An Invitation
"What’s wrong with him?"
Hermione sighs, rubbing an ink-stained hand over her face, unbeknownst to the black streaks it’s leaving in its wake.
"Better not to ask."
She and Harry have been drowning in paperwork and magical law rewrites. Quite literally, she notes, remembering the flood of rushing envelopes that dropped onto her head this morning when she opened her Ministry-appointed office door.
Draco hovers over his boyfriend, a small grimace painting his pale face in the early morning light streaming through the opened window. A window that Hermione had to fight tooth and nail to keep open. Harry keeps insisting it’s October and that it’s freezing outside. Naturally, Hermione disagrees; she likes the chill in the air.
It helps that it keeps her awake as well.
Speaking of the Boy-Who-Lived, his head thumps against the top of his dark wooden desk with an insistent pounding noise that makes Hermione roll her eyes before casting a silent cushioning charm.
Draco throws a grateful nod Hermione’s way, and she can't help but roll her eyes again. As if Harry wasn’t waiting for her to do just that. His shaggy black hair moves slightly, revealing the barest hint of sparkling green eyes and a sheepish smile as Harry lifts his head off of the desk.
"Thanks, Hermione."
Waving him off, she turns her attention back to the paper on her own desk, more than happy to pivot Harry to Draco’s supervision. Not that she doesn't love him—Merlin, on the contrary. It’s just... sharing an office space with him, usually having lunch with him, going out to eat after work with him, and Draco, with an occasional appearance of Ron or Ginny, is ample time spent with the man.
Not to mention...
Hermione pulls her lip between her teeth in concentration. She doesn't have the slightest idea of what to do about this . Hermione has ideas for everything. Ranging from magical creature rights, the influence of Muggle history on the Magical World, and vice versa, and the inhumane and rather barbaric use of dementors in Azkaban, and—point is, she has a plethora of ideas about almost everything.
But this?
This ?
This bloody manilla-coloured 8.5 by 11-inch parchment is going to be her death, she’s sure of it.
Why in the world is she , of all people, writing to her? And the excuse of writing for work, or—or, whatever was thrown out the window the moment an Australian Masked Owl flew into her window and landed—rather softly, thankfully—on the top of her chair. The chair she had been sitting in at the time and the chair that had promptly ended up on the floor, with a cursing Hermione Granger tangled on top of it. A chair that, after its sudden descent, was owl free.
Harry laughed until his face turned purple and tears were streaming down his face, a mess that was only furthered when the owl flew over the wounded Hermione and unceremoniously dropped the letter onto her stomach, which it then proceeded to fly back from where it came without a moment's hesitation.
All of that is relevant because Harry admitted to having seen the owl before but never in use, which was just... so bloody reassuring.
Even without her friend’s—a term that is still being reworked since that God-awfully embarrassing mishap—advice, once she saw who the letter was from and that it wasn't the ridiculously massive, gold and white-spotted Great Horned Owl that usually delivers her letters, Hermione assumed it was a personal owl.
"—en staring holes into her desk, ever since it flew in earlier."
"Really? Hasn’t she had... well, I don't know, work or other non-important things to overthink?"
Hermione huffed, spinning around in her chair until she was glaring at the twiggy blond now sitting on the edge of Harry’s desk with a familiar, still entirely obnoxious smirk.
"What I do is important, for your information," Hermione says, watching as Harry and Draco share a look. "Hey! We talked about this; no PDA in the office,"
Hermione almost smiles when Harry shakes his head in laughter as Draco’s pale skin reddens slightly before he rolls his eyes.
"We promise not to ever be this strict once you bring someone in," Harry laughs as Draco snorts.
"You mean you promise. I’ve made no such commitment."
Hermione brings a finger to her lip in mock concentration. The mind-boggling, half-opened letter is forgotten for the moment as she plays along.
"Hmm… Really? Because I do seem to recall a certain, less than pleasant reaction from one of you," Hermione lets a grin play at her lips, "Back when Pansy stopped by."
Hermione bites her lip to keep from laughing when Draco’s face flushes, from the tips of his ears to the point of his nose. Harry has no such restrictions and erupts in laughter freely as he nods encouragingly.
"She!" Draco sputters, eyes darting from Harry in betrayal and to Hermione, glaring weakly. "She’s like my sister, Granger! Of course, I would—Stop laughing!"
Hermione breaks, joining Harry in mutual amusement as she laughs, satisfied with the reaction she drew.
"Okay, okay." Harry’s the first to calm down, wiping at his eyes as he gatherers the papers on his desk into piles for tomorrow. "Are we still good for tonight?" he asks, his gaze jumping from her and Draco.
Oh.
Hermione looks back at her desk, furrowing her brows and sighing when the letter steals her attention once again. She had all but forgotten about dinner. Ron was supposed to be there with Ginny and Lavender tonight too.
She really does want to respond soon—she wouldn't want her to think Hermione rude or worse, inefficient.
Hermione throws an apologetic smile toward the two men, getting ready to ask for a rain check when Harry beats her to it.
"Don’t worry about it ‘Mione. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting, huh?" Harry smiles softly as Draco’s brows wrinkle, confusion apparent yet curiosity piqued.
"Wouldn't want to keep who waiting?" Draco asks, at the same time, Harry shakes his head, muttering under his breath before shivering.
"Know I wouldn't want to..."
"Thank you. I truly am sorry. I think Ron was really looking forward to tonight, for some reason." Hermione sighs, ignoring the blond’s questioning glare.
"Another time then."
And then Harry and Draco are gone, the soft click of their office door closing, but not before Hermione hears Draco groan.
"I swear to Salazar, Potter, if I ever have to walk in on her and Pansy again—"
Hermione snorts, even as relief washes through her, sudden gratitude for the man she’s more than happy to call her brother making her smile softly.
Despite his teasing, he is right.
Hermione doesn't think keeping Narcissa Black waiting is a good idea.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Hermione’s head bangs softly against her desk, frustration growing with every, albeit soft, impact of her forehead against the hard surface.
Why is this so complicated ?
It shouldn't be this complicated .
Hermione lifts her head off of the desk, feeling only the tiniest bit of relief as the banging noise ceases.
That is, before she hears the knocking. At first, she’s irritated and confused, but mostly irritated because—she throws a glance toward the window beside her, eyes widening slightly when she sees the darkened night sky—because it is awfully late and most of her colleagues are well aware not to disturb her past a certain time.
A time that has long since passed, she realises with exasperation.
Taking a peek at the letter below her, Hermione glares weakly at the blasted thing before sighing. She moves the paper off to the side and magically opens her office door in silence.
She tries to keep her irritation from showing, but even she can hear the bitterness seeping into her words.
"If you’re not new , then you better have a good reason for—"
Oh, Merlin.
Oh, God .
Hermione’s voice catches in her throat as Narcissa Black stands just outside of Hermione’s office, looking pristine as ever as Hermione’s face flames.
She did not just— "Oh! I... Please, come in, Madame Black."
Hermione silently congratulates herself for making it through the whole sentence in one piece.
At least, partially.
Thankfully, it's enough to urge the woman into her office, swiftly closing the door behind her and taking a seat on the leather couch that sits in front of Hermione’s desk.
Hermione catches herself following the motion as one impossibly long leg crosses over the other fluidly, and she can feel the flush painting her features.
If Narcissa notices, she doesn't say anything, only waits, watching Hermione with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised slightly.
Merlin—She—
Wait, why is she here? She hasn't said as much as a word to the other woman since the end of the war when she and Harry vouched for her and Draco—save, of course, for the few occasions when Draco hosts a dinner for once and brings them to Malfoy Manor.
Hermione always leaves early on those dates.
Her confusion must show on her face because Narcissa's apathetic look melts, if only by a fraction.
"Pardon the hour, I was hoping to make sure my letter was delivered." Narcissa declares, ice-blue eyes seeming to scrutinize her for a moment before flickering to her desk. It’s almost too quick for Hermione to notice, but she does; a subtle look of surprise lifting Narcissa’s features before it’s replaced once again with indifference.
"Ah... so it did make it here."
Hermione nods before correcting herself. "Yes, it… It arrived earlier today…" Hermione’s frazzled mind scrambles for something else to say.
"Might I ask…" Hermione trails off, moving the letter to its rightful place in the centre of her desk. "Could we possibly discuss it—in detail, I mean."
Narcissa’s brows furrow before she shakes her head.
Realising her mistake, Hermione hurries to clarify as Narcissa opens her mouth. "At a later date, of course."
To her credit, Narcissa doesn't say anything. She’s probably more than used to people stumbling over their words around her. Not that she could blame them; just seeing the Slytherin women posing outside her door, as if it personally offended her, was enough to scramble her thoughts.
Hermione watches as Narcissa’s features... honestly, she’s not quite sure what happened, but she looks rather upset—or angry perhaps, and Hermione—Merlin Hermione is an absolute trainwreck.
Her pulse quickens and she can feel the tips of her ears turning red. It’s not like it’s her fault though—it most definitely is—but still!
Narcissa is so...
So…
Pretty .
Devastatingly so, in fact.
And Hermione is only so strong, really.
Speaking of which,... Hermione bites her lip, anticipating what the other woman will say. Looking away from Narcissa for a moment, her eyes flick over the beautiful cursive on the letter.
The topic of the letter itself was... vague enough to prompt a lengthy discussion, and despite Skeeter's claims, Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor for a reason, but... the prospect of rejection sends a shiver up her spine.
When she looks back at Narcissa, she has to keep her mouth from dropping open. She—
Oh, Merlin, what did Hermione do now ? Because the woman's smirking—actually, genuinely smirking and it—It should be illegal to be that attractive.
Her dark brows are raised just so as the corners of her lips curl in amusement. Hermione can’t find it in herself to make it past the small exposure of sharp canines and incisors peeking through the smirk.
Hermione’s heart flutters and she clears her throat, hoping to fight off the incoming blush soon to be splattered across her cheeks.
Gathering her courage, she risks a look at impossibly pale-blue eyes. Despite her efforts, it’s ridiculously strenuous to keep her flush at bay as amusement plays at the corners of Narcissa’s eyes.
Oh, bloody Christ.
Maybe Narcissa should turn down her offer.
A chuckle flits through the silence of Hermione’s office, a low, breathy sound as Narcissa lifts her hand to cover her mouth.
"Apologies," Narcissa claims, sounding not at all sorry. "It would be my pleasure to meet again."
It’s almost cruel, Hermione thinks, how Narcissa flaunts her fangs once more before leaving.
Hermione's tired eyes scan over the words one last time, replaying the moment with Narcissa over in her head absentmindedly.
A groan escapes her before she accios her wand from across the office, letting the carved wood soothe her nerves.
Hermione relishes the soft click her office door makes when she closes it behind her, leaving an unfinished pile of paperwork behind for the first since she started.
With a small smile on her face and a black envelope in her hand, Hermione begins the quiet trek back to her flat.