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Underappreciated.
That was the word that came to mind every time Draco saw Hermione at The Ministry.
Hermione, with her insane competence, her no fucks given attitude, and her devastatingly attractive figure, was wholly underappreciated.
He hadn’t intentionally made it a point of noticing the way that Hermione was underappreciated. The fact that the observation fell into his lap so easily was reason enough to be affronted on her behalf for the lack of attention she was given by her numpty of a boyfriend.
For the last six years, Hermione had been steadily working her way through the ranks as a Curse-Breaker, which required so much of her time and mental capacity. As Draco understood it—from watching her career grow at a very normal distance, of course—Hermione had become one of the top rune experts within that department, making her a crucial asset to a number of missions across the UK and Europe.
Draco understood her choice to be with Ron, at least to some degree.
Everything about Ron was simple. He was incredibly uncomplicated and, in Draco’s eyes, abysmally boring and a disappointment to wizards everywhere. The last two may be personal prejudice, but he’s fairly certain the first two points were opinions held by the vast majority.
Maintaining a relationship with easy, low-maintenance Ron Weasley felt like the logical choice for someone in her position, even if he was truly the absolute worst possible choice.
And he was the worst possible choice. Draco had proof of that. An unfortunate side effect of watching Hermione thrive over the years was being forced to watch Ron ride her coattails and reap the benefits of every career advancement she received and event she participated in.
Ron had an unbearable habit of being unchivalrous. Draco wanted to chalk up his frustration about it to his own affluent upbringing, but had the man really never heard of holding a door open for a woman? Or for pulling her chair out for her in a meeting? Or offering her an arm so that she didn’t have to apparate alone, for Merlin’s sake?
That was the only justification Draco could come up with. He was hard pressed to find any other respectable reason that Hermione would continue to date a man such as Ron with no prospect of marriage on the horizon for anything other than simplicity.
Hermione didn’t deserve simple, though.
She deserved someone who could match her wits, someone who could challenge her and encourage her as she pursued her goals. Hermione deserved someone who would worship the ground she walked on solely because she asked.
Was he erring towards desperation for her? Perhaps, but he was beyond the point of feeling embarrassed about it because he knew he was right.
Hermione Granger deserved someone better, and he was going to make sure she knew it.
After watching the door shut in Hermione’s face for the third time that week, thanks to Ron's remarkable displays of absentmindedness, Draco had finally had enough. He just needed to find his opportunity to strike.
Luckily for him, that opportunity presented itself on a Wednesday at 2:57 PM, three minutes before The Ministry’s weekly All-Departments Meeting.
Draco had come to thoroughly enjoy these meetings. There wasn’t much overlap between the DMLE where he worked as an Auror and the Curse-Breaker Division, so having an hour each week to hear Hermione talk about the developments her department made and seeing the way her eyes would brighten as she explained a particularly complicated case that she was working on had become a highlight of his week.
On this particular Wednesday, Hermione was following a few steps behind Ron, holding a stack of at least seven impossibly ancient rune books while managing to keep a display board tucked precariously under her arm. She could hardly see over the top of the stack, and Draco was positive that muscle memory was the only thing carrying her through The Atrium to the lifts.
He could already see the moment playing out in his head as he got closer to Ron and Hermione. He just knew that, with only three minutes left until the meeting, the lifts would be jammed, making it a tight fit and a race to find a spot to avoid being late.
Draco had never intentionally hoped that someone would make it into the elevator. It was such an odd thought to have crossed someone’s mind, but as he neared a few steps behind Hermione, Draco found himself hoping, praying even, that the closing doors of the elevator would prompt Ron into hasty action.
“One more!” Ron hurried ahead and squeezed in just before the doors closed.
Draco didn’t know whether he should celebrate Weasley’s unbearable predictability or be furious at the way he had, once again, prioritized himself over Hermione.
Hermione tried to look around the stack of books when she heard the metallic sound of the gates being shut in front of the door. “Ron, please tell me you held the lift.”
Ron’s face turned red and apologetic. Oh, how Draco would love to wipe that look right off his face. “Sorry, ‘Mione. Lift’s full! I’ll meet you upstairs.”
The curly-haired witch let out a taxed groan as she came to a stop in front of the closed door.
Ever the opportunist, Draco claimed his moment. “Need a hand?”
She sighed heavily from behind the stack. “Mind taking the top few? I can’t see a thing.”
Draco happily obliged and grabbed the entire stack from her, effortlessly tucking it under his arm. “Better?”
Hermione looked up at him with surprise and nodded. “Significantly. I can take a few of those. No need to carry them all.”
“My mother raised me far better than that, Granger. I insist.” He punctuated his sentence by pressing the call button on the lift. With his free hand, he pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time: 3:01PM.
“We’re late, aren’t we?” Her voice was teeming with frustration, a sound from her that he knew all too well. He’d heard it so often during their adolescence in the way she would lecture Ron and Harry about punctuality and priorities. Some things never change.
Draco shook his head and pressed the call button once more. This time, the doors opened. “It seems that way. Luckily for us, that means we get a private ride to the conference room.”
He reached out his hand to the open doors and nodded at her, “After you.”
That was what he was looking for–the unmistakable look of dazzle and gratefulness at his gestures of kindness and chivalry. The faint blush that seemed to creep onto her cheeks as she nodded and stepped past him into the elevator was an unanticipated treat, but he reveled in it all the same.
Draco thought he heard the familiar footsteps of someone hurrying down The Artrium’s path, so he quickly hit the Close Doors button to maintain their privacy.
Once the doors shut and the lift started moving, Hermione looked at Draco with earnest appreciation. “Thank you for taking those for me. I was just saying how I could use an extra set of hands– those bloody books get so heavy to lug around– so your timing was perfect.”
Even when she vocalized her needs, Ron seemed oblivious to them. He did his best to refrain from droning about Ron’s incompetence and making a plea for her affection right there and then, instead opting to provoke the situation.
“Was Ron not available to help you out? I seem to remember a distinct lack of books in his hand just a few moments ago.” His question was deliberate, one he already knew the answer to because, of course, Ron doesn’t help her out. He knew that but wanted to hear Hermione say it.
Draco caught a slight flash of annoyance across her face before she answered. “He thinks the rune books smell foul and doesn’t want them to leech into his Auror uniform.”
The bar is so low, you could trip over it, Weasley.
“Well, I, for one, enjoy the smell of rune books. Worn parchment, patinated leather?” Draco looked at her with a goading charm to his expression. “Delightful if you ask me.”
A soft ding signified that they had reached their destination. As the doors opened, Hermione reached for the books, but Draco angled away slightly. “I’ll carry them for you. Just lead the way.”
Her brows furrowed, unexpectedly pleased by his response but she nodded all the same. As she stepped out of the lift, Draco and books in tow, he noticed that she seemed to only partially hide the smile that was emerging on her face.
Gods, this was going to be easier than he thought.
Draco’s plan was fairly simple.
Hermione responded positively to receiving the appreciation she deserved, so all he planned to do was give it to her. The execution was easy enough and gave him more opportunities to talk to Hermione.
Was it self-indulgent? Yes. But it had the end goal of ensuring that a supremely undervalued woman received what she deserved and then some, so in Draco’s mind, it all evened out.
Ron also seemed completely oblivious to Hermione’s activities, so Draco's increased attention on her likely wouldn’t raise any alarm bells.
He decided to start with compliments. Draco had seen the way Ron gave compliments. They lacked a level of romance and detail that even someone under a love potion wouldn’t be persuaded by.
Your hair looks curlier than normal today, ‘Mione. Like a pretty heap of tornadoes.
That’s a really brown skirt. It’s almost the same color as a bludger.
It pained Draco to think about the lack of wordsmithing Hermione was being subjected to.
Thanks to some strategic eavesdropping during a break by the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Ministry’s Atrium, Draco overheard Hermione talking with Ron and Bill Weasley about an upcoming department presentation.
“I need this to get approved. Why don’t you just present tomorrow instead, Bill?” Hermione sounded defeated as she spoke.
Draco could hear Ron chewing loudly just beyond the curve of the fountain. “That’s a great idea. You’d do that for her, right?” he asked his brother around a mouthful of food.
“It’s your research, Hermione. You’re the only one who can speak on it well enough to get us the approval we need.” Draco didn’t know the eldest Weasley well enough, but judging by the way he seemed to encourage Hermione’s competency, he already knew he liked him significantly more than Ron.
Draco heard her sigh heavily. “Do you really think a bunch of antiquated, senile male wizards want to hear why I think I should lead an excavation in Romania? They don’t see me as a leader. They’re going to take one look at me and write me off as just some woman who’s worked her way too deep into a boys club and then give it to someone like you or McClaggen instead.”
“Well, if they give it to Bill, I’m sure he would give it to you,” Ron offered in consolation.
The sound of Hermione’s chair scraping harshly backward against the marble floor made Draco wince at the frequency. “They should give it to me regardless, Ron. I shouldn’t have to have it handed off to me in secret.”
A few seconds later, Draco watched as Hermione trudged away from the fountain’s seating areas toward the main walkway.
He pulled out his date book and circled tomorrow’s date with a small message within the box that read Granger’s Romaina Presentation in his curling script.
When Hermione came in to work the next day, Draco noticed several things at once:
- She was wearing a godsforsaken grey pencil skirt that was unforgiving in the way it held fast to her curves.
- Her eyes looked more determined than he had ever seen them.
- The latter of the two may actually be the most attractive thing about her, but only marginally.
After some rearranging, Draco managed to switch assignments with a lower-ranking Auror to ensure he would have desk duty when Hermione’s presentation was finishing. He waited, rather impatiently, for 5 PM to roll around and made his way down to the Courtrooms to serendipitously be in the foyer when Hermione’s presentation ended.
It wasn’t until he was halfway down to the tenth floor that he realized there was no reason for an Auror to be anywhere near the Courtrooms at this hour.
Shit.
The doors opened, leaving Draco with no choice but to act on his reasoning for being down there in the first place.
He walked down the corridor until he found a nameplate that read “Curse-Breaker Department Reservation” on one of the large oak doors. Interestingly, it was cracked open just slightly.
Draco thought there was no harm in slipping in as the meeting concluded as if he needed any reason at all to try to get closer to Hermione.
True to Hermione’s description the day before, an alarming number of elderly-looking wizards appeared rather discontent to be sitting in a stuffy courtroom listening to her speak on runes in Romania.
“In conclusion, funding this research trip would benefit the developments within Romanian wizardry and provide The Ministry with research that could advance our understanding of runic encryptions by at least ten to fifteen years.” Hermione curtly nodded as she scanned the panel she was making her proposal to. “Thank you.”
Was clapping appropriate for matters like this? Draco mulled it over but thought better of it.
The jury of high-ranking Curse-Breakers and Unspeakables stood with an arrangement of mutters and grumbles before filtering out of the chambers. Once the room was finally cleared, Hermione leaned against the parapet in the center of the room and let out a relieved sigh.
“I only caught the tail end of it, but advancing runic encryptions by over a decade? And helping to develop a different wizarding society? That’s mighty bold, even for you, Hermione.”
A mix of emotions passed over her face, and Draco could sense that she was raring to launch into a defense, so he continued. “If anyone is capable of leading such an ambitious endeavor, though, I’d expect it to be you.”
Hermione huffed out a bemused laugh. “Tell that to the rest of them,” she said, nodding her head to the closed doors near where the panel had sat.
Draco approached and leaned against the guard rails of the jury box. He shrugged as he looked over the empty seats. “What do they know? If they can’t see that you’re the only one whose competency could ensure an excavation of this scale went successfully, they’re fools.”
“Well, I know that,” she said, giving him a true smile. At this sight, Draco counted himself lucky to have the support of the railing behind him.
“Trust me, I know you do. You have to give them hell to make sure they give you the respect you deserve.”
She nodded in agreement, already seeming receptive to their conversation. Draco noticed how her eyes lit up at the acknowledgment of her competency. Was it possible that her wits were too advanced for Ron that he couldn’t even appreciate the caliber she operated at?
Draco decided to push his luck one step further. He allowed himself the indulgence of scanning Hermione from head to toe and back again before smirking just so. “Looking the part doesn’t hurt either.”
Hermione’s eyes grew wide, the rapidness of their size competing with the speed of the flush spreading across her cheeks and chest. “Draco!”
He laughed and threw his hands up innocently. “What? I just meant that you look like a leader. I’d let you boss me around.”
She was definitely blushing. Draco was sure of it now.
“I’m disappointed I missed the entire presentation. I would have loved to hear it,” Draco said earnestly. He knew enough about runes to know that he would have been able to follow along, but he’d have paid good money to let Hermione explain them to him at length.
Hermione perked up at this. “Really?”
The excitement in her eyes felt like Draco had just moved an imaginary game piece one place closer to the end on the board. He pushed himself off the railing and started for the doors. “Maybe you can come by my office sometime and tell me all about this Romania proposal.”
Hermione nodded, an eagerness in her energy that Draco thrilled at seeing.
Not only was she clearly elated to talk about a subject she cared about, but Draco was willing to bet she was also excited at the notion of talking to someone because they were interested in her perspective on said subject.
“Perfect. Feel free to drop in any afternoon this week. I’ll be around,” Draco told her.
He made a mental note to clear his calendar for the rest of the week as he left the courtroom.
Hermione made good on Draco’s offer and came by his office two days later for a genuinely fascinating presentation on runic encryption. Between her presence in his office and the electric excitement she had while explaining her theories on how much advancement these findings could bring to the Romanian Wizarding World, Draco was positive he could have listened to her for hours.
Unfortunately for him, having Hermione’s undivided attention for over an hour created a need within him. It was insatiable, really.
Seeing her in passing was fine, and doing small things like holding the door open for her on the way to a meeting helped his cause significantly. However, now that he had a taste of what uninterrupted time with Hermione was like, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had her alone again.
Given how different their lines of work were, finding time to naturally place the two of them in the same situation felt near impossible to orchestrate. On top of that, Draco had hardly seen Hermione leave her floor in nearly two weeks.
He had grown accustomed to arriving around the same time as her and her red-haired shadow. It had been that way for years, but lately, Ron was arriving and departing sans Hermione. Had it not been for a particularly late stakeout that he and his Auror partner had been assigned to, he may have been left wondering about the sudden shift in Hermione’s schedule.
Draco arrived back at The Ministry a little after midnight, exhausted and eager to get back home after such a particularly long day. He waited for the lifts in the quiet Atrium, practically asleep on his feet.
“Draco?” The doors to the lift slid open, revealing a disheveled and similarly as tired Hermione.
A small burst of espresso in the form of a curly-haired witch was more than welcome at this dreary hour. He stepped into the lift beside her and pressed the button for his floor.
“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here so late?” he asked her as the doors slid shut. Draco took a moment to thank the gods of elevator lifts for continually providing them opportunities to be alone together.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m so miserably stuck on this case I’ve been working on. I’ve been at it for weeks and can’t seem to get a handle on it.”
“Maybe I can be of assistance. What’s the issue?”
“It’s the Maledictus curse. We’ve been trying to find ways to untangle it from a person's magical signature, but there’s just not enough research out there on it, and anyone who has been affected doesn’t seem willing to talk.” She leaned against the wall of the lift and gently banged her head against the side of it a few times in frustration.
Draco laughed and reached out to pull her away from the wall and her continued battering. His hand felt like it had just ignited at the sensation of the warm skin of her forearm under his palm, but that was less important. “Alright, enough of that. Can’t have you damaging what knowledge you do have on the subject, now can we?”
“I’m running out of options here,” she looked up at him with a tired pout, clearly at the end of her rope. Thankfully, Draco did have a solution he could offer. However, he was certain he would have offered to help regardless of whether he truly could or not. The fates continue to be on his side.
“Well, it just so happens that we have quite a few books at The Manor about Maledictus. Family friends of ours inherited the affliction and have written extensively about it. They’re not published journals, so the information isn’t accessible, but I’d be happy to pass them along if you’d like?”
Her eyes lit up at the gold mine of information Draco was offering. “If it wouldn’t be any trouble! I’m desperate for progress here, Draco.”
He huffed a laugh at her response and nodded. He, too, was well acquainted with the desperation for progress. It looked like they’d both be making strides. “It would be my pleasure. Send me an owl tomorrow, and I can bring them by, alright?”
“I’ll write you tomorrow.” The lift slowed to a stop at Hermione’s floor.
Just as she went to step out of the lift, she turned and gave Draco another one of those knee-weakening smiles. “You have such a funny way of being around exactly when I need someone.”
“Fate’s funny that way,” he said in response. This one may have been fate, but he’d also like to take a little credit for his planning abilities.
Draco canceled most of his plans for that Saturday to be available for Hermione’s letter. So when that letter didn’t come, it was safe to say he was a little more than dejected. He had spent the majority of his day thinking about going to Hermione’s house and sharing the books she needed with her. He thought maybe if they spoke long enough, she’d realize just how much more stimulating conversations with him were and how helpful it was to have someone who offered to help her with difficult cases.
Draco was positive Ron never offered to help with Hermione’s work. He doubted Ron knew anything about curses other than the one he was so clearly afflicted with: the curse of being a git for all eternity. What a miserable life to lead.
As afternoon rolled into evening, Draco resigned himself to the couch, accepting that Hermione’s letter likely wouldn’t come. Perhaps she had finally decided to prioritize herself over work and was taking a much-needed break.
Just as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, a soft tapping sounded at his window.
A small owl sat on his window ledge with a postcard in its beak that read:
Lost track of time! Floo’s open if you’re still available. Come anytime!
- HG
Draco was muttering Hermione’s address into the fireplace moments later.
He had only ever been there once before. She had invited several of their workmates over for a housewarming party of sorts sometime last year. Draco noticed that the house was far more settled than it had been at that party.
The lights were warm, and the furniture so clearly lived-in and inviting. It was exactly what he’d imagined Hermione’s home to look like.
“Hermione, you around?”
She peeked her head around the corner from her seat at the kitchen table. “In here.”
The table was littered with parchments, textbooks, and medical drawings that seemed both completely disheveled and particularly organized in a way that only Hermione could understand. A cold cup of tea and some toast, both hardly touched, were beside her as she worked to scribble a set of notes under an illustration of a series of blood cells.
“I won’t keep you long. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. One minute, I was sitting here with breakfast reviewing my work, and then the next thing I knew, it was dark out.” She laughed a little as she spoke, and Draco could feel the exhaustion radiating off of her.
The idea hit him almost immediately, and now that the seed had been planted, it was too good to pass up. It was a Saturday night, and he was standing in the home of the girl he’d been mad about for longer than he’d care to admit. What better time to show her just how useful he could be as a doting partner?
He went to hand her the Maledictus books he had picked up from The Manor earlier that day but paused just before her hands could grab them. “I’ll let you use these on one condition. No arguments, understand?”
A brief flood of panic crossed her face as she looked down at the books that she so desperately needed for her research. “Whatever you want. I really need those books, Draco.”
“Let me make you dinner while you work,” he said simply.
She laughed and shook her head dismissively. “That’s not necessary. Really. I’ve got my toast and tea here, and–”
“Hermione, that’s not a viable meal, and you know it. You’re clearly burning yourself out while working on this, and my bringing you these books will only incentivize you to work even longer into the evening. Let me do this so I at least know you’re not going to accidentally starve to death while studying blood curses.” He kept his tone firm but sincere. “Deal?”
Hermione thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Deal. Help yourself to whatever you can find in there,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen.
Draco had never claimed to be a good cook. In fact, he was known to summon his childhood house elf from Malfoy Manor on occasion to get a recipe from her. He had come to memorize a few of those over the years, so he opted to go with that.
“Cottage pie, alright?” he asked as he watched her work at the table.
She hummed with contentment and nodded. “I haven’t had that in ages. Yes, please!”
As Draco cooked, he found himself thankful for the layout of Hermione’s house. He was able to easily sneak glances at her as she flipped through the books he had brought her. He couldn’t help but assume that the renewed energy she had in her research was directly a result of his assistance.
A little while later, Draco cleared his throat to pull Hermione out of her focus mode. “I know it’ll be torturous, but why don’t you step away for five minutes to eat.”
The urge to add a pet name to the end of his sentences was overwhelming. Even he was impressed that he managed to refrain.
She lingered on a page for a second longer before she started nodding. “Alright,” she said, finally pulling away, “but just five minutes. I’m really onto something here.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
So much for that.
Hermione turned her attention back to her book for a moment to hide her amused smile. Draco, on the other hand, considered the consequences of apparating out of her kitchen and as far away as possible with two bowls of hot cottage pie in his hands.
He swallowed the brief wave of embarrassment and made his way to the kitchen table, carefully moving aside some of her stacks of paper while trying to maintain the system she created.
“Thank you,” she said as she reached for one of the bowls.
Draco watched her carefully as she took a bite. He could feel warmth spreading to his neck and ears when she let out a soft moan of approval over the way the cottage pie tasted.
If you think the cooking is good, just wait until–
This was not the best environment for him to be in unsupervised.
“I think that might be the most use my kitchen has gotten since… I moved in, maybe?” she said around another bite of her dinner.
Draco balked at the statement. “Hermione, that was over a year ago.”
“What? Takeaway is so much easier!” Hermione laughed in response, and Draco made quick form of memorizing the way it sounded.
He shook his head and jokingly rubbed his temples in disbelief. “You can’t have takeaway for every meal,” he said.
“And why not?”
Draco was laughing now, too. “For starters, you’ll drain your vault with all of those delivery fees and price markups.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and took another bite. “I just don’t have the time to cook like this every night, as much as I would love to.”
“I’ll cook for you anytime, Granger. Just say the word, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” He opted to glance up at her through his eyelashes after he finished speaking, waiting to see her reaction.
At his statement, Hermione’s spoon slipped out of her hand and clattered against the rim of the bowl.
He probably could have chosen his words better, but the flush on her cheeks from his double entendre was the best dessert he could have asked for.
Draco finished up his food soon after and then rose to put his bowl in the sink. “I’ll let you get back to your work,” he said as he headed back to the fireplace. “Hang onto the books. You can bring them by whenever you’re done with them.”
She nodded, placing her hand on the stack he had given her. “Thanks, Draco.”
“Anytime.”
As he stepped into the fireplace, he turned to face her and gave her a parting wink just before the green flames pulled him out of her home and back to his own.
For the past twenty-four hours, Draco had been chasing the high of Saturday’s dinner. It gave him a spring in his step that he was positive had made him at least an inch taller.
It had radiated into his morning run. He could feel it while walking down The Atrium to his office. Somehow, it had even found its way into his Monday reporting, a task that was the bane of his existence each week.
“Malfoy, you fucking git–”
How Hermione had tolerated Ron’s grating voice for so many years was beyond him.
Draco turned his attention to the man who had just burst into his office and was huffing in frustration in front of his desk. “Weasley. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ron scoffed at Draco’s dismissive tone.
“You know exactly why I’m here. Do you think you’re being discreet about what you’re doing? Huh?”
Draco bid a parting farewell to the weekend's high. He gave Ron a tight smile, feigning as much ignorance as possible. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Weasel. Please enlighten me.”
“Cooking dinner for my girlfriend ring any bells?” Ron paced in front of his desk, stewing in his anger and disgust for Draco. “Honestly, I knew you were a prick, but trying to take another man’s girl right from under his nose is bloody bold, even for you.”
“If something as simple as a meal is enough to threaten your relationship with Hermione, it sounds like there may be bigger problems than me to concern yourself with.” It wasn’t often that Draco took the high road, but doing so here would only further provoke the wrath of Ron, so he was fully on board.
Ron lurched forward and slammed his hands on the edge of Draco’s desk. “Stop coming after what’s mine, Malfoy. I mean it.”
Draco maintained his cool and narrowed his eyes at him, unwavering in his demeanor. Ron’s words didn’t sit well with him at all. If it weren’t for the copious amounts of paperwork it would inevitably lead to, Draco would have let his knuckles remind Ron that Hermione belonged to no one.
“She’s not an object, you fucking imbecile.” Draco rose then, letting the height advantage he had over Ron come to his aid. He matched Ron’s position, hands on the desk, leering over his fellow Auror with a leveling sneer. “If I catch you speaking about her like that again, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you say for at least a month. Understood?”
They stayed locked in a stare-off before Ron finally broke the silence. “She’s my girlfriend, Malfoy.” Draco absently noticed how whiny his voice sounded; like a child demanding his toys be returned to him on the playground.
He gave him a smug smile and sat back down in his office chair. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
Ron let out a frustrated huff and stormed out of Draco’s office, slamming the door on the way out.
Despite the interruption, Draco couldn’t help but smile to himself as he returned to working on his report.
He hadn’t anticipated having to compete for Hermione’s affection. To be honest, he didn’t think it was much of a fair fight. Ron had already gone this long doing the bare minimum with little reaction from Hermione. Draco didn’t think he had even seen them so much as kiss outside of work before.
In the few weeks of Draco actively trying to win over Hermione, he had seen her get flustered by his compliments, be overly gracious for his chivalrous actions, and have the esteemed pleasure of letting her talk to him for hours uninterrupted while actively listening.
Draco had planned to continue doing what he had been, assuming this would be an easy fight. However, as he headed to the lifts for the weekly department meeting, he felt his eye twitch at the sight unfolding before him.
Ron, undignified, distracted by life itself, Ron Weasley was hurrying a few steps ahead of the lifts to catch the doors. His hand pressed to the inside of the door to keep it in place while his other hand gestured inside.
“After you, darling,” Ron said to Hermione and then shifted his gaze upwards, locking eyes with Draco a little ways away.
“You preening motherfu–”
Ron gave Draco a look of faux apology. “It looks like this one is full. You’ll have to catch the next one, Malfoy.”
Hermione turned around and gave Draco a warm smile. “Nonsense! We can make room. Squeeze in, Draco.”
Draco smiled at Hermione and then slowly shifted his gaze to Ron, whose face was miserably failing at hiding his frustration. “That is so thoughtful of you, Hermione. Thank you.”
As the lift lurched backward and down, Hermione stumbled from the momentum right into Draco’s chest. He instinctively wrapped a protective arm around her waist and gently squeezed it. “I’ve got you,” he said, warm kindness in his voice.
“These old lifts—so unreliable, aren’t they?” she said with a laugh. The elevator was too cramped for her to shift back to her original position, so she remained tucked into Draco’s chest for the short journey, much to Ron’s chagrin.
Draco nodded in agreement. “Terribly unreliable. It’s probably time to invest in something new instead. Maybe something better, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Malfoy–” Ron warned with heat in his voice.
The doors opened just then, giving Draco an out. He held a hand out to Hermione to take. “Ladies first,” he said and guided her over the threshold gracefully, forcing Ron to follow behind them.
Draco used the advantage of having Hermione in front of him to lift his free hand behind his back and flip Ron off.
Although he couldn’t see his face, the sputtering indignation coming from behind him was more than enough satisfaction.
Draco and Ron were in a briefing meeting when flyers for the Annual Ministry Gala made their way through the room to each Auror. After reading over the details of the upcoming event, they locked eyes, mentally in lockstep over how that night would unfold.
They were both in silent agreement: That gala would be the place to try and win over Hermione’s affection and make a good impression, and if there was one thing Draco knew how to do extremely well, it was make an impression.
He had grown up attending galas, balls, dinners, and just about every other arrangement of ‘wealthy people surrounded by music’ one could think of. Draco understood the ins and outs of charming someone in this setting and had every plan to thrive.
That afternoon, Draco requested that his tailor make a suit, wanting to look as sharp as possible, not that he needed his looks to impress Hermione. They certainly helped, though. He chose a black suit paired with silken black pants. The jacket itself was accented with small astrological symbols in black stitching across the material.
As he got ready that night, he placed a small lilac blossom in his coat pocket, intending to charm it to match whatever color Hermione’s dress was at the gala.
He had arrived early with the intention of getting his networking and pleasantries out of the way as soon as possible so that he could focus on finding ways to get closer to Hermione.
It seemed that Ron had the same idea. Draco saw him and Hermione making their rounds shortly after his arrival.
His heart quickened at the sight of her.
The curls cascading down her back were adorned with small diamonds pinned throughout. The stones matched the adornments on her dress, a silk plum number that seemed to have been crafted specifically for her, judging by the way it caressed her angles and curves.
“Colovaria,” Draco whispered under his breath, changing the lilac to match the deep, purple hue of Hermione’s dress.
Each time Draco tried to find a moment to cut into a conversation with Hermione, she was unfortunately whisked away by a different Ministry official, political up-and-comer, or old war ally who was eager to make her acquaintance.
After two hours, Draco put the brakes on his efforts for the time being in favor of seeing out an alcoholic respite.
It seemed he was not the only one partial to that idea. He approached the bar and let out a groan when he realized the only available counter space was directly next to Ron.
Draco’s eyes narrowed for a moment. If Ron was here, that meant Hermione was somewhere else, unattended.
Ron’s tie was a perfectly average double windsor knot. It wasn’t the choice Draco would have chosen by any means for an event like this, but it was an adequate choice. He suspected Ron didn’t know that, though, given the way the man kept fiddling with it while waiting at the bar.
The opportunity was too good to resist.
“You’ve tied your tie wrong, Weasley,” Draco said as he saddled up next to Ron. He nodded to the barkeeper and mouthed double Ogden’s neat before turning his attention back to Ron.
Ron seemed to already be on his second bottle of beer for the night—who drinks beer at a gala? Draco was amazed at the lack of decorum.
He looked down at the tie and tugged it with concern. “What’s wrong with my tie?”
Draco tsked at him with a disappointed shake of his head. “The fact that you can’t even tell what’s wrong with it is concerning. Genuinely.” He glanced across the room to where Hermione stood in conversation with a Ministry employee. “I’d fix it before Hermione sees. You don’t want to risk embarrassing her, do you?”
Ron’s face contorted into stress as he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, bloody hell.”
“Consider it a temporary truce. Wouldn’t want to leave you at an unfair advantage,” Draco said with a gentlemanly nod.
Draco knew that none of the words coming out of his mouth were true, but Ron didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he gave Draco a surprisingly grateful nod and hurried off to find somewhere to adjust his tie.
The bartender placed Draco’s drink down just as Ron left. He tossed it back effortlessly and made his way across the room to Hermione just as she was wrapping up her conversation.
“You look extraordinary this evening,” he said, placing a hand on the middle of her back.
Hermione looked up at him and Draco reveled in the way that she seemed genuinely thrilled to see him. “You clean up nicely, Draco.” As she looked him over, her eyes locked on the lilac in his jacket pocket. “Would you look at that? It seems your lilac matches my dress.”
Draco smirked, pretending that he hadn’t noticed. “What a delightful coincidence,” he drawled out. “You know, I was trying to find that boyfriend of yours to see if I could steal you for a dance, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere.” He made a show of scanning the room to really sell the fake inquiry.
She huffed out a sigh and arched her eyebrow at him. “I have been asking myself that question all night. Last I saw him, he was ordering his second beer.” She looked around the room in a futile attempt to find him before giving her attention back to Draco with a renewed smile. “Also, I do not need Ronald’s permission to dance, so if you’re offering, I’m happy to oblige.”
Draco was more than happy to extend his hand to Hermione, who took it willingly as he led her to the dance floor.
The orchestra started up just as they found a spot among the pairs. Draco’s hand came to rest on the small of her back while the other gracefully held her hand out beside them. Hermione took a step closer to him and draped her arm along his shoulder, letting her hand fall gently near the side of his neck.
He glanced away briefly in an attempt to hide his enjoyment over being this close to her and holding her in such a manner. Draco’s thumb gently rubbed the small of her back a few times as the music began to play, and he used that placement to guide her into a slow Viennese Waltz around the room.
As they fell into a natural rhythm of Draco leading them in small circles and countercircles around the dance floor, he found himself marveling at Hermione's beauty. He had seen her when she arrived but hadn’t had a chance to thoroughly appreciate how beautiful she looked.
“It’s a good thing I found you when I did,” Draco mused as he whirled her around the room.
She tilted her head in intrigue. “Why is that?”
Draco used the next pivot to bring her fractionally closer to him. “Well, the gala is nearly over, so there’s no harm in keeping you for two or three songs. Had I asked for your hand any earlier in the evening, I fear I would have kept you on this floor with me all night.”
Their proximity made it difficult for Hermione to avert her gaze. She chewed on her bottom lip, fighting the smile that was threatening to appear. “All night, huh?”
Draco nodded seriously, although he kept a glint of playfulness in his voice. “Oh, absolutely. I couldn’t possibly let anyone step in now that I’ve got you here, especially when you’ve been skating around from conversation to conversation all night. You deserve to be out here instead, where everyone can see you being whisked around, looking as radiant as you do.”
Her forehead dropped to his chest for a moment, and she laughed airily. “Draco, what are you doing?”
“Appreciating you.” His hand experimentally rubbed her back, careful not to cross any lines given her currently committed state but still planting the seed that he was interested.
The response caught Hermione’s attention. She lifted her head and looked at him, confused and intrigued by the meaning of his words.
If Hermione were any closer, Draco was certain that she’d be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest. She studied his eyes thoughtfully in a way that made his throat tighten. This was the closest he had been to making his wish a reality, and the proximity of it was electrifying.
She was just close enough that he could make out the freckles on her cheeks. Draco wanted to count each one and press his lips to them with adoration as he went. The thought of it forced a shaky breath out of his lungs.
The song came to a close then and the room filled with soft applause, breaking Draco from his lovesick stupor. He took a step back and gave Hermione a chivalrous bow before pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles of the hand he had been holding.
“Have a wonderful evening, Hermione,” Draco said before excusing himself from the dance floor to prevent himself from doing anything he’d regret in a public space.
Draco spent the entire commute to work the next morning battling himself mentally. He was frustrated at himself for not taking the opportunity to make a move on Hermione when he had her in his arms and doubly frustrated that he had even considered doing that. He may have wanted Hermione to the point of desperation, but he wouldn’t resort to infidelity to be hers.
He had been so stuck in his head about it that he hadn’t heard any of the commotion that was erupting in The Atrium as he exited the floo and started his walk to the lifts at the end of the corridor.
“I mean it, Ron, stop!” Hermione’s voice shouting above the crowd grabbed his attention. Draco looked up just in time to see Ron storming towards him, roughly shoving past other Ministry employees as they arrived for work that morning.
Draco let out a heavy sigh. It was only a matter of time before all of this came to a head. He’d rather it happen in one of their offices instead of the heavily crowded Atrium of The Ministry, but here they were.
“I saw you, you prick! Where do you get off trying to steal her from me?” Ron’s voice roared at an embarrassing volume, further amplified by the curved tiles of the room.
“I wasn’t trying to steal her, you idiot.” Draco pinched the brow of his nose in frustration. “Are you really that fragile that me dancing with your girlfriend, whom you abandoned last night, might I add, feels like encroaching on your manhood?”
Hermione tried and failed to restrain Ron once more. When he pulled out of her grip, Draco heard her swear under her breath and storm to the side of the room, refusing to get involved.
Ron closed the distance between them so they were only a foot apart. “You’re really a piece of work, you know that Malfoy? Sending me off to go fix my bloody tie so you can swoop in and traipse around the room while you put your hands all over Hermione.”
Draco’s jaw roiled, but he did his best to maintain his calm demeanor on the outside. “I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘dance the Viennese Waltz, ' although I don’t fault you for not knowing that one. I wouldn’t expect something like that to be within your wheelhouse.”
He was thrilled by how riled up Ron was getting. Draco glanced over to the side to see the look of horror that had overtaken Hermione’s face. He guessed it was likely because Ron’s face had turned such an alarming shade of red that it now rivaled the color of his hair.
“I told you not to take what’s mine,” Ron spat out at Draco.
Draco really did want to keep his composure. Truly, he did. He shook his head in disappointment and looked down at his hands. He’d picked a good day to wear the rings that he did, he thought.
“I believe I told you that if you said that again about her, I’d make sure it’s the last thing you say for at least a month.” He methodically started moving the rings around so that they fit more comfortably on his knuckles.
Ron laughed harshly in his face. “You’re not gonna do shit, Malfoy.”
Draco calmly started rolling up his sleeves, nodding as Ron spoke. “You sure about that?”
Instead of responding, Ron shoved Draco harshly in the chest. The action didn’t move him in any way, but it did give him the green light that he had been waiting for. He gave Ron an overly satisfied smile before pulling his arm back and punching him as hard as he could manage in the jaw, as promised.
The action knocked Ron to the floor, but he was up in an instant, lunging at Draco.
Draco had to hand it to Ron. The man was surprisingly good at hand-to-hand combat. He was better, of course, but he appreciated the challenge.
It was hard to tell where the hits were landing and who was muttering what profanities, but what started as throwing punches shifted to being fully horizontal on the floor of The Atrium, with Draco and Ron rolling back and forth to gain the upper hand.
At one point, Draco had Ron pinned beneath him and landed another solid hit to his lip. Seconds later, Ron gained the advantage and hit Draco hard with a fist in the eye. He could feel a thick stream of blood open up on his eyebrow from the impact.
“Fucking hell. Potter, a hand, please?” Theo Nott, who had just entered through The Ministry’s floo entrance, quickly sprang into action at the sight of the two men brawling on the floor.
Harry had been standing dumbstruck and enjoying the fight play out near the fountain with Hermione. “Sorry, yeah, come on,” he said as he joined Theo.
Theo looked at him with exasperation. “Why didn’t you stop them sooner?”
Harry smirked and shrugged. “Thought you might want to see it first.”
Theo groaned but nodded in appreciation. “Just get the red one, please, you idiot.”
The two of them stepped in and pulled Ron and Draco apart from one another, chests heaving and splatters of blood on each of their faces.
“AURORS MALFOY AND WEASLEY—” the deafening voice caused the crowd to split, revealing Head Auror Robards walking towards them with fury in his eyes. “My office. Now.”
Draco had experienced a very strange twenty-four hours. Yesterday, he was dancing with the girl of his dreams, planning out a future with her after staring into her eyes for exactly one song. Today, he was packing up a few important items from his desk after being suspended for a week for misconduct against a fellow Auror.
In the defense he made to Robards, Ron technically started it.
That was apparently deemed a childish answer, which only furthered Robards’s wrath. They both received the additional punishment of no pay during their suspension.
Oh well, it was worth it, he thought.
He paused his packing and turned his attention to a soft knock that had come from his office door.
Hermione peeked her head in and gave him a look that was somehow both amused and annoyed by his antics that morning.
“How are you doing?” She asked as she entered, making her way to stand beside his desk.
He shrugged and brushed the edge of his lip with his thumb, subconsciously checking for any dried blood that may still be there. “I’ve had worse days.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
Draco smiled proudly and nodded. “I know.”
Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a small healer’s kit. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the edge of his desk. Draco listened dutifully.
Once he was settled, Hermione closed in on him, slotting herself between his knees so that she could get closer to his injuries.
She dabbed gently at the wound on his brow, only mildly enjoying the way he winced at the antiseptic. “Why did you do it?”
“He hit me first,” Draco said matter-of-factly.
Hermione gently grabbed his chin and turned it up to face her. “Not. That.”
Draco rolled his eyes and then met her gaze again. He was fairly sure his motives were obvious, but he suspected that Hermione wanted to hear him say them.
“Ron doesn’t appreciate you enough. I was sick of watching him treat you like an object for his benefit, so I thought that I could show you that there were better options out there for you.”
Hermione hummed thoughtfully as she moved to tend to the split in Draco’s lip.
“If you were with me, there would be no question that you were adored and appreciated,” Draco added, keeping his eyes locked on hers.
She swiped her thumb along his bottom lip as she finished cleaning his injuries and took a small step out from between his thighs. “Interesting.”
He could tell she was going to make him work for this, which was more than fine. He’d work for the next thousand years if he had to, if it meant she’d call him hers.
There was one little detail that had to be addressed first.
“How’s your boyfriend dealing with the suspension?”
Hermione didn’t look at him as she put the healing kit back into her bag. She shrugged and shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”
“Interesting,” Draco repeated back to her.
“Mhm,” she hummed, finally looking him in the eyes. Her gaze was warm with excitement and anticipation.
Draco reached forward and tugged her wrist closer so that she could stand between his legs again. “In that case… my schedule has become surprisingly free for the next week. Would you be interested in getting dinner? I could cook again?”
Hermione pretended to think about it, looking up in thought as she considered his question. “We’ll see,” she said.
He bit his lip to suppress his smile and then was cruelly reminded of the injury there, causing him to groan in pain.
The action made Hermione laugh. She leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to the uninjured side of his mouth. Not enough to be considered a proper kiss in Draco’s eyes, but enough to give him a glimpse at what the future held.