hung over his eyes instead of being slicked back. He had broad, well-defined shoulders and, Hermione would die before admitting, she was particularly fond of his arse. He had dumped his dark, broody aristocratic wizarding robes and instead wore muggle suits (designer, of course) which in Hermione’s opinion made him look all the hotter. His eyes, however, always left her fascinated, and she cursed him for having such deep and beautiful eyes. Like two pools of liquid storm.
And currently, those eyes were holding her captive, too close for comfortable breathing.
Draco Malfoy leaned over a bit more, so their lips were a breath away from touching. Hermione’s hands quivered and all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around his neck and crash her lips to his. Why did he have to be so bloody gorgeous? He oozed sex appeal and not having been with a bloke for so long had left her sexually frustrated.
She was contemplating acting on her desires when…
“Scourgify,” he whispered, staring at the brunette intently.
Hermione blinked and the next moment, Malfoy was sitting across from her on the comfortable chair, smirking at her.
She looked down, her blouse was no longer see-through.
But damn!
She stared at the wizard with her mouth ajar watching him pocket his wand. When had he even got it out? Hermione mentally cursed herself for leaving her own wand at home in her haste.
“Now that you’re not dripping in coffee, mind telling me why you look like that blasted cat of yours just died?” Draco asked raising a questioning eyebrow at her.
“How many times do I have to tell you that his name is Crookshanks?! And he’s a very loyal cat,” Hermione snapped at him, making him raise his hands in surrender.
“Was just asking. Blasted Granger wouldn’t take kindness if it punched her in the face.” He muttered the last part to himself. “Granger, I was just being a concerned friend,” he said, aloud this time. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to sort out her paperwork, ignoring the blond wizard.
“Granger.” (Ignored).
“Granger.” (Ignored).
“GRANGER!”
“What?!” Hermione was trying so hard to ignore him but the prat had to make it impossible by tapping on the desk loudly and humming her name like a lost melody.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened to you. And why in the world do you look like you could murder someone?”
Draco Malfoy; the ultimate annoying prick.
“Get lost, Malfoy. Or you’ll be the one I’m going to murder,” Granger threatened, scowling at him.
“Granger, you won’t kill me, love. Who is going to be the object of your fantasies if you do?” Draco said, smiling sarcastically at her.
Prick.
Draco looked at her for a long moment before his mouth went agape. “Don’t tell me you went on another one of the blind dates the Weaselette sets you up with?!” he questioned, groaning at the possibility. When Hermione didn’t answer, he just sighed and rubbed his face.
Now here’s the thing. Draco Malfoy might be a bloody git but he had grown to become fast friends with the bushy-haired witch. They worked at the Ministry in different departments but ever since Malfoy apologized to her for all the years of bullying, Hermione had had a soft spot for him. It started with curt respectful nods, transformed to handshakes and polite conversation and then, somewhere along the way, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had become best of friends, especially after her two best friends got married and started families.
Hermione shared almost everything with Draco, except for the part about her feelings for him. She had told him about all her blind date disasters and Draco, being the ever-loyal best friend, had laughed his arse off at her misery. He didn't like her going on all these dates and Hermione could never make out why. Arrogant git.
“Who was the bloke?” Draco finally asked after Hermione remained silent for a long time.
“Lee Jordan,” she mumbled, looking dejected.
“Lee Jordan… Wait a minute! ISN’T THAT THE PRICK WHO COMMENTATED THE QUIDDITCH BACK AT HOGWARTS?! HE WAS SUCH A GIT. Hated Slytherins with a passion, that one,” Draco went on with a grimace.
“Draco Malfoy! I’m too tired for this. I’m hungover and I haven’t even had breakfast. Leave me alone,” Hermione said, tiredly dropping her head onto her desk with a resounding thud.
“You know what? NO! I’m not going to leave you alone in here to mope all day. Come on.” Draco stood up from his seat and walked towards her. “Get up, you crazy bint. You’re not in the condition to work.” He pried her from her seat and practically dragged her out of the office.
“DRACO MALFOY! I DO NOT LIKE TO BE MANHANDLED!” she screamed in frustration but he didn’t listen and continued to drag her towards the Apparition point.
“I’m not manhandling you, witch. I’m making sure my lovely know-it-all, bookworm is well-fed and doesn’t drop dead any second leaving me to endure the Ministry torture all by myself.”
And all Hermione could focus on was how he said ‘my lovely, know-it-all bookworm’. It did crazy things to her insides.
Oh, you wonderful git. She sighed softly and let him drag her to wherever it was he was going.
○-○
“Kingsley said you wanted to reopen the Yvette case.” Draco started the conversation casually as he sipped his coffee, sitting across from Hermione Granger at a quaint little café in Muggle London.
Hermione nodded taking a bite from her pancakes and spoke after swallowing.
“I did. It was closed unfinished, after Marina Yvette died. But a few days ago, when I was going through the Greyback case file, I found something that might help us end it,” Hermione explained thoughtfully.
Trust her to open up long buried cases. “And what is it that you found?” Draco asked eyeing her cautiously. She was exquisite. Her brown curls were always haphazard; untamable to the extreme; but they framed her face nicely and gave her the wild aura her heart possessed. Her eyes were honey brown and Draco often found himself staring at her especially when she was ranting passionately about a worthy cause.
He often wondered if he could get her to project that passion somewhere else…
“Fenrir Greyback was a werewolf by blood, or was he bitten?” Hermione countered with her own question.
“By blood, why?” Draco knew she was up to something big by the predatory grin on her face.
“Remember in one of the classes about werewolves, Snape said that despite being ruthless and dangerous creatures, their genes are only strong enough to be carried through three generations. After that, the werewolf gene ceases to exist and future generations are spared from being werewolves. Correct?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Correct.” Draco Malfoy wasn’t the smartest wizard of his generation for nothing. He was bested only by the witch opposite him.
“Trace the family line before Fenrir Greyback; his parents weren’t werewolves. His grandparents weren’t either. Actually, there were only two werewolves in the Greyback family, dating back to the seventh and eleventh generations prior to Fenrir,” Hermione explained setting down her knife and fork and turning to him with a serious expression.
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Draco muttered with a shake of his head which seemed to amuse Hermione as she smiled at him.
“Wise choice,” she commented, before straightening up again. “Anyway, as I was saying, either Fenrir wasn’t a werewolf by blood. But there are no records of him being bitten by a werewolf. Now, turn to the Yvette family. They were famous practitioners of the Dark Arts. The case was complicated. An unknown disease hit the family and about seven decades ago, and Marina Yvette was the only survivor. She filed the case claiming there was no disease and that her family was poisoned.” Her fingers tangled and untangled together as she spoke.
“Go on,” said Draco.
“The Ministry worked on the case but after Marina herself suddenly passed away, the case was closed abruptly. I have a theory that the Greyback family was behind the assassination of the family.”
That had Draco spurting out his coffee.
“WHAT?! Greyback and Yvette?! How?!”
“There was an article about Fenrir Greyback’s grandfather Werito Greyback being betrothed to Regina Yvette, Marina’s grandmother, but two days before the wedding, he was found in bed with Visalia Harrow. The article claimed Regina was furious and ended the engagement.”
“Obviously.”
Ignoring Draco’s comment, Hermione went on.
“But there’s more. Werito married Visalia and there was a rumor that Regina, who was conveniently no less than a master of Dark Arts, cursed the Greyback family. I did some research. Apparently, the curse she performed was the same one Xeliphes performed on Cartago.”
“That made Cartago give birth to a werewolf?”
“That exact one. Except Werito and Visalia didn’t give birth to a werewolf. Their eldest son, however, did. Thus, Fenrir Greyback was born. The Greyback family was furious with the Yvette clan for ruining their bloodline. Something they were very proud of. Their bloodline was sullied. And they were out for revenge.”
“So, they poisoned Marina’s family? And ended the entire family?”
“Exactly. And Marina, herself, was killed by Fenrir’s father. And that closed the case.”
“But we don’t have proof of that.”
“I do. Marina Yvette left her memories in her Gringotts Vault. There were conversations between the Greybacks which she witnessed in hiding.”
“So what are you doing sitting here? Get the case finished. So we can celebrate.” Draco was excited for her. He was bound to be. He loved her all the more when she was this brilliant, the little minx.
“Two days from now, I will have the written permission from the Minister to officially re-open the case. Then, this case will be closed. By yours truly.” Hermione chuckled.
“You’re brilliant, you know that?” Draco said, looking at her adoringly.
Hermione had the decency to blush. “Why, thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she quipped.
For the remainder of their meal, they talked about anything and everything.
Except Quidditch and, of course, her horrible date the night prior.
Hermione liked Draco for his uncanny ability to engage her in conversation, amusing her with silly banter and witty remarks.
Dare she say, she loved him for it.
She loved him for a lot of reasons.
A lot of unexplainable reasons.
○-○
“So Granger, be my plus one for the Ball?” Draco asked, seeming nonchalant but inside, his heart was beating rapidly.
“And why would I do that?” Hermione glanced up from her parchment and grinned at him.
“Oh I don’t know, I’m handsome and intelligent and a bloody amazing shag,” Draco said smirking at her.
She laughed and shook her head. “Not good enough, Malfoy.”
“Please, Granger. Hermione, don’t make me go with that crazy bint Astoria. She’s barmy. Even Trelawny has nothing on her. Mother won’t talk to me ever again if I don’t bring a date. You’re my only hope.” He was pleading now; his face a mask of hope and desperation.
“Okay. I’ll go. Might be fun seeing Astoria’s face when I’m the one on your arm.”
A Slytherin-worthy smile appeared on her lips. Draco felt proud of her.
○-○
Hermione Granger was a lot of things but a make-up artist wasn’t one of them. The night of the Annual Malfoy-Parkinson Charity Ball, she accompanied the Malfoy heir in an elegant, rich green floor-length gown with a slit up her right thigh, and only a small amount of mascara on her lashes and a touch of lip-gloss. The dress was made of silk, clinging to her body, with a scooping neckline and backless, exposing her creamy shoulders. Silver threaded flowers wove around the side of the gown; from her left shoulder down to her hip and below. Her hair was wild as ever, hanging down her back in a tousled mess.
Draco Malfoy, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. To him, no woman in the hall full of elegant, beautiful and fashionably gifted women held a flicker to his Hermione. His, he thought wryly. How he’d love to make her his! Green suited her pale complexion, and her riotous hair made her look like a forest nymph. One that he loved very much.
He himself looked handsome in his expensive, custom-tailored suit with his hair styled perfectly and his eyes shining with barely contained adoration for Hermione. Fools in love, were they. Anyone from a ten mile radius could see the spark between them except for the two dunderheads, themselves.
“Enjoying yourself, Granger?” Draco whispered close to her ear as she pressed a glass of champagne to her lips.
She smiled to herself. “Hardly.”
The whispered word made Draco smirk. She loved all the talk of up and coming charity projects with interested wizards and witches. They were standing among a group of Ministry workers discussing the construction of a new children ward at St. Mungo’s and Draco knew Hermione enjoyed talking about things she was passionate about but he hadn’t teased her all night and was itching to do so.
“Oh, come on, Granger. You know you love all this equality, justice and helping humanity thing. Don’t deny it,” he said, softly.
“I’m not denying it.” She was just too distracted by his hand on her back to enjoy the conversation.
“Mhmm.”
“Excuse us, Mrs. Kingsley. I just remembered Narcissa wanted Draco and I to meet her before the dinner.” Hermione practically dragged Draco towards his mother.
“Mother never said anything about that,” said Draco, confused as he looked at her.
His hand was now thankfully not on her back. It did strange things to her insides and she loved and hated it at the same time.
“Hermione, dear. I was just looking for you.” Narcissa cut short whatever Hermione was about to say, and smiled broadly at them. “I haven’t seen you dancing, love. Draco, where are your manners? When you bring a lady to a ball, you dance with her. Have I taught you nothing?” Narcissa was now scolding her son, who had the audacity to smirk in Hermione’s direction.
“Accompany this lovely woman to the dance floor, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Narcissa demanded.
“Listen to your mother, son.” Lucius came out of nowhere, putting an arm around his wife and looking at his son with an eyebrow raised that said, ‘Don't dare deny your mother that.’
“May I have this dance, milady?” Draco extended his hand for Hermione to take, which she did with an amused smile and a courteous nod towards the elder Malfoys.
“The sexual tension between them is suffocating,” Narcissa commented when the young couple was out of earshot. Lucius could do nothing but agree.
○-○
“Malf--”
“Shh… Would you mind keeping that smart mouth of yours closed for a while?” Draco Malfoy murmured, with his eyes closed, pulling Hermione flush against his chest and closing his hands around her waist. The gasp that escaped the witch’s lips went unheard as he continued to sway them slightly on their feet.
Giving up, Hermione circled her arms around his neck and put her head on his chest, closing her eyes.
“This feels nice,” she whispered to herself, not knowing the platinum haired git had heard.
“It does.” His reply made her blush as his hand tightened by a fraction around her back.
For once, they decided to push the barriers of their friendship and unrequited feelings aside and enjoy the moment while it lasted.
The two moved slowly, almost agonizingly, passionate in their sultry circles. The crowd around them had stopped dancing and were watching the young couple, who had their eyes closed, and whose bodies seemed to tingle with the fire burning between them.
The sight of them dancing so intimately was oddly attractive to everyone in the ballroom, including the 'crazy bint' Astoria, who had previously been envious of Hermione Granger but now admitted to herself, albeit begrudgingly, that the couple was well-suited. The sparks between them could set the world on fire.
“I do hope Narcissa is satisfied with this one dance,” Hermione voiced after some time, not opening her eyes for fear of losing the intimate moment.
“She might be. I’m not,” Draco said, pulling her even closer.
“And why not?” Hermione questioned, fingering the hair at the nape of his neck.
“This feels……like home. Feels too nice for me to let go.” He whispered the words so softly, Hermione almost missed them.
She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, peering in his now open, stormy eyes. He smiled down at her; the kind of lazy smile he wore only when he felt comfortable and happy and content with his life. She hadn’t seen that smile in a while and she admitted she had missed it.
She looked oddly vulnerable gazing up at him and he realized in that moment that he had never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did then.
“Malf--”
It came as a surprise as his soft lips descended upon hers and coaxed them into a sweet, tender kiss. The words died on her tongue as she tasted the wine on his. Despite the obvious sexual tension, the kiss was slow, passionate and absolutely awe-inspiring.
“I have wanted to do this for a distressingly long time,” Draco murmured against her lips, peppering feather-light kisses on her wine-sweetened lips. Hermione smiled into the kiss and whispered an agreement.
Draco pulled one hand free from her waist and trailed it up the length of her arm pulling it free from around his neck and enclosing her small hand in his with a kiss to her knuckles.
The silence, save the soft music, went unnoticed by the couple as the audience around them held their breaths and smiled in awe at them. The passion and the raw love rolled off of them in waves, consuming the crowd around them in its embrace.
“Malf--” Another interruption.
“Draco. You should be acquainted with my first name by now, Hermione,” he said, with smiling eyes and a gentle squeeze of her hands.
“I suppose so, Draco.”
○-○
A conversation in the aftermath of love-making in the gigantic Malfoy suite, featuring sleepy eyes and satisfied smiles and sated libidos, and eternal love…
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long have you harbored feelings for me, Draco?”
“Too long.”
“Still…”
“Ever since the third year.”
“That long?”
“That long. And you?”
“I suppose, ever since the day of the Yule Ball in our fourth year.”
“Well, I did look rather dashing that day.”
“Prat.”
“…”
“…”
“I love you, Hermione Granger.”
“And I love you, Draco ‘Ferret’ Malfoy.”
THE END