Her Mind's Made Up
Hermione was anxious. It was ten past 12, her and Draco’s designated meeting time, and there was decidedly no Draco in her office. Truth be told, she had spent the greater part of the morning fretting about the impending meeting. 'Should I simply turn him down? Merlin knows the last time I listened to Ginny’s advice I ended up with two magically-regrown ribs. Should I reschedule? I need more time to think it over. Should I clean up a bit? Should I apply a bit of mascara? Should I change my name and move to Albania and learn Albanian? Albanish? What is the official language of Albania?' Her thoughts were known to spiral.
Yet, here she was, decidedly sans-mascara (she refused to make the effort for Draco-sodding-Malfoy) and alone. Sod it all, he had stood her up. Well, all was not lost. She would continue to do what she had always done. Hermione Granger would work. She would work for the promotion, and earn it on her own merit. Luckily for her, she now had a free hour to start. Pale prats and the ministry cafeteria could wait.
However, she hadn’t so much as grabbed her pen before a knocking shattered the atmosphere. She hesitated, tempted to turn him away. Punctuality was a very important practice, after all. Instead, she wordlessly opened the door, fixing him with a glare. She wasn’t above passive aggression.
Draco shuffled in, awkwardly holding several muggle take-out boxes. Dumping them on the nearest surface, he straightened and flashed her a smile.
“My favorite pencil-pusher, may I present the finest food for miles around. Takeout from Speedy Wok.”
Silence greeted his proclamation. Hermione wasn’t particularly in a forgiving mood. Draco tried another tactic.
“And I’ve got an extra egg roll?”
Damn him. He knew she loved egg rolls. Her demeanor deflated as she cracked a smile, eyeing the box.
“Yes, well, I suppose I can overlook your transgression given the extra egg roll. Note, though, that I won’t be so lenient next time.”
“Bring two extra egg rolls next time. Noted.”
With that, he quickly dished out the food and took the seat across from Hermione’s desk. They were here for business, after all.
“So, I assume you have an answer for me, seeing as you replied to my owl.”
“Yes, I do. Against my better judgment, I’m going to take your offer. Dinner with you can not possibly be worse than spending another weekend completing work no one bothers to notice has been done. Truly, this office would burn to the ground in seconds if I wasn’t constantly extinguishing little fires.”
“I can’t decide if I’m offended or not.”
His tone was light, and his smile hadn’t fallen. On the contrary, he was looking very self-satisfied.
“Do not fret, my dear Hermione. Dinner will be wonderful, and there is even a chance for dessert afterwards.”
With that, he winked conspiratorially at her and prepared for her reaction. He was having fun with this.
“Gods, Draco! Please never put that mental image into my head again. Better yet, never speak those words into existence ever again. I think I may have actually thrown up a little in my mouth.”
She wiped her mouth, trying, and failing, to glare at him. Draco could see the hint of a smile across her face, and knew he had hit his mark. He adopted a fake pout and continued,
“You’re saying you don’t want to taste any of my-”
“-oh no no non. Stop that sentence right there.”
They had both devolved into full-body laughs at this point, their lunch forgotten amidst their easy back-and-forth. Hermione bent over her desks, holding her sides, sporting a full grin by now. Draco for his part was doubled-over his food, silently shaking with laughter. A few minutes later, they had both straightened out with only the stray chuckle to be heard. Hermione broke the silence first, saying,
“I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in years. I really needed that.”
“And think, all it took was a few innuendos.”
“Oh please, I was simply laughing at the absurdity of the situation. That is all.”
Hermione took on a haughty expression, and resumed eating her meal. Draco wasn’t having any of it.
“We both know you laughed to distract yourself from realizing just how much you want a piece of the Draco-Malfoy-cake.”
He smirked, also returning to his food, before being hit with a projectile piece of chicken. He looked up to see Hermione hiding behind her plate, holding her traitorous fork.
“Oh, no you don’t-”
He retaliated with a bit of zucchini to Hermione’s shoulder, and a mini food-fight was waged. Sure, it was childish and Hermione was positive she had seen a piece of broccoli land in her potted plant, but it was fun. It was the most fun she had experienced in ages, and she had a soy-sauce-covered Draco Malfoy to thank for it. Maybe, she mused, Ginny wasn’t so far off.
Two hours later, Hermione had official dinner plans with Draco Malfoy. Eight o’ clock at the Rising Phoenix, the Wizarding World’s premiere restaurant. I’ll floo to yours, Draco had argued, it’s what a gentleman does. Hermione, for her part, had snorted in return, when have you ever been a gentleman? Draco, feigning offense, had looked at her with a horrified expression and melodramatically placed his hand over his heart, well, obviously I’ve been doing a shite job.
Thus, Hermione was to await Draco Malfoy at her apartment, for who was she to deny him his gentlemanly duties? In actuality, Hermione just didn’t favor Floo travel. If he wanted to venture to make the trip to her place, she was fine with it. Well, fine with it after a bit of riling him, of course.
She was a bit anxious about what Draco, the sole heir of the Malfoy fortune, would think of her third-floor flat. She dearly loved it, but it wasn’t exactly Malfoy Manor. She had moved in directly following her break-up with Ron, and her ministry paycheck alone was not going to cover anything larger. Still, she was content. It held her books and various pet projects at any time. It was the one constant in her life. She wasn’t going to let a spoiled pureblood with family money ruin it for her.
Finally complete with her musings, Hermione gingerly stood up (it was about time to re-apply the chair’s cushioning charm) and looked over to her clock which read five o’clock. Where had the time gone? She looked down to her desk and the piles of paperwork decorating it. Hours more of work were required for all of it. Hermione knew she should sit back down (after casting that cushioning charm) get to work, and maybe, just maybe, make it on time to dinner.
Hermione walked out of her office without a backwards glance. Damn the paperwork, she thought, when was the last time I left on time? I can take one evening for myself.
However, fate had never been on Hermione’s side. Not during her childhood, her Hogwarts years, and certainly not in this ministry corridor. No sooner had she walked out of her office than she was met with the disapproving gaze of Mr. Wexton. Then again, that may simply have been how his face looked. She couldn’t recall ever seeing an approving look from him.
“Hermione. Leaving a bit early, aren’t we?”
He was standing in front of her now, eyeing her closed door.
“Actually, if I recall correctly, the official workday ceases at five o’clock. Seeing as it is ten after five now, I’m actually a bit late.”
She knew it was petty, but she wasn’t going to let Mr. Wexton chastise her for taking one evening for herself. One! He may not have a life, but she did.
“Of course, Ms. Granger. I was merely referring to your penchant for working late. Of course, I can’t keep you any later than mandated. Have a nice evening.”
With that, he turned and continued his original course, leaving a conflicted Hermione at her door. She didn’t regret what she had said, but she couldn’t help but feel that she had failed. She could easily imagine his inner monologue. 'She doesn’t put in the work. She was never right for the promotion.' Well, that’s what she was working on currently, wasn’t it? Draco had promised his assistance in exchange for their date. A date for which she soon needed to prepare for. Mind made up, she held her head high, and continued her trek to the lifts. The paperwork, and Mr. Wexton, could wait. She had a date-business meeting-awaiting her.