Office Hours

Hermione couldn’t believe it. She was kissing Draco Malfoy. The same Draco Malfoy who used to bully and tease her relentlessly in school. The same boy who had sneered at her for being Muggle-born, who had laughed when she was upset, who had once called her the worst name imaginable. She should stop this. She knew better. But Merlin, how was she supposed to think when he was kissing her like this? His lips were warm, insistent but unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to convince her this wasn’t a mistake.

Was he really that same boy still? Wasn’t he also the Draco who somehow wedged himself into her life? The one who decided, without asking, that they were friends and then simply made it happen? The one who saved her a seat at the staff meetings, as if it was obvious they’d sit together? Who bought her the most Hermione Granger present ever, like he actually paid attention? And now… now he was the one kissing her like she was something precious, something worth holding onto.

Her breath hitched as the thought sent a rush of warmth through her, scattering her logical protests like autumn leaves in the wind. Their kiss wasn’t tentative, it wasn’t cautious, it was everything. Soft, warm, yet electrifying in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. She could still taste the peppermint tea he had probably sipped before bed, the lingering sweetness mixing with something uniquely him. His scent, spiced, clean, and familiar, wrapped around her like a spell she had no desire to break. Her fingers drifted up to Draco’s shoulders, curling against the silky fabric of his pajama shirt to pull him closer. A low sound escaped his lips—half amusement, half something deeper. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss in a way that made her knees feel like jelly.

When they finally broke apart, Hermione was breathless, her heart pounding like the flapping of a billywig’s wings against her ribcage. Her lips still tingled, her mind a mess of thoughts she couldn’t quite sort through.

Draco’s gaze was steady, his usual smirk softened into something new—something almost expectant. He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb along her jaw in a way that sent another shiver through her. “So,” he murmured, “still deciding?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Nope. Decisions been made.”

“Good.” His smirk was back, but his hand still cradled hers as if he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. “I’d hate to think the love potion was doing all the work.”

“Who said my decision was that I wanted to kiss you? What if I now want to slap you across the face?” she asked, never for a second doubting that she did, in fact, want to kiss him.

“How do you know I’m not into that, Granger?”

Hermione’s face flushed. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. “Make me,” he challenged, his smirk downright infuriating.

Hermione huffed, but before she could form a proper retort, he lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips over her knuckles. It was barely a whisper of a touch, but he had succeeded in his mission. 

Her breath hitched.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, eyes glinting with satisfaction.

She yanked her arms away as if that could somehow steady the racing of her heart. “You are unbearable, do you know that?”

Draco smirked, leaning just a hair closer to her. “I may be unbearable, but you are the one that wants to kiss me again.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me? You kissed me!”

“Yeah,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. ”But I know you wanted me to!”

Hermione sputtered, searching for a comeback, a denial—anything—but all she could do was glare at him, her face burning.

Draco chuckled. “See? Silence is very telling, Granger.”

She glared at him, waiting for what he would say next. His smirk softened a bit.

“So, do you think the love potion was working that hard?” His gaze was intense, searching her face for the confirmation that he seeked.

She took a deep breath, giving into his intense stare. “No, I don’t think it was working very hard at all.” She quickly diverted her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flaring a bright red once again. She felt as though she had admitted to some form of wrongdoing. 

Draco smiled at her, this time no smugness behind it. He took her hand again, tracing slow, lazy patterns against her skin. The warmth of his skin paired with the way he was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth paying attention to—made it almost impossible to think clearly.

“So,” he said, his voice softer now, “what happens next? Do we report O’Connor and Patel or… thank them for their impeccable matchmaking skills?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “I am not thanking them for drugging us, Malfoy.”

“Fine.” He leaned back slightly, but his hand didn’t leave hers. “But admit it—they’re more observant than either of us gave them credit for.”

“I’m not admitting anything.” She shook her head, but her heart wasn’t in the protest. “Besides, this is probably exactly what they wanted.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” His smirk widened. “I imagine they’ll be feeling quite pleased with themselves when they figure out their little plan worked.”

The thought made Hermione groan, tilting her head back against the cushion. “This is going to make them insufferable just like you, isn’t it?”

Draco chuckled, squeezing her hand lightly. “Hermione, you wound me. I prefer to think of myself as charmingly persistent.”

Hermione shot him a look. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

He shrugged, his thumb continuing those slow, absentminded circles against her skin. “Call it whatever you like, but you haven’t let go of my hand yet.”

Her eyes flickered down, realizing belatedly that he was right. But instead of pulling away, she merely sighed. “I hate that they were right.”

Draco grinned. “Which part? The part where they suspected we were mad for each other or the part where they took matters into their own hands?”

Hermione groaned again, covering her face with her free hand. “Both.”

His laughter was warm, and something about it—something about him—made her stomach flutter in the most irritatingly pleasant way. “You know,” he mused, “we could always pretend this never happened. Go back to bickering in the corridors, throwing insults at each other during staff meetings, and acting like the past twenty-four hours were some bizarre fever dream.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “And that’s what you want?”

Draco was quiet for a beat too long. Then, with a slow, almost lazy smile, he said, “Not even a little bit.”

She smiled at him, a warmth spreading in her chest at his answer. “So, where does this leave us?” she asked, her voice almost inaudible. 

For once, Draco didn’t seem to have a witty retort ready. His usual bravado faded, leaving something more earnest in its place. His lips parted slightly, as if he was on the verge of saying something, but then he hesitated. His fingers, still lightly tangled with hers, twitched ever so slightly. The silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, not tense—just full. Full of things unsaid, of lingering touches, of something fragile and new and terrifying.

Hermione found herself holding her breath, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She could see the flicker of thoughts behind his sharp grey eyes, the battle between impulse and caution, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d ever actually answer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “But I’d like to find out.”

Her heart did a strange somersault in her chest. The part of her that loved clear answers and neat conclusions wanted something concrete—but the part of her that had just kissed Draco Malfoy wanted to throw caution to the wind for once.

“I’d like to find out too,” she finally admitted, her voice still barely above a whisper.

Another beat of silence. Longer this time. He was looking at her, really looking at her, like he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her stomach twist in a way that was both thrilling and unnerving.

His face softened—just a fraction—but the sincerity in his expression made her breath hitch. “Good,” he said quietly, as if the admission mattered more to him than he wanted her to know.

They stayed like that, unmoving, caught in the quiet. Hermione felt the weight of it all settle deep in her chest—this strange, inevitable pull between them, the realization that no matter how much they might try to make sense of it, there would be no logical explanation for what was happening.

Eventually, she exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe we were outsmarted by a couple of fourth-years.”

Draco blinked, as if coming out of some kind of trance. Then, rolling his eyes, he leaned back just slightly—though his hand still hadn’t left hers. “Don’t remind me,” he drawled, though there was warmth behind his usual sarcasm. “It’s bad enough that they’ve been charm-matching us like a pair of hopeless teenagers—I’m not sure my ego can survive the knowledge that they actually succeeded.”

Hermione laughed, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since this whole mess began. “Well, it wasn’t just the potion,” she pointed out, her fingers tightening slightly around his. “We can’t exactly blame them for everything.”

“No,” Draco agreed, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes as he leaned in again. “But if they’re going to stir up rumors, we may as well give them something to talk about.”

Before Hermione could respond, he kissed her again—slower this time, like he wanted to savor it. And Merlin help her, she kissed him back without a second thought.

By the time they pulled apart, her mind was spinning, and her heart was pounding harder than ever. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?” she murmured, breathless.

Draco grinned, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Oh, absolutely.”

Hermione chuckled and shook her head, then a thought struck her. “Oh no, Ginny is never going to let me hear the end of this, is she?”

Draco let out a low chuckle, his thumb still brushing lightly over the back of her hand. "Without a doubt. I imagine she’ll be sending owls the moment she catches wind of it—probably with ‘I told you so’ written in bold letters."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her free hand. "She really isn’t going to let me live this down. She’s been hinting at this for months."

His grin widened as he leaned back against the couch, looking far too pleased with himself. "And here I thought I was the most insufferable person in your life. Seems like I’ve got some competition."

"You’re both impossible," she muttered, though the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her amusement. "I should have known this would happen."

"Oh, come on, Granger," Draco drawled, tilting his head as he watched her. "Would it really be so bad to admit that, just this once, other people might have been right?"

Hermione shot him a pointed glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched in a smile. "I am not admitting that to you. Or to Ginny. Ever."

He laughed, rich and warm, and to her absolute horror—and maybe, just maybe, her delight—Hermione realized she wouldn’t mind hearing that sound more often.

Ginny, you’ll never guess what happened.