Stolen

She felt his eyes on her the rest of the night. It was two in the morning before she left, and she was one of the last to go. She did not say goodbye to Draco, her stomach could not have taken it.

“Oz,” she whispered to her front door. Hermione had bewitched it to work on a password just like the portraits at Hogwarts, but without the personalities and egocentricities. Still, it reminded her of the old days, and as the door swung in silently, she remembered how many times she had crawled through the portrait hole of the Fat Lady, how many passwords had gone by over the course of her seven years at Hogwarts. She smiled to herself and stepped inside.

The living room was lit with a single lamp, and next to it, Ron was dozing in a chair. Papers had fallen from his hand to his lap, and some had even slipped onto the floor or under the coffee table. She crossed to him, and bent to gather up the papers.

Ron started, jumping in his seat at the sound of the rustling. “Those are confidential!” he shouted, snatching them from her hands. He straightened out the papers, tapping them on his thighs to line up the edges, staring at Hermione in half-asleep disbelief. “You know you can’t-”

“-And I wasn’t, Ronald. I was just picking them up for you.” She stood up and turned her back on him. “Lighten up. I’m going to bed.” The bedroom door opened angrily and slammed behind her. She pointed her wand at the chest of drawers and raised a nightgown from one of the drawers. It followed her into the bathroom and laid itself out on the counter. She magiced the zipper of her gown down. It slithered over her backbone on its way to her mid-back, exposing soft, tanned skin. She shimmied the deep red taffeta over her head, and it crinkled and sighed even as she directed it back into the closet. Hermione took a shower, brushed her teeth, and returned to the bedroom. He wasn’t there. ‘He’s never there,’ she thought maliciously.

Hermione crawled between the clean cool sheets, letting the cream-colored sheets engulf her. A few minutes later she heard the front door slam shut.



The next morning, when Ron still wasn’t home, Hermione set to looking for him. He didn’t do this often, not often enough for the Daily Prophet to notice anyway, but she knew where to look anyway. She apparated to the Ministry, just outside the Minister of Magic’s office. The secretary didn’t look up. “He’s not here.”

“Oh yes, he is,” Hermione said, and the secretary looked up.

“Good morning, ma’am, what a pleasant surprise.” Hermione nodded. “Well, to my knowledge, no one has been in or out of there since I got here at eight this morning.”

Hermione pursed her lips, then said, “I’m going to have a look anyhow.” She flung the door open. There was a sleeping Ron, a shot glass and a bottle of something she could smell from the doorway sitting on the desk. Behind him, a quidditch cup and a house cup stood like sentinels in their shelves. Other awards and framed pieces of paper dotted the room, but these gleaming testaments to his success at Hogwarts stood out.

“Ron!” He didn’t move, but let out a half-hearted groan. “Ron, wake up!” Hermione stuck her head out of the door and told the secretary that Ron had come here last night to get in some extra work and fallen asleep before shutting the office door much more calmly than she felt.

Ron was stirring as she walked over to him. He picked his face up off of the desk top; on one side, his cheek and jaw were shiny with drool. The flush of his cheeks clashed badly with his hair. Looking terrible, Ron scooted back his plush desk chair and made to stand. He failed miserably, and slumped back into the leather cushions groggily.

“Ron, you are embarrassing. I don’t know why I bother, except that it would eat at me to see something like this appear in the papers, so here…” She performed a charm for his hang-over, and he blinked furiously, as if he had an unusual amount of sleep in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he grumbled.

“Now, you have a meeting Minerva today, so buck up! This is the last time I do this for you.” She kissed him on the drool-less cheek and strode from the room, vanishing the offending glass and bottle on her way out.

She decided to nip over to see Harry at the auror office before going to work. Of course she could be late to work if she wanted, being the director of St. Mungo’s. She took the lift down two floors and strolled down a busy hallway.

“Hermione!” The voice was decidedly un-Harry-like. She turned to see who it had been and was surprised to see Draco standing in front of her.

“Hello,” she said, almost reluctantly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Harry.”

“Should have known. Listen, he’s out at the moment, but I’ll walk you to his office. You can wait for him there.” They began walking, people rushing past them every few seconds.

Hermione did not like the sound of waiting around for Harry alone in an unknown place for an undisclosed amount of time. “Do you have an office?”

Draco looked taken aback. “Next door to Harry.” They arrived at his office, and he tapped the doorknob. Hermione heard a chinking of locks, then watched the door swing open to reveal a small but comfortable looking room. As they stepped inside, she noticed the deep green accents and dark wood shelves covered in books. A stretch of wall was covered in pictures of fugitive Death Eaters and a huge map with tiny pins stuck into it.

This was the most interesting office she’d ever been in. There was no window, not that it mattered about windows in an underground building, but the simple lighting fixture above her seemed to be emitting natural light. The desk was piled with interesting items, but she didn’t want to intrude. Then she remembered whose office she was in and turned to face him.

Draco was smiling strangely down at her. “Have a seat.” She stood still. “Hermione, I’m not going to bite.” She didn’t move.

“I can’t stay long. I have to get to St. Mungo’s before noon.”

“Really? Well, it’s only just ten o’clock, Hermione, you’ve got plenty of time.” He took a step toward her, and she wondered why she wasn’t feeling more uncomfortable. “How’s the Minister?” His smile broadened, then faltered when her face fell noticeably. “What’s the matter? Trouble in paradise?” She didn’t answer, but looked down. “Jesus, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring anything up…”

“It’s alright. I should go.”

He stuck out an arm and caught her as she tried to walk past him. “Stay, Hermione. We can talk about it.” He drew her in, his arm around her waist.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered as she brought a hand to the back of his neck, drawing him down into a kiss. Draco, however surprised, responded in kind, brushing her lips lightly with his own. She pressed against him, deepening the kisses, and her mouth opened to permit him entrance. She could feel his warm body against hers, feel his tongue exploring her mouth and his eyes watching her.

As if on cue, someone knocked loudly on the door. “Malfoy, are you in there?” It was Harry. Draco took his time ending the kiss, his gray eyes storming as they gazed into her own.

“What do you need, Potter?” His voice was suddenly harsh.

“Do you have that report on Nott?”

“Working on it. Hey, come in, Potter. Yelling through the door is completely pointless.” Draco and Hermione stepped apart as Harry entered.

“What are you doing here, ‘Mione?”



********************



Ok, short, but I only had time to write half of it, so there you go. Part 2 of Ch. 2 will be up soon.

Thank you!

TooMuch