Office Hours

Hermione had almost forgotten about the present from Malfoy in all of the chaos of her birthday party. It now sat on the desk in her quarters, taunting her. She was sure whatever he had gotten for her would be completely absurd and over-the-top because that was just how he was. It was probably something expensive that she would never use. So, she sat in her chair, just staring at the small gift wrapped in a dark emerald paper adorned with a silver bow—of course he would wrap her present in Slytherin colors. 

She tried her absolute best to ignore the package, choosing instead to tackle the large stack of essays that she needed to grade. Once Hermione got into a rhythm, the fifth-year's essays practically graded themselves—not literally though, Hermione was too paranoid to try and charm them into grading themselves. She was nearly three fourths of the way done with her stack when she heard a soft knock at her door. 

She glanced up from the parchment, frowning slightly. It was getting late—too late to be a student, and the staff rarely sought each other out at this hour unless it was an emergency. A twinge of panic rose in her chest. Something was wrong. It had to be. Why else would someone be knocking at her door at eleven at night? 

She took a deep breath and got up from her seat, storing her quill on the stand. Cautiously, she approached the door, trying to calm her nerves. She pulled open the door, hesitating slightly. 

None other than Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the door, his hand tucked into his pockets. He looked entirely too casual for someone knocking on her door unannounced at eleven o’clock. 

Hermione let out a relieved breath, feeling her anxiety calm when she saw it was only Draco. She raised a brow. “Malfoy?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Hermione.”

She waited for him to explain what he was doing there. Realizing that he wasn’t going to continue, she folded her arms and asked, “Is something wrong?”

Malfoy cleared his throat, glancing off to the side. “Yes. Well, that depends.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Depends on what exactly?”

His lips parted, like he was about to say something of actual importance, but then he simply exhaled and shrugged. “Just needed to discuss the uh… faculty assignments.”

Hermione blinked. “The faculty assignments?”

“Yes.”

“The same assignments that we finalized three days ago?”

He nodded, dead serious. “Yes, those would be the assignments.”

Hermione stared at him. “So, you’re here, at my door, past eleven at night, to discuss assignment posts that don’t need discussing?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding less confident this time. 

Hermione let out an exasperated breath. “Please tell me you aren’t looking to switch assignments with me. I quite like my additional duties. I will admit, I do feel slightly bad about you having to patrol the corridors with Filch on Wednesday nights, but I am not trading with you.” 

Draco gave her a bemused laugh. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask you. Though, I would be forever indebted to you if you were to switch patrols with me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No.” Hermione said firmly. “What were you going to ask me?”

“It’s nothing. Forget I asked.” he said, looking slightly embarrassed—a new look for him.

Hermione had never seen him look nervous to ask anyone anything before. He was always so confident. She debated teasing him about this, but ultimately decided to take pity on him and ask again.

“Seriously—Draco,” she said his first name, hoping he would realize she was being genuine. “What’s going on?”

His face lifted slightly. “Okay, I need a favor, but can we talk about it inside? I don’t really want anyone to overhear this.” 

Begrudgingly, Hermione said, “I suppose so.” She stepped back, opening the door wider for him to enter. Draco slipped past her and immediately made himself comfortable on her sofa. She went into her kitchen to make some tea.

Looking around the space, Draco asked, “Hey, wait a second, why are your quarters so much bigger than mine?” 

Hermione giggled. “Are they really? I had assumed that all of the professors got similar accommodations.”

“Well, clearly McGonagall has a favorite,” he said, gesturing around her space.

Hermione fixed him with a knowing look. “Of course she does. You’re just sad cause McGonagall can see through your Prince Malfoy facade.”

He scoffed, clearly offended. “Facade? I’ll have you know, ‘Prince Malfoy’ is entirely authentic.” 

Hermione smirked, pouring the tea into two mugs. “Oh, of course. Your natural state is brooding dramatically while people trip over themselves to impress you.”

He leaned back on the sofa, a smug smile on his face. “I can’t help it if they have taste.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, handing one of the cups to him, which he graciously accepted. It had the added benefit of dissipating some of the smugness from his features. “You know McGonagall isn’t fooled for a second, right?”

Draco sighed theatrically. “Yes, well, Minerva has always been immune to my charm. It’s one of her greatest failings, really.”

Hermione laughed. “She sees right through you, and you hate it.” 

“I don’t hate it, I just don’t think it is fair that she is giving preferential treatment to a fellow Gryffindor. It’s house discrimination!”

Hermione nearly spit out her mouthful of tea. “You are incorrigible. McGonagall didn't give me a bigger room just because we are in the same house.”

“Oh, yeah? Why then?”

Hermione smirked again, trying to keep a straight face. “Clearly, she gave me a bigger space because my marks were always better than yours—ergo I got the superior room.”

Malfoy really looked offended now. He stood up and huffed, “Our marks were practically the same, and you know it!”

“Tell that to my bigger room.” Hermione laughed into her cup.

Draco looked as if he was about to storm out in frustration when his eyes fell upon something on her desk—the present he had given her. He picked it up from her desk and turned to face her.

“You haven’t opened my gift yet? Do I truly offend you that much?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “No… I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Hermione, it’s been almost a week since your party. Clearly, you are avoiding my present.”

Hermione dropped her head in embarrassment. “Okay, maybe I was avoiding it a little bit.”

“But, why? You don’t even know what it is!”

“Honestly, I figured whatever you got me was going to be way over-the-top and I would feel bad that you spent money on whatever it was.”

“So, you were just going to let it sit here forever?” He looked at her in disbelief.

“No,” she lied. “I was planning on opening it right before I was rudely interrupted by an annoying coworker.”

He rolled his eyes, not buying her story for a minute. “Sure you were.” “Here,” he said, handing her the gift. “Go ahead.”

Hermione hesitantly took the gift from him. She carefully undid the silver bow and unwrapped the present. She stared at the quill set in her hands, turning it over carefully. The craftsmanship was exquisite—sleek, high-quality, and far nicer than anything she would have ever bought for herself. The set gleamed under the light, each quill was perfectly balanced and fitted with a self-inking charm.

She swallowed, feeling a little thrown. “Draco, this is…” she trailed off, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence.

“He tilted his head, smirking slightly. “You’re welcome, Hermione. Try not to cry.”

She let out a huff of laughter, shaking her head. “I’m not going to cry, you insufferable—” but before she could finish her sentence, her body moved on instinct.

Without thinking, she hugged him. It was brief and completely unplanned, but entirely too natural. The realization hit her a second too late. 

Draco, to his credit, had frozen in place. Arms half-raised, completely stunned.

Hermione cleared her throat, face heating. “That was—uh—reflex. I—”

Draco blinked, staring at her like she’d just polyjuiced herself into Millicent Bulstrode’s cat again. Then, slowly, his lips curled into the most insufferably smug expression she’d ever seen. 

“Granger.” His voice was pure silk and amusement. “Did you just hug me?”

She sputtered. “No—I mean, yes—but not on purpose! It was—” She stopped, mortified. There was no good way to explain this.

Draco leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself now. “You hugged me.”

“It was a thank you hug!” she snapped. “It doesn’t count.” Hermione couldn’t understand how he could be so infuriating and thoughtful at the same time. How did he know the perfect gift for her? Something practical that she would use every day, but would never buy for herself.

“Oh, it counts.” He was grinning now, thoroughly entertained.

Cheeks pink, Hermione attempted to change the subject. She needed to go back to him being the embarrassed one. “You had a favor to ask me?”

His grin faded as he remembered his original purpose for being there. “You have to promise not to make fun of me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Like you just made fun of me? No chance.”

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Okay, I’ll admit that was not very cool of me, but I really do need your help.”

“I’m listening.” 

“One of my sixth-years keeps landing herself in detention.”

Hermione frowned. “Is she particularly reckless?”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “No. She’s… strategic.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Strategic?”

He rubbed his temples. “She’s getting herself in trouble—on purpose—just so she can sit in detention with me.”

Hermione blinked. Then blinked again. Was he serious? She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips. 

Malfoy scowled at her. “Oh, brilliant. Yes, let’s all have a good laugh at my expense.”

Hermione covered her mouth, trying to stifle her amusement. “I—I’m sorry, it’s just—are you telling me you have a detention admirer?”

Draco glared. “I refuse to acknowledge that phrasing.”

Hermione bit her lip, eyes gleaming. “Oh, but it’s so accurate.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, it’s becoming a problem. The last time I gave her lines, she wrote ‘Professor Malfoy has the dreamiest eyes’ on every single parchment.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead, trying not to burst into laughter again. “Oh, Merlin.”

Draco leaned forward, hands braced on her desk. “Granger, I need you to help supervise detention. If you’re in the room, maybe she’ll actually serve it instead of using it as some bizarre inappropriate courtship ritual.”

Hermione grinned. “You’re asking for my help? How desperate you must be.”

Draco huffed. “Yes, yes, revel in my suffering. Just—will you do it?”

Hermione smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel like I just signed myself up to be tortured for two hours?”

Hermione giggled. “I have no idea what you are talking about. It is going to be the best detention ever!” 

She was going to have way too much fun with this.