Chapter Text
The first time Draco Malfoy had asked her to go on a date with him, Hermione Granger laughed.
It wasn’t quite as funny the second time.
Both working in the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Charities, the two saw each other in passing regularly, but didn’t actually work together. Hermione had her small office, which was shared with a colleague, and Draco had his Office, which was expansive and plush, suited to his tastes. It didn’t matter that Hermione actually had seniority, since Draco and his father were the main benefactors to more than half the charities Hermione worked on.
After the war, people were desperate to rearrange their lives. Most started on the inside, working on prejudices or bigotry. Most tried to be the change they sought in the world. The Malfoys, unsurprisingly, went at it from a different angle; they were changing the world without even considering that they themselves could use a change.
So, they donated millions of Galleons over the five years since the end of the war, subsequently saving Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban and buying Draco his pretty little office and job.
Needless to say, it drove Hermione absolutely mad. She had worked very hard for her job, bypassing all sorts of social events and neglecting her personal life in favour of her charities. It was, for the most part, a very satisfying existence. She spent most of the day writing letters for owls to take out, guilting people into donating to whatever cause she could reel them into—and she was very, very good at guilting people. She had the highest quota of anyone in her department, even higher than the silver-tongued Malfoy get.
Of course, whenever Draco fell a little behind, an anonymous donation would come in through his office, and they would be balanced again. He claimed to be ignorant of the sources of the donations, but the timing was always a little suspicious, and Hermione believed that he didn’t even care if she knew he was donating to his own causes. There were no rules against it, after all; and it gave Hermione the incentive to work even harder, both to beat him at his own game and to increase the amount he would have to donate to match her.
A very satisfying existence, indeed.
Draco had changed from their school days; they all had. He was, of course, still arrogant, snotty, self-satisfied, snide, and condescending. But he could also be funny, and his intelligence was beyond reproach. He was entirely too civil to Hermione, if you asked her. He even brought her coffee on the few days he arrived at work after her, bringing it to her office and entering without even knocking. She could only grit her teeth against his invasion of her privacy and accept the olive branch. For that’s what it seemed to be. Draco was trying to make up for all his years of verbal abuse with offerings of coffee and breakfast.
But Hermione never gave him an inch. The wounds were too fresh in her mind, especially the light sentencing of the elder Malfoy, whose home had been the scene of her torture. He could claim the Imperius all he wanted, but Hermione knew better. Or at least, she thought she did.
So when Draco came into her office offering more than coffee, she’d laughed. He’d been sweet, for him, and asked if he could treat her to dinner that night. She’d told him she was busy—a lie— and he’d asked about the next night. She’d told him through half-stifled incredulity that she was busy for the rest of the month. He’d nodded as though this was a perfectly natural happenstance and gracefully exited. She knew her laughter must have followed him back to his office.
She hadn’t meant to be so rude; she usually prided herself on her decorum when it came to him, even when she wanted to hex his pretty face off. But he’d caught her so off guard—it was just so absurd!
Hermione wasn’t naïve enough to believe she would be anything more than another charity case to him, another effort to improve the Malfoy name that had suffered near-irreparable harm thanks to their loyalties. So she’d laughed; not like she could hurt his feelings anyway, since she doubted he had any that weren’t contrived.
When the first day of the next month rolled around, Draco stepped into her office with his usual nonchalant invasion of personal space, placed her coffee on her desk next to her hand and stood in front of her desk.
“Thank you for the coffee, Draco.” Her standard response did not deviate one iota.
“You’re more than welcome, Granger.” His did not alter either.
And still he stood there.
Hermione finally looked up from her work, peering at him questioningly. “Is there something I can help you with?” Her tone, as usual, brooked no cordiality and was just on this side of rude.
“Well, since you’re not busy tonight, I thought I’d take you out,” Draco said calmly, his voice as sure as ever.
“What makes you think I’m not busy?”
Draco glanced casually at her desk calendar, and all too late she realized her words when she’d turned him down the last time. He shrugged lazily and continued to watch her carefully. She didn’t like being under his speculative gaze, so she looked back down at her work.
“Well, actually, I was going to—”
“Don’t even bother, Granger. I want to take you to dinner, and I will get what I want. If you say no today, I will be in this office three times a day, every day. I will flood you with inter-office memos and tie you up; I will come to your home to bring you take-out. I will owl you, Floo you. I will sleep outside your door. I will have your colleague fired and my desk moved in here.”
Hermione’s mouth was agape; what on earth was she supposed to do?
He continued, “Or, you go out with me tonight—one dinner—and if you still want to maintain this childish animosity, I will never ask you out again, and your lonely life can continue unhindered.”
Her mind was racing. She could not have him working in this office next to her! He would drive her insane in a matter of minutes. If he actually slept outside her apartment, she would be evicted for sure. He was as good as promising to stalk her, and though Hermione was sure the law was on her side, she also knew the Malfoys were Teflon. She wouldn’t stand a chance.
Her dramatic sigh could be heard throughout the floor as she nodded her head in acceptance.
His bright smile shocked her; she couldn’t remember ever seeing him do anything other than smirk or sneer. It almost reached his eyes and made him look like a boy again.
“I knew you would see reason. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. Dress…” He looked at her appraisingly. “…Like you are out with a Malfoy,” he finished, and she scowled. Some things never changed.
But the date was actually pleasant, and no one was more shocked than Hermione. Draco’s charm was going at full blast, and he even had her smiling.
He’d picked her up exactly at seven and complimented her simple black dress. He’d taken her arm and led her out of her middle-end high rise apartment, into a carriage.
Of course the Malfoys travel in carriage—why Apparate when that doesn’t showcase your wealth at all! She thought bitterly, but said not a word.
They arrived at a French restaurant Hermione had never heard of, but which obviously catered to only the richest and most influential. Draco ordered for Hermione, which had her seeing red, especially since she couldn’t speak French and didn’t know what he’d ordered.
She was pleasantly surprised to see it was salmon—her favourite—but she said nothing.
“I’m really glad you said yes today, Granger. I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the hallway of your building. Couldn’t you have a house like normal people?”
“Draco, normal people have to save for years for a down payment for a house. Not all of us have our entire lives bequeathed to us, you know.” She couldn’t help the snarky tone in her voice; his entitled attitude always rubbed her the wrong way, as if he honestly didn’t know some people didn’t have all that he had.
“Ah, of course,” he said slowly, as if actually considering what she’d said.
She only shook her head and asked him about a large account they had both been going after for the Werewolf Emancipation Project, which was poorly funded and highly controversial. Werewolves were under a lot of scrutiny after their part in the war, and it would be tortuous getting the restrictions on their freedoms repealed.
He told her about some headway he’d made, and she was surprised. He took a lot of initiative and had more balls than she’d given him credit for, which was saying a lot.
After that, conversation was easier. Every now and then they threw a barb at one another: Hermione mentioned how the Ministry was still as corrupt as ever, accepting bribes instead of following the law, at which Draco looked away; Draco asked what Hermione thought about the young wizard who had nearly tied her NEWTs scores the previous year, and she cringed.
Some things never changed.
After dinner they had dessert, though Hermione was full and couldn’t finish hers. He offered to have it wrapped for her, but Hermione didn’t want to walk out of the most posh restaurant she’d ever been in with a doggy bag, so she regretfully left it behind.
He had the carriage drop them off a few blocks from her apartment, after asking if she could walk in her shoes. She said, “Of course,” to which he smirked, as if to say, “I should have known the sensible Hermione Granger would never wear shoes she could not walk in.”
They walked the rest of the way slowly, Draco putting her hand on his arm and resting his other hand atop hers. His chivalry was infallible, unforced, and Hermione had to wonder if he actually wanted to touch her, or if it was just too ingrained for him not to.
When they reached her apartment door, she put the key in and opened it. She turned around and asked the question that had been burning her all night.
“Draco, why did you ask me on a date?”
“Didn’t you have fun?” he countered, standing closer to her than she thought absolutely necessary.
“I did, as a matter of fact. But… your prejudices are infamous. I’m wondering why you would deign to lower yourself to being seen with me.”
“Well, you do make a good argument,” he drawled, and her scowl reappeared along with his smirk at her reaction. “But the truth is, I’ve grown up. Things changed for me in ways you wouldn’t understand. I’ve made so many mistakes…” A flash of true regret graced his features, and Hermione wondered exactly what kinds of mistakes he was referring to. “But I am trying to make up for them the only way I know how.”
“You can’t buy me like you bought your job, like you bought the public. My memory is not as selective, Draco.”
“First of all, I earned my job.” He graciously ignored her snort of derision. “And secondly, I’m not trying to buy you, not at all. I genuinely enjoy your company. Maybe I’m a masochist, who knows.” When he said this, his smile did reach his eyes.
And for some reason, faster than she could ever have expected, the block of ice that surrounded Draco Malfoy in her mind melted ever so slightly.
When Draco returned to Malfoy Manor that night, he went straight to his father’s study. As he suspected, Lucius was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, working fervently at something Draco knew was dreadfully boring.
He announced his presence by sitting heavily in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Lucius did not look up. Draco sighed dramatically. No response. Draco put his feet on his father’s desk, and Lucius’ reverie was finally broken.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco. Can you not find something else to entertain you? Perhaps a house-elf or a box of kittens?”
“No, Father. I don’t want to be entertained; I only wanted to inform you of my date tonight.”
Lucius would not deign to snort, but was not above a sneer. “I have absolutely no interest in your exploits until they produce an heir.”
Draco laughed; he knew his father was only half serious. In the last few years, they’d forged a bond that had never existed in their lives before. He knew his father respected him, and he returned that respect wholeheartedly. They had both suffered greatly in trying to keep their family together and had learned that sometimes something that seemed so right in theory was absolutely wrong in practice. They weren’t the only ones who had learned this the hard way.
“Well, perhaps your interest will be piqued when I tell you with whom I was out.”
“Doubtful.”
“Hermione Granger.”
As much as Lucius would have loved to remain impassive to this news, he was truly shocked. Draco really had matured. He’d known it, but had not thought it extended into his love life.
“Really, a Muggle-born?”
“Well, love makes no such distinctions,” Draco declared with a hand over his heart.
Lucius looked at his son, seeing that while Draco was joking about being in love, he truly believed that sentiment.
“Indeed,” he drawled cryptically.
“I think you would really like her, Father. She is so acerbic, it’s hilarious to witness. She still struggles with her own preconceived notions about me; I really don’t think she sees the irony in that.”
“I’m sure you’ll set her straight soon enough, Son.” And Lucius was sure; when his son wanted something, there was no stopping him. He came by it honestly, of course.
“I intend to.”
Draco left his father to his work and went up to bed.
He laid awake for a while, wondering just when his life had changed so drastically. He had honestly hated Hermione throughout his school years, not just because of her blood status, but her fierce loyalty to those two prats had personally offended him, and her intelligence had threatened him at the time. Now her loyalty and brains were two of her best qualities, and Draco hated that he’d let himself be brainwashed into hating the one person who could have been his equal.
A few years ago he’d blamed his father, until he’d learned his father was just as brainwashed as he’d been, only for much longer and with much more violence. Lucius had had his superiority beaten into him at every turn, and Draco, who’d never had so much as a spanking, could not hold against his father that which he himself would never understand.
He was only grateful that their family was still together… mostly. His mother had left immediately following the war, unable to accept their changing world or Lucius’ attempts to make a place in it for their family. She couldn’t bear seeing their money squandered, as she put it, on fruitless efforts like Werewolf Emancipation and House-Elf Liberation.
Of course, the Malfoys still had house-elves. They just paid them now.
Draco missed his mother—who was currently residing in Italy with her new husband, Draco’s stepfather, who was his own age—but they kept in regular contact. If Draco were to be honest, he’d admit things were better without her. Lucius smiled more, joked more and seemed years younger. Draco himself felt freer and less constrained by social mores and pressure. The Malfoy men were doing just fine on their own, it was true.
But something was missing, and Draco believed knew just what—who—it was.
Lucius was musing over what he’d learned from his son that evening. He knew Draco had changed, that the war had changed him, but he had no idea of the extent. Especially since only a few months ago, Draco had come to him absolutely exasperated about “that Granger chit,” for one reason for another. Sometimes for multiple reasons.
There was, indeed, a thin line between love and hate, and Draco was a passionate young man.
Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. Of course Miss Granger would be perfect for Draco. Their intelligence was matched, their passions equal, their interests similar. They would make a very good pair, if they would be able to get past the animosity of their youth. He knew Draco was willing to overlook it, but would she? Could she?
Lucius finished up his work for the evening, looking forward to a weekend free of responsibilities. He tried not to think about how he’d been a little disappointed at the name of Draco’s date, but not because of her blood status, no, no.
Because it had not been Lucius himself on that date.
The first time he’d noticed Miss Granger at the Ministry, he’d recognized her immediately from Draco’s school days. He’d been impeccably polite to her, and he’d found himself thinking about her long after their meeting. Whenever she came to his office for budget approvals, complaints about the restrictions on certain charities, and once, a none-too-subtle commentary on nepotism, he’d found himself admiring her fire, her figure, and her drive. She was probably one of the very few Ministry employees who earned every dollar the honest way. Even Lucius was not above pulling favours and dropping names to get his job done well. He wasn’t sure if he admired her for that or not.
But he hadn’t intended to court her, not really. It was merely a passing fancy for a younger woman whose passion matched his own. He admitted that Draco was a better match for her. Maybe he was just having a mid-life crisis. Lucius scoffed disdainfully, perishing the thought.
But despite his attempts to convince himself that he didn’t want Miss Granger, that night his dreams matched her eyes and her scent pervaded his imagination.
Over the next week, Draco managed to convince Hermione to go for dinner once more and to lunch twice.
It was possible that she was a glutton for punishment, because she could honestly not understand why she’d agreed. He had even given her an out when he said he would never ask her again if she didn’t want him to. But when he had asked, she hadn’t told him to take a long walk off a short dock.
So really, she had brought it on herself.
But the shocking thing was she was having fun. Draco was actually funny; his sardonic wit was biting at times, but when it wasn’t at the expense of another person, it was remarkable. She found that she quite liked talking to him at times.
Other times, she wanted to disembowel him. When he pompously acted like he was doing her a favour by going out with her, she’d promptly gotten up from the table and left the restaurant. That was the last date they’d been on two days ago. He’d followed her, but she’d ignored him. He’d tried to grab her arm to slow her down, but she’d hit him with a look so scathing, he’d drawn his hand away and held it up in surrender.
“Merlin, take a joke, Granger!” He’d been angry that she had taken his comment the wrong way, but not surprised. He had been a little bothered by how much her being bothered had bothered him.
When Draco told his father about their fight, he laughed uproariously. “I hope you didn’t expect it to be easy, Draco! It appears you’ve underestimated your little friend, and that is a dangerous mistake to make with someone like Hermione.”
Draco noted his father’s use of Hermione’s first name, and like a Malfoy, filed it away for later. He also took notice of the backhanded compliment he’d paid her and wondered if Lucius was getting soft. It bore consideration.
“I don’t want it to be easy, for once in my life. But I wish I knew how to say the right thing all the time.”
Lucius smiled at his son. Draco might have had a lot of experience with sex, but he actually had little history with dating and less still with wooing. Perhaps it would behove him to give his son a few lessons on the fairer sex.
“Son, she is a special case. You know you cannot buy her with baubles or charm her with charity. You need to appeal to her intelligence, her sense of justice, her ambition. You have more in common than you know, and you’re only driving her away by dwelling on the differences between you, rather than the commonalities.”
Draco was surprised at his father’s wise words. Perhaps that’s what he’d been doing wrong all along: reminding her of the past, and the way he’d used to be, instead of the man he was now.
“Um... thanks, Father. I think you might be on to something there.”
Lucius chuckled and said only, “Good luck.”
Draco would need it.
Hermione avoided Draco for a few more days. She suspected she was being childish, but his rude comment, which she now believed had been a fairly innocent jest, had hurt her pride. Hermione did not go on many dates—and by many, she, of course, meant any. The last one had been over a year ago, and it had gone amazingly well. So well that she’d let the man take her home. Maybe she’d been silly to expect to hear from him after that, but expect it she had. And when he didn’t call, she’d packed up her heart and left town, metaphorically speaking.
Literally speaking, she’d stayed put. Everyone knew her in wizarding London where she worked, and that was a huge detriment to her social calendar. Who knew people wouldn’t want to date war heroines, especially when Harry and Ron were inundated with offers? Men were very fickle, she’d decided, heart-shaped valise in hand.
She had gotten other offers, but she’d turned them all down, telling herself she relished the solitude, when in reality, she relished her heart remaining in one piece.
So it had shocked her as much as it had Draco when she had continued to let him take her out. And when he’d made the comment that set her off, the one she couldn’t even recall now, she was reminded of why she preferred to be alone. She didn’t like Draco’s flawlessly manicured hand reaching for her valise.
She knew she had to start being polite to him again, eventually. They did have to work together, and even if she wouldn’t admit it, she missed their little repartees.
She picked up her mail on the way into her office and sat down heavily in her chair. Her colleague had called in sick again, it appeared. The smell of coffee assaulted her deprived nostrils, and she noticed a steaming cup sitting on her desk. She picked it up and inhaled the aroma.
“I didn’t poison it, and if I had, you would never be able to smell it.”
The mocking tone demolished her peace.
“Good to know.” She put the cup on the desk and pointedly pushed it away.
He only laughed and entered her office. He reached for her mug and took a sip. “See? Poison-free.”
“Trust you to build up an immunity, clever boy.” Her words were sarcastic, but she had a smile on her face.
He laughed gaily, sitting down in front of her desk. She took the mug back and sipped it, closing her eyes to better enjoy the taste. “Thank you,” she said.
“No problem, Granger. Did you get our revised budget for this quarter?”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. He pointed to the memo she’d placed with her mail, and she grabbed it up.
Draco thought about fleeing when he saw her eyes widen and her fingers clench on the paper, but rashly decided he’d rather witness the explosion than read about it in the Daily Prophet.
“I… am going to… kill… your father.”
Now Draco’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought she knew Lucius, let alone realized it was he who had approved the budget. Draco knew Lucius wasn’t really trying to cause them any trouble, but his father realized the public wanted funding to go to dramatic arenas, like the development and invention of potions or charms. The Department of Charities never spent any money advertising, and people already felt hounded when they received an owl from one of their many team members; they did not like being hit up for more cash. To be fair, their budget had not been decreased, merely left at last year’s appropriation level.
But Hermione was seeing red and didn’t notice Draco stepping out of her way as she walked to the elevators.
“Go easy on him, Granger! He’s only doing his job!”
His words, of course, fell on selectively deaf ears.
Hermione made it to the elder Malfoy’s office in record time. He looked up from his desk at her unannounced entrance and then gazed at the time. She’d only taken four minutes from the time of her arrival at work to barrel through his door. Impressive; though he was slightly disappointed to note she must have sat down first or else it would have been two minutes.
“Ah, Miss Granger—”
“Do not ‘Miss Granger’ me, Lucius Malfoy! Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get my department up to snuff over the years? How hard your son has worked? We spend our days begging for money from the public, writing up proposals to beg for money, making presentations on begging for money. We spend board meetings on our knees begging and for what? To be told nothing we do makes any difference. This quarter is no different from last quarter, which was no different from the year before or my first year here. Year after year we are given no increase except to allow for inflation! It is absolutely ridiculous, and I will not stand for it!”
Hermione was panting by the time her outburst was finished. Her hands were clenched tight, still holding the damnable memo. Her eyes were wild, and her cheeks flushed.
Lucius couldn’t help but be aroused.
But ever the Malfoy, he only stared her down, one silver eyebrow raised as if to ask if she was quite finished. She did not look away, but her breathing calmed, and she began to look as though she was regretting her tangent.
“Miss Granger, I am sorry to hear you are disappointed. However, I only approve the budgets, I do not create them. I am also only one of four who have to approve, and this decision was unanimous. So...” He got up and walked behind her, stopping at her side and saying, “One has to wonder why you chose me, of all the people who more rightly deserve your indignation, as the target of your appeal?” Though, believe me, you appeal to me, he added silently.
She only shrugged, calm now. “You were closest.”
“Indeed,” he chuckled. “And if I had raised the budget, were it in my power, could I expect you to storm in here demanding to know why I had done so, or would you assume it was your due and carry on as though you had deserved it? Or would I be in for another lecture on nepotism?”
Hermione had to admit she probably would have figured he had done it for Draco, but she would not have questioned it.
She sighed. “I only want what my department deserves. Every year I’ve been here, we’ve brought in more money than the last. Yet every year without fail, we are not allocated any more. It’s…” She wanted to say ‘not fair’, but settled for, “...enough to make a person want to stop trying.”
Lucius took pity on her; he knew how difficult the bureaucracy of the Ministry was to handle when one was young and idealistic. Or rather, he thought he knew; he’d never had to beg for money like she had, after all.
“Hermione, you and I both know you will never stop trying.”
Hermione felt shocked at his casual use of her first name, as well as his comment on her resilience. Was that a compliment, or was he calling her dogged? Malfoys could be so frustrating.
She was silent, and he continued.
“Would that I could change things for you, but the fact is my hands are tied as tightly as yours. If I don’t approve the budget, I will be asked to pull the money from somewhere else, possibly even my own salary, more likely out of my staff’s. I simply couldn’t justify it. Hopefully you will receive some donations to help out your department.”
His last comment sounded like a promise. Hermione had no choice but to accept his words and bow out gracefully, if grace could be regained after her monologue.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, honestly meaning it. The last thing she wanted was for Lucius’ own staff to be short-changed. She would make do, as always.
“Any time, Miss Granger. It was a pleasure, as always.”
His voice was a purr, and like his son the night of their first date, he was closer to her than she realized. Was it her imagination, or had the word ‘pleasure’ been stretched out more emphatically than was normal?
In the elevator going back down to her floor, Hermione began to question her ability to keep her right mind around those damned aristocratic blonds.
She allowed Draco to take her on another date that night. She was feeling down from the budget memo and could use a drink. He seemed to sense her melancholy and took her to a little pub in Muggle London that he used to love to escape to when the pressure of his social image became too much.
A live band was playing, and Hermione was glad she’d come out. It was nice to wear Muggle clothes in public without being stared at, and she had to admit, Draco looked… nice in dark blue jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. Just nice, of course.
His longish blond hair, firm, lean body, and confident stride made him the centre of attention and her the centre of envy. Hermione didn’t like being looked at like she had strangled puppies, so she tried to remain as small as possible. Draco bought their drinks, and they chose a booth near the back of the bar, away from the band.
“So, what you do think?” he asked, referring to the atmosphere.
“It’s very… nice,” she admitted, using her favourite word of the evening. “I do like Muggle London, though I don’t come very often. I feel more at home in the wizarding world these days.”
He nodded like he knew what she was talking about. “I like it here, too. Sometimes home gets to be a little… overbearing.”
She knew this was an important admission from him, and she agreed gravely. “It’s nice to have anonymity, isn’t it?”
They both knew what it was like to be recognized left and right—Hermione for being the Golden Heroine, one third of the selfsame Trio; Draco because of his near role in the assassination of Dumbledore and his father’s alliance with the Dark side. In war, no one ever thought their side was wrong, so no one ever wondered how they would be seen by the other side. Draco had gotten in too deep, too fast, and even his father hadn’t been able to save him, though not for lack of trying.
“That it is.”
They sat in a slightly awkward silence until Draco couldn’t stand it any more and said the one thing he knew would keep them occupied for the rest of the night.
“So, can you believe that budget?” He smiled and waited for the fallout.
Hermione didn’t usually blush over her dreams. After all, they were perfectly natural, and she was used to her brain taking ideas and running away with them, even while asleep.
This dream, however, was particularly lascivious.
It involved not one, but both demanding, delicious, and— in her dream—degenerate Malfoy men. She had to shake her head at the intensity of the dream. She’d never even had the inkling that one man wouldn’t be enough; in fact, her somewhat poor self-esteem sometimes informed her that she was the one who wouldn’t be enough for a man.
So, she filed that dream away for a rainy day and got dressed for work. She usually enjoyed analyzing her dreams, getting a perverse pleasure in deciphering exactly what her overactive imagination was implying.
This time, however, she tried to forget about it.
And she had more important things to deal with, anyway. Like the fact that her Floo was going haywire and dropping her off too early, so she had to walk to the Ministry from a neighbouring building. Very frustrating. Her Apparating seemed to be failing her as well, not splinching her, thank goodness, but leaving her feeling very ill, like she had travelled overseas and not just across town.
Maybe she was coming down with some sort of wizarding ‘flu. It bore thinking about—but not now.
Now, it was time to work.
She and Draco had a presentation for the Liberation of House-Elves group today in front of the Ministry’s budgeting committee. They had to have nearly every dollar approved before they could spend any of it, despite the fact that their overall budget had already been set. The Ministry didn’t like to see too much money going to any particular cause and wanted it spread fairly evenly, because Merlin forefend they actually get anything of merit done with their money.
Hermione had the charts and spreadsheets ready, though she knew that Draco would only scoff at her and tell her the committee only needed the department’s assurance that they would not blow their budget in the first week of the quarter. Hermione would not relent and informed Draco in turn that change began at home, et cetera, until he agreed to help her pitch.
Having been accused of predictability a few times in her life, Hermione could recognize it in others immediately, and Draco always capitulated when she lectured him for any longer than three minutes straight. She could set her watch by it.
And like clockwork, one hundred and eighty two seconds in, Draco sighed heavily and reached for her portfolio, telling her he would read the section on the lasting impact of slavery on other comparative species in history.
Hermione smiled demurely and handed it over.
Draco was his usual professional self, reading her work as though he’d written it himself, answering questions and fielding responses like he’d done it all his life, never losing his cool, never stalling or stuttering.
When Hermione stood up to finish the presentation, she noticed Lucius Malfoy quietly come in through the far door and take a seat at the table. He was on the budgeting committee, but rarely showed up to these meetings as only two members had to be there, with a third needed only in case of deadlock (which never happened). The decision had to be unanimous, and they rarely wasted their time quibbling.
Lucius looked at Hermione with an interested look on his face, raising an eyebrow when she stammered. Feeling the heat rise in her face, she tried to find her place. Why was he looking at her like that? Didn’t he know the effect he had on people?
On her?
She couldn’t help but recall the dream she’d had the night before, and with that thought in mind, she completely stalled.
Draco had noticed his father’s entrance and Hermione’s subsequent descent into incoherence. Well, that’s interesting, he noted to himself as he stood up to continue the presentation flawlessly. Hermione sat down, looking at her hands, and Draco glanced at his father questioningly, wondering what exactly had turned his spitfire into a shrinking violet. His father only gazed back impassively, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips.
Their budget was immediately vetoed and reworked. Draco couldn’t help feeling sorry for Hermione, since her efforts had been for naught. The committee usually overruled their decisions and put into place their own, regardless of how well-researched the attempt was. Only half the money they’d asked for was to be allotted to the Liberation of House-Elves fund. Lucius did not attempt to overrule, just as Draco had known he wouldn’t. He wished Hermione would stop wasting her time trying to get the senior members to change.
Hermione flew out of the boardroom while Draco was collecting their papers. He didn’t notice Lucius smoothly exit after her.
“Miss Granger, a word?”
“Unfair,” she immediately retorted, walking briskly to the elevators.
“Pardon me?” he queried, catching up to her and stopping her with a hand on her elbow.
“You wanted a word; I gave you the first one that came to mind. Unfair. I work so hard to get my voice heard, and it never means anything.” She looked extremely upset, and Lucius was suddenly glad it was common knowledge that the Malfoy house-elves were freed.
“We are not having this discussion again,” Lucius stated, fighting the urge to groan. “It is just not feasible to dump such a large percentage of your budget into one project. You had to know it wouldn’t be approved.”
“No, I didn’t! I thought that all my evidence, research, and passion would make a difference this time! Call me naïve, foolish, I don’t care. Someone has to try, or nothing will ever change.”
Lucius led her to the elevators and pressed the button for her. They stepped in together, his hand remaining on her elbow. He turned her to him once the elevator doors closed.
“Hermione, believe me, I appreciate your… passion. But small steps, yes? We’re all just cogs in the Ministry machine, after all, and all your bosses have bosses to answer to. Everyone has a pet project that gets shot down. Believe me.”
Hermione looked at him, surprised. What was his project? she wondered. She realized she knew nothing about him—the new him. And she thought that maybe she’d been harsh in her assessment of him. After all, she’d changed her mind about Draco; that had only taken five years. Maybe the ice around Lucius could afford to melt a little.
Her smile was small, but she said, “Sometimes a pet project becomes a life mission, and it will always hurt to have one’s hope shot down.” Her voice was small, but convicted; he knew he’d hear the same lecture on slavery in the next quarter, without fail, and he smiled at the thought.
“There’s always the Werewolf Emancipation Project,” he reminded her, smiling ever so slightly. She laughed and got off on her floor. She turned around to thank him through the closing doors, but the intense look on his face startled her. He seemed to notice her looking at him, and immediately replaced his cool mask. He only nodded his head and let the doors fall closed as he continued to his floor.
The rest of the week went by unremarkably. Draco was taking her out for Chinese in Muggle London that Friday, and she was looking forward to their familiar banter. She was thankful that he kept their working relationship professional, other than inviting himself into her office without invitation. However, she was beginning to suspect that it was an affront to which he subjected everyone, not just her. It was possible that it had never even occurred to him to knock.
That was how their fight began.
“Draco Malfoy, remove yourself from my office immediately,” she ordered, having been imposed upon too many times that day and taking it out on him.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, which he knew she absolutely hated, and backed away slowly. He didn’t leave, however. Hermione rose from her desk and walked to him in a way she hoped was intimidating.
It wasn’t.
Draco could help but smile at the tiny brunette trying to be tough. Her eyes narrowed, and he realized his mistake immediately.
No one laughs at Hermione Granger.
All the frustration, all the annoyances, all the times her projects were denied, all the anger at their budget rose to the surface, and Hermione lunged at him, embracing her Muggle heritage and leaving her wand sheathed.
The Pureblood never saw it coming.
She pushed at his chest, and he fell against her office wall. She was on him immediately, pounding him hard with her fists and even catching his cheek when she realized her fists against his chest were ineffectual. Draco managed to grab one wrist, but the other flailed wildly and caught him across the side of the head.
“Holy hell, Granger, get a hold of yourself!” he shouted desperately, unwilling to admit this vixen was actually causing him pain, but unable to deny the ringing in his left ear.
She seemed to immediately calm at the sound of his voice, and he was able to grab her other wrist. He turned her so it was her back against the wall instead of his. Breathing heavily, he looked into her flushed and angry face, not relinquishing his grip on her wrists for all the world.
Hermione closed her eyes, completely ashamed of her outburst. She knew she would lose her job over this and couldn’t believe she could be so selfish. She would even lose his friendship, and that hurt almost as much.
“Draco… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to… attack you. I don’t mind that you don’t knock, I promise.”
Draco was astounded to hear that the reason for her brutal assault on his person was due to his familiar way of entering her office. Holy shit, he thought; what happens when I actually leave my underwear on her bedroom floor, or forget to turn the kitchen light off at night? Not really understanding why his thoughts immediately went to the domestic, he loosened his grip on her.
“Okay… you attacked me because I forgot to knock?”
She looked away, tears welling in her eyes, more out of frustration than sadness.
“Granger, I’m going to let you go now, but you have to promise not to kill me. I see you have a letter opener on your desk, and I just don’t want to die like that.”
She laughed in spite of herself and promised that if she did kill him, it would be with more dignity. He let her go without stepping back from her. They both became aware of their nearness at the same time. Hermione stared at his chest before looking up into his silver gaze; Draco inhaling the scent of her hair and nearly caressing her face when her whiskey eyes met his.
They only looked at one another, both unsure of what was passing between them, but both knowing they enjoyed it. Draco put one hand on her neck and jaw, and she leaned slightly into his hold. He bent his head as she raised hers, and their lips were centimetres apart.
Your first kiss should not be in an office, Draco. His father’s voice was inside his head, and he pulled back from Hermione, his breath coming fast and hard. Okay, let’s hope that never happens again, he thought as he opened her office door. Hermione looked bereft but slightly relieved.
“I promise to knock from now on, Granger. You have my word.” He slipped out of her office, closing the door behind her. He fell heavily into his office chair, just as she sank into hers. Both wondered what would happen next.
That Friday, Hermione and Draco ended up getting Chinese takeaway instead of eating at the restaurant. They went to Hermione’s apartment, to Draco’s ill-concealed displeasure. He’d never been inside, but he couldn’t imagine there would be much to it.
He wasn’t wrong. Her flat was about a third of the size of Draco’s own suite at Malfoy Manor. Hermione put her keys in a small bowl on a table by the entrance. She hung their coats and put her briefcase and purse on the kitchen table.
A place for everything and everything in its place, he thought with a mental smirk, watching her gather plates and cutlery for their dinner.
They sat in the living room to eat, with Hermione mentioning that she rarely ate at the dinner table, a throwback to her youth when she and her parents had always eaten in front of the television.
“So, where do you put all your stuff?” Draco asked innocently, only half joking. This place really was tiny.
“What do you mean? My priceless statues and artefacts, my multiple trousseaus and wardrobes, or my endless collection of Louis XIV furniture?” Hermione answered, just as innocently, scooping a delicate forkful of rice into her mouth.
“All of the above, I suppose. I’m just saying, your apartment is a little on the… petite side.”
“Draco, you live with your parents!” she exclaimed incredulously.
“What on Earth does that have to do with the size of your place?” Draco asked, truly confused.
“You’re mocking me for having a small flat—which I furnished and pay for myself, on time, every month—while you live under your parents’ roof and probably will for the rest of your life!”
“Well, well, the claws come out, eh Granger? All Pureblood families live under the same roof until the kids are married, and even then, most still do. It only makes sense; there’s more than enough room,” he said, looking at her pointedly. “I’ll just be moving back there one day anyway, when the Manor is mine.”
“So you don’t see anything strange about living with your folks and continuing to do so?”
“It’s not like we ever see each other, anyway. My father works long hours and keeps mostly to his rooms, his study, and the library. We’ve gone weeks without even bumping into one another.”
Hermione had to concede that they obviously lived in different worlds. She loved her place, loved that it was all hers, and she worked hard to make it home. Draco loved that he didn’t have to do that. But she noticed he only mentioned his father and not Narcissa.
“Draco…” she began hesitantly, uncertain if the topic was verboten. “Does your mom still live at the Manor with you and your father?”
Draco shrugged, sensing her discomfort. “No, she lives in Italy. She left my father not long after the war ended. It’s better this way.” He shrugged again, and Hermione could tell he was a little sensitive about the subject, so she dropped it.
“So Lucius tried to make me feel better about that colossal budget coup the other day.”
“Did he, now? That’s unlike him.”
“I thought so, too! But he was quite sweet, calling us all cogs in the machine.” She snickered at the memory; it had been so out of character for the cold and ruthless Malfoy. Draco didn’t respond, only looked thoughtful, and Hermione wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. She was more conscious of her words these days, aware that she was sometimes a little cutthroat with them, and for some reason, she didn’t want to drive Draco away.
They finished up with their dinner, and Hermione told herself not to talk about Draco’s parents, since they seemed to be a bit of a sore spot with him.
She tried to make him go over a proposal she’d written for a client, but he would have none of it. He told her to put it away; they were on a date, for goodness’ sake.
This led ever-suave Hermione to ask, “Are we dating, then?”
Draco cocked his head to the side, wondering what she wanted to hear. He decided to answer honestly.
“If you want to be.”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to think. She looked at Draco long and hard, and he met her scrutinizing gaze unflinchingly.
“I’ll think about it,” she promised. She did want to date him, but needed more time to ease herself into the idea of going steady with her erstwhile enemy. It was disconcerting, but at the same time, thrilling.
When the evening wound to a close, and there was nothing else to conceivably do within the confines of her apartment, she told him they should call it a night. Ever the gentleman, Draco agreed and let her walk him to the door.
He stopped in front of it and turned to her, capturing her hands in his.
“I had fun tonight, Granger. But next time, we go to my house.” He winked salaciously, and she snorted.
“You’re on.”
Hermione looked at their clasped hands, revelling in the strong warmth of his touch. His hands were surprisingly rough for a Pureblood, she thought somewhat unkindly. She looked up at him, drawn in by the molten silver of his gaze. Before she had time to think about what she was doing, she stepped up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips gently against his. She held the kiss for a second before falling back on the heels of her feet. She blushed, unable to look at him. She felt about twelve years old.
Draco grinned at her cute display, wondering if everything about her was as innocent as her kisses. Needing to find out, he put both hands on her face and tilted it up to meet his. He met her eyes, giving her a silent warning of what he intended to do. Her gaze darkened, and his lips descended. His kiss was soft at first, searching. But then he tilted his head, tipping hers farther back and pressing harder against her, demanding entrance to her mouth. She relented, and Draco plunged his tongue into her mouth, wasting no time. She made the most delicious whimpering sound. Draco caressed her mouth with his tongue, nipping at her lower lip before drawing it into his mouth. He licked at her lips, and her tongue grazed his ever so slightly. He ended the kiss by pulling on her lower lip with his teeth gently.
Their foreheads touching, the couple breathed heavily as they regained their senses. Draco bussed her lips once more before slipping out the front door, leaving her standing, hand on her mouth, wondering where the heck that had come from.
Lucius was pacing his study again. He was beyond annoyed at himself, and he deserved every moment of his self-reproach.
He should never have even spoken to her; his son had staked his claim, and that should have been enough. But Lucius was never one to bow out gracefully; no, he usually fought until the bitter end, often continuing even after the battle was lost.
His annoying propensity for tenacity was sure to be the death of him. He only hoped it wasn’t at his son’s hand, if he ever realized what was going through Lucius’ thoughts at the moment. He’d rarely cared about anyone else in his life: Narcissa once, and now Draco. That was it. Now Draco was the sole recipient of his loyalty, if it could be called such at this point. Draco’s opinion was the only one that mattered, and yet Lucius was the epitome of disloyalty at this moment.
He was abhorrent.
He wanted Hermione Granger. Wanted her like air, like a flawless reputation, like priceless jewels. Wanted her like life. She was passion, effervescence, vivacity. She was simply lovely, and he wanted her.
What was worse, though, was that his magic wanted her. He hadn’t experienced such a disruption in his magical force since he’d first met Narcissa, and even then, it had lasted a week before dissipating completely, never to return. He only hoped this current problem would last only that long. But something told him he’d be erroneous to assume that.
When he was around her, he was drawn to her; she pulled him in. Her scent, her force. His magic craved her magic. It was undeniable. When he was near her, his magic fairly crackled. He’d hardly been able to contain it when in the elevator with her after her presentation. It had taken all his considerable self-control to reign himself in and not fuck her against the elevator wall, letting their magic claim them in a firework frenzy, exploding in sweet and violent ecstasy.
But she was his son’s. There was no way Lucius would ever jeopardize this new rapport he shared with his son, the newfound trust Draco had in him—perhaps undeserved. He wanted his son to respect him, to love him. That would never continue if Lucius tried to steal Hermione from him. And it wasn’t even certain that she would be amenable to his advances. It was possible she didn’t feel the same pull; she hadn’t acted as though she’d felt anything, except for a brief stuttering during her speech.
It could be that his magic was just going haywire and had nothing to do with her. It could be that it was a total fluke and would never occur again. It could be that house elves had stolen his real wand and replaced it with a faulty one in a bid to render him useless, take over Malfoy Manor, and then the world at large.
All possibilities were equally viable at this point.
All Lucius knew, all he needed to know, was that Hermione was off limits to him and would be until Draco was no longer interested. Even then, he would ask permission from his son (in a way that did not sound like a request at all, of course). But Lucius knew his son had changed, and he suspected that Draco genuinely cared for Hermione, which was all he could want for his son. Draco deserved happiness more than he himself did, after all. Draco had not made such glaring mistakes.
He owed Draco this much and more.
But all the self-delusion in the world could not change the fact that when he saw Hermione Granger, his body and his magic reacted to her in such an intense way that he truly did not know how long he could restrain himself. Or how long he would want to.
Hermione was certain she was going mad.
First, she was barely able to Floo without ending up two buildings down, Apparating made her ill in a way she hadn’t experienced since she’d first learned to do so, and her Portkey to work ended up taking her to her coat closet instead.
But now… it was too much. Hermione stared in dismay at the mirror. Her hair was totally out of control. A simple drying spell had frizzed it so badly that she could hardly see through it. It was almost a foot tall all the way around. It was ridiculous.
She got back into the shower, washing it with more conditioner than ever before. She didn’t try another spell, but mangled it into a tight, wet bun.
She Accioed her purse and ended up with a disgruntled Crookshanks.
The wards she placed on her front door turned it hot pink.
Hermione was nearly crying in frustration by the time she made it to work, barely in one piece. She had never, ever had her magic betray her like this. Her spells and charms were usually perfect; even difficult ones came easily to her. This is unacceptable, she informed her wand in no uncertain terms. It didn’t listen, boiling her coffee all over her desk instead of warming it.
She’d been preparing to live life as a Squib when she heard a cry from across the floor. A stream of invectives followed, and Hermione had to snicker at the inventiveness of the curses. She got up to see what the fuss was and stumbled when she saw Draco being attacked by a feisty tawny owl.
The owl had its talons entrenched in Draco’s arm and was flapping its wings wildly. No wonder it’s cranky, she thought, owls are nocturnal after all, for goodness’ sake. I’d be cranky, too.
Stifling her laughter, Hermione ran to Draco, who was holding his arm away from himself and shouting at his assistant. The assistant looked beside herself, shooing the owl with a folder while trying to maintain a safe distance.
Hermione grabbed a doughnut right out of a watching a co-worker’s hand and offered it to the wayward owl. It made a strange hissing noise at her before grabbing the doughnut and promptly flying out the open window.
Draco’s arm was bleeding, and he was obviously in pain, gritting out a, “Thank you” to Hermione before setting a glare so vicious upon his assistant that she nearly burst into flames.
“Come on,” Hermione said. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.” He settled the glare on her, but Hermione was not impressed. She took his unwounded arm and led him to the elevators.
“Bloody owl could have killed me; I swear they are a hazard. We shouldn’t have let that one go; it is obviously intent on mayhem.”
Hermione clucked reprovingly, trying not to laugh out loud at his grumblings.
Hermione could have healed his wound herself, had she been confident in her abilities at the moment. Actually, Draco could have healed it himself, she realized.
When they arrived at the infirmary, Draco was taken right in. She waited patiently, glad to have something take her mind off her strange condition, but nervous for Draco. He had actually been cut up pretty badly. About fifteen minutes later, he came out of the room with a murderous gaze.
“Incompetents! The lot of them! First using owls with violent tendencies, and then hiring Healers with no healing ability! My father will not be pleased….”
In times of stress, Hermione noticed, Draco reverted to his younger days, using his father’s name as a shield, as though it could actually protect him. She believed it was a defence tactic and most likely entirely unconscious. It also meant that Draco still trusted his father implicitly to protect him.
“What do you mean? They couldn’t heal you?” Hermione was confused; she’d had that same Healer take care of her many times, most often for exhaustion.
“No! The Healer said the spell wasn’t working, and then potion they use as a back-up didn’t work either. You know what they had to do?”
Hermione had an idea, but she shook her head.
He hissed, “They healed it the Muggle way! Sweet Merlin’s balls, what is the wizarding world coming to? They cleaned it and bandaged it. What on Earth is that going to do? It’s still bleeding!”
Draco was shouting, and people were staring as they made their way back to his office. Hermione tried not to incite him, but it was almost impossible. Draco on a rampage was nearly irresistible to not goad.
“Goodness, Draco, you’d think they tortured you. It’ll be fine! Relax. You’re being melodramatic.”
Draco’s eyes widened as the magic words fell into place. He took a deep breath, ostensibly preparing himself for an explosive outburst at her expense, and Hermione grinned wickedly. Just as he was beginning to let the vitriol spew forth, Lucius Malfoy walked into Draco’s office.
When he did, a strange silence fell over the three of them. Draco’s mouth was still open, but his words were on pause. Hermione’s smile slid from her face, and Lucius stopped mid-step.
In a second it was over. Draco began to shout at his father regarding incompetence in general, and his hatred toward owls and Healers specifically. His father rolled his eyes and winked at Hermione, and she snorted. Both waited patiently for Draco’s outburst to come to a close. Draco had at least kept his voice down this time. Lucius was nodding, lips twitching especially at the part where the Healer had abused him with disinfectant.
Lucius drew his wand imperiously and aimed it at Draco’s bandaged arm. Hermione immediately put her hand on his arm.
“Actually, Mr. Malfoy, I think there might be a disruption in the building’s magical defences. I’ve been having trouble with my magic, and now with the Healer being unable to heal Draco, I think something might be wrong.”
Lucius looked at her pensively, but lowered his wand. “Draco, have you tried to heal it yourself?”
Draco looked a little embarrassed, saying, “No. I think Hermione’s right. My magic’s been off lately, too.”
Lucius went pale. Hermione wanted to ask what was wrong, but she held her tongue. Could he think they were under attack?
Lucius schooled his features back to impassivity and raised his wand back to Draco’s arm. He murmured a few healing spells, one to heal the deeper lacerations, one to stitch the surfaces together, and a last one to diminish scarring. He performed that one twice, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. Merlin forbid that Draco have an imperfection.
The spells worked perfectly, and Hermione undid the bandages to reveal near-perfectly healed skin. Only a faint white scar remained, barely visible.
Draco looked at his father questioningly, but Lucius only said, “I suppose the Healer will need to be replaced.”
Draco looked sheepish and cleared his throat before asking Hermione for some privacy. She left quickly, feeling confused. Once back in her office, she cast a small lumos, and a shower of sparks lit her paperwork on fire. She sighed.
“Draco, how long has your magic been off?”
Lucius wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He was certain this would end badly.
“Only today, really. And maybe a bit yesterday. Why?”
“It seems unusual, doesn’t it?” The best way to get information was to act ignorant, Lucius knew.
“I guess. It’s never happened to me before, so I noticed it acutely. I’m sure it will be back to normal any time now.” His voice denoted his need for reassurance of this fact.
Lucius nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. But let me know if it continues? And if… anyone else experiences it?”
Draco nodded, and Lucius launched into the reason he was in his son’s office in the first place. He told Draco a client of his wanted to donate to a few charities for tax purposes, but required more information first. Draco helped him assemble a package and wrote out some additional details. Lucius accepted the bundle and thanked his son upon leaving.
Lucius hated wasting his son’s time; there was no client. He placed the papers in his desk drawer, not wanting to throw it out since Draco had put it together for him. He would look through them later and perhaps donate a little to ease his conscience.
The truth was he’d had a hunch, a feeling that told him to get to Draco’s office now. When he’d followed his intuition, Draco hadn’t been there, and Hermione had been gone as well. He’d tried to find them, but upon returning to Draco’s office to wait, they’d come back and Lucius had discovered his son wounded by an errant fowl.
Like any father would be, Lucius was pained to see his son hurt, even if it was superficial. But he’d been taken aback to hear Hermione casually mention her magic being interfered with. Most wizards and witches wouldn’t admit a weakness like that. And many would recognize it as the influence of a strong affection. Love, his mind corrected him. But not all witches or wizards ever experienced that disruption, even those who were truly in love. A disruption like that suggested a compatibility between magics trying to settle themselves, trying to combine.
Usually when the two afflicted people were in the company of one another, the disruption settled and the magic would work again. Lucius took the chance, and his magic worked perfectly. He was sure it worked because Hermione was there and that she was the missing piece of his magic.
But Draco’s magic had been faulty as well, and that could only mean that Draco also loved Hermione and shared a similar connection. And there was no way to tell whom Hermione loved, but clearly it was Draco, as Lucius had only encountered her a few times. The disruption was unconscious, though; recognizing love even before the witch or wizard would, recognizing its magical mate with the person being unaware.
It was clear that neither Draco nor Hermione had experienced it before, but Lucius had. He and Narcissa had both dealt with it for about a week before it had dwindled. Lucius assumed it meant their magic mingled, though there had been no problems after they’d split up. Lucius hadn’t thought of it until now.
The fact was his magic would be haywire forever, because there was no way Lucius could not only steal Hermione from Draco, but sentence him to life without magic as well.
The Slytherin Death Eater in him wanted to rebel against his magic deciding a Muggle-born witch was his perfect match and resented the fact that he was to be tied down after only just being divorced. The man in him, the wizard, wanted to share himself with Hermione and see how good they could be together, magically and otherwise.
But the father in him always won, and Draco’s happiness superseded his own. He would just have to learn to live with it.
Draco avoided Hermione for the next week.
She didn’t understand it, but she suspected it was because of his somewhat childish antics regarding the owl attack. She was, admittedly, a little disappointed in him. It would have been nice if he’d been able to prove his maturity by dealing with it with a little more aplomb. But at the same time, she was glad to see his perfect mask slip a little. It gave her a little relief, knowing he had flaws.
It was all too easy to forget that, given his impeccable appearance.
However, she could not tell him this, and he continued to go out of his way to stay out of hers.
Hermione had finally been able to accomplish Flooing again, so it was almost easy to forget that her magic had essentially abandoned her, now that she could get to work without injury. Not much of her job needed magic, though she noticed it was a little more difficult to get owls to send her missives. To remedy this, she began to give them entire doughnuts as payment, rather than normal small owl treats.
Being Muggle-born, it was a little easier to adapt to life without magic than it might be for a Pureblood. No one else seemed to be experiencing it, except Draco, who had only briefly mentioned it, so she tried to ignore it in the hopes that it would go away. She tried researching a little on what could cause such a thing, but there was a myriad of possibilities, and she simply didn’t have the time to troubleshoot them.
Families had to be fed, after all. Elves freed, and so on.
Hermione had tried cornering Draco in his office to suss out exactly what was going on with him. This cold shoulder business was a little excessive just because he had embarrassed himself in front of her. Not as though he hadn’t done it before, she recalled. A bloody nose and quivering lip above her wand in their third year at Hogwarts was proof of that.
But upon her confrontation of him, he’d merely continued writing, barely acknowledging her presence. He’d been polite, but would not answer her about why he was avoiding her. He denied it and asked if there was anything else. In a fit of pique, and distinctly recalling how she’d almost attacked him the week before in her own office, Hermione stomped out gracelessly.
Two can play this game.
Draco was a little disturbed. He had this feeling; more than a feeling, it was a feeling. And it was telling him to back off Hermione Granger. He couldn’t explain it—it was like two parts of himself were battling. Half of him wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and snog the living daylights out of her, and this half of him also cringed at his callous treatment of her. But the other half was telling him to stay away. No reasons given, and when he examined himself, he found absolutely no motive for this change of heart. He still wanted her, desperately even.
But Draco had a hard time ignoring his hunches. They usually steered him straight, and drastic things often happened if he ignored them. But this was different than his conscience, which often wormed itself into his head in his father’s polished drawl, as annoying and disconcerting as that was. This was more like a feeling deep in his bones. And it wasn’t just that he felt like he should stay away, but that the time wasn’t right. He had this odd sense that he just needed to give them both some space and everything would be okay.
This fact that his intuition told him it was only a matter of time was the only reason he listened to the compulsion at all, since he was certain he couldn’t—and had no desire to—avoid Hermione forever.
So he would give them a little break, for whatever reason, and hope she wouldn’t grow to hate him in the interim. It couldn’t hurt to humour his hunch for a few days, after all.
Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and dropped his head into his hands. His head ached, causing him to decide he would just go home for the day. He wasn’t getting any work done, anyway.
There was no reason for him to be in her office. He’d thought up a decent excuse while he was in the elevator, but it escaped him now. All he could think about was her delicate, ink-stained fingers grasping the quill in a death grip, marking the page with angry slashes. All he could smell was her unique scent intoxicating him. All he could hear was her soft breathing, which escaped in huffs when she came across another apparently angering segment of the parchment.
She finally noticed his presence and started in her chair.
“Mr. Malfoy! I’m so sorry; were you waiting long?” She gestured for him to come in, and he stepped inside her office, closing the door behind him. She had the office all to herself for the time being, her officemate having taken a few too many unauthorized sick days. Normally, she luxuriated in the privacy, but now with Lucius Malfoy standing in front of her desk, she felt a fleeting need for a witness… or alibi.
“Not at all. I only just arrived.”
She nodded, and he sat in the chair before her desk. He leaned his walking cane against the desk, and she held back a smirk. Only Lucius Malfoy could pull off such an ostentatious show of pomp, but pull it off he did.
Shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts, she smiled patiently at the man in question, waiting for him to make the reasons for his presence known.
The silence stretched on. Lucius seemed to be looking into her very soul, but Hermione could not look away. She was struck by how different his eyes were from Draco’s. Draco’s were a light, cement grey, shot through with darker streaks. Lucius’ were a slate grey with no relief, no flecks. Just impenetrable grey.
“Miss Granger, I have a client…” Lucius paused, unable to believe his own presumption, using the same excuse on Hermione that he had used on his son the last week in an effort to talk to him about Hermione. Nevertheless, he continued, “…Who would like to make some substantial donations to various charities but does not have time to do individual research. Do you think you could—?”
“—Put a donation package together? I’d be happy to! How much is he looking to donate? Does he have any particular interests? Is he interested in Magical Creatures, or perhaps a Muggle-born scholarship fund or something of that nature?”
As she was speaking, Hermione was throwing pamphlets and flyers together in a heap on her desk. When she was finished, she began to sort them by category, making comments on them with magical Post-its and stapling and clipping everything together.
Lucius marvelled at the difference between her approach and Draco’s, which had been to calmly create a package of only a few choice materials.
“I’m not sure of his interest, so perhaps a bit of everything?” he encouraged.
She nodded distractedly, pulling a few more papers from her desk drawers. Once the package was complete and at least four times the size of Draco’s, Lucius realized his time with her was coming to a close.
He wasn’t entirely certain of his own intentions, but he suspected the Slytherin Death Eater part of himself was holding the father part’s head under water for the time being.
“How is Draco?” he asked casually. “I went to his office but he wasn’t there.” This much was true; Lucius had stopped by his son’s office with the intent of taking him to lunch.
“Actually, he went home early today. Other than that, I’m not sure how he is—fine, I suppose.”
“You’re not sure? Are you two not…?” He waved his hand in the internationally recognized gesture for ‘you know what I mean.’
Hermione glanced up at Lucius once she finished writing one final note. He looked genuinely interested, but she sensed an ulterior motive. She scoffed: with someone like the elder Malfoy, she doubted there were primary motives at all.
“Well, no, we’re not…” she repeated his gesture. “We were, I thought, but now….”
Lucius gave himself a minute to be sorry for his son in case he was unhappy with the break up, but then he rallied himself immediately. He’d told himself he’d ask Draco before he made a move in such a situation, but… maybe just a lunch?
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said warmly, and she smiled her thanks. She got up to hand him the package and see him the short distance to the door. He allowed her, but as she reached for the doorknob, he took her wrist and held it.
“Miss Granger, I wonder if you’d like to have lunch with me today. I had a lunch meeting, but it was put off, and I find myself famished.”
Hermione was shocked; Lucius never gave her any impression… or maybe he had, and she was too thick to notice. It had been known to happen; she wasn’t very in tune to the intentions of men. And even though she’d been seeing his son, Hermione didn’t feel as awkward about it as she thought she should. Lucius was incredibly handsome and always so polite to her… and Draco was being such a dick lately….
She bestowed a bright smile on him, and Lucius found his breath was stolen. “I’d like that. I usually eat in the Ministry cafeteria around one.”
Lucius smiled patronizingly and said, “I’ll be here at ten to one, then.” And we shall not be eating in the cafeteria, he added mentally.
He left a slightly dazed Hermione in his wake.
True to his word, Lucius arrived exactly on time. Hermione had had time to think about what made her agree to his invitation, but the more she considered it, the less she understood. She really liked Draco…. The kiss they’d shared had really lit her on fire. And more than that, she’d thought they’d had a connection.
But apparently she’d been wrong, if his treatment of her lately was anything to go by. It was possible the kiss hadn’t been as good for him as it had been for her, or maybe he just wanted to be friends.
Hermione sensed that wasn’t the problem, but she couldn’t help feeling slighted, and being scorned played a major part in her acceptance of Lucius’ invitation.
He stood in the doorway of her office and smiled at her. “Ready?”
“Sure.” She grabbed her purse. Lucius offered her his arm, and she hesitated a moment before taking it. He led her out of the building, and before she could ask where they were heading, Lucius gripped her in a tight hold, and they Disapparated.
Lucius looked around himself. He still had Hermione in is arms and made no move to release her, until she squirmed a bit and he had no choice.
“Where are we, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione didn’t recognize the street or stores.
“Please, call me Lucius,” he said distractedly. It was possible something had gone wrong. Not likely… just possible.
“And, well, I don’t exactly know.”
Hermione stared. “How can you not know; you Apparated us!”
“Yes, I did. But I meant to take us outside Guilleme’s, a French restaurant in the High Wizarding Quarter. Not… wherever we are!” He chuckled, sounding a little exasperated. “This is rather embarrassing.”
Hermione felt a sinking feeling. Whatever was affected her and Draco was also apparently affecting Lucius. What is going on here?
Lucius took her into his arms again, and Hermione felt a shock when his hand grazed the bare skin of the nape of her neck. His hand was warm and slightly softer than Draco’s. Merlin, comparisons must not be made!
They Apparated back to the Ministry, arriving not at the Apparation point, but almost half the street down. Neither made any comment on the strangeness of the occurrences, but Hermione could tell Lucius was unsettled.
“I apologize, Hermione. Would you mind eating in the… cafeteria?” The word took on a derisive slant, and she suspected he’d rather go hungry. But she was intrigued by him and wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.
“Yes, let’s.” And so they did.
Lunch was an interesting affair. Lucius retrieved food for both of them—sandwiches and salads—and Hermione sat at a bistro table toward the far end of the open space. She took in all the astonished faces that watched Lucius crossing the distance, red food tray in hand. She hid her snicker behind her hand at his highly held head and indignant glare, and he placed the tray on their table and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Hermione asked, since he didn’t look as though he intended to.
“I haven’t decided.” Oh, for goodness’ sake! Another pouter.
Hermione tucked in. She was starving, and the sandwich actually looked really good. After she took a few bites, Lucius reached for his and ate it with nary a scowl. They spoke a little about Ministry policy, and Hermione had to contain herself before she mentioned the budget fiasco. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but she found it hard to resist pestering him about it. They also spoke about trivial things and made easy conversation.
Lucius was very congenial and walked her back to her office. Hermione had been quite surprised to discover they shared a lot in common, and she quite enjoyed spending time with him. He wasn’t bad to look at, either, as her brain consistently reminded her.
At her office, he took one of her hands in his and raised it to his lips. He brushed a kiss softly against her knuckles, and Hermione couldn’t help the flush that spread over her cheeks. She hastily looked away. He raised an eloquent eyebrow at her reaction.
“Thank you for allowing me to take you out. I’d really like to do it again; maybe for dinner?”
Hermione nodded. “Maybe dinner.”
The next day, work was torture. Hermione, already prone to intensive introspection, was reaching levels of near-painful self-inspection.
She wanted Draco. That was undeniable. His boyish charm, his slightly petulant demeanour, even his immature reaction to the owl attack—all of these things appealed to her. His ever-changing attitude and the way he always surprised her. His tombstone eyes and silken tresses. His rough hands and firm….
Near-painful levels.
Lucius, on the other hand…. Lucius was suave, debonair, and sophisticated. But he was also intelligent, passionate, and sweet.
Neither man was the cold, reserved, or cruel person she’d known when she was a student. Or at least Lucius wasn’t. Draco was giving her cause to doubt his maturation; he was still avoiding her, though he’d graced her with a small smile, which Hermione had practically gobbled up until she reminded herself she was a self-respecting witch who didn’t need scraps from the likes of Draco Malfoy.
Especially since his father had sent her a very sweet owl just a few moments ago with an invitation to dinner that night at Guilleme’s, since his previous attempt at taking her there had resulted in cafeteria food instead.
Hermione strongly suspected she should not be entertaining the notion of dating two men at the same time, let alone son and father. However, it just didn’t feel wrong to her, and she was not one to invent feelings that did not exist just because society dictated it. If it didn’t feel wrong, then she would continue to do it. She did want to tell Draco; se felt as though he deserved to know, even though he’d barely said two words to her all week.
But with the way office gossip went, she was certain he’d already heard about her lunch with his father. And he hadn’t said anything; he’d even smiled at her. Therefore, everything must be okay—as okay as it could be without him talking to her, anyway.
She wasn’t wrong. Draco had, indeed, heard of his father’s unprecedented venture into the mess hall. His shock had only been surpassed by hearing that Hermione had joined him.
His father and Hermione had eaten lunch together. Like a date? He didn’t know.
At first he was a little hurt and a lot jealous. He knew that he and Hermione were not exclusive; she’d never given him a solid answer as to whether or not they were actually dating. She was well within her rights to play the field.
As for his father, Draco had been more surprised than anything. But at the same time, when he tried to remain objective about the situation, he was happy that Lucius was happy. And from what he’d heard, he had been. The rumour mill had the two of them laughing, talking with heads close together, and Lucius walking her out of the cafeteria with her arm tucked into his. Objectively, he recognized that Hermione could be a good match for his father; they were both stubborn, temperamental, and passionate.
But the subjective part of him, which was the majority by far, pouted. He was all those things, too! He was good for her, too! But alas, the minority piped in, you have been ignoring her with absolutely no cause, and for all she knows, you’ve moved on.
Draco’s love for his father and his growing affection for Hermione allowed the objective part of himself to gain control. Just a few more days, that niggling part of himself reminded him. Just give her a few more days, and then go back to her.
Draco’s head settled in the by now familiar cradle of his arms once again.
Hermione spent an unusual amount of time dressing herself that night. She rarely went out socially on weekdays, but this was a special occasion. The more she thought about it, the more excited she allowed herself to get. She also could not stop the comparisons between father and son. Draco had taken her to a pub in Muggle London; how would Guilleme’s compare? Draco’s kiss had been intense and persistent; how would Lucius’ compare?
Hermione groaned as she finally decided on a simple black dress with a square neckline and a bold slit, which usually exempted it from her selection. Thinking about kissing Lucius sent spirals of heat throughout her body. Hermione wondered what it meant that she didn’t feel uncomfortable with this new development. She told herself it was because Draco had given up on her, but somehow she knew it was more than that.
Not wanting to dwell on Draco’s hurtful behaviour, Hermione chose a delicate white gold necklace with a small diamond pendant—a gift from Harry for graduation. She opted for small silver hoop earrings and black peep-toe pumps with a daring heel. Ginny had given them to her because they’d been too small for the red-haired girl, and Hermione had laughed, putting them into her closet to never meet her feet until today.
Lucius’ owled message had been so sweet; the least she could do was make an effort. Unfortunately, her hair did not agree, and Hermione was running late by the time she’d mangled it into something that almost resembled a chignon.
She crossed her fingers and Apparated to the coordinates she’d been given. Against all odds, she made it there in one piece. Perhaps her magic was back to normal? Not wanting to test that theory and destroy her tenuous hairstyle, Hermione made a note to try it out later in the privacy of her home.
Since Hermione was late, she went inside and gave Lucius’ name to the Maître d'. She tried not to cringe at the excessive attention his name afforded her, and she was seated with a flourish next to the immaculately attired Malfoy Senior. She nodded her thanks and greeted Lucius, who had risen to greet her.
He kissed her cheek in salutation, and she couldn’t stop the flush from flowing over her face. What an effect he had on her!
They sat, and Lucius told her he’d ordered for her. Her annoyance abated when he said it was salmon, her favourite.
“How was work today, Hermione?” Lucius asked cordially.
She waved her hand dismissively. “The same as usual. Despite sending out nearly fifty owls with requests for volunteers, only four people responded, and now we are, as always, shorthanded for our Equal Rights for Werewolf fundraiser at the end of the month.” She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to talk about work.”
“I don’t mind. It’s obviously important to you, and that makes it interesting. So why were so many owls sent in the first place? Don’t you have a volunteer database to choose from?”
Hermione nodded, trying not to get worked up, but not succeeding entirely. “The owls were sent from that database! That’s the frustrating thing. People put their names on the list, then act affronted when we actually ask for their help! It’s ridiculous.”
Lucius agreed sympathetically. “Maybe a new sign-up sheet should be circulated to make certain all the volunteers are still amenable and available.” Lucius hoped his suggestion was taken in the manner in which it was intended, and that she would not think he was trying to tell her how to do her job. He knew that would rub her the wrong way.
“That’s actually a great idea. I should do that first thing tomorrow. The sooner, the better.” Hermione nodded decisively and whipped out a small agenda. After ostensibly writing his sensible suggestion on her To-Do list, Hermione smiled. She seemed to be more at ease, and he took advantage of that fact.
“I’m glad I could help.” He smiled winningly, and she returned it. “That’s a lovely necklace,” he continued, reaching over and caressing the chain gently with his fingertips. Her hand automatically reached up to touch it, and her fingers met his. They hesitated there for a moment before she drew them back and blushed. She was really beginning to get annoyed at her propensity for redness in his proximity. She usually had more control over herself than this.
“Thank you. It was a gift.”
“From a lover?” His question was bold, but he was sure she could handle it. To her credit, she did not blush this time.
“Not at all. It was from Harry; a graduation gift.” She fingered the chain in exactly the spot his fingers had vacated.
“An unusual gift from a man who proclaims to be only a friend. Surely he had ulterior intentions.” His certain tone had Hermione laughing freely, and he could only smile in return, her hearty chuckle warming him.
“Oh, no. I’m sure Ginny picked it. It’s something she would buy for herself, after all.” She smiled at the thought, certain she was right in her assumption. It didn’t cheapen the gift for her, because Harry had cared enough to ask for Ginny’s help.
Lucius had his own thoughts on the topic, but wisely kept them to himself. If he was going to court her properly, he would want Potter on his side after all, and this seemingly innocent gift may give him an advantage with his intentions. Lucius filed that little morsel away and turned his attention back to the lovely young woman before him.
Before either of them wanted, the dinner ended, and even tea could no longer prevent their parting. They both had to be at the Ministry early the next day, and as much as Lucius wanted Hermione, he knew he would have to wait until the timing was better.
In order to get a few minutes more with her, Lucius Disapparated with Hermione to her apartment building. He walked her to her door, which was a rather alarming shade of pink, but Hermione didn’t offer an explanation and he didn’t ask.
“I’m delighted you agreed to come with me tonight, Hermione. I had a lovely time, and I’d like nothing more than to do it again.”
Hermione smiled that sunny grin and rested her fingertips on his upper arm. “I’m glad you asked me out, Lucius. I was a little nervous, but I had fun. I’d love to see you again.” No sense being coy, she figured; she might as well lay all her cards on the table.
Lucius sensed her all-or-nothing attitude and stepped closer to her. He again traced her necklace with one hand, letting the other rest on her waist. Her breath caught slightly when his fingers grazed her collarbone, and she lifted her face to meet his gaze. His stormy grey eyes were trained on her neckline, and she drew a deep breath to steady herself. His eyes flashed as her lungs filled, and her breath caught at the tumult there.
Taking the initiative, Hermione moved her hand from his arm to his face, and finally his eyes met hers. They seemed to be looking for something in her face, something which he must have found, because his eyes softened and his lips parted slightly. Hermione stepped on her tiptoes and kissed him. His lips were soft and warm, his breath sweet from the tea. He didn’t move, and Hermione was afraid she’d misjudged the moment, but she moved her lips anyway.
Lucius was finally jolted from his stupor. Her kiss was so sweet, so gentle and yet the sexiest thing he’d felt in a long time. He held back from crushing her body to his and settled instead for sliding his tongue into her mouth, relishing her soft moan and tracing his hands along her waist to her back. She leaned into his embrace, wanting more, but he was already pulling away.
Her lips parted, breath coming heavily and eyes glazed with desire. She stood unsteadily before him. He took her hand in his, and as he had in her office, grazed a kiss against her knuckles.
“Sweet dreams, Hermione.”
After her date with Lucius, Hermione had attempted a few simple spells in the safety of her flat. After her successful Apparition earlier that day, she’d hoped she might be able to manage her magic again.
But nothing went as it should, and she was forced to resign herself, once again, to acting without magic. She couldn’t contain her disappointment, however, and let out an anguished sob before throwing herself on her bed. Something was seriously wrong, and it was more than just a fluke. She couldn’t deny it any longer; she knew she would have to see a Healer.
She’d known about magic for longer than she’d been a simple Muggle, so while it wasn’t as difficult to cope without magic as it would be for a Pureblood, it was nearly impossible to function in the Wizarding World with faulty magic. Unless she wanted to risk death by Wizarding Elevator or some other ignoble demise, she would have to toughen up and seek help.
With that decision made, Hermione ungracefully shucked her clothing without leaving the comfort of her bed and fell asleep with thoughts of an unidentified blond wizard in her mind.
Lucius also turned in for an early night. It was unlike him to get to sleep without even looking at his work for the night, but he felt he deserved a night off. After all, he had a very uncomfortable talk with his son coming up, and he would need his strength. Draco’s temper was legendary, surpassed only by Lucius’ own, though both had been tempered slightly in the intervening years since the war. Still, there was no sense in taking chances, so Lucius mentally prepared his speech to his heir, hoping Draco would forgive him or at least hear him out.
He wasn’t exactly afraid of his son’s reaction, but he was anxious. Draco’s decision to stop pursuing Hermione made the entire thing easier, but Lucius couldn’t be sure of the circumstances surrounding that, so he planned to tread lightly.
When sleep came upon him, he dreamt of both Draco and Hermione. They were embracing passionately, as if after a long absence. But rather than feeling jealous, Lucius was drawn to them. He felt like he, too, had been parted from the young couple and was in need of a reunion. When he approached them, he was met with excitement and joy from both his son and Hermione.
In the middle of the night, Lucius awoke with feelings of anxiety and all-encompassing clarity. Things had just become infinitely more complicated.
Draco was also having a difficult time staying asleep. He hadn’t been dreaming, that he could recall, but he’d been awoken rather rudely by an odd sensation. He almost felt as though he wasn’t alone in his room, though the ample moonlight made it clear that no one was there.
He shrugged off the feeling and burrowed deeper under his silk sheet, desperate to fall back asleep before his mind turned on and rest became impossible. His last waking thoughts were of an adorable, bushy-haired witch and the irrefutable idea that everything was going according to plan. Whose plan, though, he didn’t know.
“Draco, a word please?”
Draco looked up from his papers. He’d left work early that day, feeling distracted and anxious and somehow knowing he’d get more work done in his own study. Now his father was standing in the doorway with a decidedly nervous look on his face, one that Draco was absolutely certain had never graced his features in all the years Draco had known him. The nervousness was immediately passed onto the younger Malfoy.
“Of course. Would you like to have a seat?” He gestured to the sofa and chair that were situated by the lightly glowing fireplace across the room. He felt a little silly being so formal, but he’d always responded to his father in kind; whenever Lucius was official, Draco felt as though he should be as well.
Lucius nodded and took a seat on the chair. Draco followed him, sitting on the end of the sofa closest to his father.
Lucius sighed a little dramatically, and Draco had the impression that something important was on his mind. He tried to nod encouragingly, but his father wouldn’t meet his eyes. Draco’s eyes narrowed; this was out of character, indeed.
“Draco, have you continued to experience a strange disruption in your magic?”
If Draco was shocked by the somewhat incongruous topic, he didn’t show it. “Actually, yes. But it comes and goes, and to be honest, I’ve been ignoring it in the hopes that it will work itself out. Why do you ask?”
Lucius looked as though he had already known the answer to that question, and Draco tried not to get frustrated. He wished his father would come out and say what was on his mind.
“Because I believe I know the cause, and yet I wanted to delay telling you until I was certain, but things seem to be getting more and more convoluted.”
Draco tried to riddle out this response but to no avail. He looked blankly at Lucius until his father took pity.
“Let me say what I need to say, and don’t interrupt. This is not going to be easy, for either of us, but you need to know the truth so we can make an informed decision.”
Draco was starting to become extremely concerned; his father was acting as though Draco had a terminal illness or something. As soon as Draco thought that, he paled. What if he was sick, really sick? It made sense, after all; his magic was unstable, he was having odd dreams, strange sensations, and even compulsions to do things entirely against his nature, like leave Hermione alone when he wanted her more than anything. Draco’s breathing became shallow, and Lucius immediately noticed.
“Nothing is wrong, son, not really. Everything is reparable. We can get through this, I promise. Don’t panic just yet.” Draco took a deep breath and found comfort in his father’s reassuring words. If nothing else, Lucius was honest with his son, to a fault at times. He would not sugar-coat something important. He gestured for Lucius to go on, feeling a little embarrassed by his reaction.
Lucius nodded, seeming to rally himself. “In the Wizarding World, there are couples that are a little more special than most. They are not unlike what some call ‘soul mates,’ though to name it that is a little simplistic. Perhaps a better definition would be ‘magic mates.’ Every wizard’s magic is attuned to that of a witch, or in some cases, a wizard; it can change if a wizard does not find that specific witch, or if he does find her and she dies or vice versa. It is usually signified by an alteration in one’s magic, which becomes erratic or volatile. Usually when the two members of the couple unite, the magic settles as it recognizes itself in the other person.
“However, very rarely…” Lucius paused to take a deep breath, and Draco listened avidly. “Very rarely, there are more than two members of a match. Sometimes, there are three, or even four. These types of relationships are often unbearable for a number of reasons, not the least of which being a propensity for monogamy in our society. Such triads rarely last, but when they do… when they do last, Draco, they are formidable. The power of each member feeds and grows off the others, not only increasing the strength of the magic, but also the abilities of the wielder. For example, longer life spans, faster healing abilities, increased physical strength and endurance, to name a few.
“But there is always a downside. The reason so few of these matches exist is because most people need only one other person. In cases of triads, the magic needs two other people because the members themselves need the others. They can only be truly happy in the triadic relationship, and this frightens people because it is poorly understood and, of course, judged. If the triad fails, the members are essentially condemned to life without either of the other members. A duo cannot be formed between two members, leaving out the third, because the imbalance becomes precarious and the magic will not stand for it. The only other option is an outside relationship without a magic match, which is a poor substitute indeed. The only way for… the people involved to be truly happy is to remain a triad.”
Draco absorbed everything his father was saying, watching the emotions play across Lucius’ face. He seemed a little nervous, even scared, telling Draco all this. While Draco found it fascinating, he had no idea what it had to do with him. He’d heard of what Lucius called ‘magic mates,’ even knew of a few. He also knew what triads were, how rare they were, but hadn’t quite gleaned on to how it applied to him. Yes, his magic was acting up… but the rest just didn’t apply. He only wanted Hermione….
Lucius could see his son struggling with what he was telling him. He pursed his lips, uncertain of how explicitly he should explain.
For once in his life, Lucius opted to plunge ahead rather than allow Draco to infer his meaning.
“Our magic—yours, mine and Hermione’s—wants the three of us to be a triad. Together. In a relationship.” Lucius couldn’t really go any further with his explanation, but the blank look on Draco’s face was almost enough to make him think up more synonyms for ‘together.’
Slowly, ever so slowly, Lucius’ words sunk in. Oh, my gods….
“Your magic wants you to fuck me?” Draco exclaimed, utterly scandalized and equally nauseous. This cannot be happening….
“Draco, for Merlin’s sake, language! And no!” Lucius looked insulted and a little outraged by Draco’s comment. “No, Draco. I don’t think that’s what is happening. I believe Hermione is the link between us; I can honestly say I have no desire to….” He gestured between the two of them, finding himself unable to vocalize the rather disturbing idea of being intimate with his son.
Draco heaved a sigh of relief, laughing nervously. He knew he had not handled that well and hoped his father was not insulted. Attempting to repair the situation somewhat, Draco laughed and said, “I mean, you’re very handsome and all—”
“Enough! Draco, do you understand what I’ve said? I believe you, Hermione and I could be a triad. We could be immensely powerful, and, I believe, very happy.”
Draco sobered immediately. He knew he cared about Hermione, and obviously he loved his father. Could he share her? Could he handle a relationship with his father, even if they weren’t necessarily together sexually?
“Father, I’m sorry. I don’t think I could handle that. It’s too much, I—”
“Please, Draco. Don’t make a decision right now. I know this seems like a lot to absorb, and indeed, it is. But you won’t do either of us any justice by making a hasty choice. And I think Hermione needs to hear everything, too. It should be her decision as well.”
Draco knew his father was right, but couldn’t get over the image sharing a bed with his father, even with Hermione in the middle.
“Are you going to tell her?”
Lucius nodded. “Yes, I think that would be best. I doubt you could be… objective about the situation. Just tell me you’ll think about it, and I’ll take care of Hermione.”
Draco stood up, nodding. “I will think about it, Father. I promise.” He bit his lip, wanting to say more, but feeling incredibly awkward. “Good luck with Hermione.” You’ll need it.
Lucius remained in the study for a little while, thinking about what had happened. As soon as he’d realized the importance of the dream he’d had, and exactly what the implications of the three of them having faulty magic were, he knew he could waste no time. It was incredibly difficult to manage without perfect magic. He suspected that if he and Draco both made the decision to leave Hermione alone, their magic would settle down and return to normal. After all, they wouldn’t be punished forever for not choosing the triad. After Narcissa had left, he hadn’t experienced a disruption, which led him to believe that as long as one or both pursued Hermione separately, they would experience difficulties, but if both they either accepted her together, or they each decided to go separate ways, the magic would immediately begin to look for another suitable match, most likely not in the form of a triad.
Lucius had to admit he was intrigued. The thought of the power they could wield was somewhat intoxicating, certainly. But more than that, having Hermione by his side was a delicious thought. Even the idea of being with Draco, not sexually but certainly more than father and son was appealing. It meant he could keep Draco with him always, and that was something to fight for.
Now, if only Hermione and Draco would see it the same way….
Hermione was surprised, but not displeased, to see a missive from Lucius on her desk when she arrived at work that day. She waited until she’d had her coffee and opened all her other mail to address it.
She hadn’t seen Draco that day, nor did she expect to. She’d nearly resigned herself to the idea that she’d been judged by him and found wanting. When she went over what could have gone wrong, she drew a blank.
But she wasn’t one to dwell on things that went wrong.... Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. But at least she’d convinced herself that it must be Draco’s problem and not hers. She regretted that he obviously wasn’t interested, but she had to admit, she felt a little relieved. He made her a little nervous, both with his intensity and his past. As much as she believed that he’d changed, there would always be a little uncertainty; Malfoys were notoriously good actors, and while half of Hermione was sad at the lost chance, the other half was thankful that her heart was safe for another day.
Safe, that is, unless Lucius had designs on it.
She was just about to open the letter from Lucius when a knock on her door startled her. She’d taken to leaving it shut all the time, partially for privacy from Draco, but mostly because she was embarrassed by her malfunctioning magic and didn’t want her co-workers seeing her do everything the Muggle way.
“Come in!” she called, putting the letter down and folding her hands over it.
To her immense surprise and begrudged pleasure, it was Draco.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She smiled at him. Gods, but he had an immediate effect on her. She tried to school her features, but grinned at him regardless. He returned it, and she was smitten. Ugh, control yourself, Granger. He is so not interested.
“Good morning. I just wanted to ask if you’d finished the mock-up for the new volunteer form. I was thinking about circulating it later today.”
Hermione was startled; she hadn’t spoken to him about that yet. “Well, yes. I finished it before I came to work this morning. How did you...?”
Draco waved offhandedly. “Oh, my father told me about it. I think it’s a great idea; we definitely need the help.” Hermione felt a tingle of warmth at his compliment, but she’d also felt a frisson of heat at the way Draco said, ‘My father.’ Something very odd was going on inside her head!
“Thanks. Well, I just need to make magical copies, and I figured we’d leave some on every floor, as well as personally visit all the previous volunteers to find out which ones want to continue. I doubt many will, but I’m hoping we can recruit some new ones.” She dug around in her briefcase for the form. Handing it to him, she said, “Do you and... your father normally talk shop?”
He took the form and looked at it briefly. He answered her in a distracted voice, “Well, not really actually. Just when it concerns you.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink and promptly exited her office, closing the door behind him. She was left with a feeling that she didn't quite have all the information. Why would they talk about her? Did Draco know she’d been on a date with his father? He wasn’t acting like he cared.... Maybe they were right back to being colleagues and nothing more. Well, that was better than the cold shoulder, anyway.
Shaking her head and wondering when her life had become so complicated, Hermione finally opened Lucius’ letter. Her eyes widened.
Hermione,
I know you have many questions, and I’m pleased to say I believe I have some answers for you, regarding your magic. You may not like what I have to say, but I hope you will hear me out with an open mind. If anyone can manage that, it is surely you.
I would be grateful if you would return with me to Malfoy Manor this afternoon after you are finished work. We can have dinner together, and I’ll tell you everything I know. I shall come by your office around five.
Yours,
Lucius
Hermione was shocked. How could Lucius have answers to her magic problems? What did it even have to do with him? She noticed he’d left no way for her to respond to his missive. She decided instead of going to his office to confirm that she would indeed accompany him tonight, she would just wait for him to show up; he obviously expected acquiescence anyway.
And he’d signed it... yours.
Mine?
When Lucius eventually did come to her office, it was just before five. He knocked on her door, a clunking sound that made her believe he was knocking with his cane instead of his hand. How very Malfoy.
“Come in!” she called to the second Malfoy that day.
Lucius entered the room, filling it with his presence. Unlike the Death Eater she knew as a teenager, this Lucius wasn’t as intimidating as he was commanding. He didn’t frighten her like he used to, but she couldn’t deny she was drawn to his power. It fairly radiated off of him, and, to an only slightly lesser extent, his son. It was really no wonder she was drawn to these men. She was a fairly powerful witch on her own, so it suited that she would be attracted to men of a similar magical stature.
“Good afternoon, Miss Granger. I trust you got my letter?” His cultured voice never failed to send a shiver down her spine, but she managed to answer gracefully.
“I did. I’d be happy to come with you. I must admit, I’m very curious to hear what you know.” And not a little put out that he hadn’t deigned to inform her earlier.
“I’m happy to enlighten you. I only hope you will be equally happy to be enlightened.”
Hermione tilted her head coyly. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than... enlightenment.”
They both smiled at her flirtation, even if Hermione herself was a little shocked. Lucius put her at ease while simultaneously keeping her on her toes.
She quickly gathered the work she planned on doing that night and stuffed it into her briefcase. Donning her coat, she accepted Lucius’ arm, and together they walked to the Apparition point. In moments they were outside Malfoy Manor. Hermione followed Lucius inside, and he led her to his study. Hermione blanked her mind against the sickening rush of emotion at the memory of the last time she’d been in this house. Things are different now, she reminded herself.
Similar to Draco’s study across the manor, this room was completely Lucius. The dark mahogany desk was massive, and all the furniture in the room shared the same wood theme. The walls were beige, and that kept the room from feeling small. There was a brown leather sofa and loveseat, as well as a dark green wingback chair situated in front of a huge fireplace. Two walls bore immense bookcases, even though the room itself was attached to the library. He obviously felt very comfortable here, and Hermione instantly felt the same.
Not letting go of her hand, Lucius sat Hermione on the loveseat and took his place beside her, sitting close enough that their thighs touched. The fact that he chose the smaller loveseat over the more accommodating sofa did not go unnoticed by Hermione.
She smiled warmly at him, wanting him to tell her everything he knew. When he placed his hand on her knee, she couldn’t refrain from shivering. His touch inspired something within her. His hand was warm and reassuring, and his smell assailed her. It was spicy and musky and made her want to lean forward and breathe him in....
“Hermione...” His voice was impossibly low. The warmth of the room and his closeness intoxicated her, and she raised her face to meet his.
He searched her eyes for a moment, but she closed them in silent permission. When she felt his breath against her lips, she leaned in to close the distance with a kiss.
His hand immediately cupped her cheek, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Her mouth accepted him immediately, not playing any of the games she usually enjoyed. Now, she only wanted him.
When his tongue stroked hers, it was like a piece of her soul settled. An anxiety she’d hardly known she’d been feeling lifted, and she felt free and complete. She sighed in contentment, and he swallowed her sounds. He pulled back slightly, kissing her lips lightly a last time before pulling back. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to forget the sensation, but when he whispered her name, she had to see his eyes.
They were the darkest she’d ever seen them, and a look of lust crossed his features before he contained it. It was almost as if he was afraid she’d be frightened by his passion—and she was anything but. She’d waited all her life to see passion like that, and she’d only ever witnessed it in one other eerily similar pair of grey eyes.
“Gods, you are stunning. I could kiss you for days.” He looked amazed, possibly because of what he’d said, but more likely because what he’d said was true.
But as much as Hermione was enjoying his talented attentions, she had to know what he knew.
“Lucius, you need to tell me about my magic.”
He nodded solemnly. He’d decided to use much the same words he’d said to Draco the night before. And like with Draco, he did not hesitate, but told her all he knew about the magic mates, and the triad, and how he believed it involved the three of them. He barely paused to register her reactions, and when he was finished, he clamped his lips shut.
Hermione was sure her face was a comic mask at this point. She had never felt more incredulous in her life. Lucius Malfoy—former enemy, Death Eater. Bad Guy—was telling her that he believed she was destined to be in a relationship with him and his son, Draco Malfoy—Death Eater-in-training, arch nemesis, Junior Bad Guy. She wanted to laugh, but her expression was frozen.
“I think I should probably head home, Mr. Malfoy.” She lurched unsteadily to her feet, but didn’t take a further step. The problem wasn’t that everything he’d said was wrong. Oh, no, that would have been much easier to cope with. The problem was that everything he’d said felt so damn right. The more he’d spoken, the more she felt everything fall into place. The magic, the feeling of emptiness she’d had before, the lack of guilt she’d experienced when agreeing to see Lucius even though she was seeing Draco. Her dreams.
Lucius held onto her wrist, and it felt impossibly small in his large hand. “Please, stay for a few moments. Talk to me. I know it’s frightening; it’s all quite a bit to absorb. Draco did not handle it very well, either.”
“Draco knows?”
Lucius nodded, and Hermione sat back down, trying to ignore the heat of his thigh against hers. “Yes, I told him just last night. The way he’s been avoiding you... it wasn’t you. It was his instincts. The magic between the three of us was telling him to give me time to make you aware of my intentions. If you’d chosen him completely, you never would have considered me, and all of our power would continue to revolt.”
“Does Draco... want this, as well?” Hermione congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady. She was certainly not unaware that some couples engaged in sexual encounters with more than one partner. She even knew that some people maintained relationships with three members. It was not entirely unheard of—slightly more common in the Wizarding World than the Muggle world, but still not very prevalent.
“Draco doesn’t know what he wants at this point. But that isn’t to say he’s ruling it out. To be perfectly honest, I believe he will keep his cards close to his chest until he knows what you want. He won’t pursue anything if he suspects you are hesitant. I don’t know if I have the same qualms.” His voice lowered, and Hermione instinctually leaned toward him. “I know exactly what I want.”
His lips descended quickly to hers, not giving her a chance to deny him. His hands held her face lightly, and he kissed her with the passion she was beginning to associate with him. He certainly did nothing by halves. She moaned into his mouth, all thoughts of triads and magic mates fleeing her mind while he learned her mouth with his tongue.
Hermione gently touched his cheek, but was compelled to card her fingers through his silky hair. It was long, past his shoulders, and the same silver-blond as Draco’s. She tugged lightly on his tresses, and he growled into her mouth, deepening the kiss even further.
But just as quickly as it started, Lucius pulled back. “Now you know everything I know. And you know what I want. I hope you make the right decision, for it is all up to you.”
Catching her breath, Hermione nodded slowly. “I can only promise that I will think about it, Lucius. I won’t say No right away, but all this... it’s a little scary. I’ll have to—”
“—Research?” Lucius smirked, raising a silver eyebrow ever so slightly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m so predictable. You know, there’s nothing wrong with covering all your bases and making an informed decision!”
“Of course not, pet. Just remember, your heart should have as much say as your head.” And with those rather sage words, Lucius led Hermione to the Floo, through which she travelled to her suddenly very empty-feeling living room.
Hermione made her tea with shaking hands. Upon her return from Malfoy Manor and the rather life-changing information Lucius had imparted to her, she’d sat in shock on her worn and cosy sofa for nearly an hour.
Her brain had raced like it had a medal in the offing, but it uselessly came to no conclusions. After scalding herself with scorching liquid thanks to her trembling digits, Hermione decided tea was not the answer.
But for once in her life, she didn’t know what was.
Looking at the situation objectively, it made a certain amount of sense to just walk away. She was not all that involved with either Malfoy at this point. Though she was glad Draco had a reason for avoiding her, little sense though it made, she was sure she could forget about that blissful, sensual kiss in time. As for Lucius, well, his passionate and commanding kiss could be forgotten as well. In time.
But there were two issues that drew her back in, two major Pros in the left-hand column of life. Power. And Love.
Hermione knew she was a good witch. She’d mastered nearly everything she’d ever attempted, and she understood magic in an inherent way that few Muggle-borns ever did. Magic had always been seductive to her, and when she learned a new charm or mastered a new potion, she felt a thrill that stayed with her. More than a love of learning, Hermione had a passion for magic. So the idea that she could be even better—learn more, achieve more—appealed to her on a level few people realized she possessed.
But the other issue... that just might be the clincher. Hermione didn’t trust easily, and there was only one person she trusted absolutely implicitly. Herself. She trusted her magic to make the right decision. She didn’t think her magic would hurt her. So her magic must know something she didn’t. And if it wanted her to be with those devilish Malfoys, she knew her heart would not be broken irrevocably. If something did happen and the triad didn’t work, she could always leave. It wouldn’t be easy to give up the power, certainly, but it could be done.
But what if you love Lucius and not Draco? Or vice versa? Hermione was wise enough to know she did not love either man at this point. She barely knew them, their real selves. How horrible would it be to fall for one and not the other? Could she live in that type of relationship? And how would it work with them being... father and son?
How could they be okay with that?
The first answer came to her quickly. Falling for one and not the other just wouldn’t be possible. She had love enough in her heart to love them both, and she had to, again, trust her magic to have made the right choice. She would love them both; it was as simple as that. The second answer was more difficult, and Hermione realized she didn’t know many gritty details about how the triad would work. Especially when it came to sex. Hermione had a little experience—she certainly knew what could go where with two men and a woman... but would father and son want that? Would she? Hermione coughed mentally and moved onto the next question. Would they... be together as well?
Hermione’s face flooded with heat as she pictured two perfectly coiffed blonds closing in for a slow, sensual kiss.... Lucius taking the lead and Draco leaning into him....
Okay, time to think about unsexy things.... Why can I never think of unsexy things when I need them the most? Settling for an image of Hagrid in a bikini riding a bicycle, Hermione was able to get her thoughts back on track.
She would just have to research the... sex thing. Now, the cons list. Well, they were Malfoys. Not one, but two. Insufferable, arrogant, prejudiced, proper, cruel, cold... well, maybe she was reaching a little. They were at least some of those things. Public image. People would think they were disgusting, incestuous. People would think she was a slut, or mad. Harry and Ron would absolutely lose it. She might be hospitalized until her sanity was proven. People might think they were coercing her, magically forcing her. That would be ugly.
Hermione decided the only way to get the answers she really needed was to talk to another triad. She usually preferred getting knowledge from books first and people second, but in this case, a book would only be a second-hand account, whereas a real triad—she could ask them all the questions she needed to and make a properly informed decision.
She always felt better when a decision was made. Hermione jotted off a quick owl note describing her intentions and sent it away to the Manor.
Her owl came back about an hour later, just as she was getting ready for bed.
Hermione,
I think your idea of a discussion with a triad is a wonderful idea. I know you have many questions, and I only have so many answers, as well as a few questions myself. Draco agrees with me. He is most pleased that you are willing to think about this arrangement. As am I, of course.
I will set up a meeting with a triad I met a few years ago at a Ministry party, with whom I’ve had fairly regular contact. They are rather young, both in terms of age and relationship, but they should give us a good idea of what we can expect.
I will owl you with the time.
As always, yours,
Lucius Malfoy
Hermione grinned. Always mine. It made her a little giddy to think such a powerful, debonair man like Lucius Malfoy called himself hers. She wondered if Draco felt the same. They could both be mine.... I only have to say the word. She would see Draco at the office the next day, and he would have to talk to her. If they planned on discussing a lifelong commitment to one another, they would at least have to converse.
She was looking forward to it. She’d missed him more than she cared to admit, and she was eager to hear his thoughts. But she reminded herself that she would not make a decision until she’d met the other triad.
The next day, Hermione was late for work. The second she’d Apparated, she knew something had gone wrong. And she was very, very concerned to realize she had ended up at the end of the Apparition wards at Malfoy Manor. Luckily, it seemed no one was home to notice her random arrival, which they might have if she’d accidentally touched the wards or set off other alarms. It was her good fortune that Lucius and Draco both made a point to arrive early at work and weren’t around to witness her rather abrupt and unexpected landing.
It could have been worse, of course. She could have ended up half at Malfoy Manor and half at work.
She managed to Apparate only a block from the Ministry. She really shouldn’t have tried a second time—who knows what could have happened—but she was already running behind, and she was anxious to see Draco.
She hurried into her office, pleased that no one seemed to take note of her late entry. She shut the door and sighed. Turning to face her desk, Hermione shrieked and jumped a foot in the air like a cat.
“Late? That’s so unlike you.” Draco’s smile was feral as he rose gracefully from her chair, slipping around the desk and approaching her shocked form.
“Dear Merlin, Draco! Can’t you wait outside of my office like a normal person?” Her heart was slowly returning to a normal pace, but her face felt devoid of blood and her fingertips tingled.
“But you don’t like normal men, do you, Hermione?” he purred, coming into her personal space and taking her hand. “I think that’s evident enough, wouldn’t you say?” His fingers trailed up her arm.
She shivered at the contact, feeling sparks at the touch. She couldn’t help but lean into him.
“I suppose not. But still, you shouldn’t lurk around—”
He laughed a low, throaty laugh that was altogether too close to her ear. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed.
“I was hardly lurking. I was waiting. I’ve missed you,” he admitted, mouth resting against the shell of her ear, licking slightly before he pulled back to watch her face for a reaction.
“I’ve missed you, too, Draco. I was so confused by your sudden change of attitude.”
He shook his head sadly. “I know. I couldn’t even explain it to myself; it was just a feeling. Apparently it was for the best, though. Or so my father says,” he finished with a wicked smile.
“What do you think about this triad thing, Draco? Honestly?” She needed to know the truth about how he felt. Lucius had pulled no punches, telling her exactly what he thought and what he wanted her to choose. But Draco’s opinion was just as important.
“At first, I was afraid—”
“You were petrified?” Hermione snickered.
Draco looked at her blankly. “Well, I suppose.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. If she did agree to the triad, she would spend a day every week teaching these arrogant Malfoys all about Muggle music and culture.
Draco continued, but not before giving her a strange look as if she would interrupt again, “But now it just feels right. Honestly, it feels like we’re already together, you know? I want you, Hermione Granger. I want to be with you, and if I have to share you with anyone, I’m glad it’s my father, as weird as that may seem. He’s more like a friend than a father anyway; or, at least, it makes it easier to think about when I put it that way. I just want to be with you.”
Hermione considered this. “And of course the increased power and magic are nothing to scoff at, right?” She searched his face. The power appealed to her and certainly to Lucius, but she didn’t want it to be the only reason Draco agreed to this. That idea hurt her deeply.
“Well, the power is like the icing on a delicious—” he kissed her neck softly, “—Hermione-shaped—” he nibbled her collarbone, “—cake,” he finished, biting her neck and soothing it with a kiss. “And I am very hungry,” he growled, capturing her lips in a kiss that took Hermione by surprise. It was hard and fast, passionate and ferocious. Hermione tried to keep up with his near-frantic movements, her body heating up instantly as his hands circled her waist and held her firmly against him.
Her hands buried themselves in his hair, marvelling at the light silkiness as his strands slipped effortlessly through her fingers. Her heart was settled; she knew what Draco wanted, and it wasn’t power or increased magic or anything superficial. He wanted her and she wanted him. It was suddenly so easy. But she knew she had to meet the other triad in order to make the best decision. But even if the meeting didn’t go so well, she had an unshakable feeling that the three of them could make it work somehow. She cared too much to not try.
Especially since Draco was continuing to snog her senseless in her office like this. Just as that thought filtered through her brain, Draco pulled back, breath mingling with hers, eyes stormy and dark with desire.
“Now that... that was a good kiss,” he asserted, fingers tightening on her waist.