The day was already a disaster, and Hermione hadn’t even stepped into the Ministry yet. As she entered the lift, the strap of her bag slipped off her shoulder, the weight of her files pulling it down. She smoothed her skirt with a quick, frustrated motion, willing herself to calm down.
Meetings stacked one after another leaving no room to breathe, let alone think. By the time she reached her office, she sighed, already weary at the thought of the endless hours ahead. Hastily gathering her notes, she knocked her quill off the desk. It tumbled to the floor, clattering loudly before rolling just out of reach. She crouched to retrieve it, the day already testing her patience and it wasn’t even mid-morning.
Downstairs, the receptionist greeted her with the usual chirpy smile and offered her a biscuit. Hermione accepted it out of politeness, even though she had no time to eat it. After surviving a morning of long meetings, she decided to grab a cup of tea before the next. The echo of hurried footsteps bounced off the marble floors, mingling with the low murmur of enchanted quills scratching against parchment.
She dunked a tea bag into a chipped Ministry-issued mug, barely giving it time to steep as she mentally calculated how late she already was. Bugger, she had one minute to get there. Juggling a precarious stack of parchment, quills, and her somehow-cold tea, Hermione darted through the corridors, “Five minutes between meetings,” she muttered under her breath. “How hard is that to schedule?”
She could already feel her hair escaping the confines of the bun she made. Hermione wiped her face quickly, fairly certain there was ink smudged on her cheek. Her temples throbbed with the beginnings of a headache, the kind that no amount of tea or Pepperup Potion could fully cure. But this was the last meeting of the day, and she’s clinging to the thought of unwinding at home, enjoying a good book in a warm, bubbly bath.
Hermione stepped into the small conference room, prepared to discuss a proposal for potion regulations. Potion regulations was a topic she cared about deeply, but her exhaustion threatened to dull her focus. She skimmed her notes, trying to focus as the room buzzed with small chatter, while someone passed around the agenda. The chairs creaked in protest every time someone shifted, and Hermione found herself biting back a grimace as hers gave an especially loud groan.
The door opened, and Hermione glanced up, prepared to greet whoever entered. Her quill froze mid-air. Draco Malfoy strolled in, his tailored navy robes pristine and not a hair out of place. He looked every bit the picture of a self-assured Malfoy, as if he’d already won whatever debate was about to unfold. Hermione's brain stuttered to a halt. Of all people, why him?
“Malfoy? What are you doing here?” She demanded. Draco raised a brow, his lips curling into a slow smirk. “Granger,” he drawled, his tone smooth as silk. “Lovely to see you too.” Her frown deepened, upset at this development.
Of course he looked calm, composed, and maddeningly smug. And of course, Hermione’s hair was frizzing, her notes were half-organized, and she’d barely had time to glance at the mirror before rushing out the door, and now he was here? At her meeting? About potion regulations?
Before she could form another question, the meeting began. The room quieted as the chairperson introduced the topic: new initiatives to regulate potion ingredients for environmental safety. Hermione leaned forward, her interest piqued.
Then Draco stood.
“Thank you,” he began, his voice smooth and confident. “I’ve prepared a few points to address the ecological impact of improperly sourced potion ingredients. If we want a sustainable future, we must innovate.”
Hermione blinked. He had prepared a presentation? He had research?
As Draco continued, she found herself caught off guard by how eloquent he was. He outlined potential partnerships with apothecaries, detailed alternative ingredient sources, and even suggested methods for minimizing magical pollution.
Hermione hated it. Hated that he sounded reasonable. Hated that his points made sense. Hated that he looked like he belonged on the cover of Witch Weekly while doing it.
Her mind raced. Why does his hair have to look so perfect? And why does he—Merlin help me - know what he’s talking about?
She shook her head, bringing herself back to attention. But every time she glanced at her notes, her gaze flickered back to him. And every time, she caught the faintest twitch of a smirk on his lips. Then, as if the universe were conspiring against her, her stomach growled loudly. The sound echoed in the quiet room, earning a glance from Draco. Her cheeks burned with white-hot embarrassment, and she quickly pretended to flip through her notes.
When he finally finished, the room broke into polite applause. Hermione seized the moment to speak, her words sharp and precise. “While your points are well-researched, Malfoy, I’m curious how you plan to enforce compliance. Many suppliers are resistant to change, particularly if it affects their profit margins.”
She cocked her head, her tone carrying just enough challenge to make her point clear. The faintest flicker of surprise crossed Draco’s face before he recovered, and she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
Draco turned to her, his grey eyes gleaming with something infuriatingly close to delight. “An excellent question, Granger. I’d expect nothing less.” He leaned slightly against the table, his tone measured. “The key is incentive. If we can demonstrate the long-term benefits - both financial and ecological - resistance will wane.” Draco’s hand rested lightly on the edge of the table, fingers tapping in a rhythm that seemed calculated, almost mocking her growing irritation.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lot of theory and not much action.”
“Action requires cooperation,” Draco countered smoothly. “And I’m sure someone with your reputation can help rally support.”
Her face turned red, upset that he’d answered so perfectly. “Why do you always look like you have everything figured out?” she snapped.
Draco’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. “It’s a gift, Granger.”
By the time the meeting ended, Hermione was drained and ready to go home. She’d been shocked to see Draco hold his own and even more so that she might agree with some of his ideas.
As she gathered her things, she felt his presence lingering by the door.
“You know, Granger,” he drawled, his tone light but his gaze intent, “I didn’t think this meeting would be interesting, but you’ve surprised me. I’ll see you around.”
He walked off, leaving her standing there, clutching her notes and wondering if it was possible to hex someone for being too smug.
She stood in line for the ministry floo, waiting to get home. Finally, Hermione stepped into her flat, the familiar warmth of home a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. She quickly shed her robes, tossing them over a chair, and made her way to the bathroom. A long, hot bath was exactly what she needed to erase the tension of the day - both from her body and her mind.
The bath filled quickly, steam rising from the water and the scent of rose in the air from her bath oils. She sank in, letting out a content sigh as the hot water enveloped her. She opened her book, the one she’d been meaning to finish for weeks, hoping the quiet would help her focus.
But her mind refused to settle.
She thought about the meeting with the potion regulation board earlier that day. Another round of endless debates, and of course, there was the ridiculous back-and-forth with some of the other members who still didn’t understand the urgency of environmental safety when it came to potion ingredients. She’d spent hours reviewing proposals, making revisions, and preparing her arguments. It had been exhausting, but at least she could check it off her list.
Tomorrow, she had a meeting with the Department of Magical Transportation about the new safety measures for broomsticks, followed by an afternoon with the Magical Creature Care team to discuss the latest developments in dragon conservation. Then, she was meeting Harry and Ginny for dinner. She’d promised Ginny they’d catch up, and Harry would no doubt be his usual self - excited to discuss the latest mystery at the Ministry. It was going to be another busy day, but at least she could look forward to some quiet time with her friends. Maybe even a bit of wine.
Her to-do list for the week was stacked: new proposals to write, research to finish, and a pile of paperwork to sort through. She had a few more meetings, of course. And a couple of reports due. It was the usual, never-ending work, but she was getting somewhere. She adjusted her position in the tub, trying to ease the tension in her neck, but her thoughts started drifting. To Draco.
It was infuriating. She hadn’t thought about him in years, and now the pale blonde git was in her mind. Hermione tried to dismiss the way his navy robes had fit him perfectly, how he’d looked like he’d stepped out of some fashion magazine. How he’d made her feel... flustered. He was Draco Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. She’d spent years dealing with the prick at school, putting up with his arrogance and utter belief that he was always right.
And yet, here she was, lying in a bath, thinking about him.
She could still hear his voice in her head, calm and collected, as he’d presented his ideas. His research on potion ingredients, on ways to improve safety standards, was surprisingly solid. She hated that he was so prepared and put together.
"Why do you always look like you have everything figured out?" she muttered aloud, frowning at the memory.
The image of his smirk flashed in her mind. "It’s a gift, Granger."
That damn smirk.
She sighed and sank deeper into the water, trying to shake the thought from her head. There was no reason to be thinking about Draco Malfoy. She had far more important things to do than dwell on him. For example, initiatives that needed to be accomplished at the ministry if she wanted to move up.
And yet, as much as she tried to push him out of her thoughts, she couldn’t get past how charming he was, and the way he seemed to enjoy getting under her skin. It wasn’t that she was interested in him, of course. He just… had a way of making her feel things. Things she didn’t quite know how to handle.
"Focus, Hermione," she muttered, opening her book again. She tried to read, but the words blurred together. Her thoughts kept drifting. To the way Draco’s eyes had gleamed when he’d challenged her. To how he’d somehow made her feel both irritated and... intrigued. To the way he’d looked so put together, so in control, while she was scrambling from meeting to meeting, barely keeping up with her own life.
She slammed the book shut, frustrated with herself. Draco Malfoy. Of all people.
She closed her eyes, telling herself her face was flushed from the heat of the bath, willing herself to ignore him. But somehow, she knew it wouldn’t be that easy.