The (Slughorn's Potions) Office

“Mornin’!” Creevey huffs out, hair ruffled from the wind. Hermione can barely see him through her windblown locks. “Quite windy!”

“Indeed, Colin!” She croaks back, turning away so the wind doesn’t hinder her sight as much, half of her attention on fumbling for the key. 

He says “What?” in a louder voice, not quite a shout, moving closer, but it still floats away in the air so fast that she’s not sure she would have heard if she didn’t know he was there and also knew he could be saying something back. 

“Indeed , Colin!” She yells, purse closing repeatedly against her will because of her movements. Annoyance bubbles under the surface and her thoughts chant, inside inside inside away from the wind, but the universe just won’t cooperate and –

“Sorry, but what –”

“I SAID INDEED, COLIN, IT IS QUITE–” Hermione grapples in her purse more aggressively, gets caught in a gust of wind, and almost tumbles down, literally winded, but thankfully only drops the keys. Her breath is choppy, and she pauses for a second, staring at the key chain, the office logo proudly displayed, a pop of color in the gray smudge. Hermione turns to Creevey, wide eyes, looking quite tussled without almost falling on his arse. 

“Quite windy, yes,” Hermione agrees. They both nod at each other. 

They work in the break room, which throws her off, because this room is for rest, normally, and not for work. But Colin feels most comfortable here, she knows, with more room, and the tea right here, and the brighter color of the walls. 

He checks the sound, she checks the footage. 

It’s a tiny deja-vu seeing everything that happened yesterday through the camera lens. And a little boring. The only moments that stand out particularly are the ones where the angle or perspective changes. Hermione can count them on one hand. Zoomed in are: a fly on the window buzzing helplessly against the glass, the water flowing into the flower pot when Neville waters it, Krum and her shaking hands and his grip not letting up for a solid six seconds, a shot of Lavender’s phone (frame from over her shoulder, the screen says ‘calling WON-WON ’) and Riddle’s fist clenching, watching Viktor Krum asking her for coffee. 

She’s embarrassed to admit she stares at that last one for longer than necessary. 

Was he...jealous? That can’t be. It can’t. He only reacted that way because he wanted to protect their work integrity, right? It would be weird for her to go out with a client, like, then it would seem like Viktor Krum only worked with them for her favor, right? Nepotism. Right? His anger was..for work, right? Right?

“Hermi–um, Ms. Hermione, it’s 8 in twenty minutes,” Colin states, “you told me to remind you so we would finish before normal work officially began.” 

Hermione hums, distracted. Tom doesn’t feel the same. He doesn’t have feelings for her. So. It can’t be jealousy. But. His clenched fist. His stares. The way he talked to Krum. There was tension, right? Right? Am I reaching? Hermione thinks, gloomy. Am I seeing what I want to see? Merlin, this crush is so annoying. I wish I never realized –

“Ms. Hermione,” Colin repeats. “Are you almost done?”

Hermione startles. Their eyes lock. “Oh, yes, yes, Colin,” she says, lying only a little bit. She shakes her head, and fast-forwards the footage, ignoring the urge to go back to the stupid, stupid clenched fist, and Riddle’s stupid, stupid glaring that makes her heart rattle, and –

The footage glitches, it gets dark and shakes, and then sharpens again, showing Tom speaking. His posture makes him appear angered, and the camera frame changes to include the person he’s talking to. Which is – Karkaroff. He nods, talks back. It’s a back and forth that’s almost… practiced. Familiar. It confuses her to a degree that puzzles her, which in turn makes her spool the footage back and click the sound on to repeat the scene again. 

“--took you long enough,” Tom is saying, “First contact was supposed to start before I came back. And what happened to Davis? Krum wasn’t the deal.”

“Viktor had an accident last week,” Karkaroff hisses back, “We need the spotlight still on him, so he will be first choice for team captain in the next season, so I –”

“So you changed the deal you made with me,” Riddle answers, scathing, “without consulting me first? You owe me. Did you forget that? Shall I remind you?”

“I changed it, yes,” Karkaroff admits, sour, “but I didn’t break it. You wanted one of my star players and you wanted me to contact Granger for it and I still delivered that.”

Riddle scoffs and steps closer. “You better hope that all the other things I said still apply at the end of the project or you will wish I never set foot in Durmstrang, understood? ”

“Understood, Riddle,” Karkaroff grunts, mouth curling angrily. Tom leaves, correcting his tie while walking away. The Bulgarian manager stays behind, watching, before muttering, “Damn posh bastard.” He curses some more in bulgarian, before the footage cuts off. 

Hermione stills, mind reeling. 

Deal. Contact Granger. Durmstrang.  

They met at Durmstrang, the other office location. They made some kind of deal. It involved her - at least, for first contact . Riddle has something on Karkaroff. There are more conditions he made that have to be met in the project, or else.

He manipulated the whole outcome. 

But why? 

Hermione has the sudden urge to smash Riddle’s mug that she can see from her place at the break room desk, just sitting quietly, waiting on the counter for Riddle to come in and enjoy a nice, nice cup of coffee. A nice, nice cup of coffee that he doesn’t deserve. 

That liar, Hermione thinks, betrayed and frustrated and sad. Again. 

He knew Slughorn was going to promote them and he kept it to himself. 

He knew that a collaboration with Durmstrang was going to happen and he kept it to himself. 

Worse, he fabricated it to fit his wims. Control everything. What else did he plan? 

And what is Hermione’s role in it?

The questioning makes her heart feel hollow. Every moment plays back in her mind, tainted with his lying, his acting, his manipulative behavior. 

Is this a joke to him? She’s just a chess piece for him to move around. 

“Ms. Hermione, are you done?” Creevey interrupts, preparing hot water for some tea. 

“Yes, I’m so done,” she agrees, closing the footage and the laptop, “Believe me.”

Neville arrives and Hermione fakes a smile. 

Lavender arrives and Hermione fakes a smile. 

Riddle arrives and Hermione doesn’t look at him. 

Harry arrives and Hermione fakes a smile. 

Bellatrix arrives and Hermione sighs. 

“DID YOU SEE HA – AHHHHHH!” Ron stumbles, throws his hands out, stumbles and latches onto the puffy sleeves of Bellatrix’s sweater. It rips, and makes him tumble some more, until Lestrange claws his arm tightly, and snarls right into his face, “What do you think you’re doing, Weasley. That’s sixty pounds! Sixty! And keep your grubby paws off! Off, off!”

“Wha?? Sixty?! That can’t be! I’m not bloody rich and it was an accident! I’m sorry, but that’s just a giant black rug you’re wearing there and –” He shakes his head. “Anyway! HARRY, mate! Did you see the new clip on the telly where Krum did that –”

Hermione is overdoing it with the coffee and tea today. She’s already been to the loo thrice and it’s not yet 9:12. Riddle has been looking at her oddly, but she plays busy. Her hands are shaky and her leg jumps up and down in nerves. She needed to read an email twice to concentrate properly. The lights seem a bit flickering, too, and Hermione could have sworn she saw something little flee behind the mini fridge when she opened it – 

“You good?” Harry whispers, stopping beside her desk. 

“Fine,” Hermione answers. “Why are you whispering?”

“Ron is taking a nap at his desk.”

“Harry. We’re at work.”

“I know,” he whines, “but he’s still mad because of the Krum thing.”

“So you don’t want to be the one waking him up.”

“I really don’t.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. Takes her work phone. Dials Ron’s desk number. And waits. 

Harry and Hermione share a look, while the phone rings six times. 

Finally, it gets picked up. 

“He–o? Ron, uh, Ronald We-ley here.” Yawning. 

“Did you take a nap or start hibernation, Ronald? Harry blinked 13 times while the phone was ringing, you took your sweet, sweet time, didn’t you?”

“I –”

“Don’t answer that. Rhetorical question. Whatever. Sleep on your break, if you have to, okay? I already gave you more time for your work this week, so please, please, get at least half of it done or give me better reasons why you can’t do it, okay?”

“...”

“It’s your turn now.”

“Ah! Okay!” He pauses. “Sorry, Mione. I haven’t slept well. Got nightmares about Krum, missing him here, again and again, ya know, again and again, like that time loop movie–”

“Yes, I’m familiar with it, Ronald.”

“-- again and again, and one time I almost met him, or, well, I thought I did, and I tip him on the shoulder and he turns around and it’s Slughorn instead, and it’s such a bummer –”

“Not familiar with that.”

“ – and I wake up, again and again, from that dreadful feeling, wanting Krum, almost see’ng him, again and again, and even in my sleep, I don’t and it’s just so so dreadful and — ”

Hermione croaks her finger at Harry, mimicking him to get closer, and giving him the desk phone without another word. Ron’s voice gets more and more distant, “-- and that buzzin’ in my –”, the closer to Harry, and more far away from herself the phone gets. 

Harry’s eyes turn puzzled and desperate, but Hermione doesn’t react. There hasn’t been a stuttered reaction yet, so she guesses that Ron’s is still talking. Harry tries to give her the phone back, cords dangling harshly, but she shakes her head and mouths, no, you. 

Harry mouths, whyy, in a desolate, haggard grimace, molding his face in dramatics. 

Hermione stares at him, giving him a hard, hard glare, until he relents. 

Harry sighs. “Ron, mate, sorry to interrupt but – ye, um, Hermione had to sneeze, ye, it’s quite windy outside today I know, ye, ye, sorry, ye, ye, no no you don’t need to tell me again, um, I have to go on now, mate, ye, and – um, Hermione? She’s having a coughing fit right now, sorry, so ye know, and – Oh, you couldn’t hear the coughing from your desk? No, no, that’s not weird. That’s just Hermione, you know. Silent sufferer. You know how it is, Ron.”

“Do you have a minute?”

“No.”

“Do you know where –”

“Sorry, nope.”

“Hermione? Are you okay? You seem…kind of..tired?”

“I’m okay, Neville,” she says, “but honestly, I’ve been better.”

Hermione is on the run. Vanishing into the loo. Faking a cough. Avoiding Riddle is a fulltime job. She never realized how much they interact in a day. 

“Granger, did you want –”

“Sorry! Need to pee!”

Riddle stares after her. Calls out, “You should go see your doctor! Five times in two hours isn’t normal at your age –”

Hermione turns around, gasps. “Leave my bladder alone! Don’t shame –” she cuts herself off, do not engage, ignore him, and stalks to the toilet. 

“Hermione.” Riddle knocks on the edge of her desk with his fist, lightly. She keeps her eyes zoomed in on the website, but Riddle does it again, a bit amused now, and she –

“Yes?” He’s wearing her favorite tie again, that absolute tosser. 

“Everything okay? You seem –” 

She fakes a frown. “I seem…?”

“Frazzled,” he says. “Busy. Stressed. Agitated. Take your pick.” He smirks and his eyes sparkle, and how dare he. 

“Busy,” Hermione replies, “that’s my pick.” She waves him away. “So, sorry, I really need to go on now, you know. Bye-bye.”

She glues herself back to the laptop, scrolling, typing, playing the job, holding onto the performance, until Riddle turns away with a weird huff. 

Luna comes like clockwork. Well, more before the clock. She’s there an hour earlier than usual. Neville is ecstatic. 

“Luna! You’re here again! I – I mean, we, we have -” He stutters. 

“--really missed you,” Hermione ends, smiling. “Even if it's only been a few days. Are you alright?”

“Thank you! I am, yes, my father has been ill and I was helping him out for the last few days. I have missed here, the voices, the people, the light! The nargles here are so different from there, and it has been an adjustment –”

“Is your father okay?” Neville steps closer nervously and Luna brightens. 

“Yes! Thank you, Neville! It is so considerate of you to ask. It was the flu and he has been better every day.” She flushes pleasantly and Hermione discreetly makes her exit. 

Karkaroff has emailed her, asking for an available date for the next phase of their project, but Hermione has decided, in her best interest, that it would be fine to answer tomorrow instead. 

Just to wait a bit until she isn’t feeling so disappointed and angry anymore. 

Her work phone rings. She answers. 

“Slughorns Potions, Hermione Gra –”

“Is Harry at his desk? I’ve been calling him and it’s urgent.”

Hermione thinks about praying to the work gods, for just a few moments of peace, but his voice destroys any illusion of it being answered. 

“Are you mute now, Granger? I don’t have time for plays and jokes –”

“You’re the joke, Malfoy,” Hermione snaps back, cutting him off. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if someone were to develop selective mutism in your presence.”

Draco sneers, “Kitty has claws today. What, you on your period? Or hangry? Eat a snickers, Granger.”

“You sound ridiculous. What are you, twelve?” She scoffs, unknowingly imitating his tone. 

“Like knows like, huh? But whatever, I need you to tell Potter that I’m going to vi–” Hermione ends the call. As self-care. 

She finds out she should have ended the call approximately ten seconds later when the office door opens and Lavender exclaims, surprised, “Oh! You must be –”

And an annoyingly nasal voice replies, “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

“You’re Harry’s b–” 

“Better half, yes,” Malfoy answers, like an egotistical git. He’s wearing a three-piece-suit in gray, and a sleek black robe over it. Silver earrings are sparkling in his ears, barely curtained behind blonde-white hair. Hermione’s stomach drops, and the ache gets worse, because he adds, “And these are my father Lucius Malfoy and my grandfather Abraxas Malfoy.”

Two men follow until they stand right beside each other, in a straight line, as if they were clones, different versions out of a Matrjoschka doll. Creepy. 

Hermione thinks, oh no, and like a shark smelling blood, Draco seems to feel her despair and makes deliberate eye contact. “Surprise! If you hadn't hung up on me, Grangert, you would have known to expect us.”

She grimaces and he smiles. 

Harry and Ron come out of the break room, appearing as if wished here, a second later. Ron is eating a chocolate bar and Harry is taking a sip of coffee when Malfoy yells, “Potter!”

He flinches, spraying hot liquid on his lip, and gapes. “Draco, when did you – why did you come? I didn’t leave my keys at the flat, did I?”

“For once, darling, you didn’t,” Draco laughs, stepping closer, face alight. He looks almost nice like this, Hermione thinks, with Harry, he gets softer and, just, less awful. “But a birdie told me that Viktor Krum would be here today –”

Ah. Gotcha. “-- little birdie must be forgetful then,” Hermione finishes. 

Draco stills, eyelid twitching, hands on Harry. “What.” Flat. 

Harry makes a face, while Draco narrows his eyes. “Potter, the alarm on your phone today that woke me an hour before I had to be up, read ‘Krum At the Office’ with four exclamation marks. Four.”

“I kinda didn’t change it after? I didn’t have the time!” He sighs, ruffling his hair. “But I couldn’t have known you’d seen and misunderstood! You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s called a surprise ,” Draco deadpans. 

“Don’t be sore, I missed him too!” Ron grumbles, munching on his chocolate bar and looking put off at being reminded of the fact. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Weasley,” Draco sneers. “I don’t want to have anything in common with you.”

Ron huffs, mumbling under his breath, Thanksgiving is gonna be ass , when Lucius Malfoy clears his throat. “Draco. That means our presence is no longer and was never warranted, yes?” His tone is arrogant and undermining and Hermione understands Draco a little more every time she listens to it. 

“Yes, Father,” Draco grits out through his teeth. Harry glares, and adds, “Not that that ever stopped you before, Luci. You’re not one for invitations.”

Lucius glares back, “Potter.”

It’s like a codeword for Draco’s grandfather, like a switch, because he seems to shake himself out of a trance like state, and come back into the moment with enthusiasm. His eyes zone in, and he shouts, full of joy, “Harry! It’s been so long, son. When have we last seen each other? At Christmas, I gather. Too much time has passed, o’ my. Let me look at you!”

Abraxas takes him from Draco, hands first on his brown locks, then his cheeks, and finally land on his shoulders, lightly squeezing. “Still the same. Good.”

Lucius looks as if he’s eaten a lemon and Draco flushes red. Harry beams and bathes in the adoration. “Thank you, Gramps Abraxas! You’re right, that’s true. We should have dinner soon and play some chess, yeh?”

“Excellent, son, excellent!” Abraxas says. “I will be waiting.” He nods at him, and turns to Draco. “No bother about the false alarm, my boy. It’s been an honest mistake. The visit exceeded it’s worth by havin’ seen Harry alone.” He winks, puts a hand over Draco’s heart and taps it three times, softly smiling, before nodding again. “Lucius! Let us go now, son. Quick! I have the sudden urge to buy a new chess set.” Abraxas rushes forward. 

“But, Father, surely –”

“Quick, I said!” He leaves. 

Lucius follows, grim, closing the door behind them. 

The office workers stare at it, transfixed, slowly looking away, when the door opening forces them to return to its place again. Hermione expects one of the Malfoys to have forgotten something, but it’s Riddle, arms full of paper stacks. 

He went to the post office because they needed more printing paper. 

He stops, seeing everyone staring. His hair is a bit wet, just like his upper lip. He looks cozy, Hermione thinks grumpily. 

“How many people from the Malfoy bloodline are in the building?” Riddle asks, curling his wet upper lip, a tiny raindrop crawling down his skin. Hermione can’t look away and she wants to hit him. Softly. Or not at all. “Because I saw one in the parking lot, another on the stairs –” He points at Draco with his free hand. “-- and one right here.” 

His eyes look happier. Maybe time out of the office, walking a bit, did him good. Her heart aches and she smothers her feelings from showing on her face, when he smiles, amused, so so amused, at Hermione. 

When her face stays blank, his eyes dim and he looks away, before walking briskly to his desk. The others turn back to their work, and Hermione somehow feels even more awful. 

To distract herself she thinks back to Lucius and the tape she unwillingly listened to, and decides to take the chance while the brat is still here. “By the way, do your parents own a flat near Hogsmeade? Just out of curiosity.”

Draco blinks, then he fletches his teeth. “What could you possibly want with this information? Stalking? Judging?”

Hermione groans. “I wouldn’t. It was mentioned and I just wanted to find out if I misunderstood, Merlin, Malfoy.”

“You would,” he intercepts, “because I would. Mutual dislike does that.”

“I don’t disli–ehh.” She reconsiders, her thought process plainly mirrored on her face. “Well. Dislike is a big word.”

“Dislike is a big word,” Draco mimics. “What are you, a kindergarten teacher?”

“On second thought,” Hermione says, “Dislike is the perfect word. Have a bad day, Malfoy. See you never.”

She walks away, though not far enough, because she sadly needs to get some documents from the reception desk. 

“Same to you! Worst wishes!” She rolls her eyes, and unwillingly witnesses Draco and Harry saying goodbye. 

“See ye.” Harry. 

“...aren’t you forgetting the magic words, Potter?”

“I’ll miss you? Thanks for coming?”

“No.” Draco taps an imaginary wrist clock. “Tick, tock, tick, tock.”

Harry groans. “Please leave now?”

“Nah-ah!”

Harry shakes his head and begins to slowly push Draco’s body to the door. 

Draco smirks, letting him do it. “Are you even trying?”

Harry stops pushing, looks him in the eye, and mutters, “I really love you, but you can be such a prat, Malfoy.”

Draco grins. “Beep! Wrong! The answer is, I’ll make it up to you. ” 

“It’s not even my fault, though!”

Draco stares intently, making his eyes bigger. Waiting. 

“Fine! Fine. I’ll make it up to you.” Harry grumbles. Draco’s grin gets bigger. “But only if you agree it wasn’t my mistake!”

Draco does so immediately, “My bad. A total joke of the fates. Merlin’s idea of a bad theatrical spectacle. Any of those, but surely not your doing, my darling.”

Then he winks and leaves. “See you at home, Potter!”

Hermione steps up beside Harry, bristling. “You have the worst taste.”

Harry laughs, and points in Riddle’s direction with his head while wiggling his eyebrows. “Says you.”

“A mistake!” Hermione denies, thinking of the video tape. “Riddle is the worst.” 

“Riddle, eh?” Harry points out. “I thought it was Tom now?”

“Momentary lapse in judgement.”

Harry stills, turning a bit more serious. “Did he do something to upset you?”

“No,” Hermione lies. 

Fanart by: @deticatedtomyself on insta. <3333333333