Chapter Text
"How late do we have to stay at this dreadful event?" Draco drawled close to her ear, wine glass dangling from his fingers. If anyone else were to look his way, he would appear perfectly polite.
It was a skill he had that she had yet to master.
Pursing her lips, Hermione sliced a potato on her plate in two. "We're probably fine to go around half nine."
If not for the fact that tonight's event was an important crowd, she imagined they would have left already. But they both held prominent enough positions in the Ministry that the visibility―if not the networking―would be of value.
Draco's pause spoke loud enough, and her eyes slid to him. She could see the resignation, the misery, the utter boredom he could conceal from everyone else.
Everyone but her.
"Cheer up," she muttered, "we'll get shortbread later. Promise."
With a huff, he sank into his seat but didn't raise his voice beyond the pair of them. "I'm not a child. I don't simply forget how bloody horrendous something is when you taunt me with sweets. They're doing karaoke soon. Fucking karaoke, Granger. I'd sooner cut off my own bollocks with a dull machete."
Hermione snorted at the visual and speared a bite of the potato with her fork. "Then perhaps you'll remember that this night is important and I shouldn't have to remind you not to be petulant."
She expected him to pout. She was used to him pouting.
For as long as they'd been friends, and even before that, she'd known Draco Malfoy to pout when he didn't get his way. He was an expert at keeping a straight face, wearing his easy, casual respect like a cloak that she could see through better than anyone. But when he wasn't happy, she always knew it.
It was a blessing or a curse, but rarely both at once. Tonight it was a curse.
Tensing when his palm landed on her thigh beneath the table, Hermione's jaw froze on a bite. She forced herself to resume chewing, took a sip of wine, set down her fork.
"Not a chance," she whispered under her breath.
He ignored her, smoothing his hand gently along the fabric of her dress. His thumb slid towards her inner thigh, fingers inching up the hem of the skirt. "Bored," he drawled softly, playing small circles against her skin.
Hermione forced herself to take another bite.
"Important," she hissed again, but her voice wavered. His lips twitched with a smirk.
Twisting his hand, he drifted his fingers inward, a teasing massage of the skin of her inner thigh. It was enough to make her falter, for her next breath to fall a little heavier.
For heat to pool; for moisture to gather.
He only breathed, "Let me."
It was another of his convoluted games, and one they'd played before. Though she'd be lying to say she hadn't been the instigator at least once before.
Above the table, Draco took a sip of his wine, expression fixed with the same mildly disdainful look he wore at most Ministry functions.
But his fingers drifted along her skin, slipping under her dress and charting a path for her knickers. When Hermione didn't immediately discourage him, he carried on, grazing the damp fabric between her legs. Slowly, he clicked his tongue, just low enough for her to hear him.
"Someone's a little too horny for a Ministry gala," he whispered, mocking, barely above a breath. "Naughty, naughty girl."
"Whose fault is that?" Her own words sounded too frail.
She knew she ought to tell him no. He would respect her wishes―he always did. But Hermione couldn't find it in her to resist. She clenched her core, arousal building low in her belly.
"Yours, obviously," he retorted. "One would think you would value the opportunity this night presents more highly."
His seeking fingers nudged her knickers aside, trailing through the moisture between her folds, one of them drifting to her clit.
Her mouth went dry. "I must be a terrible employee."
And ever so slightly, she shifted, spreading her legs just enough. It was the consent he sought, enough for both of them to know the game was on.
"Best be careful," he drawled, making slow, teasing circles on her clit as she picked up her fork once more and took a bite. "I'd hate for anyone to wonder what you're up to. On this most important of occasions."
His finger found her cunt, sliding in at such a leisurely pace that she knew instantly he meant to make her suffer. His finger hooked, curling inside of her to press against her inner walls.
A tight breath fell from her lips. Instantly, she slammed her mouth shut on the quiet moan that sought to escape. She clenched around his finger, and he slid another one in.
His thumb found her clit, stroking once, twice, then circling again. His fingers thrust into her, nudging against that spot inside her.
A flush clawed up her chest and throat, on full display with the moderately low cut of her dress. Her cheeks flared with heat, jaw grinding with the effort of keeping a straight face.
Draco was an expert at this. She had always worn her heart on her sleeve.
Or in this case, her arousal.
He thrust his fingers into her a little harder, a little faster, with a little more intent. "I know you wouldn't dare come at a table full of your colleagues," he said quietly, his tone conversational, as though they were discussing the latest joint collaboration between their departments. "I can't imagine what that would say about your commitment to advancing in the Ministry."
A bead of perspiration formed at the corner of her brow. One of the men across the circular table―an older gentleman from Transportation―glanced her way; Hermione offered a warm smile and took a sip from her lemon water.
Beneath the table, she rolled her hips just slightly, inviting his ministrations deeper. "Surely," she whispered, "your dedication could be called into question at this moment as well."
His fingers slid through the moisture pooling between her legs. He bit down on his lower lip, the only concession to what he was doing, how it affected him.
Hermione knew if she reached for him he would be rock hard.
It was all part of this particular game, and the risk of it got him off more than almost anything.
"Miss Granger," said a middle-aged woman three seats down. "I hear we're to be expecting some new legislation from your desk this coming week. Mister Paulsen says it will be quite riveting."
She plastered a smile on her face, ignoring the slight twitch of amusement on Draco's. "Absolutely," she returned, her voice a little breathy, her nod a little stuttering. "As you're aware, we've been working with the werewolf rights coalition in Bristol. I think you'll be impressed by what's come of it."
Draco offered the woman a thin, indulgent smile, his head cocked as though to say, 'Isn't my friend brilliant? Isn't she making strides?'
Beneath the table he carried on, his pace steady as he teased her clit without mercy.
"I expect I will," the woman returned with a chuckle.
Hermione took a deep drink from her water, her cheeks hot. Breathing a little too heavily, she glanced away, pressing herself more firmly into Draco's hand. If the self-righteous prick though he was going to edge her here―
As if he'd heard her thoughts―and she knew her Occlumency walls were sound―he slowed his pace, from brisk and purposeful to gentle and light. She bit down hard on the sound of frustration that nearly escaped. She clenched around his fingers, trying to find her climax despite his best efforts to hold her back.
She didn't care to beg. He wanted her to beg, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
But she longed for release.
"Surely you haven't forgotten how to get a woman off," she said under her breath, shooting him the barest glance. "Because it almost seems as though―"
His fingers thrust into her hard. Curled inside of her, dragging against the flesh of her g-spot.
Caught off guard, a quiet cry fell from her lips. She took a quick swig of water when the woman's gaze returned to her, and Hermione offered a mild expression as though she didn't have Draco Malfoy's fingers inside her cunt right now.
She didn't have to look at him to see the smirk.
Slowly, his thumb met her clit again, playing her flesh like the notes of his own sinful instrument. "Do you want to get off?" he asked as though inquiring after the weather. "Because I could drop under this table right now and eat your―"
"No," she whispered. "Merlin, no."
His grin spread, but to anyone out of earshot they might have been having a pleasant conversation between friends. It certainly was no secret within the Ministry that they'd become one another's closest confidante.
Her eyes fluttered at the feel of his ministrations, all-encompassing in the back of her mind, and it took everything within her to keep her face blank as the bead of moisture broke and began a slow trail down her temple.
"Warm in here," she said with a bit of a laugh, swiping it away.
"It is, actually," Draco returned, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. "Thought it was just me."
The older gentleman's brows lifted. "Now you say it, it is quite balmy."
Setting her utensils on the tablecloth, hands shaking too badly to cut her food, Hermione gazed briefly across the room. As though something intensely riveting had caught her eye.
Her legs tingled, core clenched tight around his hand. Taking pity on her, Draco resumed a steadier pace, drawing her closer and ever closer to the edge she longed for. No matter what else, he wasn't cruel.
And he always could play her like a fiddle.
Every part of her tensed, anticipation flooding through her. With one final thrust and curl of his fingers, another brush of his thumb on her clit, her climax struck, sweeping through her in a sudden, overwhelming coil of pleasure. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut and she bit down on her tongue so hard she tasted the metallic tang of blood.
Heavy breaths fell from her lungs, and she drew several measured breaths in an effort to settle her heart.
Thighs trembling, she leaned back in her seat and forced herself to take a drink of water despite the quake in her hand.
"You truly don't look well, Hermione," Draco spoke to her left, every bit the attentive friend. "Perhaps you're coming down with something."
A knit of concern formed between his brows, lips pulling into a frown as he withdrew his fingers from her folds. She shifted, her core throbbing with the after-effects of her orgasm.
Draco kept his hand under the table, turning his full focus on her.
She almost believed his worry.
Pressing the back of his other hand to her brow, he exclaimed, "Merlin. You're burning up."
"Oh dear," said the woman three seats down, sympathy clear in her tone. "Perhaps you ought to take a trip to St Mungo's just to be certain you're alright. We'll make your excuses to the department heads for you."
Draco nodded, throwing on a brave face. "I really think that's for the best. I'd hate it if it were something serious and we just sat here." He glanced at the woman, ducking his chin. "Perhaps I ought to go with her."
"Of course," the gentleman said, waving a hand as though to shoo them both away. "It's only a dinner, after all."
Gracious relief swept across his face, even as Hermione forced an uneasy close-lipped smile. "Too right you are," Draco clipped, shaking his head like he couldn't possibly handle the thought of something happening to her. "Come along, Hermione. I'm taking you to the hospital and I refuse to take no for an answer."
He was laying it on thick, but their company lapped it up with anxious nods.
Rising to his feet, Draco offered his clean hand to her, helping her to her feet and ushering her from the hall with another winning smile.
Hermione ground her jaw, unable to even look at him until they cleared the threshold into the empty corridor beyond.
His head swivelled towards her, grey eyes utterly alight with mischief and victory, then he lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked her juices from his digits, one by one. A slow smirk dragged across his face.
She scoffed and shook her head, a smile of her own fighting through as she looped her elbow around his.
"And now that I got us out of that abysmal event," he drawled, nudging her in the ribs, "I believe someone promised me shortbread."
Pressing her eyes shut for just a moment, Hermione dragged him towards the Apparition point.
He was right, and she wasn't one to back out of a promise.
It all started with a kiss.
For years, they'd been friends. The lingering post-war animosity had gradually drifted towards something like tolerance during their eighth year at Hogwarts, when the majority of their year decided they'd had enough anger and hatred.
Draco, fresh from his Wizengamot trial and acquitted on very thin ice, had been both introverted and resigned to something different.
And when Hermione extended a sceptical olive branch, to her immense surprise, he took it.
After Hogwarts, as they both settled into life and careers beyond school―both finding their way into low ranked positions in the Ministry of Magic―their friendship began to flourish.
It wasn't that Hermione wasn't friends with Harry and Ron any longer―but both of them had seized the chance to enter the Ministry straight after the war rather than returning to Hogwarts to complete their NEWTs―and the elements of survival and trust that had guided them for years slid to the wayside.
Eventually, Ron had left Auror training to run the joke shop with George, and Hermione couldn't deny that things were simpler when she wasn't at risk of running into him in the corridors every day. Their brief effort at something following the war had never made it off the ground―not after she realised she viewed Ron more as a brother than a romantic interest.
Subsequently, their friendship had been stilted ever since.
But Draco understood her on a level that the others never had. He liked books and studying and getting into heated debates until the late hours of the morning, the pair of them fuming at each other from opposite ends of the sofa in the eighth year common room after everyone else had already gone to sleep.
Once she came to know him better, in the years following Hogwarts, she'd discovered more.
He had a fierce protective streak. He was a loyal and dedicated friend. And he wanted nothing more than to move on from the past that still haunted him.
Hermione, exhausted from years of fighting, had been more than willing to let bygones settle in the dust behind them.
"I need a favour," Draco had announced one day when they met for tea. He gave her one of those looks, wide-eyed and beseeching, and though she knew better, she sighed.
"What is it?"
"I have to go to an event. A wedding―the son of a friend of my mother's." He eyed her, carefully assessing her reaction. "And I need to bring an escort."
Hermione lifted a single brow, confused. "Why not take Mikayla?"
"We broke up." He ground his jaw, scrunching the bridge of his nose in a way she recognised. "She is the very last person I want to take. But she'll be there, and I can't show up alone. Just as friends, of course."
"Of course." Because for all their time as friends, neither of them had ever made any indication of wanting something more. "But she knows we're friends, and she'll know I'm not really your date."
His brows lifted, that facetious innocence coming across his face again. Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she began to piece together what the favour actually was.
"Okay, look," he said, lifting a placating hand. "I just want her to think we're there together-together. Nothing untoward. A couple small touches should suffice."
"Draco," Hermione said, releasing his name as a long, drawn out exhale. "What on earth am I meant to do with you?"
His returning smirk was answer enough.
So she had relented and attended the wedding of her best friend's mother's friend's son―and pretended to be genuinely interested. Mikayla had been suitably annoyed, Draco suitably pleased, and Hermione, after a few too many glasses of champagne, had confused herself as to the reality of the situation.
After the wedding, both of them too intoxicated for anything akin to rationality or logic, Draco had kissed her, and they'd snogged against her front door for several minutes before jolting back to the present.
The next morning, bloodshot and dishevelled, he arrived to apologise. After cleansing the air of the awkwardness that still lingered, they agreed their friendship was too important to mess it up.
And neither of them had mentioned it―until a month later, when Hermione dragged him to Harry's birthday party, and after, they'd ended up in bed together.
Although the parts of the night she could recall had been great, Hermione feared what might become of their existing dynamic if too many other things were to get in the way. Things like feelings and jealousy and all the complexities that went along with a relationship.
In their early twenties at the time, they both had active dating lives.
At some point in time, it just became a thing they did when they were both single. Although it evolved in a few different directions, exploration and experimentation and, at times, nothing more than mutual stress release, they never again brought up that conversation.
Now, several years on, they were both content to carry on as things were.
Hermione glanced up at a knock on her office door, smiling when she saw Harry. Peering into her office, hands in his pockets, he asked, "Are you free?"
"Yes, of course." Hermione set her quill down, rising to her feet. "What do you need?"
He sidled through the door, leaning on the frame. "Pans and I decided to host a bit of a get-together coming up. Next Friday night, if you're available. Neville is bringing Theo―officially."
A grin spread across her face at the thought. "Those two finally admit to their feelings?"
"Yeah." Harry smiled in return, glancing down the corridor before closing the door behind him. He folded his arms, stepping closer. "Let Malfoy know? I don't know if you two are..." He made a face, offered a weird shrug-like motion. "Whatever you are."
Hermione fixed him with a look. "Friends, Harry. Draco and I are friends." He still looked uncertain, and she couldn't blame him, but she didn't care to get into it today. Not when they'd had this discussion before―several times. "I'll let him know. I'm sure he'll want to come along too. He's been giving Theo a hard time about Neville for months."
Shaking his head, Harry released a chuckle. "I suppose we give you and Malfoy a hard time, too."
"Yes," she mused, "you do."
Appropriately chastened, Harry nodded, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. "I apologise. I suppose you two are just close in a way that most people don't recognise." It was an interesting way of putting it―but not untrue. Relieved, Hermione nodded. "We'll stop bothering you two about it."
She eyed him for a moment, then released a sigh. "I don't mind. I know my friendship with Draco isn't exactly orthodox, but... it is what it is."
And if they were a little closer than most friends could claim, there was nothing for it. It's all they truly were at the heart of things. Facing doubt from their closest friends grated a little, but she could only speak the truth. No one else needed to know what went on between them behind closed doors.
Harry let out a dry chuckle. "Sometimes I think back to our years at Hogwarts and I try to make sense of how all this happened. Pansy and I together, you and Malfoy best friends. And now Neville and Theo."
Tilting her head, Hermione considered the thought. "We've certainly allowed some snakes into the lion's den, haven't we?"
"Unfortunately so." He grinned, peering down at some paperwork on her desk. "How's the world of magical creatures?"
"Busy." Massaging her temples, Hermione followed his gaze. "Our team has just finalised some legislation regarding the accessibility of Wolfsbane―particularly for young or newly turned lycanthropes―and of course, plenty of people have issues with that for a variety of reasons."
Harry frowned, shaking his head. She knew it was a cause dear to his heart as well, in light of his connection with Remus Lupin. "I have faith that you'll get the legislation through."
"Thanks, Harry. I'm sure we will." She eyed him for a moment. They rarely had time to speak these days, just the two of them. He'd been engaged to Pansy Parkinson for the better part of six months, and she spent the majority of her free time with Draco. "How's the Auror's office?"
"Oh, you know." He waved a flippant hand. "Same as usual. Always idiots out there trying to start trouble."
Although he minimised it, Hermione knew he was a vital asset in the DMLE. He'd put more than his share of dark wizards and generic troublemakers behind bars in Azkaban in the years since the war.
Harry glanced at his watch and edged towards the door. "I'd best get back to level two. See you next Friday―come by around eight?"
"We'll be there." She felt confident enough in speaking for Draco as well, when she knew how infrequently he went out. "Thanks, Harry."
Flashing her another grin, he slipped from the room. Hermione released a sigh and sat at her desk once more.
Moments after Harry left, Draco strode into her office without knocking. "What did he want?" he said by way of greeting.
Hermione laid down her quill, resigning herself to a lack of productivity. "We're going to Harry and Pansy's for a gathering next Friday night."
He shrugged, then sank into the chair across from her, propping his boots on the edge of her desk. "That sounds good." He peered around the office, interlacing his fingers. "I have a proposition for you."
She sighed, eyeing him for a moment. His tie was slightly askew, and she reached across the desk to straighten the silk. "Fine." She leaned back in her seat. "Let's hear it."
"We should live together." His stance remained flippant as though he hadn't made a suggestion that would greatly impact both of their lives. It was one of the strange, disarming things he did. "I'm so bored living alone. And you're over often enough that it just makes sense."
He had moved out of the Manor almost two years prior, purchasing himself an elaborate high-class flat instead.
Although she instinctively opened her mouth to reject the idea―so many of his ideas were borne of a whim and not considered in any depth―she froze. He had a point. And if she was honest, it wouldn't hurt to share living expenses with someone else.
"I can't afford your flat," she reasoned, folding her arms. "I can barely afford my own."
Draco waved a dismissive hand. "My flat is fully paid for. All we'd need to worry about is the monthly expenses." He eyed her for a moment, eyes lingering on the curve of her chest beneath her blouse. "And we'll be a room apart."
At the implication behind the words, the heat in his eyes, she shifted in her seat, squeezing her legs together. Briefly, her mind recalled the way he'd touched her at the Ministry dinner the week prior.
"And if one of us starts dating someone?"
Hermione hadn't met anyone in a while, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. One of the many unspoken agreements within their situation was that they didn't touch each other if they weren't both single, and neither of them were allowed to complain.
After all, she wanted his happiness as much as she wanted her own, and if he met someone who would give him that, she would shelve whatever it was between them. But he hadn't dated anyone in a while, either.
"We can sort out some ground rules," he said, jaw clenching into a hard line, but he didn't elaborate. "You don't need to decide now, but give it some thought. I think it could be a good thing."
If she was honest, she'd already sifted through the many benefits. They didn't always get along, but they hadn't yet had an argument they couldn't work through, and she did miss seeing him regularly.
"I don't need to think about it." A wry smile tugged at her lips, heart racing at the impulsivity of the decision. She didn't care for living alone, either. "Let's do it."
His answering grin flashed with genuine delight, and he leaned forward in his seat. "Great. Come over tonight and we'll figure out the details?"
Chewing on her lower lip, Hermione nodded. They'd made it through plenty to this point, and she had no doubt they'd get through anything else life sought to throw at them.
"Good," Draco clipped, rising to his feet. He shot her a wink. "I'll pick up a bottle from the Manor's cellars. I'm sure a few rounds of celebratory sex are in order."
"An arbitrary decision," she returned, snickering, "but you're probably right."
Draco smiled. "Of course I'm right."
Then he slipped from the room.
Hermione moved in that weekend.