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It would have worked out fine if she wasn't so goddamn observant.
Not that he underestimated her, gods no; he'd made that mistake one too many times. He'd just assumed that his feelings were a bit of a blind spot. That she hadn't noticed what she did to him. That she was blissfully ignorant.
Actually, perhaps he had underestimated her. Again.
The thing was, so much had changed since school. They were grown-ups now, for one – both nearly thirty – and the War was a fading memory. They both had excellent jobs with the Ministry, she with the Care of Magical Creatures Department and he in the larger branch of Magical Law. They were calmer, smarter, and a bit less impulsive than they were back in their Hogwarts years. Time had done them good, and the fire that fuelled their mutual hatred had cooled.
No, hold on, that wasn't quite right. The fire was there. It was still blazing.
It just didn't inspire hatred anymore. Not in Draco, anyway.
It inspired something deeper. Fonder. More forgiving. And gods help him, it was turning his already-healthy libido into an absolute hurricane of lust.
She, it seemed, was oblivious.
It's not like his feelings were news to him – his body had already made his attraction abundantly clear. The occasional time they'd brush past each other in the hall would leave his pale skin flushing hot pink under his clothes, his breath shaky. That was bad enough. But if they attended the same meeting? Merlin help him. He was hopelessly distracted, sweating and twitching and trying not to gaze at the tiny sliver of exposed cleavage in her otherwise-conservative dress shirt. It was absurd! Him, Draco Malfoy, reduced to a quivering mess. Over a girl. He never lost his head like this, not ever. And yet, just the fact of her sitting across from him made him so hard he wanted to fuck his fist under the table. He wanted to crawl underneath and lick between her legs until she was unable to form words.
It was funny, because in many ways she was just the same Hermione Granger he knew in school. Pedantic, disastrous hair, bossy as ever. Those things hadn't changed. But now he was able to see the good things - her kindness, her sense of humour, her sharp wit. All the things that made her unique, and infinitely more interesting than the vapid women he usually chased after.
He had grown up, she had grown up, and oh, he wanted.
Still, he didn't want to be needlessly dramatic. So he had a crush. Worse things had happened. He would simply have to tide himself over with fevered fantasies and stolen glances. If Draco knew one thing for sure, it was that Gryffindor's princess would never waste her time with him, even if they had long-since buried the hatchet. As much as he hated to admit it, she represented all things good and just. He, in the other corner, was a former Death Eater with a bad attitude. It would never work.
Anyway, she must be engaged to Weasley by now; they'd certainly been together long enough. The thought made him cringe.
The worst part about his ridiculous infatuation was how out of character he'd become. To the rest of the magical world, Draco Malfoy was a playboy. He was never short of dates, he could get sex whenever he wanted it, and if he put the word out, he could probably be married tomorrow.
Not that he wanted to be married.
Not that he even wanted sex these days, or at least, not with the women who would give it to him.
What he wanted was Hermione Granger, naked and riding his cock, from now until the end of time. Completely his, as he was hers.
Trouble was, he knew he wasn't going to get what he wanted. She wasn't available, and even if she was, she probably wouldn't be interested.
So, in another uncharacteristic move, he just sat back and pined.
The delicate balance of his sanity went to hell one morning when his boss wandered into his office with a pleased look on her face.
"Draco!" she chirped. "How do you feel about raking in some overtime?"
Draco narrowed his eyes at her, trying to assess what the catch might be.
"I'm trying to assess what the catch might be," he said.
"No catch," she said, cheerfully. "I just need you to sit on a new advisory committee. They need a representative from our branch, and I'm already stretched too thin. It would be good experience for you, and the team is excellent."
"What does the committee do?" he asked. He could use overtime money... His family's fortune was decimated after the War and he'd been trying to build up his savings slowly ever since.
"It will be responsible for drafting laws relating to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup."
Draco perked up. Actually, that did sound rather interesting. He was a lifelong Quidditch fan, and he still played on a rec league every other weekend.
"How much time are we talking?"
"You'll attend one meeting a day, and then attend any extra sessions the group feels would be needed. As a lawyer, you'll be an asset to the committee."
He nodded. It wouldn't be hard to cut down on his social life a bit. He hadn't been giving it much of an effort lately anyway. "Yeah, I can do that. No problem."
"Excellent. I appreciate this, Draco."
She turned to leave with a wink, waving over her shoulder.
"Oh, I should have asked… Who's chairing the committee?"
"Hermione Granger, dear. Didn't I mention?" She smiled like a cat, and sashayed out of the room.
First, his boss had clearly figured him out.
Second, he was fucked.
Turns out he had signed up for a committee governing the treatment of magical creatures at the Quidditch World Cup, a little detail that his charming boss had neglected to mention.
Draco sunk a little lower in his chair, trying not to look as miserable as he felt. Managing a crush was fine when the object of one's affection only crossed your path every other week. This was an entirely different affair. He glanced around at the assembled menagerie of bureaucrats. Mostly human, although there was one Goblin and a woman he swore was part Veela. Six in total, not including the chairperson, who had yet to join them.
"Hello, everyone," said Hermione Granger.
Ah, there was the chairperson. Chairwoman. ChairGranger. Fucking hell, she looked good, even with her hair forced into some bizarre appropriation of a bun. He smiled mildly in her direction, trying not to appear as though he was already feeling edgy.
"I'm so pleased that you've all agreed to join this committee," she said, smiling warmly. "As you probably know, this is a cause that is very dear to my heart."
He chanced a look at the dip of her blouse. It wasn't any more revealing than normal, but it showed just enough of her pearly white breast to make his cock take interest.
Oh shit, he was already getting hard.
No. No no no no noooope.
"Considering that previous World Cups have seen egregious abuses of the rights of magical creatures, the Ministry felt it best to strengthen what laws we do have leading up to this event. We will be spending nearly every day together over the next month to get all of our work done. I hope you are prepared for the challenge."
A month? A fucking month? Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had to will away this erection or the rest of the meeting would be a write-off. It was already getting difficult to concentrate.
At that moment, a curl liberated itself from Hermione's bun and landed lazily in front of her eyes. She flipped it back quickly, barely taking notice of the annoyance, but the action caused her arm to brush against her breasts.
Which caused her breasts to bounce lightly within her blouse.
Draco was suddenly so hard he couldn't see straight.
He was aware that she was talking, so he made attempts to nod when everyone else nodded, and made noises of approval when he felt it was appropriate. At one point he tuned in long enough to hear her ask, "Do you agree?" to which he may have actually shouted "ABSOLUTELY!" The Goblin glared at him.
She beamed at him though, and so he resisted the urge to wave his middle fingers at the Goblin. He was a mature adult. He just happened to be a mature adult with a distracting erection.
When the meeting finally concluded, he assembled his notebooks, straightened his robes, avoided eye contact (Was she trying to get his attention? She was. Fuck. RUN.), and sprinted as quickly as he could from the room, muttering something about needing the loo.
It wasn't a lie. He really, REALLY needed the loo. He ducked into the first one he saw, locked the door behind him, cast a muffling charm, and took out his aching cock in what was probably record time. Already slick with precome, he proceeded to jerk off roughly, imagining what Hermione's breasts looked like without that intrusive blouse and bra, imagined how they would feel in his mouth, imagined how they would look splattered in his come…
"Granger," he moaned as he spent himself all over his fist. It took all of twenty seconds. Gods, how embarrassing. He cleaned himself up awkwardly, grateful that he didn't have the refractory period of his younger self. Otherwise he'd be raring to go again in fifteen minutes. He would never get work done at that rate.
Even so, this was getting ridiculous. He had to regain control over himself. There was no way he was going to hide a giant erection in his trousers every day for the next month. No way in hell.
What was that Muggle expression? Best laid plans something something?
Well, clearly the universe had a sense of humour, because it seemed like he was most certainly going to have to hide his arousal every damn day of the committee meetings. There was no way around it! It had become a bloody Pavlovian response! All she had to do was start talking in that bossy voice of hers and he was hard as a fucking rod.
No matter. He could hide it. He could control it. And besides, if push came to shove, what was a little fantasy every now and then? It's not like anybody would know what he was thinking about. He could indulge during the boring bits. Yes, that would work. When meaningful discussion was taking place, he would listen and contribute. But every time somebody droned on about Centaur rights or the plight of the House Elves? He would allow himself a dirty daydream.
Brilliant.
Nothing could possibly go wrong with his plan.
Naturally, everything went wrong.
At first, the fantasies were fairly tame. He'd imagine taking her over his desk, fucking her in his guest chair while her tits bounced in his hands, driving into her in a closet with her legs wrapped around his waist. They were just quick snippets in his mind, and he stayed alert as the images writhed behind his eyes. Quick and dirty. Harmless.
One day, however, during a particularly long lecture about Cornish pixies and their fondness for crowds, Draco started to daydream in detail.
He imagined Hermione in his flat, stepping out of the shower, the air steamy, her skin rosy and damp. He imagined her towelling off briefly, running the fabric over her breasts, dabbing it quickly between her legs, and then walking over to the bed. There, she would get on all fours, stick her arse up in the air, lower her face onto her crossed arms, and wait for him.
Draco would step up behind her, admiring her pert arse on display, her already-wet pussy gleaming for him, and he would put his mouth to good use. He'd lave his tongue over her cunt, from her clit to her hole and back, spreading all her wetness around. He'd spend ages down there as she whimpered into the cushion of her arms, slurping against her, enjoying the way her legs shook. He'd stay there a while, eating to his heart's content, relishing the little noises she would make.
Why stop there?
He wouldn't slide his cock straight into her, oh no. He'd take his time. First he'd dip his cock head inside, and then a bit of the shaft, and then he'd pull out and rub the glans over her clit to drive her wild. Only when she was begging, really begging, would he slide in to the hilt and give her a pounding that would -
"Draco?"
Draco snapped to attention. Everyone was staring at him. Including Hermione.
"What was your opinion on Bert's proposal?"
Bert? Was that the ginger, or the one with the beard? The ginger. Maybe. Fuck, he could have sworn his name was Rick.
"Umm..."
He couldn't possibly admit that he was so hopelessly aroused he could barely remember his own name, let alone which topic they were discussing. He'd never get back in her good books again. All he had to do was make something up. Something convincing.
He'd never been so grateful to be a lawyer.
"I'm glad you asked me that question, Hermione," he said, flashing everyone his most charming smile. Thank Merlin he knew how to read a crowd. The facial expressions around the table were mixed – the Veela was pissed off, the Goblin was smug, Bert was nervous… But Hermione looked hopeful. He could work with that.
"I think it's a really promising idea," he said. "We would need to study it further, of course, but it has the right foundations for what we're after. Obviously we want only the best for magical creatures. Nothing less will do."
Hermione beamed at him again. "Excellent, Draco. Thank you."
He beamed back at her.
The Goblin glared.
He resisted the urge to wave his middle fingers in the air. Mature adult, obviously.
(Plus, he didn't have a lot of blood left in his head and he was starting to feel dizzy.)
Later that night, back at his flat, he slid under the covers and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he fell asleep without having a wank first, and this was not the time to break tradition. What did he feel like fantasizing about?
His daydreams were all over the map lately. Some were gentle, some were rough. The night before last he'd brought himself to climax thinking about tying Hermione up, spreading her legs, securing her ankles, strapping her wrists to the headboard, and than slowly fucking her until she cried for release. Last week he'd imagined taking her in the arse, working his fingers in slowly, going as gently as he could, until she was stretched and relaxed and grinding down on his fingers.
He wanted something different tonight, though. He let his mind wander, eventually conjuring up a relatively tame scene - missionary style, on his bed, her arms wrapped around his back tightly.
Draco slipped his hand into his pyjama bottoms and ran his fingers along his cock. Wrapping his hand around his length, he started to jerk himself slowly.
His breathing became ragged as the fantasy progressed, and his hand sped along his erection slickly, precome coating his fingers.
He imagined sliding into her as she murmured his name. Draco, Draco, Draco. Fuck, what he wouldn't give to hear that one day. Draco, please, harder, Draco.
What else would she say? What did he want her to say?
I want you.
No, that wasn't quite it. He could feel the climax building, though. He was close.
I need you.
Maybe. It sounded good. His hand sped up.
I love you.
Suddenly he was coming, the orgasm racing through him as he cried out, soaking his bottoms right through.
"Fuck!" he yelled, panting. "No, no, not good... That wasn't what I wanted..."
But that was the problem, wasn't it. Draco knew he was kidding himself. Of course he wanted her to say that. He wanted her to say that so badly. He would give anything to hear her say that.
Because then it wouldn't be unrequited.
He sighed, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. Just when he thought he couldn't get more pathetic, he had to go and fall in love with her.
Committee the next day was a depressing affair. The Veela got in a fight with Bert (Rick? Ugh.), the bearded bloke managed to insult the Goblin, and Draco brooded in his chair. Hermione kept trying to bring things to order, but it was clear that it was a lost cause. The bickering only got worse, and she eventually dismissed them all early.
Draco got up to leave, but felt someone catch his elbow.
"Hey," said Hermione. The place where her fingers connected with his elbow felt like it was on fire. Draco froze.
"I just wanted to check that you're okay. You seem... Well... You seem a little off today."
"I'm fine," he said, still trying not to move lest she remove her hand. "Just didn't sleep very well."
"Okay, I understand," she said. "Just look after yourself, alright?" Then she squeezed his arm and let go.
Draco left the room feeling worse than ever.
He didn't fantasize that night, terrified he'd only orgasm if he imagined her in a wedding dress and wearing his family ring.
Committee continued at the same depressing pace, and it was clear that Hermione was frustrated with the lack of progress.
"What's happened to all of you?" she scolded a few days later. "We have deadlines to meet. We don't have time for arguing or moping. Please make sure you come to our session tomorrow with a better attitude."
Draco sunk a little lower in his seat. He knew it was largely his fault - he'd stopped participating, and probably looked extremely disinterested in the proceedings. He'd also stopped intervening when discussions got off track, which meant that they tended to spiral into shouting matches. The Veela was terrifying when she got going. Draco just couldn't bring himself to care.
"Oh, and Draco? Please stay behind afterwards. I want to have a word with you."
Great.
Lovely.
Wonderful.
Not only was he hopelessly in love with her, but now she was going to yell at him for being a crap team member.
God, he'd better not get a boner while she screamed about his ineptitude. That would be tremendously hard to explain.
"In my office please," she said, curtly. She sounded very put out.
She sat down at her desk and pointed to her guest chair. He sat down quickly. He felt like he was about to be scolded, and not in the way he'd fantasized about so many times before.
"Draco, we need to talk."
"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been focusing lately," he said, hurriedly. The sooner he could leave, the better. "I'll improve. I've just... I've got... I've got a toothache, and it's making me - "
"Do. You. Think. I'm. Stupid."
He stared at the furious woman in front of him.
"Of course not?" Why did that sound like a question? It wasn't supposed to sound like a question.
"Then how about you explain why you've lost interest."
"I told you, the committee just isn't - "
"Not in the committee!" she said, exasperated. "In me, you idiot."
Draco gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"What, you think I didn't see? Draco, you can't listen to me speak without becoming aroused."
He crossed his legs, his cheeks flushing. "Not true."
"Absolutely true!" she cried. "I keep waiting for you to make your move, and instead I get two and a half weeks of concealed erections and then nothing! You walk in like you've given up on the idea and then you pout through the entire meeting! What exactly did I do?"
"Hold on," said Draco, leaning forward in his chair. "You've been waiting for me to make a move? Granger, you're with Weasley."
She stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "We've been broken up for over a year, Draco."
Draco blinked at her. "I..."
She gave him an expectant look.
"A year?"
"Yes. A whole year."
Bugger. Draco was suddenly regretting the fact that he had no interest in gossip. That piece of information could have saved him a lot of grief.
"Okay, my mistake, I admit. I should have probably done my research. But Granger... You're seriously interested in me?"
"Obviously." She looked slightly less angry now. In fact, she was starting to look unsure of herself. That wouldn't do.
"Look," he said. "You're right, of course. I'm really, really attracted to you. Like, to the point where I can't concentrate, or do work, or sleep." She blushed, which he counted as a victory. "But you deserve far better than me. I'm a former Death Eater - "
"Former. Operative word."
"...And I'm not a good person. I'm actually - " Could he really admit to being fairly perverted at this point? Best not. "It's just that you're so good, you're this smart, kind-hearted, admittedly loud-mouthed - "
"Hold on," she said, holding up a finger. "Are you trying to make some sort of misguided statement about my innocence?"
"Erm, yes?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Or... No?"
"That is astoundingly patronizing."
"Um."
"Let me disabuse you of your sadly misogynistic notions. Number one: I asked your boss to have you put on the committee."
"You what?!"
She shrugged. "I was interested, and I hoped that you were, so I thought it would give me a chance to be sure."
Draco's jaw stopped working and dropped open unattractively.
"Number two: I am also extremely attracted to you. Case in point, I haven't worn knickers to the committee meetings for the past week in the hopes that you'd want to work out your sexual frustration on something other than your hand."
Draco felt his brain short out.
"Number three: I'm actually... Um..." She was looking unsure again, fidgeting in her seat as her cheeks blushed rosy pink.
"Number three?" he asked, wondering if perhaps he was hallucinating this entire conversation. Was she seriously not wearing knickers? That was the hottest damn thing he'd ever heard.
"It's not just attraction. I actually... I actually really like you."
Now her face was in a full state of blush.
"God knows why," she mumbled.
"I think your ears are blushing," Draco said, a slow smile taking over his face.
She blushed harder.
Sweet Christ, he had been so stupid. Clearly he had to make up for his astounding error, and fast.
"I think it's possible that I've been an idiot," he said, standing up and walking around the desk to hover directly in front of her.
"You are always an idiot," she said, in a voice that can only be described as fond.
He leaned down, and briefly nuzzled her nose, just because he could. She smelled fantastic. He pressed a kiss to her temple, just because he could.
"Hermione Granger, would you like to do on a date with me?" he purred.
She nodded mutely.
"Would you like to be my girlfriend?"
She giggled. "Juvenile," she whispered. "But yes."
"Would you like me to bend you over this table and have my way with you?"
She gasped, and he kissed the delightful sound right off her tongue.
In answer, she plucked open the top button of her blouse. He felt her mouth grinning under his.
"You have no idea what I'm going to do to you," he whispered, thinking back on the array of fantasies he assumed would never come to fruition.
"Actually, I do," she said, reaching for his belt.
He made an inquisitive noise, running his tongue over her neck like a starving man. She was still talking. Why was she always talking?
"Remember that prize I was awarded last year? The one that was presented by the Minister?"
Draco grunted, undoing the rest of her blouse and frankly quite finished with chatting for the foreseeable future. Blah blah blah, words words words. She was always getting awards. How was he supposed to keep track?
"It was for my skills in covert Legilimency."
Draco froze.
"I know it's unethical, but you weren't exactly careful with your thoughts."
Draco stopped breathing.
"I only saw snippets."
He wondered if there was a spell that could cause the floor to swallow him whole. Surely that must exist. There were so many useless spells in the world - why not something genuinely practical for a change?
"Really, really intriguing snippets."
He blinked at her.
"Hey," she said, her smirk so terrifying she would probably scare off Voldemort himself. "You don't have to worry. I won't use it anymore, I promise. It was just hard to ignore the content since I featured so prominently. And besides... Everything I saw looked like fun."
Draco was not a stupid man. Stubborn, yes, arrogant, yes, but he knew when he was beaten. He also knew he was extremely lucky she hadn't run away screaming when she realized how he spent his time.
"You realize you're a total pervert for liking that stuff," he said, grinning.
"Pot, kettle," she laughed.
"Would you let me show you that I actually have redeeming factors?"
"Please," she whispered. "Show me repeatedly."
Draco dropped to his knees. She was going to be the death of him.
And it was going to be fucking fantastic.