Chapter 7
Diagon Alley was one of Hermione’s favorite places on earth, but she didn’t visit as often as she would like due to work. There was a part of her that believed if she visited too often, it would lose its “spark”, and she couldn’t bear the thought of something else she loved fading away. She was excited for the weekend, because she would be visiting with a clear purpose in mind: potion making supplies. She was glad there were multiple shops to choose from, and that she had a few items on hand already, because she didn’t want any rumours going around about what she was buying - it would lead to assumptions about what she was making. Witches liked to talk, especially in the close-knit wizarding community.
Hermione had pure intentions. Well, maybe not pure and wholesome, but they were honest. She was gathering supplies for making the Amortentia potion because she wanted to know what Malfoy was attracted to the most. No, she was absolutely not going to be serving it nor consuming it; it was merely its side effect she was after. She was also curious to know what she would smell after all this time - it definitely wasn’t scents to do with Ron anymore. This was incredibly bold of her, since she was playing under the impression Malfoy wouldn’t be jarred at suddenly smelling his favorite scents and call her out on her little game. A part of Hermione was thrilled at the risk involved. If she was correct, the reward would be worth it.
Saturday morning saw Hermione dressed in a long grey wool cloak with a burgundy scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. It was cloudy and chilly, but she was grateful the rain was keeping at bay. Her first stop was a coffee to warm up and keep her alert. It was always a special treat, because she would take the mug with her and when she was finished, it would transfigure to have wings and was charmed to find its way back to the shop. Magic still fascinated her, even after all this time.
After grabbing her coffee, she idly wandered down the street and peered into shop windows to see what was new. She spotted Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and her heart gave a pang; she wanted to see George but didn’t want a run in with Ron. He knew how infrequently she visits and would ask her about why she was here on a cold Saturday. He would see right through her vagueness, and she hated when he got suspicious. She never really got over the time when he left her and Harry alone to figure the horcruxes out. Besides, the whole emotional attachment to the shop was too distracting right now. She wanted to move on, and move forward with life.
She popped into a book shop, then a potion supply shop, then another book shop, then another potion supply shop, and lastly a small clothing shop she had occasionally browsed in. She was seeking out something in particular, and she thought she had seen something once before that she would never have considered then, but would be perfect now. It was easy enough for the shopkeepers to change the colour of clothing they had in stock, but for the average person like Hermione, it could end up funky very quickly. Once, Hermione had watched a robe turn from black to brown by request, so she went home and tried to replicate the same spell she had seen performed. Luckily, she didn’t much care for the item that she chose, because her white shirt turned to a strange, off putting yellow and the texture became very rough. Hermione may be the brightest witch of her age, but she clearly didn’t have a knack for changing the colours of clothing.
The stars aligned as Hermione went through the shop, and in one of the displays was the perfect set of clothes she was looking for. She asked the shopkeeper to get them in her size and to change them to a dark forest green. As much as she wanted to say “Slytherin green”, she wasn’t going to admit that to a stranger. People cared less and less about the Golden Trio as time wore on, but it had still made the news when she was transferred to Magical Law. So what? She supposed it gave people more hope that the “brightest witch” was on the case, but her coworkers were every bit as adept to do the job as she was. She knew better than to take publicity risks for things she wasn’t ready to own up to.
Hermione made it home in time for cream tea - not that she needed any more caffeine - but it was her Saturday ritual when her weekends were her own. She unpacked her bags as the kettle was heating, and laid out her new purchases. She had bought random amounts of her potion ingredients so it wasn’t obvious she was making one batch of Amortentia. Thinking back, it was shocking that they learned to brew such a powerful love potion in sixth year, but the potion was etched into her mind because Harry had made the perfect brew. Eventually he had told her what he had done differently, thanks to that bloody book, and she hadn’t forgotten. It was a quick enough potion to make, and she would put it together tomorrow so it would be as fresh and potent smelling as possible. But as for her other purchases...
Hermione’s eyes skimmed over her new books and went straight to her clothing. Deep green, Slytherin green. A fancy, silky blouse that caught the light beautifully, and a high waisted, knee length, pleated wool skirt. She already saw herself wearing her hair down, with her beige cowl neck sweater, and her new skirt on Monday. They may only be mid way through November, but it wasn’t too early to start dressing wintry, was it? Hermione already wanted nothing more than to wear that cozy outfit with her tall black boots, carrying around the delight of strongly brewed Amortentia to bewitch the most downtrodden witch or wizard she passed. Was she relating more to Aphrodite now? How the seasons made her change...
Hermione envisioned herself in Malfoy’s arms once more, waltzing around the room like they were the only two people in the world that could dance, and the gods were shining down favor upon them. She didn’t remember how her feet moved, because it felt like her heart was in charge of leading her body, and he was the structure to which she was anchored to - lest her heart make her grow wings and fly her away. And yet he was half of the reason she felt so high, and felt like she could fly. She wished his arms could wrap around her waist once more, be it in her new clothes or burgundy gown or nothing at all; she longed for him to sweep her off her feet. The ache was in knowing what he was capable of, but did not have the courage to do. Somehow, he had already done more for her than Ron had done in the last 3 years. Hope was a powerful thing, and Hermione finally had an abundance of it.
As she was pondering her fantasy, the sun came out for the first time that day. She could see the steam rising from her cuppa, and thought of the potion she would be brewing tomorrow. Her stomach churned in excitement. Life was good.
***
Hermione packed a small cauldron in her work bag along with a medium sized vial of her potion. Like the week before, she arrived a full half hour early to get properly set up for Malfoy to spend time in her office. Together. Alone, in her space. The thought of being even closer to him warmed her on the chilly November day. She lit her cauldron and hid it down the side of her desk, and also lit a nondescript white candle in her shelving unit. The candle was unscented, yet the room was filled with the smell of old books, honeyed herbal tea, and the intoxicating scent of Malfoy’s cologne. She brought out the necessary papers for their work today, and then sat meditating in the aromas floating around her. A knock on the door made her heart leap to her throat as she rasped out a “Come in”. She inhaled the sight of Malfoy walking into her office, dressed in navy as he had been a few weeks ago, and Hermione’s mind instantly hazed over. Malfoy didn’t notice the witch’s lapse in greeting as he seemed to be taken by the scent of the room and was momentarily lost while he regained his bearings. Hermione took the opportunity to stand up and shuffle the papers splayed all over her desk so that he might have space for his own papers, and in hopes he would notice her new outfit she chose for him.
“Good morning,” she said to Malfoy, still fiddling with papers.
“Uh, yes, good morning - sorry, I just didn’t expect your office to smell so... fragrant,” she stammered out.
“Oh, um, what do you mean exactly?” Hermione furrowed her brows, encouraging full disclosure.
“It’s nothing bad, that’s not what I meant - it’s quite the opposite, actually. It smells delightful in here,” his eyes were wandering, trying to pinpoint what it could be.
“Oh, well that’s good. Luna gave me a candle, and I thought it smelled nice but I can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what’s in it. What do you think?”
Taking a seat and eyeing the candle, Malfoy was pensive before quietly answering, “Gardenias and vanilla. It also really smells like parchment in here, Granger. Is the whole department storing their spare parchment in here?” His critical tone was offset with a raised eyebrow and Hermione knew she had won this round.
“That’s it! I knew it was familiar, but couldn’t put my finger on it,” she smirked at him. “I’m glad you’ve got a discerning nose. Uh,” she forgot she was standing and quickly seated herself to become level with her crush, “right, I hope you have enough space on my desk. I suppose I can always transfigure another table if we need it...”
“So can I, Granger,” Malfoy sat back looking almost bored if not for the alertness in his eyes. He was ravenous for what he smelled... her. She always wore gardenia perfume from Paris and used vanilla scented hand and body lotions. She was on a high and felt like they were back twirling on the ballroom floor, faster than anything around them. Hermione hadn’t thought about whether it was actually a wise idea to leave Amortentia brewing for so many hours in a closed space. She would need to discreetly extinguish the flame before the two of them starting fucking on her desk because she had been careless. Well, that wouldn’t be an awful idea, but she wasn’t there yet mentally. She wanted him, but she needed more from him first. Keeping up her disheveled, out-of-her-comfort-zone facade (which came somewhat naturally today), she “accidentally” pushed a folder off her desk beside her, giving her the opportunity to safely extinguish her cauldron and pick up her mess. If she was to be blatant, then why not carry on muttering something about the candle smell becoming “too heady” and blow that out while she was at it? She pulled off being flustered very well, and even though she told herself it was all an act, there was definitely some truth to it.
Hermione was agitated. She was horny, yet precise in detail with her every interaction with him. She would get herself off on her lunch break once he left, but had to stay clear and sharp while he was around. The Amortentia hadn’t helped her feel in control; it had made her closer to coming undone before him than ever before. She both lamented and lusted after their time together, because their time was preciously short and her desire grew with each waning second. She would have given anything to know what Malfoy was thinking. She was getting too desperate.
“I’m sorry, can we take a quick break? I just need to pop to the loo,” she had reached her breaking point. Malfoy looked her up and down and shrugged an “Of course”, and Hermione rushed off leaving him in her office. Only an hour had passed since they had begun, but Hermione was concerned there was going to be a wet spot on the back of her skirt if she kept sitting there. She hoped Malfoy didn’t think she was being weird, especially since they had never once taken a bathroom break. He must think I’m really strange today. There’s nothing to be done now. She sighed and accepted her self-made fate as she locked the bathroom door.
Hermione was getting quite good at drying spells. She whipped out her wand and was done in an instant, but didn’t want to head back right away lest Malfoy think she was back too soon. She couldn’t resist the thought of being alone and touching herself. She already felt so close, and Merlin, it would take the edge off and help her focus. Lifting up her skirt, she already found her dampness returning. Okay, let’s do this quickly. Reaching into her underwear she instantly felt her own slickness, and she thought of what Malfoy would do if he caught her here, right now, getting off to him. It only took a few seconds before she arched her back and let out a high pitched moan, feeling a wave of relief and euphoria settle over her body. Another drying charm and a quick wash of her hands and she was off. Back to work, if she could.
Hermione floated down the hall, wishing it was a longer walk, until she reached her door. She opened her door and sucked in a breath upon seeing Malfoy there, waiting for her. Wrong, he was waiting to get back to work. But he’s still waiting for me... even if it’s just work. Merlin help me.
Taking a seat, her eyes were on Malfoy. Appraising the situation, he looked as glazed over sitting back in his chair as she felt. Perhaps the lingering Amortentia aroma had taken him captive, because neither spoke as Hermione sat.
“Sorry, where were we?” Hermione broke the reverie. Her high was starting to fade and she was coming back to earth, ready to work. Then he looked up at her, his bright blue eyes piercing hers, and she lost all of the progress she had made in the last 5 minutes. They locked eyes for a mere moment which felt like an age, and Hermione’s mind blanked. She stopped breathing, and she could swear her heart stopped too. She was in deep; too deep.
“Muggles, I believe.” Malfoy rasped out, not bothering to clear his throat or break eye contact. Today was simply too charged, too hot, and Merlin if only she had a window to open...
“Right. Thank you,” Hermione forced her eyes down to focus on the parchment in front of her, moving her eyes but not reading a word. FOCUS! We were talking about the involvement of the muggle Prime Minister! She painfully forced her attention to snap back into its rightful place. She made her brain understand the words she was reading in order to form an intelligent and coherent thought to express to Malfoy. She was going to be fine. She could do this for another hour, no problem. She loved this, loved the work and loved being with him in her office. He was here, with her, working. She was insane for wanting more. Hermione Granger had gone positively, duck tit bonkers insane.
***
Every day away from Malfoy felt like a blessing and a torture experiment she was exacting upon herself. She refused to go to his office in case she seemed desperate - even if she was - and their time together was half focused on work and half focused on keeping herself focused on work. She didn’t know how much longer she could go on with getting herself off in the bathrooms and every night when she went home alone. For the first time in a good long while, she looked forward to Saturdays and the distraction they brought. She didn’t care if Ron was there because she felt - she knew - she had something going on that was better than anything he could have dreamt up. Even if she didn’t have evidence to prove it, aside from the velvet jacket that hung in her closet. It was proof she hadn’t imagined everything, and it kept her grounded in her validation.
I have a piece of Malfoy. It sent chills down her body and heat erupted up from her core at the thought. So many nights had ended with her enthralled in her visions of rolling in bed with him, his pale skin illuminated under the moonlight and his mouth all over her. He would pick her up and set her where he wanted; effortless to his muscular body. His tongue would be between her legs until she was shaking and screaming out his name in ecstasy, aching to be filled by his length next. Hermione had invested in a dildo to ease some of the ache and extend her pleasure, but it still left a certain emptiness. Too many nights had ended with her in tears, weeping over her cold bed and the unrequited longing in her heart that seemed bottomless. When, she begged, when will he notice me? Show he wants me? Show ANYTHING?
She had no idea how to approach the subject. If she didn’t know, she didn’t see how Malfoy would know. Sure, men were given the task of asking the woman out, and didn’t seem to be an issue of his at Hogwarts. But gods, she was growing impatient. She was sure she would lose whatever “game” they were playing at if she asked him first, but she almost didn’t care. How much cleavage and Slytherin green clothing did the man need to take a hint?! She had warmed up to him. She had started asking little, unimportant personal questions. She was gathering knowledge... for what, she didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine throwing an “I’m asking you out” party that was decked out in silver, orange and cranberry muffins, winged horses and rare books.
That would never do.