Please don't
Five years, six months, two weeks, and three days had passed since Hermione had started work at the Ministry.
She thought she was being so noble when she opted out of taking her NEWTs and accepted Kingsley Shacklebot’s offer to hop into the workforce immediately following the war. The boys had both gone to the DMLE, their adrenaline from fighting still running high. She went towards the DRCMC, hoping to continue on her long held dream to help others.
It was a decision she regretted almost every day since.
She didn’t regret her reasons—of course she wanted to champion rights for all magical beings. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t look back on Remus Lupin for inspiration. She just hadn’t banked on the road being so heavily blockaded by the very same prejudices she’d fought so hard against. The statue in the entrance might look pretty, but it was a lie.
The truth was that she had made very little progress. Her first focus had been on House Elves, then Werewolves, and currently Centaurs. It had been five years, and not a single proposal she’d written had made it past the initial planning stages.
Hermione was done.
No more fieldwork in remote locations on short notice. No more sidetracking her with magical creatures whose case files were oddly sparse in detail. No more listening to her superior hemming and hawing over her ideas, only to deny them.
She held her resignation letter in her hand, back straight and chin up. If she couldn’t do what she had always dreamed of doing at the Ministry, then she would go somewhere where she could.
“I pity the fool who has to face you with that expression.”
Hermione scowled as she lamented the fact that coming in as early as possible still hadn’t helped. It was exactly her brand of luck to bump into Malfoy of all people.
“Yes, well, they’ll only have to bear with me this one last time,” she said bitterly.
He followed her into the elevator and she realized with continued annoyance that they were alone.
“Level four,” she barked, still refusing to look up at him.
“I know.”
She stared resolutely at the golden doors, willing them to open up to her floor.
Please don’t talk.
“What do you mean by ‘one last time’?”
Nosy git.
“I mean exactly that. I’m leaving the Ministry and finding a place where I’m actually wanted and what I do matters.”
“You don’t think what you do here matters?”
His follow-up question had her peering up in irritation. “Are you going to take everything I say and turn it into a question?”
Malfoy turned to fully face her, his back to the button panel, and leveled her with his cool grey gaze.
Hermione didn’t see him often in the building—for all she knew, he didn’t even need to work. The Malfoy wealth had withstood the ravages of war just fine, and the family had even donated substantial amounts in reparations as part of their sentencing. Other than filling his family’s seat on the Wizengamot, Hermione wasn’t sure what purpose his presence served other than starting her morning off on another terrible foot.
“I only ask because I am concerned.”
His expression remained somber and Hermione realized with a healthy amount of shock that he was serious.
“But, why?”
Hermione was so aghast that not only did she not even notice that the elevator wasn’t moving and never had been; she didn’t realize Malfoy had positioned himself to purposefully block any moves for the control panel.
“I’m concerned because I think without you there will be very little movement towards true progress otherwise.”
His eyes searched hers and she stood there, trying to absorb his words. Objectively, she thought it was a very nice thing for him to say. Realistically, she felt burdened by the expectations it laid upon her.
“I’m not a packhorse, Malfoy.”
If he was bothered by her retort, he didn’t show it. He simply shifted in place, then started twirling his wand between his fingers.
“No,” he agreed, “but you are a symbol, whether you want to be or not. And please don’t take my observations as attempting to influence your decision in any way.”
“Why not? Lucius would have.”
He flinched at his father’s name, and she felt a twinge of remorse.
“Father likely would have, yes, but I am not him.”
His fingers had stopped moving and he now held his wand awkwardly at his side, tapping his thigh.
Tapping. Rhythm. Time.
They had been in this elevator for entirely too long.
Hermione looked above the doors in alarm and realized they were still on the Atrium level.
“Malfoy! I asked you to hit my floor!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I distinctly recall doing so!”
“You told me your floor, yes, but you did not ask me to push it for you.”
She gaped at him.
He tilted his head and smiled.
Hermione lunged around him to try and hit the button, but he smoothly sidestepped to intercept her. She met with the warm, very firm, wall that was his chest, and it was only his hands on her hips that prevented her from toppling over.
“Unhand me, you, you—”
He gently pushed her back to standing and removed his hands, holding them up in supplication. “If you’re looking for some monstrous name to call me, might I suggest ‘dragon’?”
“Ferret.”
He rolled his eyes at the juvenile moniker, and she flushed in embarrassment.
“Look, Granger, I only kept you here because you looked like you could use a listening ear.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to interject, and she stopped. “I also wanted you to know that I’ve been waiting every day for one of your proposals to come through. I’ve read several of your publications and fully support everything you’ve been fighting for.”
She couldn’t help the way her jaw dropped at his confessions. Draco Malfoy had been tracking her work?
“Given that I haven’t even heard a whisper over the past five and a half years from your department, I believe it’s safe to assume that the blockade is intentional.”
She hated hearing the truth she’d already come to accept for herself from someone else’s mouth.
“I’m going to turn around and press your level now, but before I do, I want to offer my own proposal.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man who had so easily derailed her plans, allowing herself to fully appreciate the sight before her. The signature icy blond locks were swept away from his face in an effortless look belying their perfect placement. Grey eyes, darkened with intent, bored into her willing her to listen. He stood a good foot taller than her, but his height and broad shoulders could still move incredibly quickly as her recent experience had proven.
“I’m listening.”
“Take on my family as a client and I will ensure that you get all the materials and personnel that you need to build a case that you will not only win, but will set you up to tackle even bigger projects in the future.”
“By take on your family, you mean…”
“House Elves, Granger.”
Dobby.
The Malfoys employed one of the largest personal retainers in their household. Hermione knew this from her very first foray into creature rights, but hadn’t been able at the time to pursue that avenue. Hogwarts had seemed the friendlier choice, but, even then, she’d gone nowhere.
“I want to meet them,” she announced. She needed to see the Malfoy Elves firsthand and see if there were others like Dobby. Lucius was no longer around, but who knew the history behind those dreaded walls?
“Come to the Estate this Saturday and stay for supper.” His face remained completely serious.
“This isn’t supposed to be a date, Malfoy. I’m there to see the House Elves, and see them only.”
He chuckled a little at her scathing reply, but explained further, “Staying for supper will allow you to see how they operate around one of their daily routines. You’ll arrive early enough in the afternoon to catalog their other tasks, and can leave immediately following dessert. Unless, that is, you’d like to stay for drinks after?” His voice lilted up at the end and he smiled at her in a manner that others might have labeled charming.
Hermione, however, would not be tricked.
“Fine.”
“Excellent.” With another one of his winning smiles, he turned around and the elevator jolted in movement.
Onward, and upward.