Work Text:
“Does she know you’re in love with her?” Draco turned to look at who had joined him in the Malfoy box high in the rafters of the Wizengamot. Few would have dared venture into the rarified air of the Sacred Twenty-Eight boxes, and fewer still would have been so bold as to interrupt its lone occupant.
But Theodore Nott was gifted not only with stellar good looks and a healthy Gringott’s balance, but also with a deep and abiding way of not giving a fuck. About the whispers that followed him everywhere, about the wizard he had married, or about giving his only real friend the benefit of his unvarnished truth.
“For the love of Merlin, Theo. Can you fucking drop it? I am not in love with Hermione Granger.”
“Funny how you knew exactly who I was referring to? I see at least seven female advocates currently on the floor.”
Glaring at Theo, Draco drawled. “Perhaps it’s Constance Buckle that holds my interest. I do have a predilection for older witches.”
Theo chuckled, and because it delighted him, kept up Draco’s game, knowing that Ms. Buckle had just celebrated her eighty-eighth birthday last week. “I would have thought Prudence Pinafore would have been more to your liking. I believe that she has just divorced husband number three, or maybe four, and all the popular gossip says she is looking to score some Sacred Twenty-Eight galleons to finance the care of her seven, or is it eight, children.”
Draco visibly shuddered. “Can you imagine being a step-father to that brood? They’re worse than the Weasleys. All black-haired and buck teeth.”
Never one to let a segue go to waste, Theo chuckled. “You know her and Weasley called it quits well over a year ago. How that woman stayed married to him for ten years is beyond anyone’s understanding, but there is no accounting for taste. Heard their divorce was finalized a few weeks back.”
“Twelve weeks.”
Theo had to work hard to hide his smirk and infuse false confusion into his question. “Twelve weeks what?”
“Twelve weeks since she finally got herself free of that ginger tosser. He had the unmitigated gall to drag out their divorce proceedings for six extra months over who got custody of their damned Krup. Like Weasley ever took Einstein for a walk in the entire time they were together. God damned muppet.”
Theo tried to hold in his laughter but gave it up as a lost cause. “You know the name of her damned dog? Malfoy, you are a smitten fucking kitten, my friend.”
“Granger and I are work friends. Why you and I are friends is beyond me at this moment.” Draco put down his reading glasses and glared at Theo.
“Work friends. Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?” Theo was holding up his hands, making the universal sign for air quotes with his fingers.
“Stop being such an asinine juvenile. I am here because she is arguing for the universal acceptance of Synthsbane in Europe, and you damn well know that Malfoy Holdings manufactures ninety-five percent of the ingredients for synthetic wolfsbane. Granger gets this to pass, and I will be a very rich man.”
“You are already richer than everyone in the twenty-eight except for maybe Lamentia Zabini. Not that I would ever recommend murdering your spouse every three to four years to increase your personal wealth.”
“You know that there has never been any solid evidence against Aunt Lammy in any of her husband’s deaths. Personally, I think they off themselves once she starts with the shopping and the galas after they’re married. She cannot be that good in bed.”
Theo and Draco shared a laugh and a shudder. Theo was happy to see his taciturn friend smiling, as aside from a large account at Gringotts, post-war Draco Malfoy had been dealt far too many blows. When his parents had been sentenced to seven and ten years respectively in Azkaban, Draco had been tasked to maintain the Malfoy name and holdings, and this included a marriage that had been arranged since birth.
Theo had been one of the few people present when Draco and Astoria Malfoy had wed, both achingly young and all too bitter for the beauty of the ceremony. Draco had tried to be a good husband, just turned twenty, alone and overwhelmed. To her credit Astoria had done her duty, spreading her virgin legs and contemplated Merlin as the two of them tried to produce the requisite Malfoy heir.
Years passed, and with no child forthcoming, Astoria had strayed, igniting the blood curse that had remained dormant in her veins for decades. Four years after they married, Astoria Malfoy passed away quietly, with only her husband by her side.
Since that time, Draco had refined his business skills and become the consummate pureblood professional. He attended all the requisite balls and galas. He donated to the proper charities and events and once his year of mourning had passed, he dated the proper debutantes, widows, and divorcees, which provided release but absolutely nothing more.
When Narcissa had finally been released into his custody eighteen months prior, his world has shifted once again as his mum, determined to have her son married and grandchildren, lined up a never-ending stream of pure blood beauties all prepared to take on the mantle of the next Mrs. Draco Malfoy.
For the most part, Draco had remained a reluctant prop in her machinations, but when dowry discussions had begun with Beatrice Provanette, a debutante from Cologne, Draco had all but withdrew from Wizarding society. The sole exception had been his continued appearance at certain Wizengamot hearings.
As Theo watched the petite brunette scan the rafters, he gently moved Draco into her line of sight. “You know, she just might be amenable to a coffee date or a butterbeer at Nathan’s down the road. She’s speaking next.”
Theo may as well have been talking to an Antipolean Opeleye as Draco was fixated on the Hermione who had risen to the dais in the centre of the room and had begun to talk passionately about the need for synthetic wolfsbane. Theo tuned her out after the third or fourth minute, but Draco was riveted. So intent was his focus that he let the public mask he so carefully crafted fall, and Theo was once again struck by the yearning on his friend’s face.
Lost in thought, Theo was brought back to the present, when the Head Mugwump called for a vote on Granger’s proposition. He heard Draco take in a deep breath and only release it when the roar in the Wizengamot died down. The proposition for the universal production of Synthsbane had passed 110-48.
Well-wishers reached into the Malfoy box, congratulating him on Malfoy Holding’s windfall, most astute enough in matters of finance to realize that Draco Malfoy was now an obscenely rich wizard. With his mask back firmly in place, Draco accepted their congratulations heartily. Theo knew he was smirking internally as all of them had turned Hermione down when she had come looking for funding. He also knew that becoming wealthier had never been the motivation behind Draco’s support of her proposition. It had just simply been a very long time since Draco Malfoy had been able to say no to anything Hermione Granger had asked.
Hermione smoothed down her navy-blue robes, brushing out imaginary wrinkles, and wishing not for the first time that she had forgone the third cup of tea she had this morning. Without a proper breakfast, her Earl Grey was sloshing around her stomach, making her nauseous and shaky with nerves. She was frustrated with herself as this was certainly not her first Wizengamot rodeo, and as a senior advocate, she was experienced and more importantly, prepared.
Deep down she knew her nerves didn’t stem from her presentation or her robes but had everything to do with the irritatingly handsome wizard she knew would be watching her from the rafters. She and Draco had become reluctantly reacquainted when Harry and Theo Nott had started a friendship five years ago. Both were drawn into coffee or butterbeer outings that neither wanted to attend but did so for the sake of the best friends they loved so much. Over butterbeers and rich Arabian blends, Hermione had learned that while Draco was reticent by nature, he had a wicked sense of humour. She discovered that he tended to overplay his spoiled “Lord of the Manor” persona, hiding a quick intellect and a keen business acumen.
While Harry, Theo, and especially Ron tended to tune her out as she discussed what she could of her cases, Draco always seemed deeply interested, asking thoughtful questions, and oftentimes making suggestions that were incredibly helpful. His insights into the pureblood point of view were invaluable, and it irritated her that her pureblood husband never once had offered his help.
By the time Theo and Harry announced their engagement the Granger-Weasley marriage was hanging on by a spider web thin thread, and six months later as Nott and Potter exchanged vows, it was over. It had been a particularly dark time in Hermione’s life, not because she wanted the marriage to continue but because her failure was so publicly dissected and feted. Reporters were relentless in their stalking, and the headlines as to the reasons behind the divorce were both salacious and ridiculous. However, one had just enough of a modicum of truth that it hurt to this day to think on it.
“Granger still not up the Duff. Weasley looks elsewhere for Heir.”
Ron had never once looked elsewhere for an heir, but the sliver of truth remained that Hermione could not conceive. It had been a bitter disappointment to them both, and it had been the beginning of the end for them as a couple. It seemed that losing the promise of a family unmoored whatever had been grounding them together, and once the ties had been thrown off, it was impossible to bring their marriage back into dock.
It had been Draco who had guided her through the mine-filled landscape that was a wizarding divorce. Even though she was well versed in the legality, she was woefully unprepared for the magical component of the dissolution of a wizarding marriage.
It had been Draco who had held her hands while tears ran unchecked down her face after she had signed her divorce papers, kissing them lightly again and again as she cycled through her anger, grief, and sadness.
Looking at the tall handsome man who held her hands with such gentle grace, she was so grateful for his presence. The lights hanging low in the Ministry hallway bathed him in a yellow hue and he looked as much malevolent demon as he did avenging angel.
“It’s all going to change now, isn’t it, Draco?”
He didn’t say anything but increased the pressure of his lips. The warmth of his hands on hers told her everything she needed to know but wasn’t ready to understand.
Things did change as late nights at her office discussing ancient marriage law became morning strolls, coffee in hand as she walked Einstein, and pints of butterbeer during lunch at the new Diagon Alley hotspot, Cloverdales. She never noticed the fall until she hit bottom.
When her divorce became finalized, Harry had brought a bottle of Moet pink champagne to her office, poured two glasses, and spoke.
“Does he know that you’re in love with him?”
“I’m not in love with anyone, Harry.” Hermione scoffed as she waved her decree in his face. “See, completely unhitched – legally and magically.”
“Hermione, I love you. But your inability to see what’s right in front of you is legendary. If you are not in love with Malfoy, you have to stop making cow eyes at him every time the two of you are vaguely in the same vicinity.”
“I do not make cow eyes. I have NEVER made cow eyes at anyone in my life, Harry Potter. Did you ever once in our entire relationship see me make cow eyes at Ron?”
Harry scoffed. “Of course not. But you make them at Malfoy all the time, and that should bloody tell you something.” Hermione quickly changed the subject, and being the good friend that he was, Harry let her. After enjoying another glass of champagne, Harry gave her a long hug and a promise for dinner with him and Theo the following week.
The next three months were torturous for Hermione as she reluctantly granted that her best friend may have had a point about Draco. Not that she was calling it love. More like a silly little crush.
On a work friend.
A work friend who she had been spending eight hours a day with preparing for her proposition to get Synthsbane passed.
A friend who was smart and funny and handsome and smelled incredibly good.
Today was the day for her presentation to the Wizengamot, and no matter the outcome, it was likely the last day she would have any excuse to spend time with Draco Malfoy without drawing the attention of the British Wizarding World.
She was certain her crush would fade, and as she took a deep breath and prepared to make the lives of werewolves everywhere easier, her traitorous heart ached at the thought of her feelings withering as nothing more than old tomato vines.
The scene in the lobby of the Wizengamot was chaos. Representatives from every press outlet in the world were jockeying for position, desperate to get close to Hermione to get a sound bite or quote for their morning edition. Graylin Freye, the head of the international werewolf alliance was holding court, claiming victory, and shouting the praises of both Hermione and the chemists and potioneers at Malfoy Holdings. Friends and family of hundreds of werewolves were laughing and crying, and in the middle of it all, was the witch of the hour, slowly turning on her heels.
“She’s looking for you, mate.” Theo had moved up beside him, handing him a glass of sparkling punch. Draco was about to chastise Theo’s overactive imagination when he was finally trapped in her sightline. Her smile was incandescent, and when she raised her glass to him in a toast, Draco struggled to breathe as all the air in the room seemed to dissipate, leaving him gasping for air and explanations.
Because her head that she tilted just enough to the side told him she had figured him out.
And her lips curved in a grin that spoke volumes.
And her eyes crinkled in joy that said everything.
He was moving before his hand had come down from the toast, hearing the trailing laugh of Theo Nott, and the amused words, “Go get her, tiger.”
When he reached the lobby, his smart witch had already moved to a small alcove, finding the only privacy in this wretched building that resolutely forbade the use of charms and spells. He stuttered as he came close to her, his resolve so intent a moment ago deflating before his very eyes with the fear he had gotten everything wrong.
He needn’t have worried, as Gryffindor as she was, she spoke first. “Harry tells me I’m in love with you. What do you think about that? Ridiculous, right?”
Draco took a moment. “Well, Theo tells me I’m in love with you. They can’t both be wrong now, could they? Perhaps their idea is not as ridiculous as one might think.”
Nervous laughter drifted up and out from both, and as they kissed it was the kiss of lovers, of partners, of promises.
Two feet away, subtly directing well-wishers away from the hidden corner, Harry Potter and Theo Nott high-fived each other.
“We’re pretty damn good at this matchmaking thing, aren’t we? Harry raised his eyebrows as Theo continued. “In fact, Charlie Weasley, that big hunk of a man, has always had a thing for Daphne. So how about a dinner party, Potter... a benefit for dragons...”
Harry’s laughter could be heard echoing throughout the lobby.