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Snowflakes fell softly, glittering in the glow of street lamps illuminating the early morning streets. A gust of warm air hit Hermione as she pulled open the door to Beangardium. She grinned. There was very little she loved more than a chilly morning walk to work when the air smelled of snow, with her hands cupped around a hot drink.
“Good morning, Amelia!” Hermione smiled at the woman behind the coffee bar as she walked to pick up her drink. One of the things she loved about this shop was their ordering system. Hermione wrote her order on a piece of enchanted parchment at home, and her drink was ready when she arrived at the shop.
She scanned the cups on the counter for her name. It wasn’t there. Her eyes caught another familiar name—DRACO—scrawled on a cup above her highly customised peppermint mocha latte. It was a high-maintenance order, and although Hermione wished she could be a person who ordered a medium coffee with room, she’d tried and come to the unassailable conclusion that she was a high-maintenance coffee drinker, however much she’d rather not be.
It was less surprising Malfoy was a high-maintenance coffee drinker, but it was very surprising (and slightly embarrassing) that his drink order was identical to hers. She took a moment to sit with the humiliation of knowing she had exactly the same taste in coffee as that persnickety git.
“Hey, Amelia, I don’t see my drink here—is it ready yet?”
Amelia frowned and looked around at all the drinks waiting to be picked up. “Someone must have grabbed it by accident. One second, I’ll remake it.”
While she waited, Hermione thought bitter thoughts towards the (probably unwitting) mystery drink thief. I hope they hate peppermint and their day is ruined. By the time Amelia handed over the freshly made drink, Hermione was running a few minutes late, which she hated, but as she eyed Malfoy’s drink still sitting on the bar, she smugly realised she wouldn’t be the last to arrive at their meeting.
Every year a different department was responsible for planning the Ministry Christmas party, and this year it was the Ministry Communication Department’s turn. She and Malfoy had both been voluntold onto the Party Planning Committee—a committee of two—and this morning was their first meeting. She was dreading working with him, but she wasn’t about to have her party be anything short of spectacular. She would simply suck it up, do her best to get along with Malfoy, and put on the best damn Christmas party the Ministry had ever seen.
The perfect cozy winter morning walk she’d imagined was tainted by tardiness, but she did her best to enjoy it despite her rush. She arrived at the Ministry with a faint dusting of snow on her coat and flushed cheeks, ready for anything her dingbat coworker might throw her way.
When she got to their meeting room, Malfoy was already there. He was slouched in his chair in a lazy but vaguely glamorous sort of way, as if he was so assured of his own attractiveness he didn’t need to go to the effort of deliberately arranging himself in any particular way. Hermione found it horribly irritating.
He took a sip from a takeaway cup identical to hers, and said, “Nice of you to show up, Granger. You know, from your constant pontificating on the topic, I was under the impression punctuality was one of your core values, but it seems I was misled.”
“How did you—did you Apparate?” She never Apparated with coffee, not being able to afford the dry cleaning bills, but perhaps he kept a spare wardrobe at work.
“Not at all, only planned my morning well enough to arrive on time, out of respect for the busy schedules of my fellow party planners.”
“We’re the only party planners.” Probably his doing, though she didn’t know how.
“Are you saying you don’t respect my busy schedule?”
“Correct. Anyway, the coffee shop had to remake my drink since someone walked off with mine, which is why I’m late.”
His gaze dropped to his own drink, rather guiltily, and her eyes immediately followed. He turned the cup quickly and wrapped his whole hand around it, but not before she saw HERMIONE scribbled across it, clear as day.
Frustration immediately rose in her chest, flooding her skin with heat. “What the fuck, Malfoy—you took my drink?” And then he had the nerve to give her a hard time about being late.
“Not intentionally. I got into the shop right as she was setting out the drink, and I only heard the order, not who it was for. I couldn’t imagine anyone else would order my exact drink.” His eyes narrowed a little, and his chin tilted up. “Isn’t it funny, Granger, that we have identical drink orders? Quite a coincidence.”
Something about the glint in his eye made Hermione’s stomach swoop. It was too much like the way he’d looked at her at Neville’s tree-trimming party last weekend.
She and Theo had been tasked with decking the halls with an enormous armload of pine boughs, ribbons, and mistletoe. Theo kept trying to hold the mistletoe over their heads and making exaggerated kissy faces at her. As she laughed and dodged him, her eyes caught on Malfoy, leaning against the wall on the far side of the room, watching them. She’d flashed him a grin. The corners of his mouth twitched into an almost-smile, and the look in his eyes made her heartbeat speed up. And then his new girlfriend had come up next to him and handed him a drink.
So no matter how swoopy and flippy his eyes made her feel, it was a non-starter, because he was a man who would look at her like that while his girlfriend was in the same room.
She glared at him. “You know, I saw your drink on the bar and even thought of bringing it to you, but I didn’t want you to get there and find it missing.”
He was unmoved. “It would have solved all your problems if you’d just taken it.”
“Right. Well, I was trying to be considerate, but that was clearly wasted on you.” She briskly settled into her seat and grabbed a quill. “Anyway. If we must plan this party together, let’s get started. I refuse to be shown up by last year’s. I know I can produce something better than the Department of Transportation, of all departments.”
“You have to admit, Granger, the little broomsticks enchanted to fly around with drink trays were very charming.”
“I don’t have to admit anything, except that I prefer my drinks without stray tail bristles in them, thank you very much. Now. I think we should have loads of small lanterns floating around, and it would be lovely if we could have snow falling from the ceiling.”
Malfoy scoffed. “You thought broom straw in your drink was annoying—don’t you think cold melted snow in your drink would be substantially worse?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Obviously it would be enchanted snow. Not cold, and it would vanish whenever it touched something. I hardly fancy a dance floor full of snow drifts.”
“Oh? Do you plan to do much dancing?”
“I love to dance. Nothing makes me happier,” she said coolly. She should probably work on finding a date. She needed someone to dance with, or else she’d spend the whole evening drinking gin and tonics and watching Malfoy spin his girlfriend across the dance floor. She already knew he was a good dancer, she didn’t need to watch him show off all night.
She took a deep breath, re-set her shoulders, and fixed him with a cool, professional smile. “All right. So. We have festive lighting and very tidy snow. What other ideas shall we jot down to consider? We’ll need to figure out some catering, as well as musical entertainment…”
Half an hour later, she left the room feeling proud of what they’d worked out so far. And she’d managed to behave quite professionally, all things considered. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
However, the next morning in Beangardium, as she stared at the spot on the bar where her drink should be waiting for her, she considered that she had been quite mistaken.
“Amelia, did you happen to notice if a tall, obnoxiously blond man was in here earlier?”
“Do you mean Draco?”
“Oh. Yes. Him.” Hermione supposed he was rather hard to miss.
Amelia giggled. “He stopped in not too long ago. Just very quickly to pick up your drink—he said he was saving you the trip. So thoughtful to go out of his way like that.” Her cheeks pinked up with a rosy flush. “He said he liked my jumper. He’s always so charming, isn’t he?”
“That’s one word for it,” Hermione grumbled. The fucking wanker stole her drink in broad daylight. “I think there may have been a miscommunication, Amelia. I’m afraid I’ll need another drink.” Of course, she’d have to pay for this second drink, as well as the first.
She walked to work quickly, fuelled by a steady inner monologue of curses and complaints about one Draco Malfoy. She stalked straight to Malfoy’s office, but it was empty.
“Of course,” she muttered. He was probably intentionally hiding from her, trying to finish his drink before she stormed in and stole it (back) from him. Or threw it on him. She left a very terse note on his desk.
Half an hour later, he strolled into her office. “Morning, Granger. Got your note.” He said it so casually one would think he was normal, rather than a shameless miscreant.
He took a delicate sip from the cup in his hand. His fingers were splayed across the cup unnaturally, and her name was visible between them, plain to see. Her jaw dropped. “I cannot believe you. Do you have even one single compunction? You outright stole my drink! And you lied to Amelia about it?”
“I was running late and didn’t have time to order my own.”
“You didn’t have time to fill out a slip of parchment?” she scoffed.
“I’m very busy, Granger. And I happen to know you didn’t have anything scheduled this morning, so you could afford to wait around a little bit.”
“I could afford—? You can afford to pay for your own drinks!” But for some reason he’d decided to declare war on her instead of buying his own coffee.
“I’ll owe you one. It’s very convenient really, to share a drink order with you. But why do you even go to Beangardium? It’s rather out of your way.”
How did he know what was and wasn’t on her way? “It used to be on my way, before I moved. But I like it, so I still go there.”
“You know, Levicorpus & Grind is much closer to the Ministry. You would shave twenty minutes off your commute if you Apparated there every morning and only had to walk the block to work.”
“Thank you, your suggestion has been noted for the record, but I like things the way I like them.”
“Please, Granger, tell me more about what you like.”
She lifted her chin in the air and gave him a challenging look. “I like lots of things. The salads from that Muggle place down the street. Being recognised for my good work. But the thing I like most in the whole world is when the drinks I order are waiting for me when I arrive, and not stolen by my inconsiderate coworker.”
The corners of his mouth tightened, as if he were hiding a secret smile, revealing an infuriatingly appealing dimple in his left cheek. “Really? Your favourite thing? In the entire world?”
“Are you laughing at me? Coffee theft is not a joke, Malfoy.”
He snorted. “I would never laugh at you, Granger. There is nothing more serious than that furrow between your brows when you’re yelling at me.” The dimple deepened. “While I have you—“
“I asked you here!”
“—what do you think about citrus as table decor? Mixing orange branches with pine garlands would be a really nice effect, something different from your standard poinsettias and red berries.”
Disagreement rose automatically to her lips, but she before she could open her mouth to scoff, a picture came to mind, and actually yes, it would be lovely. Damn. She pursed her lips. “Fine.”
That same secret smile returned. “Thought you’d like that one.”
Hermione was filling out her Beangardium order. Peppermint mocha latte. Peppermint, check. Mocha, extra pump. Espresso, check x 4. Milk, soy. No whip. A thought occurred to her. She grinned deviously, scratched out soy, and wrote whole. She went back to to the top of the parchment and changed the quantity to two, then scribbled a quick note to Amelia. “Take that, Malfoy.”
Several hours later, her mild gastrointestinal distress couldn’t be ignored any longer. A particularly uncomfortable gurgle sent her scurrying towards the lavatory. Halfway down the hall, she caught up with Malfoy. His skin had a sickly pallor to it and was glistening with sweat. His hair looked rumpled, as if he’d been running his hands through it all morning.
He stopped and looked at her, misery etched into every corner of his face. “What the hell did you do to that drink, Granger?”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you don’t. Did you get Amelia to put dairy in my drink?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I gave myself dairy too.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
She shrugged. “Never go in against a Sicilian when diarrhoea is on the line.”
His face wrinkled in confusion, and he opened his mouth, but before he could spit out his retort, he hunched over slightly and wrapped his arm around his lower abdomen with a groan. He looked at her with panic and mumbled, “I have to go.” He spun around and rushed ahead of her to the loo.
Hermione laughed and took a moment to congratulate herself on a prank well pulled, then grimaced and rushed off after him.
Later, she walked by his empty office and thought she glimpsed his back turning down the corridor up ahead, returning to the lavatories. She felt a little jolt of guilt—or possibly another lactose assault—in her belly. Either way, she felt badly. He seemed to be much worse off than she was. Reversing course, she headed back to the lift.
She returned to work fifteen minutes later with a small carrier bag from a nearby pharmacy. She went to Malfoy’s office and neatly placed a bottle of Gatorade and a box of Imodium (less one capsule, which she took for herself) next to his inkwell, and left a short note:
Malfoy,
Sorry you’ve had such a rough day. This is Muggle medicine that will help you get things under control, so to speak, and a drink that will help restore your body’s fluid levels. Hope you’re feeling better tomorrow.
- Hermione
A few days later, Malfoy stopped by and found her facedown on her desk. By mid-morning, she had started to develop a headache. It was afternoon now and her head felt like a giant was slowly pinching her skull between its fingers. She could hardly think for the pain and was contemplating curling up in a ball under her desk to cry.
“What’s wrong, Granger? Headache?”
She moaned in response.
“Maybe some caffeine would help.” There was a hint of mischief in his voice. Because of the throbbing pain in her skull, it took a moment longer than it should have, but when it finally clicked, she snapped her head up and directed a furious glare at him.
“Did you give me decaf?”
“You’re not the only one who can ask Amelia for special favours. And give very large tips in thanks.”
Hermione’s head thumped onto the desk again. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find out that Amelia was not her friend, but actually a mercenary willing to turn on her for a nice smile and several gold coins. It stung nonetheless.
“You can’t really be shocked that I would mess with your drink after the stunt you pulled with the dairy, Granger.”
With great effort, she lifted her head to stare at him. “I didn’t fucking start this, Malfoy. You did. I was only retaliating after you purposely stole my drink like a git. I can’t believe you.”
He rubbed his forehead as if in pain, then smirked. “Could have been worse. At least you’re not shitting your brains out.”
“At least I drank my own poison!”
He held out a small vial from behind his back. “I did too. That’s why I came by, to share my pain potion with you.”
She blinked, feeling slightly chastened. “Oh.”
“I only had one vial. Half won’t completely cure you, but it should take the edge off a bit.” He walked towards her desk and offered her the half-empty vial.
She downed the potion and waited with closed eyes for it to kick in. “Thank you.”
He rapped his knuckles on her door frame as he walked away. “See you later, Granger.”
The half-dose eased the worst of her headache, but her skull was still pounding. As far as she could tell, Hermione had two choices: remain in decaffeinated agony for the next 18 hours, or go to the coffee cart in the lobby and get a drink that would ease her headache but would also ruin her sleep this evening. A strong throb between her eyes made the decision for her, so she trudged downstairs.
As predicted, the late-day coffee kept her from sleeping well. She tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning, getting twisted in her sheets and cursing Malfoy the whole time.
It made a frustrating sort of sense that when she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of being tangled in the sheets with Malfoy, hissing curses at him for an entirely different reason. His hands spread heat across her body and his mouth whispered desire against her skin. She cried out as her back arched and her legs trembled, and then she startled awake with a gasp, on the very edge of release.
She fell back against her pillow with a frustrated groan. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease the throbbing between her legs, to no avail. She slid a hand down her body into her knickers to finish what she—and Malfoy, technically—had started. But as she glanced around for Crookshanks—she didn’t need a witness for this—she caught sight of her clock.
She was so late. She swore and leapt out of bed.
There was no time to stop for coffee today, so she had to settle for something from the Ministry lobby coffee cart. She arrived at her office in a state. Her routine was off, she couldn’t get her favourite drink, she was groggy from poor sleep, and she’d been robbed of a good orgasm.
As if her day wasn’t off to a terrible enough start, she was extremely busy. She didn’t realise until she got up to to use the loo that she’d worked straight through lunch, and the Ministry cafeteria had closed ten minutes prior. Fuck. She went into the break room and stared morosely into the fridge, hoping for something she could cobble together into a lunch. Her options were: two yoghurts five weeks past their expiration date, one Slim Jim that had been languishing in the back for an indeterminate period of time, one unlabelled lunch that she wondered briefly if she could ethically take, given that the owner had broken office refrigerator protocol by not labelling or dating the container, and a jar of pickle brine with one sad, lonely dill floating inside.
With a sigh, she grabbed the Slim Jim and headed back to her office. It was marginally better than nothing.
But waiting for her in the middle of her desk was a container of salad from the restaurant she liked down the street. A movement in her periphery caught her eye. Malfoy leaned against her doorframe, and he smothered a smile when she looked up.
“Was this you?” she asked.
He shrugged carelessly, as if it were nothing. “I noticed you hadn’t made it down for lunch, and I can’t have you dragging two days in a row. You need to pull your weight around here, Granger.”
Something warm filled her chest, and her lips curved into a smile, quite unbidden. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head as he pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave. “Anytime.”
The lunch was a very sweet gesture, but it didn’t stop her from following through on her next bolt of inspiration for caffeinated vengeance when it arrived a few days later. In fact, Malfoy’s salad delivery gave her a fresh wave of irritation that strengthened her resolve. He was once again being nicer than he had any right to, considering he had a girlfriend.
She wrote out an admittedly strange and highly specific request to Amelia, promising an extra large tip, since Hermione understood now how these things worked.
She and Malfoy arrived at Beangardium at the same time.
He held open the door for her. “After you, Granger.”
She shot him a disdainful look and pulled open the opposite door and started to walk through. Unfortunately, someone was coming out of the shop through that side. “Oh. Excuse me!” She backed up to allow them to exit, ignoring Malfoy’s snort as he waited patiently with his door open for her. She entered through her side, chin held high.
Something unpleasantly bitter coursed through her as he smiled charmingly at Amelia, and the traitorous barista beamed back at him. It was so like him to casually toss around those decidedly dangerous smiles without regard for the impression they left behind.
Malfoy eyed her suspiciously when she dropped several gold coins into the tip jar. When they left the shop, he gestured at her with his cup and said warily, “You first.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re so paranoid.” She braced herself and took a hearty sip, raising her eyebrows at Malfoy as she did so. It was disgusting. The foulest combination of flavours she could come up with from the Beangardium menu, but she managed to swallow without a wince. “See? All good.”
“Fine.” He still looked suspicious, but he raised his cup to his lips. She fought back a giddy smile. He took a sip and immediately spat it out with a dramatic spray. Hermione laughed loudly.
“What the fuck is this, Granger?”
She flashed him a cheeky grin. “It’s my very favourite drink! It reminds me of my…grandmother at…Christmas time.”
“That was very convincing. But then why is it labeled as your usual absurd peppermint mocha concoction?”
“You can hardly call it absurd when it’s your drink too. And you wouldn’t have to worry about any of this if you weren’t constantly stealing my drinks.”
“But how else am I supposed to get you to pay attention to me?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You never seem to have trouble getting the attention you desire.”
“From others, sure, but you’re not as susceptible to my charm as everyone else.”
She blinked at him. If only he knew.
At Neville’s party, once most of the decorations were up, Hermione got herself a drink. She paused in the quiet hallway between the kitchen and living room, pressing the chilled glass to her cheeks in an attempt to cool down. The house was warm, and she’d expended a lot of energy stringing garlands and not thinking about Draco Malfoy and his smiles and his very pretty girlfriend. At this very moment, she was putting forth so much effort to not think about Draco Malfoy that she didn’t notice Draco Malfoy walking towards her.
“Where’d you go, Granger?”
“I was hot.”
“I noticed.”
She took a step back. Why did he have to stand so close? And when did his hands land on her waist? Her stomach tightened under his thumbs gently brushing back and forth. He took a step forward. A soft, teasing smile played on his lips as he looked down at her, entirely too observant, then lifted his gaze above her head.
“Mistletoe.”
Of course. She closed her eyes briefly before craning her neck up to see. “So it is. Your botanical classification skills are excellent, Malfoy.” She gasped as his lips grazed her throat.
“Longbottom taught me,” he said against her skin. He traced his mouth along the line of her neck, not quite kissing, just exploring, torturing, leaving behind a trail of sparks dancing on her skin. Her legs, usually reliably sturdy, threatened to give up on her, and she swayed forward, into the firm support of his body. He let out a pleased little hum. It was such a tiny sound, but it joined the rushing in her ears to drown out any noises coming from the next room. Her fingers flexed, gripping the fabric of his shirt. She wanted this. She had been wanting this.
He had a fucking girlfriend.
She inhaled like a swimmer coming up for air and took an enormous step back. “I can’t.” Before she could second-guess herself, she ducked away from him and left the hallway without looking back.
Back in the present, on the cold sidewalk, she shook her head in an attempt to clear the memory.
Apparently unperturbed by her extended silence, he glanced at her curiously and took another gulp. She scoffed.
He smiled innocently. “It’s a special Granny Granger drink; it needs to be properly appreciated.” He took another sip, with only the slightest wrinkle of his nose to reveal his true thoughts on its taste. “Is there caffeine in this, at least?”
She laughed. “There is. I’m not doing that to us twice.”
Snow fell lightly, catching in Malfoy’s hair and dusting the shoulders of his wool coat. She could smell the snow and Malfoy’s cologne. Clementine and clove. Her mother used to simmer a pot on the stove with orange peels and spices to scent the house around Christmastime. He smelled like home, bittersweet.
Before the memory had a chance to develop into a full-on ache, she lunged at an idea. “For the party, what if we somehow piped in vaporised amortentia? I wonder if we could fine-tune it so that everyone got their favourite seasonal smells?”
“Clever. What would it smell like for you?”
She paused to think for a moment, reluctant to give herself away. “Snow. A hint of peppermint.”
As they approached the Ministry, she said, “I suppose we’ve already started our meeting.”
“Well done, us. And oh look, what a shame, my drink’s all gone.” He chucked the cup in a nearby bin.
She laughed and threw her mostly full drink into the bin as well. “I can’t believe you drank that whole thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about; it’s the best drink I’ve ever had. Shall we finish meeting in my office?” He pressed the button for the lift.
“Why don’t you come to my office?”
“Only if you say please.”
“Then I think the meeting room by Livingston’s office should be open, we can go there.”
“What do you have against saying please?”
“To a normal person? Absolutely nothing.”
He shifted closer to her. “Are you implying I’m abnormal?”
“I think we both know you are far from ordinary.” She took a step back, and his eyes flicked to the space between them and back up.
“See, now it sort of feels like you’re complimenting me.”
“I assure you I am not.”
“But it feels like you’re telling me I’m special.”
The lift dinged, and Hermione gratefully turned towards it. “Specially irritating.”
They managed to have a productive planning session, mostly spent figuring out how to make a seasonal amortentia work. Malfoy was quite skilled in Potions, and it was fun to work together on a project like that, so different from their day-to-day work.
They always collaborated well together. Their office conversations often spilled over into lunches together in the Ministry cafeteria, and sprawled past work topics and into books and potions and once, memorably, a very ridiculous round of Fuck, Marry, Kill: Magical Creatures Edition. It was fun, and she’d managed to ignore the tiny crush that had sprouted in her chest for months until three weeks ago, when his mouth was on her neck, and her feelings could no longer be denied.
Unfortunately neither could the fact of the beautiful woman he was with.
He looked over his notes, then leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “You know, I think we’ve got a good party here.”
She grinned. “We do! It’s going to be miles better than last year’s. I can’t wait to rub it in Transportation’s faces.”
“Lovely to see you so full of the holiday spirit.”
“Oh, hush.”
“You know you can’t get top marks on a party, right, Granger?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you can’t. But we can get everybody to comment on how much more impressive ours is.”
“And that’s what really matters.”
She smiled smugly, took the last sip of her coffee, and stood up to leave. “Exactly. See you later, Malfoy.”
The Ministry atrium sparkled everywhere. It looked even prettier now than it had when they set it up that morning. Hermione took a deep inhale of the scented air and smelled snow, a hint of peppermint and…clementine and clove.
She scanned the room for Malfoy, but didn’t see him anywhere. She waved at Harry and Ginny across the room and went to get a drink before she joined them, scanning all the while for a bright shock of hair.
When the bartender set her gin and tonic in front of her, she said thanks with a smile and dug through her purse to put a tip in the jar, when a large hand reached out and pulled her drink away.
“Excuse me—!” Hermione sputtered indignantly. She turned to see her drink thief. “Oh. Of course it’s you.”
One side of his mouth pulled up into a smile as he took a sip of his—no, her drink. “You look lovely, Granger. Navy really is your colour.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know this whole drink stealing bit is our thing now, but I assure you it’s not quite as charming as you seem to believe. Give me my drink. No—give me a fresh drink, one that hasn’t had your mouth all over it.”
At that his eyes flashed, but he looked away to catch the bartender’s eye and request another before turning back to her.
“Are you sure you don’t want my mouth all over it, Granger?”
Her face went hot. “Don’t you think that would bother your girlfriend?” She looked around for the woman—Natalie, she remembered.
He gave a confused laugh, then tilted his head slightly. “My what?”
“Natalie? Your girlfriend? Where is she, anyway?”
“I don’t have—Natalie is a family friend. She was visiting a few weeks ago so I brought her to—“
He cut himself off and understanding lit his face. Hermione turned away, her face burning, and leaned against the bar.
He leaned on his elbows next to her. She could feel his gaze on the side of her face, but she refused to look back. After a moment, he said, “Looks like the party came out okay, didn’t it?”
She scoffed. “It’s more than okay, it’s fantastic.”
“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”
She looked at him sideways and took a sip of her drink before admitting, “Yes, I suppose we do.”
“So what does the room smell like to you? Did we get the potion right?”
She thawed under his gentle questioning. “I think we did. It smells like peppermint, and snow, and”—your cologne, she thought to herself. “Clementine and clove.”
The flash in his eyes told her that he didn’t miss the connection. “Mine smells like coffee…and mistletoe.”
“Mistletoe doesn’t have a scent,” she said flatly.
He tilted his chin and something in his smile made her heart speed up. “Are you sure? I smelled exactly this under the mistletoe in that hallway.” He leaned close and Hermione’s breathing stuttered to a halt as he brushed his nose just under her jaw. She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “Ah. Not mistletoe then. You.”
Her fingers were gripping the edge of the bar so hard they hurt, but if she let go she would fall over. Her blood rushed in her ears, and goosebumps rose where his breath skimmed over her skin. She tried to think, to figure out whether this was a good idea, but all of her thoughts seemed meaningless and insignificant under the weight of his palm on her hip.
She felt the rumble of his voice more than she heard it when he said, “I don’t have a girlfriend, Granger.”
She turned her face towards his. “Oh.”
He lifted his head to meet her gaze. He didn’t have the hooded, hazy look of lust she would have expected. His eyes were bright and clear, an eager, blazing fire behind them. The flush on his cheeks was crisp and brilliant, like he’d just come in from a sunny winter day. He was dazzling, and she was dazzled.
“How attached are you to seeing this party through?” He ran the back of one finger down her cheek.
“That depends. What are you offering you in exchange?”
“How about…one orgasm for every drink I stole from you.”
Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth as a surprised laugh burst out of her. Amusement crinkled the corners of Malfoy’s eyes and poked a dimple into his cheek.
“I must admit that’s a very persuasive argument. And you did say you owed me one, but you never specified one of what.”
“I think I owe you five, probably, but who’s counting.”
For a moment after his eyes groggily slid open, Draco didn’t know where he was. This wasn’t his room, and these definitely weren’t his sheets. It wasn’t until he turned his head to the side and he saw Hermione Granger’s bare shoulders, Hermione Granger’s hair strewn messily all over her pillow, that he remembered exactly what had happened last night. An expansive feeling filled his chest, a balloon made of giddiness and joy and satisfaction.
He rolled out of bed and gathered up his clothes from where they had been scattered across the floor. Wearing a tux on a Saturday morning to go get coffee was walk of shame material, but he didn’t mind. Walk of honor, more like. Hermione Granger took him to bed last night. Let the whole world know.
He left a note on her bedside table and popped over to Beangardium.
“Good morning, Amelia.”
Amelia raised her eyebrows as he stepped up to the till, and Draco realised belatedly he hadn’t even glanced in a mirror before leaving Granger’s flat. He pointlessly ran his hands through his hair and looked down at his shirt, where the buttons were off by one. Nothing to be done there.
“Rough night?” Amelia asked sympathetically.
He smirked. “Definitely not. Can I have two peppermint mocha lattes with an extra espresso shot, and extra pump of mocha, and soy, please? No whip.”
“Ah. That finally happened, I see.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to.” Draco bit back a smile.
“Right. That’ll be 4 Galleons, 14 Sickles.”
He handed her the money and started to walk away, but Amelia called after him. “Tell Hermione I said hello!”