20The Devil In The Details
Time was swimming.
Seconds floated into minutes.
Minutes drifted into hours.
But even after listening to both sides at length with equal attention, the gravity of the present combat between her advisors and consultants was not lost on Hermione.
Approval ratings meant little if positive sentiment didn't translate to voter participation. The recent dip in hers meant little in the grand scheme of things, but Hermione knew uttering that opinion would turn both sides on her in an instant.
In the last month, she had brought about the nullification of several archaic blood purity laws and had overhauled the language in the curse-to-kill law—designed to protect wizards unable to defend themselves against Muggles. Kingsley hadn't been successful in gaining the support to push either for a vote during his time as Minister, but in the last year alone, Hermione had curried enough favour with the holdouts in the Wizengamot to lobby her agenda of wide sweeping change.
But as it often had throughout mankind's history, change inspired fear.
With conservatives loudly voicing their opposition to the language change, and purebloods (as well as the upper echelon of half-blood families) being the most strident, the drop in her approval rating made sense. She was hopeful that it would level out or rise in the coming months following the implementation.
Unfortunately, her advisors didn't share her optimism.
Precautionary measures were being argued as they prepared for the worst case scenario of plummeting approval, and Hermione could only think of one word.
One question.
Why?
Aggressive political tactics had been necessary when Kingsley retired five years early and forced her into an early run to replace him as Minister. They'd helped her navigate the blowback after her surprising victory. But two years into her first term continuing the agenda of Ministry accountability that Kingsley had begun after the war, obstructionist and strong-arming tactics felt counter-productive.
She had enough adversity as it was.
This space was supposed to be one of peace, but it seemed everyone had lost sight of the bigger picture in favour of focusing on statistics, political strategy, and public opinion.
Hermione had not.
She wanted to work, make real change, and was doing just that while also playing the role of the politician she was not.
It was exhausting to uphold the perception of power rather than be empowered to wield it.
During their chat in his last hours of office, Kingsley had neglected to mention bureaucracy was the death of all sound work. To get ahead, anything went; she wasn't naive. But not only did she have to play a role, Hermione had to be cunning about it. Meticulous. There was a thin line between humility and contemptuous arrogance, and she walked it constantly as Minister.
Kingsley had also failed to mention the microscope she'd agreed to live under by taking the Oath, which forced her to create microscopes of her own with everything she did and everyone she interacted with outside the office. Hermione hadn't had much success in that regard, but she didn't want to think about that—just another irritation when she needed a level head.
It wasn't even lunchtime, her day was overloaded with bureaucratic meetings, and here she was at the head of the table while arguing voices swelled around her, interrupted only by the sound of Daphne's heel tapping on the marble floor.
Extremely composed, the rhythmic tapping actually soothed Hermione's aggravation.
It also was the only sign of her secretary's irritation, but she pushed that knowledge deep into her subconscious. Hermione stared at the ticking clock until her vision blurred, listened to Daphne until it was all she could hear, and, soon, the world around her melted to insignificant background noise.
Finally, finally, she could look around the elaborate furnishing of the room without lashing out.
Reorient and suppress the urge to walk out without looking back.
Remind herself of the reason she was here.
Tension eased from Hermione's body, relaxing her shoulders and quelling her headache, but only slightly.
It would have to do.
"Excuse me." Hermione forced words through dry lips. "If I could—"
Ten voices continued a duel of criticisms, each more grating than the previous. Hermione ground her teeth and cleared her throat. When the second attempt failed, too rapt in their own argument, she gave up on pleasantries and rendered the entire room silent with the snap of her fingers.
Wide, shocked looks flew around the room then came to rest on her.
"That's much better, I think."
Posture was at the core of confidence, elegance, and power. Hermione remembered that when resting her arms on her chair and leaning back in her seat. Immediately, she took notice of the shift in everyone's demeanour.
They were on guard. Good.
"There is nothing to be done about the dip in my approval rating. It's fluid, so there's no reason to panic at this time. And I won't." She looked each person in the eye, voice calm, betraying none of her irritation. "I don't expect to make everyone happy, nor do I intend to. My job is to lead, not to play to the whims of the loud minority."
Daphne's foot stopped.
"Furthermore, I did not run for Minister to be reduced to the role of referee in this room. Just as I didn't accept the roles and responsibilities of this position just to sit around in fear of polls."
The others began looking around from the corners of their eyes.
"If you must plan something to regain the approval ratings I've lost, fine, but in the future, present your ideas in a rational and sequential way that doesn't involve speaking over each other." There was another round of eye contact, and she allowed the corners of her lips to rise slightly. "Blink once if you understand me. Don't blink at all if you don't."
The single blink was simultaneous.
Hermione released the charm and then everyone from the room.
Not long later, she and Daphne were alone.
"One word and I'll have an entirely new set of advisors and consultants by Monday."
It was Friday, but that meant little to Daphne who was fully capable and ruthless in her own right.
It was the reason she'd hired her.
"Not necessary at this time, but start looking in case we have more days like this." With a low sigh, Hermione rubbed her own shoulders and tilted her neck from side to side, releasing the last vestiges of tension. "When's my next meeting?"
"Ten minutes, and you're having lunch with Harry and Ron at the Leaky Cauldron directly afterward. Security will have the area swept, secured, and cleared of all patrons and non-essential employees for the duration."
"Harry will like that."
He'd retired last year at the height of his career and eloped with Luna in a move that shocked the entire wizarding world, except for their closest friends. They'd been together for years behind closed doors, both hating the need for secrecy, before finally deciding they'd had enough.
Now Harry travelled the world with Luna, who freelanced as a Magizoologist, and Hermione had never seen him happier. The two of them had just returned from Mozambique, but had a habit of not staying long. There wasn't much time outside the public eye for visits, so a private lunch was the best idea.
Oddly enough, Hermione didn't share Harry's craving for privacy.
Not completely, at least.
Forever torn between the urge to live as she chose and a life away from the media.
She couldn't have the former, but hadn't exactly been successful at creating the latter, either.
"After your meeting with Spain and Portugal about renewing a trade agreement, you have a thirty minute break before your dress fittings for the charity event this weekend."
"Thanks."
"I might have—" Daphne's look turned conspiratorial as she leaned in like she was expecting to be overheard in the empty room. "No, I actually have arranged for someone to escort you to the event tomorrow, but like always, you'll decline."
"I don't need a man on my arm to boost my approval ratings."
An unmarried—or in her case, divorced—woman in power should be the norm, not news, but Hermione's marital status nonetheless roused the media's fascination with nearly every interaction she had with the opposite sex. Anytime she brought a date to an event, the man she arrived with inevitably became more of a discussion topic than her policies or the evening's purpose.
"No, you don't, but entirely apart from the optics, I think it's something you want deep down. Which is why I'd prefer it to be someone of your choosing and not someone I've selected because they're reasonably attractive and have a convenient opening in their schedule." Daphne's look was so pointed Hermione knew a discussion was on the horizon.
Again.
She readied her arguments and fired at will.
"I don't have the time, the energy, or the inclination to date seriously." Hermione neglected to mention that she did have the capacity for casual and discreet, but that was something she only indulged in with selected partners and iron-clad non-disclosure agreements. "If I wanted to be with just anyone, I wouldn't have divorced Ron."
The divorce had been a mutual choice made after a marriage that didn't solve their problems or make them suddenly compatible. They'd worked at it, and really tried, but he had no interest in life as a Minister's husband, and she refused to give up the dream that had gotten her to this point. They'd signed the papers seven years ago, divided everything evenly, and slowly made their way back to friendship. Ron had married Susan four years ago and she'd just given birth to twins. There were no hard feelings. He was far happier as friends than he'd ever been when they were together.
As was she.
In most ways.
Sometimes having power was lonely. It didn't have to be, she knew, but most days it seemed like her best option.
It was easier.
Contrary to what the tabloids screeched, her dating status had nothing to do with her inability to find balance. Hermione had plenty of outlets and hobbies outside of work, but what she didn't have was a willingness to conform to her terms. So far, no one had been willing for a long-term arrangement, and she hadn't been interested enough to compromise.
"You're ruminating."
"I am not." Hermione stood. "I'm just—"
"Say the word and I'll let him know."
"Who?" Pure, morbid curiosity would always win. "And you better not say—"
"Draco?" Daphne's smirk turned into a sly smile. "Of course I am. You want him."
"That's a strong assumption."
But not wrong.
Not something all-consuming or overwhelming to be painful—nothing trite or clichéd—but her want for Draco was an oddly formed feeling that had been growing for years. Yet it remained subtle.
Ignorable.
But it was steady, ever-lurking beneath the surface of her skin.
"We're well past assumptions." Daphne stood as well, gathering her notes and belongings. "It's a fact everyone knows."
Hermione swallowed, clinging to her only defence. "I make it a habit not to interest myself in unavailable men. My time is precious and I don't waste it."
But that never stopped Hermione from looking.
She wasn't blind.
Draco had been in her periphery for years, moreso in the last five as she immersed herself in politics. He was a self-proclaimed lifelong bachelor, and perhaps the only single man she allowed herself to interact with freely because the media never saw any reason to put two childhood enemies together. His consistent presence at philanthropic and political functions was the reason she'd noticed him again in the first place.
A strategic move, Hermione quietly added.
He was a clever man who wasn't greatly admired by everyone, but had earned near-universal respect—for both his efforts and his Galleons. Draco was, and always would be, extremely hard to ignore.
"He is available." Daphne nudged her shoulder on their way out the door. "Very."
"Not to me."
Draco always appeared at events with a different witch on his arm, but the revolving door of women never stopped him from approaching Hermione each time they crossed paths.
Exploratory conversation under cover of small talk.
It extended to her workplace as well. He'd prompt debates dressed as arguments whenever he turned up in her office with coffee and a new excuse for his presence.
His glances felt like inquiries; a predator composing itself before striking.
She could call it what it was by now: mutual attraction easily disguised as polite antagonism.
He was a risky move to indulge in.
Best that he remained out of reach.
"He knows about your… arrangement with Oliver Wood ending."
Oliver had been a year-long physical affair that started at the end of Hermione's two year fling with Lee Jordan, but like that arrangement, it had stalled out. Hermione needed more.
Lee had been better, but their interest in each other wasn't built to last. So when Oliver started showing interest, Hermione had been cautiously optimistic at first, believing that they had more in common, but explaining her preferences became more of a chore than a pleasure. She always felt that he was too—tentative. Intimidated, even. Whether by her position or desires, she never knew.
Frowning, Hermione returned to the present. "How does he know?"
"I told him." Lying was an unfamiliar concept to Daphne. Annoyingly so.
"Why would you—"
"Your time is precious. Stop wasting it on things you don't want."
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
When Hermione returned to her office for her scheduled break, the subject of her last conversation with Daphne was waiting for her.
She knew why.
Only after closing the door behind her did he look up from his perusal of the book she had been reading in her spare time for the last three months.
She was only halfway finished.
"Minister."
Even in private, Draco was incredibly formal. It was hard to tell if it was a sign of respect, or a reminder for himself. Hermione never knew what to make of it, but she couldn't deny that his voice held a promise of every ounce of authority he held outside of the Ministry.
His long legs were folded casually and his arm thrown over the back of the sofa, lounging with the same graceful confidence he radiated at all times. Like he owned the world, and Hermione was merely a guest.
A welcomed one, if the leisurely way he drank in her form was any indication. His appearance was immaculate and methodical as always, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he put in extra effort for his impromptu visits.
A thrill shot through her veins at the prospect, but that was nothing new. Twice a week she felt the stirring in her blood when he turned up, a coffee cup waiting for her on her desk.
"Mr. Malfoy." Hermione approached the sofa. "How can I help you?"
"Sit."
It sounded like a command, but his body language spoke of invitation as he gestured at the coffee cup. It was a bolder greeting than usual, but the lure of caffeine—and his presence—were too strong for her to decline. Which was how she found herself beside him on the sofa with her legs crossed and angled towards him, heel dangerously close to his trousers.
The coffee was refreshing.
As was the sight.
Draco showed many faces, but today he wore all black down to his dragonhide shoes, save for a grey blazer. Everything was fitted to perfection. Blond hair parted. Signet ring on his middle finger.
Casual, as he was wont to do on Fridays.
She felt overdressed in official robes, and left briefly to shed them before returning to the sofa. Her breathing felt a little easier in her lighter attire until she caught his glance at her legs, but Hermione kept quiet.
Lest she face a remark about her own perusal of his form.
"I've delivered my charitable contribution ahead of the Ministry's Annual Garden Party." His fingers tapped his thigh. "Along with the formal request that the Malfoys are allowed to host it in six months."
"I'll have to decline, I'm afraid." Hermione had been forced to attend several of Narcissa Malfoy's events before, and despite the extensive renovations both inside and out, she still hated Malfoy Manor. There was a coldness that lingered; not even time or paint could get it out.
"I knew you'd say no before considering the proposal."
"I prefer not to spend any more time at your ancestral home than—"
"We have other estates with better gardens and less trauma associated with them. Pick one."
Taking another sip, she appraised him carefully.
"It's not entirely my choice. It's also the Committee's."
"But you make the final decision." His eyes lingered on hers, something earnest buried beneath the cool mask. "Consider it."
Hermione scoffed. "This is one of our biggest events, Malfoy. You're after the prestige."
"My mother is." No surprise there. "But I have more selfish reasons."
The portent in his words crept down her spine. "Oh?"
Draco placed the open book at his side, her bookmark still on the page he'd been reading.
It was odd, but there was no time to consider the meaning when she was busy trying to predict his next move. Draco shifted. His elbow came to the side of the sofa, his other arm that had been stretched along the back moved to his side.
"Daphne tells me that you're looking for an escort tomorrow evening."
Hermione nearly choked on her coffee. "I most certainly am not. I was planning to go alone."
"Interesting," he said coolly. A whispered spell sent her book floating back to the bookshelf. "Especially given the amount of dancing that typically occurs, which usually involves a partner."
"I'm aware. I have attended in the past, you know." She'd never danced, only mingled. It had been awkward, but she wasn't about to admit that. "Daphne is the one under the misguided notion that I need someone to escort me. I never suggested anything of the sort."
"She is misguided."
"Glad we agree."
"You misunderstand, Minister." Appreciative grey eyes drank her in like wine he wanted to savour. When he had his fill, a slow smirk curled the edges of his lips. "You don't need an escort. You need a partner."
"Now you're misguided as well."
"Am I?" Draco's tone was light, his posture perfectly still as he watched her with that predatory patience. "I don't think so."
They were in new territory now, and Hermione felt her stomach flip with nerves she couldn't rationalise away. "Don't toy with me, Mr Malfoy—"
"I'm far too smart for that."
Hermione glared at him. "What exactly do you want?"
"Enjoy your coffee, Minister Granger." Chuckling, Draco rose to his feet, and she did the same purely out of habit.
Which was a mistake.
The move brought Hermione far closer than intended, leaving her in a position that forced her to lift her chin to meet his eyes, despite her heels.
Draco lowered his head, and in a voice that could only be described as intimate, he said two words in parting:
"Until tomorrow."
Her cheeks burned and mind reeled as she watched him leave. It wasn't until Hermione was halfway through her next meeting that she realised he'd never answered her question.
The Greengrass sisters dined together twice a week, so the sight of the two laughing together wasn't as much of a shock to Hermione as her abrupt arrival was to Daphne.
"I should set up Anti-Apparition wards." Daphne's smirk was almost too quick to catch as she set down her fork and let out a long-suffering sigh. "All I ask for is a quiet night."
"You did this to yourself." Hermione scowled.
"I suppose that's fair." She tucked her blonde hair behind her ear and patted the seat next to her as Astoria summoned an extra plate and cutlery. "One to ten: how angry are you?"
"Eleven."
Daphne's eyebrow rose. "You look like a five at best. Join us."
"No."
"There's takeaway." Astoria gestured to the cartons on the table, but Hermione was unmoved.
"I know how much you love fried chicken and Chinese food." Daphne waved a drumstick. "Astoria is indulging before starting her pre-wedding diet tomorrow. I'm willing to use dinner as leverage."
"Dinner isn't enough. You sent Draco Malfoy after me."
Astoria bit down on her fork so hard it made a noise; they all cringed out of pity for her teeth. Everyone knew that years before Marcus Flint had swept Astoria off her feet, she'd carried a torch for Draco that was never reciprocated. Luckily, she'd been over him for years or things would have been very awkward.
"Really now?" Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "I should call Pansy and Ginny to referee. Or cheer from the sidelines."
Depending on the day, both were an option.
Simultaneously.
Daphne waggled her eyebrows. "There's also dessert."
"What kind?" Hermione tilted her head in consideration. She had a sweet tooth her parents would never approve of as dentists, and Daphne was all too willing to use this fact to her advantage.
"Toffee pudding."
One of her favorites. "I might reconsider."
Daphne fist-pumped, but Astoria had already sent patronuses. Hermione wearily made her way over to the table.
"We'll just have to agree to disagree about what happened with Draco," said Daphne as Hermione sat.
"Consider the pudding treaty cancelled."
"I didn't send him after you. I gave him the green light. There's a difference."
"Oh, please." Astoria snorted, then froze at Daphne's frigid glare. "What?"
"You're supposed to be on my side, Tori. What happened to Greengrass loyalty?"
"Do you really want to have this discussion? Remember that time you—"
She broke off as Ginny appeared in the doorway of the dining room, looking peeved.
"This better be bloody good." Her hair was a disaster, and her voice was slightly hoarse. "Because we were recovering from getting shagged into the grave and I had to leave before seconds."
"We?" Astoria's eyes practically popped out of her head. "I thought you and Blaise were—"
"Taking turns on me." Pansy walked in behind her, looking equally as shagged out. "I can see that no one's dying, so what the fuck?"
"This was all really unnecessary." Daphne scooped up a spoonful of fried rice. "Hermione's just bitchy because I told Draco she was available."
The looks of irritation bled from Ginny's and Pansy's faces vanished, and the two exchanged a smirk.
"You're so fucked." Pansy looked downright gleeful.
"She means that literally," Ginny supplied helpfully. "I'm siding with Daphne."
"What is this, 'Ambush Hermione Granger' Day?" Hermione brought her hands to her hips. "I'll remind you all that I'm Minis—"
"I don't give a damn." Pansy's smile was terrifying. "He's got you cornered, and it's about time. You've needed to fuck him out your system ages ago—"
"Years," Daphne added.
Hermione almost silenced them all with the snap of her fingers, but Ginny was glaring at her, daring her to do it.
Last time she'd gotten tackled.
"Fine." With a sigh, Hermione ran a hand over her hair. "State your case."
The four exchanged looks. As the outsider to their chaotic friendship, Astoria was lost amidst the nonverbal communication, but Ginny smiled when they'd made a decision, cleared her throat, and proceeded first.
"He's discreet like you prefer, available, fit as hell, and let's all remember the fact that you've only been shagging stand-ins as appetizers because you don't want to sit at the table for a full meal."
"Draco is not a full meal." Hermione made a face, as if she'd eaten something sour.
"Keep telling yourself that, Granger." Pansy's look was bordering a leer. "I mean, he's not my type—too pointy for my taste— but he looks at you like a starving man eyeing the most expensive item on the menu."
Which was a problem.
Hermione swallowed. "Listen, all of you. I'm Minister and I can't just dally around with—"
"You did it with Oliver." Pansy held up a finger.
"And Lee." Ginny held up a second one, grinning.
"Both signed non-disclosure agreements."
"Didn't you shag Krum at the International Convention six months ago?" Daphne frowned, and at the precise moment it dawned on her, something Hermione hoped she'd forgotten came roaring back to the front of her mind. "You did!"
Pansy and Ginny's lack of response meant one thing. They knew.
"Daphne, I told you not to tell!"
"I didn't tell them everything. I just mentioned that a little bird informed me that the Bulgarian stallion himself was the timid type in bed."
Ginny and Pansy burst out laughing.
"I never said timid, I said overly romantic!"
Apparently she attracted a type that really wasn't her type at all.
Daphne doubled over, and Astoria lifted a questioning brow.
"There might have been rose petals. Happy?" Hermione slapped a hand over her burning face.
"What's wrong with that?" said Astoria, clearly perplexed. "I think that's sweet!"
"There was also a harp."
Astoria almost choked on the sip of water she was taking.
Hermione let her palm fall to the table. "There's a time for romance, don't get me wrong, but—"
"Can you imagine?" Pansy wiped her eyes. "And the first time, too! I think I'd have died."
"Death by cock is a good way to go, according to Hermione Granger." Daphne shook her head, still chuckling and catching her breath. "She's not wrong."
"Oh my." Astoria clutched her pearls.
Hermione shot them all a glare that rivaled the ones she used to give Ron back in their Hogwarts days. "So I've had some false positives, all right? I'm thirty-five, single, and have a fairly straightforward, even if a bit unusual, list of terms and conditions. I spent years with one man who was… disinterested in some of the more unconventional things I—"
"Unconventional?" Astoria's eyes were comically wide, and Hermione privately cursed her loose tongue.
"In any event, I won't justify or apologise for a healthy sexual appetite just because of my position as—"
"The most powerful witch in the country?" Ginny remarked.
"Yes. Exactly."
"Then why not take Draco up?" Hermione remained stubbornly silent as Pansy took the third chair and pulled Ginny on her lap, who got comfortable quickly with both arms loosely around her neck. Pansy glanced over at Daphne, who was eating with a coy smirk, like a cat who'd gotten the cream. "What did Draco say when you told him?"
Hermione opened and closed her mouth, fighting the urge to hex the smug look off Daphne's face, but deciding the better of it. She sulked for a few moments before accepting the plate the ever-cheerful Astoria was shoving under her nose.
How she'd made it seven years in Slytherin, Hermione wasn't sure.
"Not much, but it's clear he was more than amenable." Hermione's skin felt warm, and her eyes dropped to her plate. "I know what Draco looks like when he's planning something. I suggest you prepare."
"With a hex or a Brazilian?"
Astoria's question sounded half-innocent, half-toying as every eye turned to her. Perhaps it wasn't such a surprise she was a snake after all.
"Both." Ginny nodded at her own answer. "Definitely both."
Astoria clapped. "I know the perfect place!"
"Um." Hermione waved her hand. They'd obviously forgotten she was there. "I believe I said I wasn't entertaining the idea."
"So you did." Daphne handed her a carton of fried rice. "Let me know how that works out for you."
Hermione was woman enough to admit that the best laid plans, even with good intentions, ultimately paved the road to hell.
And that was just where she'd found herself two months later.
Hell.
The once cursory thought of Draco now occupied its own, sizable corner of her mind, thanks in no small part to the fact that the once peripheral man had begun to take centre stage in her day-to-day life.
He was everywhere.
But nothing had changed.
He still greeted her formally with that same spark in his eyes, the attentiveness in his tone mixed with the undercurrent of heat. They still conversed and politely bickered over trivial matters in public, and he still turned up unscheduled with coffee during her breaks to talk about everything except politics and news.
Except now he was actively pursuing her through conversation that allowed Hermione to forget about the inane bureaucracy of her work and flex mental muscles she hadn't used in a long time.
They talked about art.
"The concept of style is overrated." Draco plucked a different book from her shelf and Hermione's eyes didn't wander down his form. They didn't. "Wouldn't you agree, Granger?"
"I would." She looked down quickly. "Creativity often involves a certain level of proficiency in visual aesthetics. It's more common to see artistic talent as a robust, broad skillset versus anything niche or narrow."
"We could continue this discussion at Dean Thomas' exhibit opening tomorrow."
"Like a date?"
"Yes."
"No."
They debated about magical theory.
"You're wrong." Hermione sipped her coffee. "Five hours is the longest someone could travel back in time without the possibility of serious harm."
"And how would you know?"
"Experience."
Draco looked intrigued. "Tell me more over dinner?"
"No."
Discussed runes.
Hermione peered over at the rune Draco had drawn.
"Ehwaz means—"
"Partnership."
Hermione's eyebrow rose sharply. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Not at the moment." Draco's eyes slowly met hers. "But when I do, you won't need to question it."
Bantered about philosophy.
"... which got me wondering, how can there be something that fails to exist if there's nothing 'there' to not exist?"
"What?"
"I saw the question in a book I'm reading, and thought you might have an opinion. You usually do."
"Just because I'm perpetually the dull bookworm to you doesn't mean I always have an op—"
"There's a basilisk fang on your desk, Rita Skeeter is terrified of you, Potter survived seven years of assassination attempts thanks to you, and somehow you caused over a hundred million Galleons in property damage at Gringotts and still managed to convince the goblins to sing your praises."
Her lips parted as Draco leaned closer, one large hand covering her knee with warm ease.
"Dull isn't a word I'd ever use to describe you, Minister Granger."
Half-tempted to kick him, half-tempted to slide his hand higher, Hermione did neither, opting to remain perfectly still. She blinked, struggling to think.
"It's a paradox." Hermione took a shaky sip of coffee, gripping her cup tightly. His hand never moved, but her heart was racing as if it had. "Many things do in fact fail to exist—mythical and fictional creatures or impossible objects like the round square."
"Tell me more." His hand drifted a touch higher. "Are you free tonight?"
The knock on her door was the only reason she managed to resist.
And dissected literature.
"You haven't been reading your book, Minister Granger."
"No need to call me that when we're alone." Today, his arm was draped behind her, but he refrained from touching her. Seventeen minutes she'd been on edge, desperate for the light brush of his fingertips across her shoulder blades, but no one would ever be able to tell— least of all Draco.
"I'll remember that, but for now, page one hundred and forty-seven awaits, Minister."
Hermione picked up the book that rested between them and opened to her bookmarked page. She began to read, but her concentration didn't last long. How could it when Draco was watching her so closely, taunting her with that knowing smirk?
"I despise being watched while I read." Closing the book with a snap, Hermione put it down. "Your visits shorten my daily page count."
"I don't come every day."
"You also don't schedule your visits."
"Don't tell me you sit around waiting in anticipation of my arrival."
She did, but Draco's expression made it impossible to admit such a thing.
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You're an arrogant arse if you believe I just sit around waiting for you everyday."
"I suppose I'm arrogant then."
Each interaction led to something different.
There was a steadily growing charge in the air—the one that happened whenever two people held no mysteries between them regarding the other's interest. When two people lingered in the restless state of waiting for the other to change the status quo.
But it didn't happen.
Except for the days he'd touch her, Draco began changing the game. He only asked her to sit and drink her coffee as he kept his distance, watching and talking until she finished every drop. Then he left.
Another change was that Draco began coming to events alone. His first solo gala had been the day after Daphne's meddling, and despite Hermione's belief that it was only temporary, it had lasted. The gossip rags and society rumour mills began to whisper, the headlines growing louder after one event in which Draco gave a pointed response to a journalist's question about whether he intended to give up his bachelor life one day.
Perhaps wasn't that damning of an answer, but it was a stark change from his previous one: no.
Rumours were still flying, but not once did they turn in her direction.
Hermione didn't know what he was up to.
He'd stopped asking her on dates, yet today was the fourth day in a row Draco had turned up. Not only did he have the gall to wait for her in the waiting area rather than her office, he also had the audacity to look especially attractive in navy trousers and white shirt.
While carrying lunch.
For her.
Hermione hadn't eaten all day.
He discarded his jacket the moment she'd shut the door, and Hermione would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the sight of him rolling his sleeves in a way that called her attention to his forearms, signet ring, and the faded scar he hadn't covered. She watched him open containers of what looked and smelled like Greek bread, grilled meats, and Moussaka.
Normally, she'd have bristled and declined.
Today she was famished and thankful.
They ate in silence, and by the time she'd gotten control of her hunger, the food had been cleared, she had twenty minutes before her next meeting, and Draco was—oh.
Standing behind her.
"Just so we're clear." His large hands cupped her shoulders before slowly making their way down her arms then to her waist. "This is a date."
He held her steady before she could turn and protest.
"Not my ideal one, of course, but since you've decided to fight what you want the entire way, I've decided to take matters into my own hands."
Everything stopped when his lips brushed her earlobe.
"I've also decided I'm going to kiss you."
Each whispered word dripped down her mind like the honey from the diples they'd had for dessert. Hermione's knees buckled. Her exhale escaped in an involuntary rush. It had been too long, and she was already tilting her head, giving him space, before she could formulate the no that the rational side of her brain desperately wanted her to utter.
Draco dropped a kiss just above the collar of her blouse.
Another on her pulse point.
Her eyes fluttered shut as he continued up the side of her neck, tasting her, his strong arms steadying her swaying form as he explored her skin. A sharp stab of impatience rose, and Hermione was about to take matters into her own hand when Draco turned her chin towards him.
She braced for something predictably soft, but Draco's kiss held a hunger she'd only seen in his eyes. A hand dropped from her face and snaked around her waist. Deep, unhurried kisses built into something more urgent, more mind-melding as moments turned into minutes that made Hermione's heart beat out of her chest.
Pulling back to let out a small breath, Draco chased her lips as he walked her backwards, claiming and demanding. Hermione stifled a moan, letting her fingers slip through his hair. She exhaled against his open mouth, her body molding to his when she bumped into something solid.
Her desk.
Before she could blink, he had her propped up, spreading her legs as he stepped between them, his brow cocking when she toyed with the top button of his shirt.
"Had enough of denying yourself, then?"
"I'm not shagging you in my office." Hermione dug her heels into the back of his legs as Draco pulled her flush against him.
"No." Pain made him smile. "At least not today."
But soon.
"How cliché."
"It's only a cliché if I bend you over the desk."
Those hands were on the move once again, up her bare leg, under her hiked up skirt. Curses muttered into her ear when he ground against her roughly, dragging a shocked gasp from her as blunt fingers dug into the flesh of her arse.
The girls had been right.
She did in fact need to fuck him out her system, and her mind was leaning towards doing exactly that when a knock stopped her cold. Hermione all but shoved him away to fix her clothes, making sure they both looked as normal as possible when she finally opened the door to escort him out.
"Thank you for stopping by, Mr Malfoy." She purposefully stopped short upon spotting the intern holding a piece of parchment that needed her signature.
His eyes fell to her lips. "Always a pleasure, Minister."
The charity garden party was held on one of the nicest days of the summer.
A lack of clouds left the sky a brilliant shade of blue. Sunshine and greenery created a poetic ambience Hermione admired during the lulls in perfunctory conversation.
It was breathtaking.
There was a stunning mix of elegantly shaped hedges, trees, and clusters of colourful and exotic flowers in various phases of bloom. Perfectly pruned shrubs and rose bushes lined the outside of the entrance.
The ribbon cutting for the added pixie sanctuary went smoothly, as did the presentation of the two million Galleons from their donors, most of which came from the Malfoy family…
One in particular she didn't see for the first time until just before the meal started.
Draco.
The best part of her day wore a three-piece suit and appeared just as bored as she was while schmoozing with politicians, posing for photos with guests, and entertaining a long-winded conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, who was simply elated that the board had chosen their countryside castle with the rooftop garden for the venue of the next party in four months.
By the time Hermione purposefully drifted in his direction, Draco was locked in conversation with a few older conservative pureblood donors. When he escaped, she was asked to pose for photos by the media outlet that had been allowed to attend.
Obligation kept them apart, but nothing stopped her from looking.
Or noticing when he looked back.
"Have you taken a tour of the gardens?" the host asked, after wrongly assuming she was admiring the mix of tropical plants and succulents next to where Draco stood beside his mother.
"No, I haven't had the opportunity."
Her eyes locked with Draco's, and his flicked deliberately to the entrance of the hedges.
After giving a subtle nod and refocusing on the host, she gave the wizard a smile while he explained the history of everything planted.
"You should take the opportunity to explore, Minister Granger. It is truly an incomparable sight. Towards the middle are the rare flowers and they're all in bloom. I'd be more than willing to escort you."
"That won't be necessary,'' a familiar voice spoke up from behind, and Hermione's stomach fluttered. "I will escort Minister Granger myself."
They ended up alone in winding hedges, touring the rose and lily exhibits, both blooming and fragrant. The farther they walked down the cobblestone pathway, the higher the hedges rose. To her surprise, Draco was well-versed in flowers, and she found herself transfixed by his voice as he pointed and discussed. Each time they happened upon someone, they nodded and crisply continued on, walking on until the crowds had thinned to nothing and the plants became incredibly rare.
When she felt Draco's hand on her wrist, halting her, they were standing in front of a bench between the Red Indian Pipe flower—a misnomer, given its ghostly white petals, and the claw-like flowers of the Jade Vine.
"What are you doing after this?"
"I have a free evening." She didn't try to escape his touch. "I wouldn't mind if you filled it."
Draco raised a brow at her boldness. "What inspired the change in tune?"
"A bit of advice about needing to shag you out of my system." She ran her free hand down her floral dress, bending her knee slightly to accentuate the high split. Draco definitely took notice. "I'd like to make a proposal that's mutually beneficial."
A low noise escaped him, a guttural sound that made Hermione's stomach clench.
"Go on."
"I have a need for discretion—"
"I'm aware of your needs, and also of how you secure your discretion." His expression turned appraising, but if he expected a response other than her cool defiance, he never got it.
"Those are my rules."
"And I'm not interested in charmed non-disclosure agreements, nor am I interested in being kept as one of your secrets, Minister Granger." Draco stepped closer. Instinct made her step back, but the back of her legs hit the bench. Nearby trees partially blocked overhead sun, casting shadows on his sharp features.
He was closing in on her, and the realisation was as much of a thrill as it was a challenge.
"Is that so?" She squared her shoulders. "As someone who's had a string of witches on your arm, I thought you would be interested in a casual arrangement."
"Your information on me is not completely accurate." Draco curled a finger underneath her chin, and her legs felt unsteady at the gentle yet firm touch. "I can, but I'm not interested in being casual with you."
Hermione blinked. "And why is that?"
"Because I know myself." Draco dipped his head, speaking low against her ear. "I'm possessive over anything I consider mine and you will be. I don't share." Teeth scraped her lobe, and a shaky breath escaped her. "I'm not interested in being a placeholder, and when I start fucking you, I want the entire world to know."
The urge to bolt washed over her suddenly, but Draco had moulded himself into her so firmly she had nowhere to go.
She bit her lip. "That's not an option. My position—"
"I know what that entails, and I'm willing to make adjustments that won't undermine your position or image. We'll start slow, build to it. An appearance here and there until it becomes regular and expected—"
"Sounds like you've planned this all out."
"I have, but you need to think it over." Draco sucked the spot behind the bottom of her ear and moved to her jawline, sending shivers across her skin. He breathed again, and it could have been the beginning of her name, but it remained a mystery when his lips found hers.
More of those deep, exploratory kisses begin stealing her senses, but before she could chase the spark, Draco pulled away.
"Let me leave you with something to consider."
He sank to his knees.
A spark of confusion blurred into molten arousal when he unceremoniously pulled back her dress around its slit, tore off her knickers, and made her prop her leg on the bench.
There was little preamble before she felt his tongue driving into the folds of her cunt.
The sensation was a shockwave that instantly made her fist his hair, closing her eyes as she panted for breath on shaking knees. The fear of getting caught was deafened by the thrill. Hands gripped her arse, holding her steady as he ate his fill.
Torn between watching him and not, Hermione dropped her head back with her heavy breathing and the wet sounds of Draco exploring her cunt filling the natural silence. Pleasure blazed through her; praise burned from her lips until she couldn't take it anymore.
She had to look.
Had to see.
"Let me."
Hermione dropped her head and ground her cunt against his tongue, her body tense as she held his hair and controlled where she wanted him to go. Incoherent sounds tumbled from her lips as her legs began wobbling. The sound of him licking and sucking and rolling his tongue around and around was too much, too intense, but Hermione couldn't stop rocking against his mouth, and Draco let her, looking blissed out.
"Let me come like this."
A plea uttered quietly from a place of desperation
Draco's eyes locked on hers.
The sight of his head between her thighs made a cord of tension pull taut.
Her fingers tightened in his hair. Draco groaned out something that sounded like pain, but the way one of his hands left hers and rubbed his hard cock made her think it was the opposite. And when he sucked and scraped his teeth lightly over her clit, pain and pleasure punched out a noise she'd never heard herself make.
And then she was crashing, coming hard, body quivering and quaking, but Draco held her tight, never let her fall, licked her through each shudder. By the time she caught her breath and was able to hear beyond the white noise and think enough to reciprocate, he'd put her back together and pocketed her knickers.
Hermione's mind was too fuzzy to complain.
"Think it over."
And after a parting kiss she felt in her bones, Draco left her dazed on the bench.
Hermione spent the next week doing just that.
Thinking it over.
All while glaring at Daphne, who wouldn't meet her eyes.
When Hermione finally recovered from telling the tale of that day—his refusal of her terms and why she'd come out of the garden alone, hobbling due to a broken heel, and barely able to meet the eye of anyone there in fear that they'd heard her screaming as she rode Draco's face—silence had befallen the room.
"Wow." Astoria's blue eyes were huge. "Wow."
Daphne pulled at the collar of her shirt. "Perhaps I miscalculated."
"Miscalculated," Hermione repeated dryly. "Miscalculating happens in maths. Draco ate me out in a garden as a sample of what was to come in a relationship. A relationship he wants in public."
"Woooooow…" Pansy stretched the word as far as it would go.
"Did you like it?" Ginny raised both hands in surrender when Hermione whipped to her, nearly baring her teeth. "It's an important question!"
"It took me an hour to find my way out of the hedges." She gesticulated wildly before sucking a calming breath because she was a damn adult—she was Minister of Magic, for fuck's sake. Feeling much more rational, she exhaled and promptly confessed her last sin. "I very strongly considered asking for seconds when I saw him again."
Pansy started laughing.
"Sounds like a good time." Ginny's light tone didn't match her leer.
"He wants more than a good time."
Which was the problem, in a way—but also not. Hermione had been weighing it for days before coming clean to her friends. Once again torn between privacy and freedom, Hermione considered each option. Both had the same number of benefits and drawbacks.
"I thought he wanted to shag." Daphne shrugged. "How was I supposed to know he had more serious designs?"
"I'm not sure what the problem is?" Astoria's eyes were wide in that slyly cherubic way of hers. "He just wants to—"
"Date me. Publicly."
"Can you please get to the point where the problem is?" Pansy pointed to her watch. "Ginny and I have a cock appointment in thirty minutes and it's my turn to sit on his face."
"Fine." Hermione glared at her. "It's more than what I wanted or asked for."
"Worse because you're considering it?"
"I—" Well, that was exactly it. She hadn't seen Draco since leaving the event, but he'd had lunch delivered each afternoon and coffee each morning. Always with the same message.
Think about it.
Well, she was.
More than intended.
Hermione had put quiet feelers out for more information on his private life, digging for any ulterior motivations he might have to pursue a relationship with her, but she hadn't come up with anything suspicious. He was single. He'd had his fair share of flings in the past, but no more than she had. It would be hypocritical and unfair to judge him for it.
"He's actually interested, if that's what you're worried ab—what?" Pansy looked unapologetically at Ginny. "He is. I said, you're fucked, and I meant it. He's wanted you since before you became Minister. Back when you were wasting time with Lee."
"I didn't know that." Daphne frowned. "Explains a lot."
"Like what?" Hermione frowned.
"How he spent six months trying to bribe me for the code to your office just so he could deliver coffee. He's always asking me about what you like to do outside of work."
"Why didn't you—"
"You wouldn't have listened. You had to see it yourself—hear it yourself. Took you both long enough."
Hermione closed her eyes.
The art gallery invitation. Dinner invites. The reason Draco kept up with what she was reading. Debates and discussions. He was constantly on the hunt to learn every scrap he could about her.
There was more.
Like him changing his thoughts on his once beloved life as a bachelor.
And the way he'd already prepared for her reticence made her realise he'd been thinking about this far longer.
"I—"
"Do you fancy him?" Ginny poked her in the arm. "Outside of him being immensely shaggable, of course."
That was the million Galleon question.
Hermione didn't answer immediately. She thought back over the years, but the last two months in particular when his presence was more than a footnote to her week. He'd certainly made a spot for himself in her mind and heart with his coffee, and their talks, and the fact that she could drown out the mundane and frustrating bits of her day in a matter of minutes with him, her shoulders always feeling lighter whenever he came around. He frustrated her as much as he made her laugh and bristle and think, but also wonder about how it didn't have to always be lonely at the top.
Pansy's eyes bugged in realisation. "You do."
Yes, she did. "But I shouldn't."
In fact, the plan had been simple, but with how many times she replayed their tryst in the garden, the fact that she genuinely liked his presence. And it seemed as though he were more likely to take permanent residence under her skin rather than the opposite.
Daphne laid a supportive hand on her shoulder. "If you're worried what people will think—"
"My position makes me consider things I normally wouldn't."
"Yes, but at the end of it all, this is your life." Daphne gave her an encouraging squeeze. "That matters more than your approval ratings or chances of winning another term. What do you want your life to be like?"
When Draco walked into the room—his living room—and spotted her sitting in his armchair, flipping through his books like she belonged there, he stopped and didn't come any closer. Not used to having the upper hand left him tense in a way that made Hermione smile.
"Minister." A careful greeting in a questioning tone.
"Mr Malfoy." She gestured to the sofa, watching every step he made until he stood at the opposite side of the sofa. "Join me."
"You do realise you're in my home."
"Daphne gave me the code to get through your Floo." Hermione let her eyes wander from the fit of his trousers to his face. "Much like she gave you the code to get into my office."
His jaw twitched. "Why are you here?"
"To talk." Crossing her legs at the knee, she rhythmically tapped the air with one foot. "Sit."
Draco did, but at his own rate because he was just as stubborn and as careful as her. Locking his fingers and inclining his head, he gave Hermione the permission to speak that she didn't need.
"I accept your proposition." Because there was no sense in delaying the point of her visit, she turned to him, catching his realisation of just what she was accepting as it dawned on him. "However, I have several conditions."
"Tell me the most important three. The rest can wait until after."
"After?"
Draco didn't answer, but the way the corners of his lips curved upwards, made her thighs clench in anticipation.
But there was business to tend to first.
"I want to keep us separate from bureaucracy."
"A preference of mine as well." Draco's eyes were still heavy on her, focused and unwavering, but there was that honesty beneath his tone that she clung to. "I have no interest in anything within the Ministry's walls except you."
"Oh." Hermione allowed a flush to heat her cheeks as she smoothed her skirt. Time for discussion was almost up. "We'll need time before our first public appearance."
"My mother's garden party."
It was in three and a half months—ample time to settle into a new normal and long enough to bring their relationship into the—wait. Hermione squinted before swearing out loud at the exact timetable of events.
"How long have you been planning this?"
"This?" Draco's finger made a lazy circle to reference everything he'd orchestrated. "Since Daphne told me of your interest."
Hermione bit her lip.
"But you?" The look in his grey eyes was a mix of patience and hunger, hard to dismiss and impossible to ignore. "A while."
And left it at that.
She steadied herself, her final decision made. She wasn't going back.
"You should know something about me." Hermione stood and slowly closed the distance between them, standing between his legs as soon as she nudged them apart.
It certainly wasn't the end of their discussion, but Draco was right, it could wait for after.
"What?"
"I like to be taken care of." Hermione shuddered when he leaned forwards, running his hands up the backs of her legs, both at once, and massaging her thighs. "Not like I'm Minister or made of porcelain. The definition will change as my needs do, and there's a short list of things I'm unwilling to try. But I'm… versatile, very much so."
"I was hoping you'd say that." Draco's face never changed, but his eyes wandered down as he pulled her closer, hiking her skirt. "How can I take care of you tonight?"
Hermione wasn't inclined to move, intent on the idea of riding his cock in the location of his choosing, but Draco insisted the extra steps to the bed would be worth her wait.
It wasn't until Hermione was on all fours, a sweating, wobbly mess of limbs, and mindlessly moaning while gripping the sheets as Draco devoured the rest of her soul he'd left behind, that she realised the move had been very much worth it.
Draco ate cunt like it was just as much for his pleasure as it was for hers. He spent half an hour tirelessly at it, gauging her shudders and moans with what worked and what didn't. Hermione was in heaven, face down on the mattress, arse up while his eager fingers and tongue took her apart. Fingering and biting, sucking and licking, pulling on her folds and teasing the rim of her arsehole with a finger wet from her cunt before sinking it inside slowly.
Her world went white.
Orgasms piled up, one after the next, and she couldn't bring herself to care about anything beyond the extent of her pleasure and Draco's unwavering attention until she was a boneless, sated heap of limbs, her throat hoarse from crying out.
But he wasn't done.
Not yet.
Not when she was in the perfect position for Draco to guide his cock to her entrance, and sink into her in one quick stroke. Toes curling, Hermione bucked her hips, squirming and howling and sobbing for air, but Draco held her firm.
"Oh, fuck yes."
The rest of her existence was lost to Draco. Hands, mouths, and bodies all worked at a relentless pace as he took care of her. Fucking her just as hard as she wanted but never expressed. Needed but never understood why.
Now it made sense.
Words like tight and mine mixed with her cries and incoherent moans as his fingers dug into her hips and he forced her to meet each of his sharp, punishing strokes.
Her mouth was pleading for more, and his body made demands of her in return.
Let me take care of you.
Hermione closed her eyes and relaxed.
Trusted him to give her what she needed.
Allowed him to control the speed and fuck her at that overwhelming pace he'd set without resistance. Loving each time he squeezed bruises into her arse and punished her cunt with each deep stroke of his cock, all while telling her how fucking good she felt.
Folding over her back, Draco didn't slow as he braced a hand on the bed, the other squeezing and twisting her nipple. Harsh breath burned against her ear. She felt surrounded by him, inside and out. Trapped in his storm, drowning in passion, gasping with raw want.
Encompassed and overtaken, she listened to the sound of him using her and it made her feel powerful.
"Mine." Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the first fluttering of an impending orgasm start in her toes, rising sharply. "Mine."
"Yours."
Confirmation was the beginning of her undoing, Draco's fracturing control was what she'd been needing all along. Her next orgasm—one that promised to shred her to pieces—was momentarily derailed by the shock of pain when Draco snatched her hair hard enough for Hermione to arch her back.
Oh.
Something new. Her body reacted instantly with a hoarse howl that broke free, and she couldn't stop coming around his cock, squeezing him tight as he moaned loud and long against her skin.
"Come like this."
Draco sounded as unhinged and frenzied as she felt until he froze, mouthing her shoulder blade while pulsing and spilling deep inside her, his body shaking and hands gripping her too tight.
Hermione collapsed on the bed, spent and unable to do anything else except lie there as Draco cleaned them both with a warm cloth and gathered her in his arms.
In the darkness, he rubbed her back. "Is that what you needed?"
"Yes."
Tomorrow she would need something different, but for now, Hermione fell asleep to the haze of languid kisses pressed against her skin.
Draco was on the move, heading directly towards her. His pace was purposeful, but measured, and Hermione had to admire his restraint.
He'd been waiting nearly four months for the opportunity and privilege of one moment.
This one.
After publicly making it known two weeks ago that he was no longer single, whispers of the identity of his mystery witch had grown loud enough and spawned enough false rumours that they'd decided—with the assistance of Daphne and her new consulting team—that their debut as a couple had to be more than arriving together.
Which brought them to where they were now.
In the middle of the Malfoy family's rooftop garden in late August, orchestrating their moment.
Hermione was as eager for this as Draco.
Not even when she decided to run for Minister had she been as sure of something as she was of this. Of him. She was ready to live the life of her choosing with the man she'd chosen.
Freely and openly.
Draco's presence and support reminded her each day that she could have it all.
She deserved it.
And when he tilted his head, Draco ignored all the eyes on them, including his mother's as she smiled from her spot beside Daphne, Ginny, Astoria, and Pansy.
"Minister."
Still so proper, even after she'd ridden his cock on a bench inside the garden maze hours before the party in what they deemed a reenactment of what they'd both wanted to do the first time.
"Mr Malfoy."
"A pleasure, as always." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Our photographer has already started."
"I noticed."
Fingers brushed against hers as he stepped into her space, so close she had to bring a hand to his arm— far too close for it to be platonic. Draco's intent was clear as he dipped his head, lips ghosting her ear. "Are you ready to confirm the rumours?"
"I am."
The end.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters and all that jazz.
A/N: Happy birthday, K! The the yin to my yang, the Ina-wrangler, best beta, best friend, and #1 Chaos Gremlin! You do so much for us and fandom as a whole that we decided to give back to you! I hope you love it as much as we love you! Embedded art by jaxxinabox and Saph_XXI found embedded on AO3.
Ina is still in her stylish, anti-frumpy!Minister Hermione era, Jaxx and Saph both enabled and understood the assignment, and in the end, teamwork made the dream work. Beta credits goes to the incredible PacificRimbaud and the busiest honeybee, raven_maiden. You both are incredible people and friends. Banner by cnova.
Measure of a Man, 34 will be posted on Tuesday
-Announced last Tuesday on my socials as I have surprise!family in town and it's my beta's birthday.