Best of Fifteen

Draco Malfoy did not send witches flowers.

The only witch he might send anything at all to was his mother, and seeing as she spent most of her days gardening, the gesture would feel somewhat redundant.

He never had sent anyone flowers, as far as he could remember. Certainly not Pansy at Hogwarts. He’d had no cause to send flowers to anyone while on house arrest or as a student under strict duelling professors. None of his brief dalliances at University. And since graduation– well, one doesn’t exactly send flowers to women they never intend to see again.

Draco was at his desk, meditating on the idiocy of any wizard lovesick enough to obtain a floral arrangement and send it off to a witch. Flowers must be sent by saps who didn’t have anything important to do with their time, Draco decided, as he watched another massive bouquet of flowers fly itself down the corridor to Granger’s office.

The sap in question was Longbottom, Draco supposed. The two had looked rather cosy in her office that one day. And Neville was good with flowers– that was how he’d come to know Narcissa, after all– so it made sense he’d spoil his witch with them. Although he would’ve pegged Longbottom for a man with a bit more subtlety, Draco thought, as an arrangement of cherry-red roses in the shape of a heart flew down the DMLE hallway, carolling and throwing off confetti as it went.

His office door was half-open, so Draco was availed to the full monstrosity of the thing. Tasteless, really, he thought to himself. Whoever sent that was a blithering idiot.

Or perhaps Draco was a blithering idiot. He stared at the floral arrangement. There was no reason for his door to be open at all, really, but he’d started leaving it just a hair open since Granger had floated past on her way to a nonexistent dentist appointment. Something like that could happen again, he figured. He was being a responsible coworker by constantly keeping one eye on the corridor, and not at all a blithering idiot who wanted to see what Granger was wearing.

Draco felt his hand tighten around his pen. This thing– this interest in what Granger was doing– was no good. She had a very full life, as was evident by her constant influx of lunch guests and memos and, now, infernal flower bouquets. Her life had no place for ex-Death Eaters in it, even if all this one wanted to do was to see that fierce look cross into her intelligent eyes again.

Alright. He was blithering.

Draco made to slam the door shut, when he became aware of footfalls coming down the corridor.

“Granger!” A male voice called out.

Draco turned to see, of all people, Theodore Nott in the hall of the DMLE.

Theo seemed just as surprised to see Draco. The brunette wizard attempted to hug Draco, a gesture that perplexed him even more.

“You’re in a good mood,” he noted.

“I am,” Theo confirmed brightly.

“You’re at the Ministry,” Draco continued.

“I am,” Theo said, a bit nonplussed to be reminded. “I’m here for Granger.”

Draco did not have time to process that statement, as at that moment, Granger’s own head popped around the doorway.

“Did someone yell my name?” the witch asked.

“Ah! Granger!”

Theo pulled her into Draco’s office and swept her up into a tight hug. Draco caught Granger’s eye as the witch was pulled into an enthusiastic embrace. Finally, Theo pulled back, cradling Granger’s head in his hands.

“You’re brilliant. He’s brilliant. He’s gorgeous. Did you get my flowers? I’m going to send you more flowers.”

A corner of Granger’s mouth stole up.

“I take it things went well?” she asked.

Theo bounded back. “Did they! That man’s arse, Granger. His tongue. And Merlin, the things he can do with his–”

Granger waved her arms. “My brother, Theo, he’s practically my brother.”

Theo relented, but his eyes retained a mischievous shine.

“Well, let me tell you, he can ride more than just a–” At Granger’s sound of disgust, Theo cut off.

“Fine, well, I’d better run, I’m meeting him for dinner. I only wanted to express my thanks.”

“Dinner?” Granger asked, eyebrows raising. Draco was sure his were near his hairline. “So this isn’t just…”

“Oh, it’s plenty of…” Theo wiggled his eyebrows, “but the rest is… to be determined.”

Granger hummed, brushing a curl out of her face. Draco’s eyes caught on the movement, the way she tucked it behind her ear, exposing the gentle slope of her neck.

He looked away quickly, an unexpected heat rising from under his collar. Granger hadn’t noticed his lingering glance. But looking quickly back at Theo confirmed that the dark-haired wizard had seen it. Seen it, and decided to tuck it away for discussion at a later point, surely. A gloating look at Draco as Theo said his goodbyes confirmed it.

Silence and stillness descended on the office after Theo left. Granger was still peering after him out the doorway, but didn’t make any moves to leave.

“You know, he’s never come to visit me at work before,” Draco commented.

“Really?”

“He’s my oldest friend, too,” Draco mused.

“I met him yesterday,” Granger said.

Granger caught his eye and giggled. Draco nearly lost his breath.

“He sent me the most atrocious flowers,” Granger said.

“I saw,” Draco said.

“Did you?”

Draco nodded.

Granger was leaning against his desk now, her weight on her hands.

“I had no idea who’d sent them,” she said, “and was beginning to worry I had a crazed stalker.”

“And it seems you were right,” Draco said drily.

Granger chuckled. She looked up at him, her dark eyes serious.

“I didn’t thank you for Friday.”

Draco’s brows came together.

“I appreciate your assistance,” she said, “I usually work alone, so I suppose I’m not used to having anyone around to thank.”

“Of course, Granger.” Draco’s mouth was dry, but his words came out clearly.

“How’d you know what to do the other day?” the witch asked.

Draco’s heart sank. Of course she’d realised his familiarity with blood magicks. He tightened his jaw, determined to answer truthfully.

“I’d seen that kind of charmwork before. In Malfoy Manor.”

Granger blinked, recoiling a bit. “I–” She steadied herself. “I figured. I meant with the cabinet, actually. That Laxo. Is there a lot of charmwork in law?”

Draco’s face reddened.

“Oh. That.” He reached a hand to rub at the back of his head. “I did a duelling mastery, actually. Before starting law. We studied a fair bit of charms.”

The witch looked at him curiously.

“I didn’t know that.”

Draco shrugged. “Did it in Russia. I wanted to be somewhere I didn’t know anyone.”

Granger nodded. “When did you come back?”

Draco lowered himself onto his sofa. It occurred to him, as he did so, that he was in his office having a casual conversation with Granger. The moment was so surreal he nearly forgot her question.

“I finished in Russia after three years, then went to the States for law school and stayed on at MACUSA for a few years. I’ve been at the DMLE less than six months.”

“Law school?”

“Columbia.” At her look of confusion, he clarified, “Muggle law school.”

Draco watched this register with the witch. She blinked once, then again. Her fingers, which had been tapping on the edge of the desk, stilled. He watched her dark eyes as her mind worked. He imagined that somewhere in the witch’s head, she was reviewing a file labelled with Draco’s name. She was tallying up points, perhaps, or adding a few new figures, attempting to decide where to file him with this new information.

Draco fought the urge to shrink down as she looked at him. He forced himself to sit upright under her study. He imagined what she’d ask him next.

Muggles, really?

Did you speak to any?

Did you manage to get through your degree without hurling slurs at anyone?

What did your father have to say about that?

But, instead–

“That explains the pens, then.”

“What?”

Granger inclined her head towards the pen sitting on Draco’s desk.

The two sat in silence for another moment before Draco said, feeling every inch the blithering idiot, “I tend to spill ink.”

Granger looked at him closely, and he wondered if the scales might just have come down in his favour.

“Me, too.”

Granger was speaking to him. Regularly. Draco was elated and terrified, sure that at any moment he would do something to muck it all up.

She spoke to him when they bumped into each other at the lift or in the break room. She greeted him at the department all-hands meeting– not a warm greeting, necessarily, but a shade more than civil. She waved him a goodnight when she left the office before him.

It was astounding. Draco wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done (surely it couldn’t just be his use of pens) to convince her that he was worthy of her brief attentions. But it couldn’t be denied– somehow, some way, Draco seemed to have moved up in Granger’s estimation from Barely tolerable, possibly still a bigot, to something else.

As her greetings continued, Draco grew brave.

One evening, as Granger’s music boomed through the walls of Draco’s office, he wrote a quick memo and sent it off before he could second guess himself.

A minute or two later, the same paper aeroplane flattened itself to slide under Draco’s door and landed on his desk.

In his own hand: Did you just skip Psycho Killer? I thought better of you, Granger.

And then, in hers: Only to spare you the trial of hearing me singing along. Frightfully catchy.

Then, added on as if an afterthought: I can’t believe you listen to Talking Heads, of all Muggle bands.

Draco’s heart kicked up to an alarming rate.

I love them. Although, to tell the truth, I thought they were a band made up of real shrunken heads for about a year, he wrote. He sent it off quickly.

Through the wall, he heard a chuckle. He smiled, alarmingly proud at having made Granger laugh. The plane returned.

Granger: Will I shock you too greatly if I tell you that the Beatles aren’t insects at all?

Draco: They did that one intentionally to spite ignorant pureblood wizards, I’m sure of it.

Granger: Poor baby. How you must suffer.

Draco: Don’t make fun, Granger. You try attending a party and being told that bugs are playing the music.

She laughed again. Draco looked hopefully at his door. The memo didn’t return, but after a moment, the first chords of Psycho Killer sounded from her office. Humming along with the music, Draco returned to his file.

That evening, Granger’s wave goodnight came with a smile that creased the corners of her eyes. Draco lost his train of thought.

On Thursday morning, Granger sent him a memo.

Rubber Soul or Yellow Submarine?

He picked Rubber Soul. She indulged him.

On the way into the Friday morning all-hands, Draco suggested Purple Rain for the afternoon. Granger warned Draco that the artist was not, in fact, a member of the Muggle monarchy. Draco informed her that he’d worked that out by his second time seeing Prince in concert. Granger almost choked on her coffee.

Potter appeared, looking grievously concerned about Granger’s choking and ready to launch a full-scale rescue mission until she swallowed, waving him off. Potter scampered off, already concerned about whatever Robards would be bullocksing them all over.

“Steady on, Granger,” Draco said, opening the door for her.

Granger flashed him an amused look as she passed. Draco focused the entirety of his energy on not staring at her arse as he followed her in.

That afternoon, Draco’s office door flew open. It was Granger, looking wild-eyed. She held a file aloft, then, reaching his desk, thrust it in front of him.

“I’ve got something,” she said, breathless.

Draco looked down at the pages. On the left, an original document, and on the right, her translations floating above a duplicate. Granger waved her wand quickly, dismissing a few symbols and highlighting one line. Draco scanned the page.

“That’s a Gringotts account number, isn’t it?” Granger asked. “It’s the right number of digits, and once I got through this nasty scrambling hex, I realised it’s a deposit slip. I’m sure of it.”

Draco’s eyes flew up to hers.

“This is good, right?” Granger asked, “For the case?”

“This is bloody fantastic,” Draco responded.

Granger practically glowed. Draco summoned his own file and flicked through its pages.

“This account isn’t registered to the deceased,” Draco said, “but an open murder investigation should be enough to get me access to transaction receipts.”

“I thought it might,” Granger said. She’s come close over his shoulder to peer at the paper.

“Merlin, Potter will be thrilled,” Draco noted. “This case hasn’t had a break in months.”

Granger nodded. “The correspondence will take longer than the financials, but it’s a fair start.”

Draco snorted. “Just fair? Give yourself a bit of credit, Granger.”

Granger didn’t respond, but Draco saw from the corner of his eye that a light pink had tinged her cheekbones. As Draco drew his wand and made a copy of Granger’s work, he saw her eyes slide to the file he’d been working on. She reached a hand out to push her translation aside.

“Malfoy,” she said, already reading the page, “What is this?”

Draco made to tell her that it was nothing, but the witch’s nose had already scrunched up.

“Lycanthropy employment practices?” She questioned, “Is this a DMLE case?”

“No,” Draco admitted. “Sometimes I pick up a bit of additional casework. Extracurricular, you know.”

“In addition to all this department’s needs?”

“I worked on something similar at MACUSA, so I’m just taking a cursory look at it.”

Granger had turned to the section that Draco had edited nearly beyond recognition– more red ink on the page than black. Draco cringed. Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard.

“Cursory, you said?” Granger asked, holding up the page.

“Well, it was rather egregiously bad,” Draco said, summoning the file from her hands and stashing it in his desk.

“I see,” Granger responded. Was he imagining it, or was her mouth curling up in a smile?

Draco cleared his throat. “Well, good find, Granger. I’ll get started straight away.”

Salazar. Why was he trying to get her to leave? He should try to get her to stay instead, and see if he could make her blush that pretty colour again.

Draco shook himself. But it didn’t matter that he’d been half-hoping she’d stay.

“Godric, is that the time?” Granger asked, a note of panic in her voice, “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She collected her things and departed from his office in a hurry, leaving behind only a faint smell of vanilla and lavender. But it was a fleeting pleasure. Draco worked late into the night, long past when the scent had faded.