Chapter 3
Life went on.
Hermione answered phone calls and sorted out which callers were just angry and which ones actually wanted to kill her boss. She patched those ones through to the Capitol Police.
She took photos at events for Tonks who was paid nearly $100k for… what, exactly?
Draco was at none of them.
She shared elevators with Republican Members of Congress who only softened when they saw her cross hanging on her chest, before looking as if they’d swallowed a lemon when they asked who she worked for and found out she was a Democrat. As if their mind couldn’t comprehend a Jesus loving liberal.
Draco would’ve understood.
It was in June, three months after she last spoke with Draco, that she saw him again.
Pansy Parkinson, a terrifying and awe-inspiring girl that Hermione met as an intern was finally back in DC after graduating from Harvard in May.
She was as pretty as ever, and, to Hermione’s continued surprise, still wanted to be her friend. Not that Hermione understood, but she went along with it. She’d always wanted girls like Pansy to notice her.
“Remind me why you’re working again?” Hermione asked.
“You can’t find a husband while you’re at home,” she replied with an eyeroll.
“Is there like… a Republican version of the Kennedys?” Hermione asked.
“Obviously,” Pansy replied with an eyeroll. Nodding at the waiter as he poured the pitcher of frozen margaritas into their glasses. “The Notts, the Flints, the Riddles if you’re into murder mysteries, the Zabinis…”
“I get it,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes as she took a sip of the bright pink strawberry margarita. It tasted like it came from a bagged mix, which it definitely did; it also tasted cheap enough that it shouldn’t cost $36 for a pitcher, which… it did. “Did you say Nott?”
“Of course,” Pansy nodded. “Thaddeus Nott was a Member of Congress from Louisiana, he’s now on Owl’s board of directors. Rich as hell, and he has a hot son and a bunch of decent-looking nephews.”
Owl had revolutionized delivery in America, with two-day delivery for Hoot members. Hermione couldn’t remember life before Owl, and couldn’t even imagine how rich the Notts were if the man was at the top of their pecking order.
“Theodore?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brow as though she were thinking much harder to remember his name. She couldn’t forget it, no. They’d never gone to get coffee over Easter recess, but Hermione wasn’t going to be desperate and reach out. She knew that most offers of coffee were just that… gestures.
“That’s the hot son. Do you know him?”
“I do,” she nodded, feeling uncomfortable, but smug. She knew the guy was too rich to be working. “He works for another Member, I met him a few months ago.”
Pansy looked at Hermione with calculating eyes. “Think you could introduce me?”
Hermione shrugged, not wanting to throw her weight around making promises when she barely knew him.
“I could,” she said. “What do I even tell him you’re doing here…”
“Looking for a job, duh. Rich guys get off on that shit, helping seemingly helpless women out. It’s all about power and feeling useful for them.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, unwilling to say how close to home that hit. Was that all Draco wanted? To make her feel… good? More confident?
They left Tortilla Coast, the mecca of cheap post-work happy hours for Hill staff, around 7:30pm, giggling as they headed up the block back towards the House office buildings.
“No Metro! That’s disgusting,” Pansy said, scrunching her cute features up in clear disgust.
“I can’t afford an Uber, Pansy!” she replied quietly, aware of all of the people passing them that were literally just leaving the office and heading towards the Metro after a busy day of votes in the House.
One of the many interesting features about life as a congressional staffer was the National Republican Club of Capitol Hill, also known as the Capitol Hill Club. It was directly across from the Capitol South Metro Station, which was where Hermione got off every day to walk to work.
Republican House Members had meetings there often, and it was also a place where many of them went to dinner after a day’s work. It was club GOP, and Hermione often wondered how much time Draco spent there. Not that she kept an eye out for him every morning and night. Not that she’d ever seen him walking there, either.
The Dem Club was in a far less convenient location at over three blocks from the Capitol complex, but it wasn’t like she was ever invited there anyways.
They walked up past the Metro stop, with Pansy insistently tugging in a motion that let Hermione know she wouldn’t be hopping on a train home.
She was also aware that she could run into her boss or coworkers at any moment; nowhere was safe.
“Girl, I’ve got it,” Pansy replied, much gentler than she normally was at Hermione’s honesty.
“You already paid for drinks and dinner, I can’t,” Hermione replied, feeling uncomfortable with the thought.
“That was like… cheaper than Mcdonald’s! My father would be offended at your insinuation that we can’t give our dates dinner, drinks and a ride home!”
Hermione let out a loud laugh at that, leaning towards Pansy. She hadn’t realized that they’d linked arms at some point, but they ran across the road without looking to get to the cab line outside of Capitol Hill Club on the opposite side of the street.
“Watch out!” a loud, male voice called loudly, and Pansy let out a yelp as a taxi making a left almost hit them on their jay-walking adventure.
“You ladies okay?” the same voice called once they were across the street.
Hermione looked up to see Theo and none other than his boss staring at them intently, still fully dressed in their suits. Looking extremely fit, but extremely sober. What did she look like to them?
“Oh, hi Theo!” Hermione replied, smiling widely. Alcohol was a hell of an influence, but she could hardly stop herself. She hadn’t seen Draco in far too long.
“Pretty cavalier for almost getting hit by a taxi, ladies,” Draco replied, a small smirk on his face.
“We live life on the edge,” Pansy replied, drawing a snort from Theo that seemed to take him by surprise.
“Theodore Nott,” the younger man said, staring at Hermione’s very pretty, rail thin friend.
“Pansy Parkinson,” the girl replied with a small smile that only grew when she saw recognition in his eyes at her last name.
“Would you two join me for a drink?” Theo asked, nodding at the unassuming building they were outside. The Capitol Hill Club.
The spacious sidewalk was empty besides the doorman and two USCP officers who were exiting the building with soft drinks in hand, clearly taking advantage of the cops drink for free policy. Republicans, man.
“I’d love to,” Pansy replied.
“Mr. M, are you heading out?” Theo asked, turning his professional lights back on when he remembered his boss was still there. Hermione noted that he didn’t call him Draco.
“No,” Draco replied slowly. “I’d love a drink.”
“Lovely,” Pansy replied, grabbing Hermione’s hand to show that she didn’t have a choice. The girl clearly assumed Hermione would say no; which was smart.
If anyone other than Draco Malfoy asked her for a drink, she would have.
The quartet headed up into the busy lounge area, taking a table at the far corner of the room.
“What do you think?” Draco asked, clearly amused at the way she observed the space and took note of who was there.
“It’s a bit twee,” Hermione replied honestly, drawing a loud, attention-grabbing laugh from Draco as he pulled a chair back and gestured for her to sit as though she knew how to do so. Did she push herself in? Did he?
Thankfully Draco pushed her chair in before sitting down next to her and didn’t say anything.
“It’s for the tourists and the old guard,” the man said quietly. “They like the feel of a gentlemen’s club.”
“Isn’t that what the GOP is trying to get away from? The idea that it’s a gentlemen’s club?”
“I’m working on it,” Draco replied with a wink.
While the overweight, middle-aged male waiter came over to take their orders, fawning over Draco with more familiarity than anyone had the right to, Hermione took notice of the eyes keenly focused on their table. Young women and old women alike were checking him out, even some men. It didn’t surprise her... honestly.
While Pansy was fishing for a little fish, these women were going for a figurative whale. A Malfoy.
“Paul is bringing water,” Draco murmured.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied, blushing as she realized she’d zoned out while he placed their order.
“Lost you for a moment,” he observed.
“I was just taking it all in.”
“You’re drunk,” he replied.
Hermione sat up, realizing how stupid she was being.
“I didn’t mean to,” she shrugged. Really? That’s what she said?
For whatever reason, Draco smirked.
“Face as cute as yours… you’re trouble, my girl.”
“Yours?” Hermione blurted out, “Oh, goodness… I need to shut up.”
“I’m enjoying this uninhibited Hermione, especially after you’ve evaded me for so long,” Draco shrugged. “A cherry on top of my shit day.”
“Why was it bad?” she replied before blushing. “If you want to share. And I didn’t evade you! You could’ve come to me.”
“Not gonna run and tell your boss the secrets of the other side?” Draco asked, eyebrows waggling. Hermione noted in her hazy mind that he ignored her accusation that he’d been avoiding her.
“Never,” Hermione replied, holding a pinky out without second thought. “Pinky promise.”
“Scratch that,” Draco replied as he locked pinkies with her. “Not just a cute face… you’re adorable, Hermione. Too dangerous for a man like me. How’d your daddy ever punish a girl as sweet as you?”
Hermione shook her head, blushing further and feeling her stomach curl at the soft praise and warning that she decided to ignore. What were expensive, shitty margaritas for if not to ignore her innate survival instincts?
“Tell me what happened today.”
“Water first,” Draco replied commandingly, pushing the glass closer to her now that it was on their table.
She pouted when she saw that Theo, Pansy and Draco all had different types of alcohol in their glasses. Theo and Pansy who were already making eyes at each other from across the table.
“Drink,” Draco repeated, watching appraisingly as Hermione gulped down ice water. “Good girl.”
Hermione couldn’t help but shiver at that, her tights-covered knees moving to touch Draco’s leg with the movement.
Draco let out a dramatic sigh, “Let’s see… My day started off with a partner workout at Orangetheory, which Reddit didn’t deem fit to warn me about,” Hermione stopped him with a giggle.
“What’s that even mean? Break down the rich person speak for me, please.”
“The Australian and Japanese Orangetheory-goers normally post workouts on the subreddit ahead of time, so I know when to cancel if the template’s something I don’t want to participate in,” Draco smirked. “But no one posted last night, and it figures that I had to do a partner workout with a guy who wanted to exchange high-fives everytime we switched off between the treadmill and rower.”
Hermione scrunched her nose, “Touching a random sweaty guy doesn’t sound fun.”
“No, it was not,” Draco replied. “I was in the office by nine as usual, but turns out someone bunged up my schedule and didn’t inform me that staff would be taking a meeting I specifically asked not to sit on in my office.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, I walked in the private door to my office so that I didn’t run into anyone in the main space, but it hardly mattered when my Leg Director already had a meeting going on there. Thankfully, Adrian’s a smart guy and took the meeting out into the hallway. I did have an extremely important call at 9:15, after all.”
Hermione giggled, “Is a prerequisite to public service becoming a proficient liar?”
Draco nodded solemnly, taking a sip of his dark-colored liquor. “When you deal with ladder climbing sycophants all day who would be more than happy to suck up an hour of your precious time with tales of their children and very boring business that I absolutely must visit, lying is a necessary skill. Anyways… turns out my whole day’s schedule was messed up.”
“Was it Marietta?” Hermione asked.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You know her?”
Hermione shrugged, trying to grasp onto the last vestiges of professionalism in the face of this man who made her feel so very at home.
“I met her when I came to your office. She wasn’t very nice.”
Draco smiled softly at her. Fondly. Possessively. It was an expression she’d need to unpack later, if she remembered it in the morning.
“No, she’s not, but isn’t that what schedulers are for? They’re gatekeepers… I need someone strong willed and headstrong. People get upset when a Malfoy tells them no,” Draco replied, trying to look unaffected.
Hermione had an idea. She also had drunken courage.
“Hire Pansy,” she replied.
“That Pansy?” Draco asked, eyes flicking towards the girl who was in a seemingly intense conversation with Theo.
“Yes! She just graduated and she’s looking for a job. She knows all of the same uppercrust people that you do… and she’s a bit mean. Surly, we’ll say.”
“And what? I’ll just fire Marietta?” Draco asked, grinning.
Hermione pouted playfully, “She was mean to me…”
“Can’t have that,” Draco murmured, eyes stuck on Hermione’s protruding lower lip.
Pansy caught the entire interaction with interest, and was grateful for the sake of both her friend and the Member of Congress that the only people who could see their clear flirting were her and Theo.
“This is a no from me,” Pansy said quietly, looking at Hermione and Draco bleeding Malfoy. “Is this a regular occurence?”
“Hermione? Never seen them interact. Other women? Could’ve told me Mr. M was asexual with how clean his paws are,” Theo replied. “He’s a good man.”
Pansy nodded. That was answer enough for her.
“We’ll be leaving,” Pansy replied with a soft smile. Theo Nott was the sort of dumb puppy with sharp teeth that she found herself so fond of. But tonight, she had a friend’s future to save.
“Can I have your number?” Theo replied, placing a large hand on Pansy’s forearm gently as she made to stand up.
“Of course,” she replied with an easy smile, typing it into his phone. “Text me.”
“On it, boss,” Theo winked. Pansy’s phone vibrated a second later.
“Hermione, we should get going,” Pansy cut in from across the small table.
Pansy wanted to groan at the earnestly dejected look on Hermione’s face. This town was going to eat the girl up and spit her out.
“Thanks for joining us, ma’am.” Draco smiled at Pansy, who only narrowed her eyes at him. She knew his type.
“Of course, Congressman,” Pansy smiled. “Tell your father that Poseidon Parkinson says hello; they went fishing together in St. Barts over Christmas.”
“I will,” Draco replied taking the name drop as the threat it was before grabbing his wallet and throwing a wad of bills down on the table. “Let me get you ladies into a cab.”
Hermione went to reject the chivalrous gesture automatically, but Pansy stepped in once she saw the other girl’s feminist instincts rear up. Her plebian friend had a lot of work ahead of her if she ever wanted to fit in with this crowd.
“We’d appreciate it,” Pansy replied, accepting Theo’s hand up from the table, but letting it go as soon as she was standing.
The quartet walked out, and Pansy was impressed by the way that the Congressman smiled to everyone who said hi, but did not stop for extended conversations. She respected a man who kept his promises.
“Are you going to the same place?” Draco asked as he held the door open for the group.
“Yes,” Pansy replied.
Theo looked at his boss before speaking, “Pansy, text me when you’re back safely so we know you made it.”
She was no idiot and noticed the relieved look on Draco’s face at hearing Theo would check in on them. Clearly, he still had some reservations about making moves on a young woman. Good. She could work with that.
“Of course,” she smiled. Theo simply squeezed her hand as a goodbye before opening the door to a cab parked in front of the Capitol Hill Club. “Hermione, get in.”
“Goodnight!” Hermione smiled happily, climbing into the cab and scooting over.
“This should cover your ride and breakfast,” Draco murmured, handing Pansy five $20s. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not enough?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Aren’t elected officials supposed to know how real people live? Like… shouldn’t you know the average cost of milk in your district?”
“A gallon of skim milk is $2.59. A dozen eggs is $2.21,” Draco replied automatically, winking at Pansy. “Goodnight, Miss Parkinson.”
“Night,” she replied with another eyeroll, moving her legs so he could shut the door. The fucker was good.
“Drive these girls like they were your own,” Draco warned the cab driver before thwacking the door shut.
“Yessir!” the man in front replied enthusiastically, nodding as he drove off.
“My sweet, innocent darling, come to Pansy,” Pansy murmured, running a hand over Hermione’s curls.
“Mmm, I’m so tired,” Hermione replied with a yawn.
“Is your awful roommate home?” Pansy asked, receiving a shrugging groan in return that solidified things. She’d never met Lavender, but the way Hermione, sweet Hermione, texted about her… she knew the girl deserved better. “What if you move in with me?”
“I can’t afford that, Pansy,” Hermione replied.
“I live alone in a fully renovated row home two blocks from the Capitol,” Pansy replied with an eyeroll, not that anyone could see it in the dark of the cab. “We’re moving your shit out this weekend and you’ll pay me $15 a month and provide me your company whenever I want it.”
“I can’t break my lease!” Hermione yelped.
“I know a guy,” Pansy shrugged.
“Rich people are wild,” Hermione noted through a yawn.
“Honey… you have no idea,” Pansy replied, thinking of just what was to come if her friend continued down the path she was clearly hurtling down.
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The sound of Hermione’s alarm, Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” playing softly. She spent most of college experimenting with different alarm sounds, and at the end of the day, the calming, familiar sound of the song took her out of her sleep the easiest.
Only this morning, there was no excitement for another day. Her head hurt. Her mouth was unusually dry. She groaned. What the hell?
“Rise and shine, buttercup,” a voice called raspily.
“Pansy… what? Oh no. No no no no.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, it was probably worse than you remember,” Pansy yawned, rolling over in Hermione’s small bed to snuggle against her back. “Only, this is DC and not New York or LA, so nothing that happened will end up anywhere in the news.”
“I don’t care about the news, Pansy! I am a tramp.”
Pansy laughed loudly, “You’re not a tramp. You were drunk, he’s hot. It’s fine… you’re hardly the ugliest or most desperate person to come onto him and anyways… he was clearly into it.”
“You- what?” Hermione asked in a quiet voice, turning over to ask Pansy, uncaring of her awful morning breath. “He was what?”
Pansy rolled her eyes, still unfairly pretty and dollike despite removing her makeup.
“He was picking up what you were putting down. How do you even know him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t told anyone,” Hermione replied, covering her face with her squishy reindeer pillow that she kept on her bed year round.
“Is there something to tell, sis?” Pansy asked, voice softer than Hermione had heard. She hated it, honestly. Pansy wasn’t supposed to be soft, that was too far out of the confines of their relationship.
Hermione shrugged. “I’m the smart, bookish one… this is a bit outside of my areas of expertise.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Pansy replied. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Everything.”
So Hermione got ready for work and told her. Lavender, thankfully, was gone for the night doing whatever she did on Tuesday nights.
“You’re going to just go about your life like everything’s normal and you’ve never met Draco Malfoy,” Pansy said after a moment of what looked to be deep thought.
“I just need you to trust me, Hermione… the moment things turn sour, he will blame you. Even if that means ruining your career, it will mean nothing to him if it salvages his own reputation. So you’re going to live your life like a good little staff assistant and wait for him to come to you. If he does, he’s an idiot, honestly, but it means he’s truly interested. A Malfoy wouldn’t go after something so politically damaging if he wasn’t.”
“So you’re saying I can’t go apologize for the way I acted last night?” Hermione asked as she brushed on mascara, cheeks blushing as she remembered the way she pouted like some… silly girl flirting with their much older boyfriend.
“Absolutely not,” Pansy replied, ice in her tone. “I’m serious. You don’t talk to him. You wait for him to talk to you and then we assess next steps. And you don’t need to apologize for being tipsy; it’s not like you went down on him in a crowded room.”
Hermione threw her brush at Pansy, drawing a squal from the girl.
“And… if he doesn’t talk to me?” Hermione asked quietly, lips quirking to the side in distaste.
“Then you’re all the better for it. Seriously. Find yourself another rich republican if you must, but one who’s not twice your age and a member of a family who’d literally murder you if you caused their last name any harm.
Hermione let out a laugh, “He wouldn’t kill me.”
“He might not, but his dad and grandfather would,” Pansy replied, no hint of laughter in her voice.
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“I never want to move again,” Pansy groaned, laying her head down on Hermione’s lap.
“Same,” Hermione sighed. “I moved in with only the fronk desk guy to help, but somehow this seemed much worse, even with people whose job it is to move.”
“It was the elevators,” Pansy replied. “Remind me to never live in an apartment again.”
“Seems like you’re set,” Hermione laughed. “Do you even pay rent here?”
Pansy snorted, “No. My great grandfather bought this back in the 1930s. Imagine being rich during the Great Depression, you could buy whatever you want.”
“Lucky him.”
Pansy reached a lazy hand up to pat Hermione’s hair. “Lucky him indeed.”
Hermione’s phone pinged, and she groaned.
“Who is it?” Pansy asked.
“Harry again,” she murmured.
“Ew,” Pansy replied. “Is he finally done going to house parties in Columbia Heights and making time for you?”
“Yeah, he wants to get dinner tomorrow.”
Her boss’ son was a friend, but also someone she knew saw her in a very transactional light. She’s first met Harry, a fellow freshman, on the University of Washington’s campus. He was making very loud, frustrated noises as he scanned the shelves in her preferred section of the library. So loudly that she stopped to ask if he needed help; he did.
And things went on from there, honestly. Harry was fun, if a bit rambunctious and uncommitted to anything that wasn’t weed and sex.
He was offended when Hermione hadn’t mentioned that she’d applied for an internship in his dad’s office, but she wasn’t going to use him like that. She knew what it was like to be used, and was honestly nervous that the phrase “Harry’s friend” would be more of a mark against her than anything else.
But her ruse was destroyed two weeks into her internship when Harry walked in with his mother, pulling Hermione out of her seat and hugging her. She’d tried to keep it private.
Thankfully, though, Rep. Potter and Mrs. Potter knew who their son was, and were grateful that he had a headstrong, intelligent, studious friend like Hermione. Their words. Not that that meant much at the end of the day.
So now he was in DC fulltime, attending Georgetown Law come fall. Hermione didn’t really know what he’d do with his degree, but that wasn’t her problem.
“Have fun with him,” Pansy replied, sounding like she wanted Hermione to do anything but.
Much to Hermione’s dismay, Harry and Pansy had slept together after a birthday party for one of their fellow Hill interns on a weekend when Harry was visiting DC.
Pansy and Hermione had been put in a group with four other very weird, standoffish people during their first week as interns during their mandatory Capitol tour training. Pansy had been an intern for Senate Majority Whip Tom Riddle who was a friend of her father’s. The man was gorgeous, yet terrifying, and Hermione was certain he had many skeletons in his closet. He definitely seemed like a lowkey mass murderer.
It was easy to tell Pansy was a republican at first glance, from her perfectly straight hair that looked like it hadn’t seen the day’s 90 degree heat and her sky blue Ted Baker dress that was tied together with a perfectly loopy bow. The girl’s intern badge was nowhere to be found, despite being told they needed to wear them; Hermione had asked, of course, and Pansy smiled back and said the orange badge clashed with her outfit. Despite it all, they were fast friends.
So Pansy slept with Harry, and Harry couldn’t get enough of her after this encounter, much to the girl’s dismay.
Hermione had been carefully skirting the fact that she was now living with Pansy, unsure of whether or not Harry’s crush had dissipated a year later. But now that he was officially in DC ahead of the fall semester at Georgetown Law, she knew it was only a matter of time before he asked about her living arrangement.
“You know what freaks me out every time I think about it?” Hermione asked, not waiting for a reply. “That Harry was so repulsive to you that you wouldn’t even consider being in a loveless marriage with him. Don’t you know how rich he is? What did he do to you?”
Pansy let out a bark of laughter, “You don’t even want to know, Hermione.”
Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes as she placed a consoling pat on Pansy’s head. She really didn’t.
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Hermione felt the first two weeks she lived with Pansy feeling guilty over not paying rent, but that dissipated quickly when she realized it meant she could purchase $6 frappuccinos from Starbucks without guilt.
She’d just plucked up her mobile order on the walk to work and was heading back to the street when a hand rested on her shoulder.
“Hermione,” Draco smiled, looking pleasantly surprised to see her.
“Congressman,” she replied. It’d been three weeks since the incident at the Capitol Hill Club, and her hackles were fully raised once again. Why did he appear out of nowhere? Was DC truly that small?
“Wait for me,” he directed, turning to charm the baristas who all let out squeals when they saw who’d walked up to the counter. Figured.
“Heading to work this early?” Draco asked when he had his iced coffee in hand.
“I am,” she replied.
“Is something the matter?” the man asked lightly.
“No,” Hermione replied, throat feeling particularly dry. She was unwilling to sip her drink, even through her metal straw and chance making herself look dumb in front of Draco.
“I sense that something is off,” Draco replied. “If you don’t want to speak with me, just say the word and it’ll be like we’ve never met. But if you’ll let me, I’d love to say my piece before you go back to ignoring me.”
Hermione turned to look up at him. He was 6’3 according to every fawning article she’d ever read about him, and she was 5’2. Her body heated up when she thought about how much taller and broader than her he was.
“Okay,” Hermione agreed, voice tentative. “That sounds reasonable.”
She didn’t know what she expected him to say on the streets of DC, but this was not it.
“Give me your phone. I’ll text you details for dinner this weekend.”
“You… what?”
“I already told you, Hermione,” he said slowly, as though he were trying to remain patient with an unruly toddler. “I’d like to say my piece, and you can expect to be thoroughly wined and dined while I do so.”
Hermioned couldn’t help but smile back when she saw the smug smirk on his handsome face. She handed her phone over to him, entranced by the way his long fingers stroked over the touchscreen.
“This is where I leave you,” Draco sighed, nodding towards the Capitol Hill Club. “Have a good day, doll. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye, Draco,” Hermione replied, receiving an amused, raised eyebrow in return. They were back to Draco.
“Oh, and Hermione?” he called out before taking a few long strides and ending up right back in front of her. “Is Miss Parkinson looking for a job?”
“As much as you can consider her looking for a job,” Hermione laughed.
“I have it on good word that Draco Malfoy’s scheduling position is going to open up soon… something about his current staffer being mean to sweet girls who stop by the office.”
He winked and walked away, leaving Hermione breathless.
What. The. Hell.
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“How did I not know he lived two blocks from us?” Pansy asked before whacking Hermione’s hand. “Stop moving! You’re going to fuck it up.”
“I didn’t know either,” Hermione replied through grit teeth. Why did Pansy keep talking to her if she wasn’t supposed to be moving.
“Inviting you to his home for a first date, that’s so bold. You are screwed.”
“Not a date,” Hermione sighed. How many times had she told Pansy over the past four days that this wasn’t a date?
“A dinner between two consenting adults so that the sexy older congressman can share his honest feelings about the sweet and beautiful 21-year-old in the privacy of his own home that also conveniently boasts his bedroom. That’s a date.”
Bitch.
Hermione didn’t deign Pansy with a reply.
“You look hot.”
“These underwear… I don’t think they’re necessary,” Hermione replied, thinking about the lace thong that was currently riding up her nether regions.
“Oh, yes they are! Stop fidgeting, your mascara is still drying. You look hot. Dead sexy, even. Your bra is sexy, your panties are sexy, you are sexy. He won’t even be able to focus on whatever downhome lasagna’s broiling in his oven when you walk in.”
“Thanks, Pans,” Hermione smiled. She’d never been called sexy before.
She looked at herself in the mirror of Pansy’s en suite bathroom. Pansy wasn’t lying; she looked good. Natural, but enhanced, which was exactly what Hermione wanted. She didn’t want to look like a little girl, but she didn’t want to look Draco’s age either. That was part of the appeal, right? Pretty young girl. That, she could pull off.
Her dark green dress was tight across her chest, waist and butt before it flared out at her thighs. The dress’ fabric went up to her neck and had short cap sleeves, covering her modestly on top.
Pansy had always told her a woman could display her butt or boobs but not both, so Hermione was confident with the classiness of the look they’d picked up at Nordstrom out in Virginia. It’d required her faking a 5pm doctor’s appointment so that she could leave work early on a session day, something she’d never done, but it was worth it now that she looked in the mirror and saw how she looked. Pretty.
“Let’s go,” Pansy said, grabbing her car keys.
“It’s a four minute walk,” Hermione replied with an eye roll.
“Four minutes of walking with tripping hazards and trash everywhere. You’re not walking in those shoes,” Pansy replied.
Hermione had been amazed at the strappy nude block heels Pansy had found for sale at Macy’s, but loved the way they looked enough to buy them. After flatout refusing to pay for a mani pedi, she’d undergone the torture of Pansy painting her nails herself and complaining about her cuticles. Still, with an extra $100 in her pocket, she couldn’t complain.
“Here we are,” Pansy exclaimed as she pulled up to the cream rowhome with bright blue steps that allegedly belonged to Draco. “Ask him why he doesn’t live in Kalorama with his parents, okay?”
“Yes, Pansy, that’s top of mind.”
“Love you,” Pansy replied, patting a professionally manicured hand on Hermione’s forearm. “If I don’t hear from you by eleven I’m knocking down his door.”
“Love you too, I’ll be fine.”
Pansy, like the mother hen she was, didn’t drive off until Draco opened the door and let her inside.
“Welcome,” Draco said in a theatrical tone, guiding her into his gorgeous home.
Without shame, the girls had stalked the 4 bedroom 5 bathroom rowhouse on Redfin and Zillow, discovering that he’d bought it for the low price of $2.45 million when he was 22. Who had that sort of money at 22?
“Oh wow, this is gorgeous,” Hermione breathed, keeping the fact that it looked much better than what were clearly pre-renovation photos that she saw online.
The house was airy and light, with large windows throughout. It was a corner unit, meaning he had three walls that boasted windows rather than two, like most rowhomes.
The floors were a dark brown wood, and everything came together perfectly, like an aesthetic chef’s kiss. It was clear that Draco had worked alongside whoever decorated his home to give it a feel that just screamed… him.
“Thank you,” Draco replied, sounding genuinely pleased that she liked it and not like a man who responded in the tone of someone who’d heard the compliment a million times before. Which he definitely had.
“This is yours?”
“It is,” Draco confirmed. Hermione saw that he was in socks, which did something to her, the casualness of it all, and bent down to take off her heels as gracefully as one could. “Bought it before law school.”
“Must be nice,” Hermione smiled playfully. “I’m sure it was a steal.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Draco laughed. “Even with the renovations that were needed, it was not cheap, but it’s home.”
“More than North Carolina?”
“No,” Draco replied immediately. “North Carolina is always going to be home, but with the line of work I’m in, having a place to call mine that I can return to in DC is needed.”
“Weren’t keen to bunk with your parents?” Hermione asked with a giggle as Draco guided her into a warm, window-filled kitchen. The room was even brighter due to its white cabinets and dark gray granite countertops. Hermione looked at the state-of-the-art kitche appliances and his sleek, matte black Kitchenaid with longing in her eyes. If only.
Pansy’s kitchen was gorgeous, but the girl had no pots or pans as she didn’t cook. Hermione’s were cheap, all from TJ Maxx and Target, and she knew how much better her food would be if she had the Le Creuset cast ironware that Draco seemed to use as decorations in his kitchen.
“Absolutely not,” Draco replied. “They’re lovely, truly, but I don’t know what it’d say about me if I stayed with them. Thankfully they’re not too far, and their main home in North Carolina is in Charlotte.”
Hermione felt the weight of separation from him in that moment; what kind of person was this, talking casually about having multiple residences?
“Would you like a drink?” Draco asked. “I’m no cook, but ordered my favorite homey meal in hopes that makes up for it.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking,” Hermione replied automatically. “Not a cook? With a kitchen like this?”
“Unfortunately not,” Draco replied. “My mother says it’s the one area that I failed her in, never learning to cook. Do you enjoy it?”
Hermione smiled, “I do. It’s… comforting to me, but I don’t have as much time as I’d like to spend in the kitchen.”
Or money to spend on ingredients or kitchenware, she kept to herself.
“How’d you start cooking? With your family?” Draco asked, pouring her a glass of what was clearly an expensive white after opening the bottle.
She blushed a bit, warring with herself on whether or not to tell the story. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”
Draco looked up with interest as he slid the glass across the table, making himself comfortable from where he stood at the kitchen island while Hermione sat on one of the leather bar top stools.
“I’m all ears.”
“Well,” Hermione started. “I was always a good student, but my eighth grade English teacher gave me a B+ my first quarter. When my parents called a meeting with her, she told them that my creativity was lacking, and that having good grammar and grasp of material wasn’t the be all and end all in a writing class.
“She suggested taking some sort of creative classes to get me thinking outside of the box. I’d already tried dancing when I was little, and that was a catastrophe, so I was placed in a beginner’s cooking class and loved it.”
“Do you feel more creative?” Draco asked.
“That’s a good question… I’d say I am more receptive to nuance now, but I’m still more logical than creative.”
“Me as well,” Draco agreed. “I’m surprised a teacher marked you down for the way your mind works; doesn’t sound very nurturing to me. Aren’t we supposed to be nice to middle schoolers?”
Hermione let out a laugh, “I may have let it slip to the principal that she’d marked me down for not fitting in her neat little box of a successful student at one of my Girl Scout meetings.”
Draco smiled, “You got your A?”
“I got my A,” Hermione nodded, taking a sip of wine and looking up at Draco.
The man was dressed in charcoal colored trousers that were tight on his legs in a way that was bordering on indecent. His white button down was tucked into his pants as usual, but it was rolled up to his forearms. He was as casual as she’d ever seen him, and it had her curious just how many people got to see him like this. And what, exactly, did ‘this’ mean? What was Draco like in the safety of his own home, where he professed he felt most comfortable?
“I’m glad you’re here,” Draco said in the comfortable silence of the room, gripping the counter with his free hand.
Hermione nodded, fingering the stem of her wine glass.
The doorbell rang before she could reply.
“One moment,” Draco replied. She heard him make conversation with who she assumed was the delivery person before coming back with three bags of food.
Her eyes were wide as he ripped open the paper bags and started opening up the styrofoam boxes. How much food did he order?
“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a bit of everything,” he replied with a smile. As though that was normal; as though a 21-year-old girl was used to dates who cared enough about her to order more than pizza, let alone purchase the whole menu.
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“It’s called Chloe, down in Navy Yard,” Draco explained, unboxing the most roasted chicken she’d ever seen. The meat was resting on a bed of fluffy white rice with greens and three little plastic cups of something she couldn’t see. “There are flashier restaurants, but the chef is always in the kitchen and takes care of me. I could honestly eat this chicken every day for the rest of my life.”
“What’s in the cups?” Hermione asked, getting a smile in return.
“Only the best part of the meal,” Draco smiled. “It’s a chili-lime dipping sauce, I always ask for more, so it looks like they loaded us up.”
“Everything looks incredible,” Hermione sighed a moment later as she sat down at the table after Draco pulled her chair back. “Thank you, Draco.”
“Anything for you,” he replied with an earnest intensity that she didn’t know what to do with. “Take whatever you want.”
“A little of everything,” Hermione laughed, plating up a bit of the small plates and then a generous portion of the chicken. Draco had sliced it perfectly, which had her feeling he was more than a bit modest about his abilities to cook. “Oh, my goodness. This is amazing, Draco!”
“I’m pleased you like it,” he replied. The man had sat himself at the head of the 8-seat table and placed her to his left, and he was close enough that she could feel him. “DC has such a unique restaurant scene. For all the talk of New York, I have to say I’ve never had a truly bad meal here.”
“You haven’t been to Tortilla Coast then,” Hermione laughed.
Draco rolled his eyes, “Silly girl, no one escapes DC alive without having visited Tortilla Coast. My staffers are lucky enough to have a boss who takes them to Capital Grille for any office meals, though.”
“Perks of being independently wealthy, I guess,” Hermione shrugged off the man’s subtle flex of taking his entire DC team to a steakhouse for meals.
“Can’t say you’re wrong,” Draco winked. “James a Tortilla Coast guy?”
Hermione shook her head, “No, but close. We, the Pizza.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Figures. I’d rather have Domino’s than that garbage.”
Her eyes lit up, “Me too! I thought I was going to be exiled by my colleagues when I said so. At least Domino’s has a flavorful crust, I feel like I’m eating a tire when I try to bite into We, the Pizza’s crust! That’s the worst part of DC, paying for awful meals just so you’re included.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whenever my colleagues go out after work, I end up spending an obscene amount of money on food I didn’t eat and alcohol I didn’t drink because they want to split the tab evenly.”
“Why do you go?”
“So I’m not left out,” Hermione shrugged, feeling slightly vulnerable as she stabbed a piece of cauliflower on her fork. “I know it’s worth it in the long run, but my wallet feels differently.”
“That’s tough, sweet girl. Especially on the salary I know you receive,” Draco replied.
“It’s fine,” Hermione smiled, shrugging. She didn’t come over to complain about her life to Draco, who was someone’s boss. Someone who probably made the same salary she did.
“It’s not,” he replied. “I’m all for reducing the deficit, but when we pay the people who do the real work of our government like dirt, we all suffer.”
“Thank you, I appreciate the acknowledgement. Hopefully they’ll see how hard I work on the unofficial side throughout the election and give me a pay bump.”
“You’ll be working on Potter’s reelection?”
Hermione nodded, “I am, I’ll be his body person for the final two weeks before the election. He doesn’t really need to campaign for himself, as you know, but they’re hoping to flip the 8th district.”
Draco nodded, not replying with his thoughts. That’s a line he doesn’t want to cross, Hermione observed. She could respect that.
“What will your campaign look like?”
“Breezy. Thankfully, the Democrats didn’t even put up an opponent this year.”
“They just gave up?”
“The state party said there was a paperwork mishap, but… between you and I, I think so.”
“Congratulations, that’s incredible!” Hermione smiled, almost forgetting that she was cheering for a candidate of the opposing party who held a seat that had previously been held by Democrats for many years.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Draco replied, eyes quickly darting to Hermione’s after the endearment slipped out to gage her reaction. He sat up straighter in his seat after noticing the way the girl breathed in shakily, cheeks turning pink. “Midterm elections are far easier than presidential years, which I’m thankful for. But my father is up for reelection, so I’ll join him for some events across the state. ”
“I’m sure people love that,” Hermione smiled to herself, thinking of the thirst she’d seen on the internet for the three Malfoy men.
Draco laughed, rolling his eyes. “You have no idea. They charge $15,000 for a photo with father, grandfather and I at most of our fundraisers, and they sell out in minutes.”
“That’s worse than what girls pay to meet boybands,” Hermione replied with furrowed brows. “I’m disturbed.”
“Widowed rich women are a force to be reckoned with,” Draco replied.
Hermione just shivered at the thought.
They finished up dinner with quiet conversation, and Hermione felt butterflies erupt in her stomach as she folded up her napkin and placed it on her now clear plate.
“That was delicious,” she smiled. “Thank you so much, Draco.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Would you care to join me for another drink?”
“I’d love to,” Hermione replied, feeling like a woman and not a 21-year-old girl.
Draco led her into what he called the family room, which she was pleased to see looked lived in and well-loved. There was a large, comfortable leather sectional with a fuzzy white throw blanket artfully tossed over it and a huge television. What truly caught her attention, though, were the books that lined the built-in shelves on the back walls.
“You can look later, if you’d like,” Draco murmured lowly, sitting on the couch at the corner of the couch’s ‘L.’ He patted the spot to his right, and Hermione sat down closer to him than she would’ve liked.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Personal libraries can show you a lot about someone.”
“You’ll have to see my collection back in Charlotte, that’s where most of my favorites are. These are mostly duplicates and books I’ve received from authors out here, nothing special.”
Draco sighed, running a hand through his blond hair.
“I’m… not going to lie, Hermione, I haven’t done this before. So please take me at my word when I tell you I’m not going to blame you if you leave at any point. All I ask is for your discretion.”
Hermione nodded, not wanting to interrupt him as he got the ball rolling on a conversation she’d been dreading and anticipating for what felt like months now.
“Can you look at me while I speak to you?” Draco asked, authority oozing through his tone. Hermione’s eyes flicked up towards his. “Good girl. Do you understand that your consent matters to me? That this isn’t a one way street?”
“I do,” Hermione nodded. “When you say you’re not going to blame me, what does that mean?”
“It means that I’m not going to blame you,” he replied, reaching a hand towards her before pulling it back. “I… am a man who knows what he wants, but I was raised with the understanding of how a lady should be treated. Your consent can be revoked at any point; whether because you find a boy your own age or can’t handle the extraneous factors that come with me being who I am.”
“How are you so sure of who I am and our compatibility?”
“The day we met… I laid in my bed tossing and turning as I thought about the way Flint made you cry. I was so angry with him, with myself, thinking that I could’ve followed you and made sure you were okay. A precious thing like you crying; and then you disappeared. You’d said it was your last day, but the thought of you had me sick every time you came to mind. Then you were in my office a few months later; I thought I was seeing things. You came to me… and you were even better than I’d built you up to be in my head.”
“You remember that?” Hermione asked shyly, feeling so far removed from the teary girl on the elevator.
“How could I forget?” Draco asked seriously, reaching out for her hand. This time he took it, his large hand dwarfing her own. “Pretty little thing in a bright purple dress and gray blazer? The awful sight of tears in those pretty caramel eyes… You were living rent free in my head until I saw you again.”
“It was embarrassing,” Hermione mumbled, running a hand over her hot face.
“I could’ve killed Flint,” Draco replied, voice tight like it’d happened yesterday and not a year ago.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she giggled despite herself and giving his hand a squeeze. A thumb brushed over the back of her hand, comforting. Warm. Possessive.
“If only House terms were six years like the Senate, I could probably kill him the day after the election and get reelected by over 40 points.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Is that all that matters?”
“No,” Draco replied. “But it matters. Your career matters too… we’ll need to be discreet. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Hermione replied.
“I’m a selfish man,” Draco murmured, removing his hand from Hermione’s to run it along her cheek. “I’m asking you to give up your best years for me, but I’ll make it worth it for you. I’ll treat you the way a boy couldn’t. Okay?”
Hermione had no idea what that meant, but turned her head at the insistent prodding of Draco’s hand on her jaw.
“Okay.”
His pillowy lips met hers softly, so soft that she was helpless but to sigh into his mouth. There were no sparks, but there was a deep contentment that soaked into her bones as if to say ‘stay here, right here and don’t leave.’ He felt like home, as much as an almost-stranger could.
Hermione was a well-read student of sexual education, but she wasn’t well-practiced. She’d never been sought after, not in the way boys flocked after someone like Pansy.
Boys would pick her first for group projects, certainly, but for dates? Dances? Fraternity formals? Never.
The only fraternity formal she’d gone to had been her sophomore year of college, and she had ended up paying $45 to get an Uber back to campus after her date tried to drag her into the men’s restroom and called her an ugly prude when she turned him down. So no, this was not something she was used to.
Pansy had been serious when they discussed her lack of sexual experience, telling her she very much thought Draco was a man who’d get off on her innocence. Hermione didn’t know how to take that, both as a sexually inexperienced woman and a person who found that concept rather chauvinistic.
Not liking the angle they were kissing at, Hermione scooted closer to him, letting out a noise of surprise as he dragged her sideways onto his lap. The position was much better, to his credit, allowing her to press her chest against his and run a hand through his blond locks for the first time. They were softer than she’d imagined, something that had her smiling into the kiss.
He kissed down her jaw until he reached her throat, and the noise of his kisses and her pants filled the room until his mouth was back on her own. His kisses were passionate in a way that had her floundering; how did she stop the path they were on? Would he be offended? As though he could read her mind, Draco pulled back.
“Perfect girl,” Draco murmured, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her close to him on his lap as though she were a precious toy. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” Hermione confirmed, resting her head on his chest.
“Good,” Draco replied, sounding relieved. He pressed a kiss to the top of her curls, like he couldn’t help himself. “We should get you home… what are your plans this weekend?”
“Pansy’s dragging me to yoga tomorrow morning, then Eastern Market. Not much outside of that and church on Sunday.”
“My church girl,” Hermione could tell he was smiling as he said it without even seeing his face.
“Is that… a thing for you?” she asked.
“A thing?” he repeated.
“Like, you know… a sex thing,” Hermione replied, pressing her face into his chest.
Draco’s laugh was loud and beautiful.
“Not a sex thing, sweetheart. A shared faith in any relationship I have is important to me. It was just another pleasant surprise when I’d met you.”
“Because I’m a liberal?” she asked with a scoff, pulling away from his chest.
“No, because most ladies aren’t brave enough to wear their cross around their neck. I like that you are.” he reached down to finger her cross reverently, and she tried not to squirm on his lap knowing that his hands were so close to her breasts.
“Thank you,” she smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest without thinking. As though they’d been dating for years. “Where do you go to church when you’re here? Capitol Hill Baptist?”
Draco laughed, “Got it in one. That predictable?”
Hermione nodded, thinking of the church; it was a typical baptist church that had services lasting almost three hours each week. She’d attended once as an intern, but didn’t feel that it was the right church for her.
“What about you? Let me guess… Grace DC? District Church?”
“Very impressive! District Church.”
“My darling, bleeding liberal, what am I going to do with you?” Draco asked playfully before tickling her. She let out a surprised laugh at the teasing motion, sucking in deep breaths when he finally stopped his assault.
“Take me or leave me,” Hermione shrugged.
“I’ll take you,” Draco replied immediately, loving the laugh he got in return. “Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night? You could put my kitchen to use, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love to,” Hermione smiled. “What kind of foods do you like?”
“Anything, really.”
“That’s not true,” Hermione replied with the shake of her head. “People who say they like anything always have a but behind it.”
“Anything, but I’m not a huge fan of curry, cream-based soups or squash. Or ranch.”
“Ranch?” Hermione asked.
“You asked what I don’t like, I told you what I don’t like.”
“Okay, no ranch, no squash soup.” Hermione let out a laugh. “Pansy… she bet me $20 that you’d be making lasagna tonight.”
“Lasagna? Lasagna? That’s not even southern. She could’ve at least guessed barbeque or fried chicken.”
“I’ll make something good,” Hermione smiled. “If you let me use your Kitchenaid, I’ll even make dessert.”
“Kitchena- oh… the big waste of counter space,” Draco replied. “Mother insisted that I needed it, but I haven’t touched it.”
“I want to cry just hearing that,” Hermione groaned.
They were quiet for a minute, both of them realizing that they needed to end their time together before they crossed a line they weren’t ready to cross.
There was power in intimacy, Hermione knew, but stretching a new relationship too quickly would cause it to snap back right in her face.
“Do you need a ride?” Draco asked.
“No, I live close enough to walk,” Hermione replied.
“I’ll come with you,” Draco said, standing up with Hermione still bundled on his lap and placing her carefully on the ground.
She blushed at the way he watched her fix the bottom of her dress, his eyes possessive and hungry as they roved her body.
“That’s okay, it’s really not far.”
“Hermione,” Draco chastised in a steely voice. “You’ll let me walk you home. Your safety is important to me.”
“Okay,” she smiled weakly.
“Do you have a taser or pepper spray?” he asked as they walked back towards the front door.
“No need,” she shook her head. “I’ve always felt relatively safe in the city, surprisingly.”
Draco let out a groan, “You… does your father know?”
She snorted, “My father doesn’t know that I moved across the city this month, let alone whether or not I have self defense items in my purse.”
Draco frowned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You don’t… thank you,” Hermione changed what she was going to say at the reprimanding look from Draco. Why did that look make her feel so warm?
“Your protests to being pampered are sweet, but futile,” he promised.
Hermione just rolled her eyes as they stepped out of the house and down the stairs.
“I didn’t realize you lived so close,” he said as Hermione shared her address.
“I just moved in with Pansy. My roommate was a nightmare, and she was living alone, so… it made sense.”
“Does Pansy still want a job?”
“You asked that a few days ago… are you actually going to fire Marietta?”
“You sound far too pleased about that possibility,” Draco smirked, face illuminated by the streetlights.
“She’s… sour. Would I strengthen my case if I shared the nasty, haughty emails she sends around on the tour coordinators listserv when she doesn’t even coordinate tours for your office?”
Draco let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “The case is already made and my chief and I are sitting down with her this week, but please send me these emails. [email protected].”
“Easy enough to remember,” she replied sarcastically.
Draco walked her all the way up to the door of her light purple row home, making her feel like she was experiencing the magical end of a first date that her adolescence was bereft of.
“I’ve definitely been here,” he said, looking up at the house.
“Not surprising, I know Pansy’s family runs in your circles.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Draco smiled, eyes darting out towards the street as though nosy neighbors would watch them together and know exactly who he was. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”
“Everything was lovely, the food, the wine, you…” Hermione blushed, and Draco had to press a kiss to her lips at the girl’s praise.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, don’t break a hip at yoga.”
“Jury’s still out on that one,” she groaned, opening the door.
“Wait,” Draco said as she moved to go inside, pulling out his wallet. “For dinner.”
“No, you don’t…” Hermione shut up at the look on his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re learning. Good girl,” he smiled, pressing a final kiss to her lips.
It was only when Hermione got inside, where Pansy was waiting with a large glass of wine that she looked down and realized that she was holding $200 in her hands.