Office Hours

As she could have predicted, Malfoy had become insufferable after she had accidentally referred to him by his first name the other day. He had somehow gotten it into his stupid head that they were now friends, much to Hermione’s chagrin.

It started at breakfast the next morning. Hermione arrived in the Great hall, ready for a peaceful morning. She took her seat at the staff table and began serving herself from the immaculate breakfast spread in front of her. As she was scooping a spoonful of scrambled eggs into her plate, she noticed a movement to her right. Malfoy had slid into the seat beside her instead of sitting in his usual spot.

“Morning, Hermione.” 

She blinked, then slowly turned to look at him, suspicious. “What are you doing?”

He grinned, reaching to take a piece of toast off of her plate. “Having breakfast with my dearest friend.”

Hermione exhaled sharply. “We’re not friends.”

Malfoy, unbothered, took a deliberate bite of toast. “Strange. You called me Draco yesterday.”

Of course he was never going to let her live that down. She used his name one time—completely by accident mind you—and he latched onto it like a bloody niffler to gold. “That was…well…” She huffed, stabbing at her eggs. “It was a momentary lapse. It won’t happen again.”

“Hmmm.” Draco sipped his coffee, clearly not convinced. He settled further into his seat, giving her a casual, conversational look. “Anyway, how did you sleep?”

Hermione, mid-bite, almost choked. “What?”

Malfoy sighed patiently, as if she were being the difficult one here.

“I’m asking how you slept, Hermione. It’s what best friends do. Check in on each other, share their innermost thoughts.”

“Innermost—” she cut herself off, glaring at him. “You are not my best friend, Malfoy.”

Malfoy made a wounded expression, pressing a hand over his heart. “How cruel.”

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard that she could feel a migraine coming on, but Malfoy wasn’t finished.

“Alright, alright,” he mused, spreading marmalade onto his toast. “If you don’t want to tell me how you slept, we can talk about something else.”

Hermione braced herself.

“What are your thoughts on house-elves getting paid overtime?” 

She stared at him. “What?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I read an article about it last night. Thought you might have very strong opinions given your little S.P.E.W. crusade back in the day.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You are not genuinely interested in discussing house-elf wages.”

Malfoy gave a mock gasp. “Hermione! That hurts me. Of course, I am. I think it's important that we—”

Hermione held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop.”

He smirked. “Why? Friends have discussions like this all the time.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are not my friend.”

“Best friend, actually.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. Malfoy took another casual bite of his toast, utterly at ease.

Hermione bristled. “I do not see how your delusion that we are friends means you have to sit right next to me.”

He smirked. “Because, Hermione, that is what friends do. And now that we are on a first-name basis, I think it’s time we properly embrace this new chapter of our lives.”

She stared at him. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am. Sitting with my best friend.”

That was it. She was going to murder him. Right here. In front of McGonagall. She suddenly became aware that their exchange was not going unnoticed. Several of their colleagues had paused their own conversations to watch, expressions ranging from amused to outright entertained. Flitwick hid a chuckle behind his napkin while Sprout smiled knowingly. But McGonagall’s reaction was the most concerning. She was watching them over the rim of her teacup, eyes twinkling in a deeply unsettling way. 

Hermione gritted her teeth, lowering her voice. “You are making a spectacle.”

Malfoy grinned. “Correction: we are making a spectacle.”

Hermione resisted the urge to stab him with her fork. Instead, she downed the rest of her tea in one gulp, stood up abruptly, and left her half-finished breakfast behind. 

Malfoy, entirely unbothered, merely plucked a piece of bacon from her abandoned plate and called after her. “See you later, best friend!”

Hermione stormed off, trying not to scream as she heard Flitwick and Sprout laughing in the background.

Ginny, He thinks we’re friends now. He tried to talk to me about house-elf rights! I think he was genuinely trying to have a conversation with me. Help!

—

Ginny responded right away to this letter. It turned out that she was shopping in Hogsmeade for party supplies for Hemione’s upcoming birthday party. She asked Hermione to meet her for lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Finally, she could get some advice from her best friend in person instead of bombarding her with a million owls a day.

Ginny waved at her from a table in the middle of the pub. Weird she hadn’t chosen one of the two person tables in the corner. All suspicion disintegrated as soon as Hermione saw Ginny had ordered her favorite comfort meal, Shepherd's pie. She took her seat across from her best friend. 

“Bless you. How did you know I would need this?” Hermione asked, digging into the cozy meal.

Ginny giggled. “Let’s call it intuition… Or the fact that you’ve sent me over twenty-five owls in the last 3 days.” 

Hermione blushed. Had it really been that many? “I’m sorry, he’s just been insufferable lately.”

Ginny hummed into her drink, eyes sparkling with something that Hermione didn’t quite catch. “Mm. Insufferable how?”

Hermione huffed. “You know exactly how. He’s been everywhere. First being sort of nice to me, saving me a seat, holding the door, sitting next to me at breakfast like we're mates—”

Ginny nodded along, taking a slow deliberate sip of her drink, “Mmhmm.”

“ —Then he starts casually dropping my first name like we’re best friends, and now he’s going out of his way to strike up conversations. Completely unnecessary ones, I might add. Just this morning, he tried to discuss house-elf wages with me at breakfast. Can you believe that?”

Ginny coughed into her drink, fighting a laugh. “House-elf wages? Merlin, that’s… oddly thoughtful of him.”

Hermione scowled. “No, it's not. He was just trying to wind me up. And it worked.”

Ginny tapped her chin, looking far too amused. “So, what you’re saying is… he’s been making an effort to talk to you, engaging in subjects he knows you care about, and making sure you have company at mealtimes?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “That is not what I said.”

Ginny just grinned.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t understand what his game is.”

And then, right on cue— 

“Who’s playing a game?”

Hermione froze. How did he keep sneaking up on her? She whipped her head around just in time to see Draco Malfoy sliding into the empty seat beside Ginny, completely at ease. He tossed his cloak over the back of his chair, grinning like he belonged there.

“Ladies,” he greeted smoothly.

Hermione gaped at him. “What are you—Why are you—” She turned to Ginny, eyes wide with betrayal.

Ginny, the traitor, just took another sip of her drink, smiling innocently. 

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” she said lightly. “I invited Draco to join us.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to string together an actual sentence. “Why—would you—do that?” she hissed.

Ginny shrugged. “Well, I figured since you two are best friends now, we should all get together and bond.”

Hermione shot a deadly glare in her direction, but Ginny remained unfazed. 

Meanwhile, Malfoy leaned back in his chair looking far too pleased. “See, Hermione? Even Ginny recognizes our undeniable bond.”

Hermione groaned. 

Ginny Grinned. “Besides, he wanted to come.”

Hermione snapped her attention back to Malfoy. “You wanted to come?”

He smirked. “Why wouldn’t I? I quite enjoy your company.”

She stared at him, searching for any hint of sarcasm, however, he actually sounded sincere? Which quite honestly made it worse.

Ginny leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “You know, Hermione was just talking about you.”

Malfoy raised a curious brow. “Oh? All good things, I assume?”

Hermione slammed her fork onto the table. “No.”

Ginny ignored her. “She was saying how much she appreciates your presence at mealtimes and staff meetings.”

Draco’s smirk widened. “Is that so?”

Hermione let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “Ginny—”

But her supposed friend was already standing up, grabbing her cloak. “Well, I’d love to stay, but I’ve got training this afternoon. I’ll leave you two to bond.”

Hermione gaped. “Ginny, don’t you dare—”

Ginny patted her on the shoulder. “Enjoy your lunch!”

And then, because of course Hermione’s day clearly wasn’t bad enough already, Ginny turned back to Malfoy with a bright, innocent smile. “Oh! And don’t forget, you’re invited to Hermione’s birthday party next weekend. I figured since you two are so close now, you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Hermione actually choked on air.

Malfoy tilted his head, looking at Hermione with a slow, lazy grin. “Oh? You’re having a party?”

“Oh course she is,” Ginny said cheerfully. “And it wouldn’t be the same without you, Draco.”

He chuckled, lifting his butterbeer in a mock toast. “Well, Hermione. Looks like I’ll see you there.” 

Hermione seriously considered hexing on the spot. Who was she supposed to confide in now that Ginny was clearly conspiring with the enemy?