Chapter Text
Malfoy is already there when she steps out of the Ministry car, thanking the driver. She still finds it weird that out of all Muggle inventions, the Ministry had chosen to use this one.
It's not like they don't have better methods.
But at least she isn't scared of them, contrary to her partner.
"You're late," Malfoy's head is tipped backwards, eyes focused on something above that must be so fascinating he won't even look at her. He is leaning casually against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. Annoyed, she shakes her head and saunters down the otherwise empty alley to face him. "I started to worry you chickened out, Granger."
There are days when she genuinely enjoys working with him, but there are also these when all she wants is to shove her fist in his face and punch his teeth down his throat. Today, apparently, is one of the latter.
"We were supposed to take the car together," she says, not bothering with formal greetings with him. "I felt like an idiot waiting for you for half an hour. The driver even offered to take me out for dinner if, I quote, my date stands me up— "
The sound of Malfoy sucking in a sharp breath cuts her mid-sentence, and though he is still doing his best to observe the sky, his voice drops at least an octave when he asks, “He did what ?”
“I know it’s unbelievable for you, but there are men who find me attractive,” she does her best to hide her own disappointment. “Anyways, that’s not the point. Why weren’t you at the meeting place we agreed on?”
"I don't trust Muggles and their technology."
She huffs. "You don't trust anything—"
When he finally looks at her, his eyes are blazing with an emotion she can't read. With mockery dripping from his voice, he says sweetly, "I trust you, isn't that enough?"
What a tosser.
There is a cigarette in his hand and she watches him roll it between his index and middle finger. Ash falls next to the tips of his shoes, embers of orange flame twinkling faintly. "These things are going to be the death of you."
He snorts, brings the cig close to his mouth and takes a long drag, his eyes fluttering shut when nicotine reaches his bloodstream. His body relaxes slightly, though she’s not sure whether he has a reason to be anxious at all. According to him, their mission is going to be a disaster anyway.
And yet, there is something off about him tonight, though she can't really tell what—maybe it's the arrogance radiating off him more than usual; or the bored expression on his irritatingly handsome face.
" You , Granger, are going to be the death of me," he replies finally, releasing the cloud of smoke directly into her face.
She opens her mouth to yell at him, but instead, she chokes on the bloody smoke, which only makes Malfoy chuckle. He lazily peels his back off the cobblestone wall and tosses the butt to the ground.
"I told you to wear your hair down," he snarls, raking an eye over her body. “What happened to your spotless record of following the rules?”
Her cheeks flush uncontrollably when his gaze lingers on her exposed neck and then her bare legs for far too long, but she says nothing about that. As embarrassing as it is to admit, she wants him to look at her.
"Kingsley gave me a dress that makes me look like a slut, and you are worried about my hair?" She asks in disbelief. "Besides, I thought you hated the... what did you call it, nest on my head?"
A weird grimace spreads across his face as he lifts his gaze, and she swallows the bitterness in the back of her mouth caused by his unimpressed stare.
She wonders what his reaction is going to be when she drops her coat and the glamour on her high heels. Chances are he will mock her appearance, as he has done countless times before. She doesn't need his approval to know she is pretty, but the lack of any attention from him is going to make her extremely anxious—especially this time.
They are supposed to infiltrate the largest network of veela in Great Britain and put an end to the never-ending list of illegal activities that are said to be happening in their club, right under the Ministry’s nose. But no one will believe that she—the Golden Girl—wants to enter the place of depravity and debauchery on her own.
Draco Malfoy, however, with his not-so-spotless record and questionable choices in the past, is more than welcome to visit as often as he wants. Or so he claims. Though Hermione asked a hundred times, he had never explained how exactly he managed to get an invitation for the first time.
She prefers not to think about it minutes before their mission starts.
"It doesn't matter what I think," he says simply and closes the distance between them in one long stride. "It is clear to me that this is your first time dealing with veela, so let me make it clear to you: they can smell you. You expose your neck like this," he waves his hand so close his knuckles brush against her throat, "and you end up with your throat shredded to pieces."
"And since when do you have so much experience with them?" She asks, crossing her arms at her chest, ignoring how his proximity affects her.
Malfoy shakes his head and reaches for the long hairpin she used to secure her hairstyle, tugging at it until all her curls fall loosely onto her shoulders and face. "Hair down, Granger," he repeats, and she really wants to punch him for manhandling her like this. "That's an order."
"You really are going to abuse the fact that Kingsley gave you the lead on this case, aren't you?"
He shrugs. "As if you wouldn't have done the same thing."
"As a matter of fact, Malfoy, I wouldn't—"
"Listen to me, Granger," he grabs her by the wrist and pins her against the same spot he leaned against seconds ago. She knows because the wall is still warm from him. "There is a reason Kingsley gave me the lead, and despite what you think of it, you are going to fucking follow my orders once we're inside, do you understand? You are to stay close to me. Don't talk to anyone unless I approve. Don't fucking touch anyone and don't let them touch you either. And for the love of your Muggle God, wear your hair down."
"How is it that you know so much about this place? It's hardly a stylish club for the Pureblood elite—"
He cuts her short, "You're insufferable, witch."
"And you're a prick," she counters.
Malfoy lets out an exasperated sigh and closes his eyes for a second, releasing the grip on her wrist. She waits for him to answer, her heart fluttering with annoyance. It's true that she can't stand the fact that tonight Malfoy is her boss—that he can order her to do anything, and if she wants to keep her job, she has to obey.
She hates it.
She hates Kingsley.
"We have to go inside now. If you want to argue the leadership of this mission, feel free to raise it with Kingsley tomorrow," he squares his shoulders and levels her with a hard stare, brow raised in question. She shakes her head, still sour about the decision, but not in the mood to fight anymore. "Remember we have a role to play."
"Hard to forget in that dress," she mumbles, unzipping her coat to reveal the short, golden dress their boss told her to wear. Malfoy looks over his shoulder and halts, his nostrils flaring. "Don't give me that look."
He clears his throat, eyes fixed on her chest. "What look?"
"Like you want to eat me," she scoffs and forces herself not to cover her body again. His brows wiggle as the trademark Malfoy smirk plays on his lips. "Seriously, you're freaking me out, Malfoy."
"I'm simply playing the role of your lover," he says, his voice slightly lower than usual.
Hermione shudders involuntarily at the way the word lover rolls off his tongue—wicked, sensual, amused.
"Looks to me like you're playing a role of a predator, and I don't fancy being your prey," she says, giving him a gentle shove forward. Malfoy tenses under her touch but he says nothing and walks to the hidden entrance. They should be in the club already, not arguing about the way he does or does not look at her. "Let's get inside."
"Stay close to me," her partner informs her one last time, and then the massive steel door is revealed on their left, slightly ajar for them to enter. "Do you understand?"
She wants to snap at him, but when she opens her mouth, the door behind them closes and complete darkness envelops them, and for once she is grateful for his presence. It's so dark and cold, she trembles and nearly falls down, her legs unstable. Only Malfoy's arm wrapped around her waist keeps her from stumbling, and when she curses under her nose for the uneven path, Draco pulls her closer and lifts her in the air as if she weighs nothing, leading them inside the club.