Office Hours

Hermione couldn’t help but be slightly excited to help Draco out with his detention that evening. Truth be told, she just really couldn’t wait to see him be the uncomfortable one for once. She respected that he was doing the responsible thing and asking another teacher to be in the room with him. Who knows how many of the students fancied him. She herself had fallen prey to the charms of a certain professor in her Hogwarts days as well, so she couldn’t exactly blame them for liking someone with Malfoy’s looks. Tall, sharp robes, impossibly neat hair that still managed to look artfully tousled, and a perpetual smirk that was both insufferable and, irritatingly, not entirely unappealing. 

Hermione arrived at the classroom precisely on time, amused but fully prepared for the chaos that awaited. She was surprised to find Draco was already there, arms crossed, leaning against his desk, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. 

At the center of the room sat Miss Daphne Melville, Draco’s sixth-year student, with perfect posture and an innocent expression that fooled absolutely no one. 

Hermione took a seat near the front, setting her things down with an air of professional amusement. “Good evening, Miss Melville. Shall we begin?”

Daphne barely glanced at her, fixated entirely on Draco. “Oh course, Professor,” she said, eyes fully on Draco. 

He let out a long-suffering sigh and handed her a piece of parchment. “You’ll be copying the Hogwarts’ Detention Policies. Word for word. No embellishments.”

Daphne pouted. “That’s so dull, Professor Malfoy.”

Draco gave her a deadpan look. “Yes, that’s the point.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, fighting a smirk. She turned her attention to her own grading, but Daphne’s voice cut through the silence.

“Professor Malfoy, is it true you were the best duelist in Slytherin?”

Draco did not look up when he answered, “Yes.”

Daphne twirled a small piece of her hair around her finger. “So did you really beat a seventh-year student when you were only a fourth-year?”

Draco sighed. “That is an exaggeration.” 

Hermione had a devious idea to give Malfoy a taste of his own medicine. Without looking up from her papers, she said, “No, actually, I was there. It happened.”

Draco blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, really?”

Hermione smirked. “Yes, and you were absolutely insufferable about it.”

Draco leaned back, smirking. “Well, that does sound like me.”

Daphne beamed. “See? You’re brilliant, Professor Malfoy.”

Draco pinched his nose and sighed again in exasperation, annoyance clear on his face.

Hermione, enjoying this far too much, narrowed her eyes. “Miss Melville, less talking, more writing.”

Daphne sighed dramatically, but finally picked up her quill again. 

For a while, the room was quiet, save for the scratching of quills. Draco looked relieved, Hermione was amused, and Daphne… was clearly plotting.

"Professor Malfoy," Daphne started sweetly. "What’s your favorite color?"

Draco didn't even look up. "Detention-colored."

Hermione snorted.

Daphne leaned forward, all charm. "I was just curious! You never tell us anything about yourself."

Draco gave her a blank stare. "That’s because class is for learning, not my autobiography. Now, I believe you still have several pages left to copy."

Daphne looked utterly disappointed, but got back to work all the same. As Daphne was finally occupied, Draco looked at Hermione and motioned with his head toward the door. Hermione quietly got out of her seat and followed Draco into the corridor.

He leaned against the stone wall, rubbing his temples like this detention was physically painful for him. “Granger, you have no idea the lengths this girl has gone to.”

Hermione, mildly entertained, quirked a brow. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

Draco let out another sigh. "Last week, she 'accidentally' knocked over her inkwell and asked me to help clean it up—because apparently, she’s incapable of casting Scourgify. Yesterday, she stayed after class to ask for—get this—extra tutoring on a lesson she aced last week." He shot a pointed glance at his student, who was very obviously stealing glances at the two of them in the corridor. "And today? She waltzed in here, sighed dramatically, and told me I ‘work too hard’ and should ‘let someone take care of me for once.’" He turned back to Hermione, deadpan. "Granger, she practically tried to tuck me in for a nap."

Hermione smirked, barely holding back her laughter. "Merlin, Malfoy, it’s almost like you’re attractive or something."

Draco scowled. "Don’t encourage this madness."

Hermione glanced at Miss Melville, who was not-so-subtly glancing up from her parchment every few seconds to watch Draco. Her quill was motionless.

“This is really making you uncomfortable, isn’t it?” Hermione asked.

“Yes! Why on Earth would I feel comfortable with a sixteen year old girl flirting with me?”

Again, she couldn’t help but respect his clarity on the situation. Unfortunately, there were many grown wizards that would have jumped at something like this. Not Malfoy though. The issue was, no matter how many times he seemed to draw that line with Daphne, she wasn’t getting the hint. If only there was another way to get the point across. And that’s when a crazy idea struck her.

“Do you really want to put a stop to all this nonsense?”

“Yes! It has become quite disruptive and frankly embarrassing.”

“Okay, I have an idea, just trust me.” Hermione said as she walked back into the classroom. 

“Trust you? Merlin, what are you about to do?” Draco whispered, hesitantly following her inside.

Hermione summoned a chair to place right next to the one at Draco’s desk and sat down, motioning for him to sit as well. He fixed her with a questioning look, but sat anyway.

"You know, Professor Malfoy, you really do work too hard." Hermione told Draco.

Draco blinked. "Excuse me?"

She sighed dramatically, reaching out to brush an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "You’re always supervising detentions, grading assignments, being so responsible. It’s really quite impressive."

Draco stiffened, his eyes flickering with suspicion. "Granger, what—"

Hermione ignored him, instead placing her elbow on the desk and resting her chin in her palm, gazing at him with an exaggerated interest. "Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. All those students hanging on your every word—it must be exhausting being so… commanding." 

Draco’s mouth opened, then shut again, realization dawning on his face. His eyes widened asking ‘what the hell are you doing?’ But she was already committed. 

She saw Daphne’s quill snap in half out of the corner of her eye. Her plan was working. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Granger—”

Hermione tapped her fingers on the desk, voice dangerously sweet. “I just think you deserve some appreciation, Professor Malfoy. Maybe people don’t say it enough, but you really do have a presence about you. No wonder the students look up to you.” She looked up at Draco’s chiseled face and batted her eyelashes. Gods, she was really laying it on thick.

Hermione swore she saw Daphne’s eye twitch. She let out a dramatic huff, shoved her parchment forward, and snapped, "I’m done with my lines, can I leave now?"

Draco, still holding Hermione’s gaze, grinned. "Yes, Miss Melville. Please, do."

The girl stormed out.

As they stepped out of the classroom, the echo of Daphne’s hasty exit still lingered in the corridors. Draco slowed his pace, casting Hermione a sideways glance.

“Did you mean any of that?” His voice was nonchalant, but there was a subtle tightness around his eyes that hinted at something more—something he wasn’t quite ready to confront.

Hermione turned to him, fully expecting to roll her eyes and brush him off. But then she actually looked at him. For a moment, his gaze lingered too long, and Hermione felt an unfamiliar warmth creep up her neck. She hadn’t expected to feel anything, but there it was—a flutter of confusion mixed with something else that she couldn't quite place. He was watching her closely, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—sharp, searching, and far too perceptive.

Draco’s posture had shifted, just slightly—his usual self-assurance faltering for the briefest of moments as his eyes searched hers, the smirk he wore slipping a little. For once, it was as if he didn’t know what to say next.

Hermione was taken aback. Was he… nervous?

“Some of it.” She answered, keeping her voice light, even though her pulse was starting to race.

Draco, still watching her, seemed to hesitate—his lips parting as if he had more to say, but the words faltered on the tip of his tongue. He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering away for a split second. It was his turn to look uncomfortable, and the realization made something inside her stir, a strange satisfaction settling in her chest.

“Which part?” He recovered quickly, but the awkwardness lingered in the air between them, as if neither one of them was entirely sure where the conversation was going.

For a fleeting moment, she thought about answering—actually answering—but the thought was reckless, and reckless was not something she allowed herself to be.

“Goodnight, Malfoy.” She gave him a small, teasing smile, then turned, walking away with an extra spring in her step. But as she did, she couldn’t help the faint grin that tugged at the corner of her lips. Draco Malfoy, the ever-perfect, ever-unflappable Slytherin, had been caught off guard.

For once, it was him who was left wondering.