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Malfoy's quill hovered above the parchment on his desk."'What's your favourite season?' Who wrote this stupid matching quiz?"
Hermione, who'd shared the dusty office in the Ministry archives with him for six months now, sighed and rubbed her temples. "Probably the same plonker who wrote the stupid marriage law."
He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. Hermione tried not to track the motion too closely, just as she tried not to gawk when he took off his robes and rolled up his sleeves every weekday morning.
It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. Kingsley assured her an office on the fourth floor would open up any day now, and she could leave Malfoy and the archives behind. She would assume a space befitting her role as Lead Researcher of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and he would wither away performing document review as required by his prison release work programme.
They were drastically different people. One Muggleborn, one Pureblood. One who took tea the proper way, and another who added an alarming amount of sugar. Hermione preferred to work with a little music in the background. Malfoy liked the room cold as a witch's tit.
And she would know; her nipples stood at attention as soon as she entered the room, under even her thickest jumpers.
The only thing they agreed on was the idiocy of the marriage law.
Malfoy said something that sounded like, "What's up with your foot?"
She kicked him in the shin.
"What was that for?"
"There's nothing wrong with my feet!"
"I never said there was! I've never seen your feet but I'm sure they're as lov- loathsome as the rest of you. I asked you what you put for your favourite season. I didn't know people had favourite seasons."
"Of course they do. I put autumn."
Malfoy sat back in his chair and put his arms around the back of his head. "Isn't everyone going to pick autumn, though? Bit of a cop out, if you ask me."
"I assure you, no one asked."
"Sure, but maybe they'll conduct a follow up survey. 'On a scale of one to ten, how satisfied were you with the questions that determined your match?' Who knows? The Ministry wanker might take feedback better than you do."
Hermione dipped into her ink pot as she considered the next question, paying no mind to the man flexing his muscles across from her. "Dream big, Malfoy."
"I do," he said, reading the next question silently. "Bloody hell."
Hermione groaned and read it aloud for the both of them. "'Why did you choose that season?'"
"I say, only the fiercest and finest work here. So, Granger, why autumn? Couldn't be Quidditch season, hmm? Missing watching the Weasel perform aerial feats for you and his little side piece, what's her name, Lavatory?" There was no malice towards her in his tone; only scathing contempt for her ex.
Hermione covered her mouth to smother a laugh. Malfoy could be quite funny sometimes. She hadn't thought he was listening a few weeks back when she sniffled through the sordid tale to Harry, who'd come all the way down to the archives to lend a sympathetic ear.
"They got married last week, so I suppose I was the side piece," she said, and caught the fleeting frown that flickered across his face. "No, I said autumn because I enjoy the way time slows down, just for a little while. The nip in the air, the clear nights under the harvest moon, and the perfectly grey days - I could go on and on about the weather. My birthday is in autumn. I suppose I have lots of reasons. What did you put?"
"Spring."
Hermione waved her hand in a circular motion. "And? Come on."
Malfoy regarded her seriously. "Rebirth. Renewal. I always pictured myself having a spring wedding."
A shiver ran down her spine. Damn the freezing office.
"Funny, so did I. There's something about a spring wedding."
He tapped his fingers on the desk. "I suppose summer will have to do."
A few minutes passed as they scratched out more answers to increasingly asinine questions.
'What's your favourite flower?' (Sunflowers)
'What age did you discover your magic?' (Eleven)
'If you could be any animal, what would you be?' (Cat, specifically one who lives in a bookshop)
None of them seemed to have anything to do with compatibility.
Hermione completed the questionnaire and rolled up her scroll. Before she even realised what she was asking, she said, "Why aren't you married?"
Malfoy held up a finger while he finished his final answer. When he looked up at her, she expected to find annoyance or humor in his eyes, but he was instead quite serious. "I've been betrothed by contract since birth to Astoria Greengrass, but she recently informed me she has a blood curse, which broke the engagement."
"That's terrible."
"It is. Nice girl. We could've gotten on well enough."
Hermione folded her arms across her body, holding herself awkwardly. "I'd hoped to marry for love."
"Maybe you will." He gathered his things, slinging a leather briefcase over his shoulder.
"Doubtful."
She muttered Nox and they exited the room together.
As they approached the lifts, Malfoy said, in a low voice, "People can grow to love each other. Happens all the time."
A lift arrived, empty, and they tottered in. Malfoy pressed the button that would take them to the clerk's office.
Hermione leaned against the back wall as the lift groaned into action, chewing her lip. "That's true. I suppose not all hope is lost. Maybe I'll get someone nice."
He snorted. "You'll get the nicest, most boring sod they've got."
"As long as he's handsome."
"Getting downright picky all of a sudden, aren't we?"
She hummed. "Theodore Nott isn't half-bad looking."
It was true, although Theo wasn't really her type. He stopped by the archives on occasion for tea and conversation. He agreed with everything she said, and she often found herself looking to Malfoy, grinning at the way he mimed hexing the chatty Unspeakable in the back.
"Theo?"
"He seems like an autumn kind of guy."
"He does," Malfoy admitted, shuffling one shiny shoe as he watched the number of floors tick by. He was unusually fidgety.
Of course he'd be even more nervous than she was - his future wife might hate him. She might not think Malfoy capable of rehabilitation. Hermione ran her palm over her face. She hadn't considered how much more complicated this was for him.
"Hey," she said, laying a hand on his forearm. It was the most contact they'd ever had, and they both stilled, as if startled. "I'm certain you won't end up with someone awful. Maybe she'll be your perfect match."
For some reason, her heart sank at her own words. She couldn't imagine seeing Draco with anyone, really. And if the witch he married was unkind to him... Her hair stood on end.
Wait. Had she just thought of Malfoy as... Draco?
Her magic flared to the surface as the lift came to a shuddering stop. She'd just realised something equally as terrifying as it was important, but it was too late. They were just a few steps away from the clerk's office.
Draco was already marching down the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him.
Damn. There was something wrong with her feet. They weren't moving fast enough.
"Draco, wait!"
He stopped dead still. Hermione caught up to him and looked up into his eyes.
They were curious. They were warm. They were the colour of perfectly grey days.
"I-"
The door swung open to reveal the beady-eyed clerk. "Ah, Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy. Thank you for returning your questionnaires. I'll go ahead and process these right now. Good luck to both of you."
He plucked the sheets of parchment from both their hands, bowed, and retreated into his office, leaving them in the corridor alone.
Hermione's breath caught in her chest. All she could do was stare at the clerk's closed door. She'd missed her chance.
"Don't lose heart, now," Draco's voice broke through the mournful silence. "What were you going to say before?"
"I'm not sure it matters now."
He stepped into frame, surrounding her with his fresh scent. Spring-like, she thought wistfully, with a hint of mint. Hopeful.
"It matters to me, Hermione."
Her heart rate sped up. "I thought... I thought it wouldn't be so bad if we married. To comply with the law, and everything."
He fiddled with his glasses. "I wouldn't be opposed."
She nearly did a double take. "No?"
"No. But I suppose that ship has sailed. He's got our answers."
"Maybe it's for the best," she said, managing a weak laugh. "I bet you don't care for flowers at all, and you'd want to be a dragon."
"Actually, I love sunflowers. And I said I'd like to be a c-"
The clerk's door burst open. "Oh, Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy. You're still here. That makes this much easier." He handed Draco a file and Hermione a bouquet of sunflowers, clapped them both on the shoulder and said, "Congratulations. You're a match. If you go down to the atrium now, we'll go ahead and make this official. I'll be there in ten. Just finishing up a few things."
Wordlessly Draco offered Hermione his arm, which she took, and they headed back towards the lifts. When the doors closed, he raised an eyebrow. She raised one in return.
"Ought to give the genius who made that quiz a raise," he drawled. "Marvelous questions. First-rate."
Hermione nodded enthusiastically and threw her arms around Draco's neck, kissing him shyly on the cheek. "I'd say the results are more than satisfactory."