The Office

The pile of work never seemed to go down. As soon as Draco finished one report, he’d look at his in-box and the pile would be twice as big. The work wasn’t difficult but it was tedious and never-ending. It was so basic just about anyone could do it, which actually made it even worse. He was too intelligent for this job. He should be working somewhere with a huge office that had a gorgeous view and his own private secretary. He shouldn’t be working twelve hour days for a pittance as a researcher and fact checker for the Quibbler. He did the grunt work for every single employee at this blasted paper, hated every minute of it, but he was lucky to even have the job so he couldn’t really complain.

Malfoy used to be a name that automatically warranted respect and possibly even a bit of fear. Now it was a source of ridicule and an albatross around his neck that he never seemed to be rid of regardless of what choices he had finally made. There was a mark on his forearm that would forever brand him a murderer despite the fact he’d never killed in the name of Voldemort and hadn‘t even followed the Dark Lord once he‘d made his own decisions. The mark was there, though, evidence of his childish desire to please his father, and it, like his name, caused judgment and hatred from a majority of those in his world.

It didn’t matter that he’d nearly died several times while working as a spy for Potter or that he’d been responsible for saving quite a few people during the four years it took to defeat Voldemort. His father had died in Azkaban and the Malfoy name had forever been linked with Death Eaters and Voldemort. When the war was over, he’d discovered that prejudiced worked both ways as door after door had been shut in his face. He’d worked his arse off during the war, had blood on his hands from people he’d once called friend before politics had decided their futures, and none of it had mattered.

He’d lost just about everything during the war. His inheritance, the property, his home, his parents, and a majority of his former friends were all gone by the time Potter finally destroyed Voldemort. He’d even lost his looks, really, as the scar that trailed from his temple to his chin tended to make most people look away or pity him, which was even worse. It had taken him nearly a year to find this job and he’d known, by then, that he had to do whatever was necessary to keep it.

He had never expected it to mean working long hours and biting his tongue as his co-workers treated him as if he might attack them at any time. He did all the shite work, which he hated more with every passing day, but Lovegood had given him a chance, surprisingly enough. Draco didn’t want to let the old man down, even if that required practically living at the office half the time and never spending time with his wife.

Hermione, more than most, understood what he was dealing with, thankfully. As a Muggleborn, she still faced similar prejudice and distrust. He was ashamed, now, to have been a contributor to her own problems when they were younger. He knew she was frustrated on his behalf and that she hated to see him wasting his intelligence at such a mindless job, but she knew how things worked in this world. There wasn’t anything that would change it except stubborn refusal to hide away and be treated like rubbish. He tried not to acknowledge that keeping this job was basically hiding away.

They had talked about moving to America, about starting over somewhere where they could simply be Draco and Hermione without being the Death Eater and the Traitor, as she was commonly whispered to be for daring to be involved with him. No one ever said those words to her or around any of her friends because it was well known that Potter, himself, would hex anyone for slandering his best friend and surrogate sister, but it didn’t mean the gossip and cruel taunts didn’t exist. Draco saw them in her gaze when she got back from the market and in the way she sighed when she hugged him after she’d had a long day at work, too.

Neither of them wanted to seem like they were running away, both far too obstinate to give in to being run off like they were the criminals instead of the heroes. Their relationship had never been easy by any means. It had been a fight from the start: both fighting their developing feelings as they met to exchange information, fighting the attraction that grew during those months as the war became worse and the only calm they seemed to have was those clandestine meetings together, fighting each other as they gave in and took what they wanted from each other, fighting her friends when it was discovered she was intimate with him, and fighting the world when the war was over and they realized their relationship wasn’t fading away with Voldemort’s defeat.

They had never expected the worse to follow the way. He’d stupidly assumed that her being part of the Golden Trio would just force everyone to acknowledge their relationship and accept it. He’d not counted on the ignorance of people, about their blind prejudice that was just as meaningless as those of the very people they’d all spent years fighting, of the distrust the mark on his arm would cause despite it having been the way he’d managed to gain the information fundamental in helping win the bloody war, of the intolerance of blood that still existed only without the psychotic urge to kill an entire race of people.

Hermione might have been one of the reasons this world of theirs had been saved but people still seemed to forget that when it was all said and done. Some prejudices ran deep even amongst those claiming to be open-minded and accepting. She’d had a little more luck finding a job than him when the war was over, but had lost three after it was learned she was involved and eventually married to a former Death Eater regardless of the fact he, too, had an Order of the Merlin for services rendered. When it happened to him, it was one thing. When it happened to his wife, it was something else entirely.

He hated being a cause of such disgust towards the woman who had, basically, saved him. If it hadn’t been for her, for those meetings during the darkest of days, for just seeing her determined refusal to let go of her hope and optimism that they’d win, he’d have given up shortly after his mum died and his whole world had come crashing down around him. It was cliché and so bloody ridiculous that he’d never even tell Hermione, but she had kept him alive.

The only thing he could do to help her was to keep his job. He had no money, no respect, and his name was worthless. He’d told her not to take his name when they got married a few years ago. She’d managed to keep a few jobs longer because they’d not been married yet and they really did their best to keep their relationship private because it wasn’t anyone’s business. She’d refused, of course. He knew she’d only taken the name Malfoy as a gesture of love, to show him she didn’t care about the past any longer and to prove to him that she was going to be by his side regardless of what they had to face.

Every time she said her name or he saw it written in her scrawl on parchment, he realized what love really meant. If the only thing he could do in return was stay at a job he hated and putting in more hours than necessary just to keep the position, so be it. If he worked enough, maybe they’d be able to save up the money it would require to move out of their too small one bedroom flat and possibly even think about starting a family.

They were nearly thirty, after all, and had been married for nearly seven years. It was time to consider children, he supposed, even if they weren’t financially ready for such a commitment and he balked at the idea of bringing an innocent child into the world to forever be tainted by his name and the mark on his arm. They could move, though, he thought, which would mean maybe giving Hermione a small garden and having room for all her books.

He’d finally gotten a minimal raise, after all; though a promotion from research grunt would never be in his future regardless of how hard he worked, which was frustrating as fuck. He tried occasionally to find something else with an actual future, somewhere that he could work his way up and make the name of Malfoy something respectable again, but it never seemed to matter. In the end, he was proud of his name and the history it had regardless of what his father had brought to it by the end and Hermione wore it just as proudly. Anyone else could just bugger off. Hermione had also finally seemed to have found a company that didn’t give a shite about her private life in comparison to her brilliant mind so she had managed to keep a job for what was coming up on her third anniversary.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck and pushed his sleeves up before he tackled the pile that was currently stacked in his in-box. The candles had burned halfway down and he knew he’d not make it home for dinner. Again. The past month had been worse than the previous years, it seemed. The Quibbler had an increased circulation and was actually giving the Prophet a run for its money, as the saying went, with a mixture of truth, fiction, and gossip that the readers seemed to love.

That meant he’d been putting in even longer hours the past few months. But the hiring of three new columnists in the last forty-five days had increased his work load to what two people should be doing. Instead of hiring a second person, though, they’d just piled it on his desk and told him to get it done by the deadlines. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Hermione beyond a passing greeting in the morning on their way to work and then stumbling in late to find her already asleep and his dinner waiting for him on the counter with warming charms keeping it edible.

The stack had barely had a dent put into it when he heard the door to the office he shared with five others open. He clenched his jaw and prepared to smile blandly as more requests were added to the pile to be done before the weekend feeling as if he should just bend over to make it easier for them all to fuck him. When he heard the tap of heels on the tile floor, he glanced up in curiosity. Gray eyes widened as his gaze encountered his wife.

“Hermione, has something happened?” he asked with a note of concern. She never came to his job nor did he go to hers.

“Yes, it has,” she informed him matter-of-factly as she walked around his desk. “You see, my husband is having an affair.”

“What?” He gaped at her, his gaze narrowing as he planned to deny any such allegation even as he was wondering what vile bitch had spread such ridiculous gossip. He was too bloody tired by the time he got home to shag his wife so he sure as fuck wasn’t off shagging someone else.

Hermione nodded and he noticed that she was wearing red lipstick. She didn’t wear lipstick. Her lips looked fuller with the cosmetic but he preferred her without it. She tapped her foot and he glanced down to see vibrant red high heels that he’d never seen before. “My husband is cheating on me,” she continued as she moved to sit on his desk, right on top of his research on Vinigala Flies and whether or not they were carrying some sort of magical flu.

“You’re crazy,” he told her bluntly.

Her gaze met his and she arched a brow. “Actually, I’m beginning to think I’m the other woman,” she said as she crossed her legs, letting her robe fall open at the knees to show off her bare legs as she flashed those red shoes. “He seems to be married to his job, you see, and I’ve become the one he sneaks in at night to hold with an occasional shag, though he’s been far too tired lately to even attempt to get into my knickers.”

Draco frowned as he realized her point and tried his best not to get distracted by her bare legs. “Maybe your husband is working his arse off every day,” he pointed out with just a hint of petulance.

“Maybe I’d rather see the man I married then find a warm spot in the bed beside me to indicate he was even home,” she replied back tartly. “I didn’t marry his job, after all. I married him.”

“What do you want from me, Hermione?” he finally asked as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her. “I have to work, as much as I find the idea distasteful, and you know that my options are limited. If it were my choice, I’d be home for dinner every night and I’d shag you so much you couldn’t walk the next day. However, that’s not possible. I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are, Draco,” she relented before she sighed. “I just miss you. This is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks, you realize? You’re even coming in here on the weekends now and I hate it. I work a lot, too, but this is too much. I hate seeing you work yourself to death for this dead-end job.”

“You think I like it?” he asked as he leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I hate it, Hermione. I hate that it doesn’t matter what I do or how hard I work because I’ll never advance. God forbid they employ a former Death Eater regardless of the truth and that bloody award I was given along with a pat on my head. I hate that the only good thing in my life is you and this place is even taking that away from me.”

She stared at him and chewed on her lip for a moment before she admitted, “You’ve never told me that before. I suspected, of course, but you never told me you were unhappy. Why weren’t you honest with me, Draco?”

“What good would it do?” He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to burden you anymore than you already are for daring to be involved with me. I’ve ruined enough of your future, Hermione. I’ve been here years now and I deal with it. I’ve accepted that there are sacrifices that have to be made. That’s something I learned during the war and it just happens to be accurate for life, too.”

“Would you stop that?” she snapped as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and glared at him in a way he found unbelievably sexy. “Always the martyr, Draco. You made stupid decisions when you were sixteen and it was the way you were brought up. You’ve changed just as we all have. Do you really think I’d have ever let you kiss me much less marry me if you were still that rude prejudiced bastard you were during school? You haven’t ruined anything, you annoying git.”

“They look at me and see this,” he said as he pointed at the mark on his forearm. He pointed at the scar that covered the left side of his face. “This is a permanent reminder to them of who I was and they never see beyond that. My name makes them mutter and look at me in disgust. That isn’t a martyr complex, Hermione. It’s reality and you know it. You took my name and you know the baggage that came along with it.”

“I still hear Mudblood whore, Draco,” she informed him tightly. “I hear people who fought on our side, that I risked my life to save, whisper about the Mudblood fucking the Death Eater and about the Mudblood who just got a promotion and surely that was achieved on her back and dozens of other things that I’ve basically heard since I joined this world nearly two decades ago. The difference between us is that I’m proud to be your wife. I’m proud of you, of what you did, of the courage it took to live like you did for years during the war. I’m proud to be who I am, of my family and my blood, of my history. They can make all the snide comments they want, they can hate me for loving you or for daring to stay in this world and fight for what I want, but I’m not going to stop fighting, I’m not going to run away, I’m not going to let them win by hiding in a dead-end job that I hate.”

He blanched when she mentioned them calling her such names, knowing he was guilty of doing the same thing when he’d been younger. “It’s not that easy,” he reminded her as he stared at the burning candle. “I spent a year trying, fighting, doing everything I could to get a job. This is all I found, all I’ve been able to find in the years since. We can’t afford for me to fight and refuse to tolerate the whispers and remarks that follow us when we go out. Hell, we can barely afford what we have now.”

“We manage,” she told him softly. “It’s not worth having anything if you’re miserable, Draco. I’ve sensed for months that you’re unhappy but you refuse to ever talk to me about anything anymore. I had to come here and basically force you to tell me this much. For seven years, you’ve worked here and hated it. I know you kept it at first because I couldn’t keep a position anywhere but I have a stable job now. They could care less if I’m married to a Malfoy or a monkey as long as I show up and do my job.”

“Are you calling me a monkey?” he asked with a slight smirk as he rolled his chair closer. He moved his hand over her leg, pushing her robe to the side so he could stroke her thigh. “I don’t know what else to do, Hermione. I’m not going to quit my job and just live off your income. It’s more than it’s ever been, true, but it’s not enough for both of us and I’d not do that anyway. This job is tolerable, at the best of times. I just don’t want it to come between us.”

She trailed her fingertips over his face and sighed. “Why don’t you return Zabini’s owl? He’s tried to get you to go work for him for the last few years. He might be an arrogant prat but he was neutral during the war and he’s willing to give you a chance. I know your pride is in the way, Draco, and that you don’t want to be indebted but maybe his offer is sincere? Luna has said his magazine is doing well, after all.”

“I can’t stand Zabini,” he muttered as he thought of his smug former housemate. However, if the alternative was staying here it might be worth the concession to tolerate the bastard. His hand moved higher and he suddenly focused his gaze on his wife’s bare legs when his hand failed to come into contact with a skirt. He glanced up at her and saw that she was blushing. His interest was suddenly piqued, and all thoughts of his miserable job and Zabini fled. “Why did you come here tonight, Hermione?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because I was tired of being the neglected other woman,” she murmured as she gave him a sheepish smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day and I didn’t want to spend it at home alone. It was either come seduce my husband away from his work or, well, that was actually as far as I got in my scheming. And then you ruined my plan, I might add.”

“I did, did I?” he asked as he found himself relaxing, a slow smile spreading over his lips as he moved his hand even higher. “No knickers, Mrs. Malfoy? What exactly did you have in mind? I feel it’s my responsibility as a dutiful husband who happened to forget it was some silly commercialized Muggle holiday to assist you in your scheme.”

“You’re such a romantic,” she said drolly as she spread her legs slightly for his hand. She hissed when his fingers brushed against her and he couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction to him.

“Never claimed to be,” he reminded as he lazily moved his knuckles over her cunt until she whimpered. His hand was wet and he was still a bit shocked that Hermione had actually come to see him at work wearing nothing beneath her prim black robe. While the sex was good, amazing brilliant at times, she wasn’t the most daring person by any means and had never done such a thing before. He rather liked it. More so, selfishly, because she had done it for him.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” she scolded him breathlessly as she pushed his hand away from her damp curls. “You’re supposed to sit at your desk and let me seduce you.”

“Oh,” he said with an understanding nod of his head as he removed his hand. He licked his fingers as his gaze met hers and he was pleased to see the flush of arousal in her cheeks as he tasted her. He leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Like this?”

“Well, you’ve ruined the surprise now,” she muttered crossly as she slid off his desk, cursing under her breath when she brought a file of parchment with her.

“Leave it,” he told her thickly, shifting in his chair so she’d see his arousal. “I’ll get it after. May not get it at all and just leave it there with a note saying I quit. Zabini may be a bastard, but he’s got a good head for business and might not be too bad to work for.”

“Really?”

He shrugged and grinned. “Why not? Can’t keep hiding in a dead-end job, can I? Besides, I’m tired of cheating on you with boring paperwork when I could be making love with you. Now quit talking and seduce me, woman.”

When she arched a brow and pursed her lips, he thought he might have misunderstood her intentions. After all, showing up in his office wearing nothing but a robe and those red fuck-me heels was a pretty clear image, wasn’t it? True, it was definitely uncommon behavior for Hermione but he thought she was being a bit daring for reasons that made him forget about his aggravating job and made his cock very, very hard.

“Mister Malfoy, what have we discussed numerous times in the past?” she asked as she tapped her foot, distracting him from thinking about answers to silly questions because he was too busy thinking about her wearing nothing but those heels.

“My lack of patience?” he ventured a guess. Obviously that wasn’t the right answer because she sighed and shook her head. “Damn it, Hermione. I don’t know. We’ve talked about a lot of things in the past. Give me a hint, at least, if you’re going to be a bloody tease.”

“A tease?” Uh oh. Great bloody buggering fuck, he’d done it now. He’d be lucky if he got laid again before he was thirty, if he survived that long. She moved her hands down the lapel of her robe, circling each button with a fingertip but not unfastening a single on. “You’re calling me a tease?”

“I’ve worked eighty hours this week,” he offered as an excuse. “You can’t hold me accountable for anything I might say while in a lust induced mindset. I’m sure it’s a rule somewhere. I read it in a book, probably.”

Her lips quirked slightly but she still toyed with the buttons instead of unfastening them. “Perhaps I’ll have you prove that to me before we continue,” she mused as her gaze rested on his face.

“Hermione,” he whined, not caring that he was going to be thirty soon and that such petulance wasn’t considered attractive in one his age. He’d earned his right to whine and fully planned to use the fact that she found it sexy, even if she’d deny it, to his advantage.

“Draco,” she repeated in a deliberately whinier voice as she casually tugged her robe up until it was around her upper thighs. When he started to reach for her, tired of this silly game, she raised her leg and pushed him back into his seat, one red heel pressed against his chest and a perfect view of her damp curls from where the robe fell open.

He knew what she wanted, of course. He’d figured it out shortly after she’d given him a moment to think, but that didn’t mean he was going to do it easily. The robe slipped off her shoulders slightly and he groaned as she caught it before it revealed one of her perfect tits. Finally, he couldn’t take anymore. “Please seduce me, Hermione.”

“Here?” she asked after she flashed a pleased smile, not so smug as she remembered where they were.

He grinned and nodded. “Here. I dare you.”

“Well, I suppose I should give you at least one good memory to take with you before you leave,” she decided, sounding far more brave than she looked. She glanced at the door and he was surprised when she didn’t cast a locking and muffling charm. When she looked back at him, there was a mischievous smile on her lips that had his cock twitching eagerly.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed when she unbuttoned her robe and let it fall to the ground. She walked to his chair and crawled onto his lap. She kept the shoes on and gave him a knowing smile when he whimpered at that realization.

For several heartbeats, they simply looked at each other. He’d never say he was sorry for the mistakes he’d made and she’d never apologize for not forcing him to admit his discontent sooner. It was there, though, in that silent moment when he touched her hip and she held the front of his shirt and everything was said silently in the way they often communicated and had since those brief meetings during the war when information was exchanged and things often remained unspoken.

Then they both smiled. He arched up to remind her why she was there and she leaned forward to kiss him. He returned the kiss eagerly, fighting her for control as he moved his hands over her back, belly, and breasts. She moaned into the kiss when he tugged on her nipple, twisting the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger in the way that caused her to rock forward and rub against him. If she kept that up, he was going to come in his shorts like some silly kid.

It had been too long, he realized rather guiltily. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love and he certainly couldn’t remember the last time they’d just had wild sex. There had been one morning a few weeks ago when he’d woken up hard and they’d had a rather sleepy and slow shag before he’d had to shower and go to work. No wonder she was ready to hex him for neglecting her. He wasn’t going to last long right now. That much was obvious from the way his cock twitched every time he heard her make one of those breathy little sounds he loved. But later, after he quit and they got home, he’d make it up to her.

“Help,” she demanded as she struggled to unzip his trousers. He chuckled as he raised his hips, careful to keep one hand on her back so she’d not fall off his lap, and helped her unfasten his trousers. Once they were undone, she tugged them and his shorts down.

He sat back down and his eyes rolled back when she began to stroke his cock. “No,“ he muttered hoarsely, knowing he’d not last long if she kept doing that. He had no intention of coming in her hand like some adolescent schoolboy. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her arm up as he shifted beneath her.

Hermione smiled and moved until her legs were on either side of him and the chair. He held his cock for her as she slowly began to sink down onto it. She’s wet and tight around him as she raised and then lowered more. He gripped her hips and arched up, burying his cock inside her wet heat. “Oh,” she cried out softly in surprise.

It took her a moment to adjust but then she started to rock against him. Her fingers grip his hair and she kissed his jaw as she rode him. He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her back so he could reach her breasts. He licked her nipple and sucked on her plump, perfect breast as he thrust his hips up, sending his cock deeper into her. He could feel her tighten around him, squeezing him every time she pulled up, and it was just too much.

He held her against him as his hips pushed up erratically. He grunted against her shoulder when he tensed and then spilled into her. His breathing was ragged as he nuzzled her neck, his shirt sticking to his sweaty skin, and he feels better than he has in months. He reached between them to rub her clit, making shallow thrusts upward until she whimpered and came. She shuddered above him, and he kissed her damp skin until she stopped trembling.

After, he felt a bit embarrassed that it hadn’t taken any longer than that. Wasn’t that bloody typical? Something straight out of a fantasy and he comes in a dozen strokes like it was his first time. His disgust at himself for not shagging her for a solid hour faded when she wiggled and sighed happily. He brushed his fingers through her hair and smiled.

“Was that your plan?” he asked softly in between kisses on her neck and shoulder.

“I actually considered tying you to your chair first,” she admitted as she raised up and smiled at him. “However, I decided that I prefer it when you can use your hands.”

He leaned up and kissed her gently, just resting with his forehead against hers for a moment as he held on to her. When he leaned back, he smirked. “I’m very good with my hands.”

“And so very modest,” she teased before she kissed the tip of his nose and ruffled his hair.

“Hermione, do you really think we can manage if I leave?” he asked seriously. It was one thing to talk about it but entirely another to face the reality considering what they both knew about the difficult he had to face.

She caressed his face, lightly brushing across his scar, and nodded. “We can manage,” she said confidently. “We will manage, whatever it takes. If Zabini is no longer interested, which is unlikely, then you can always go work for Fred and George.”

He cringed in horror at the very idea of working for Weasleys and glared at her when she laughed. She looked beautiful with her face flushed and her hair a mess and her tits bouncing slightly, though, so he didn’t threaten to hex her for even saying such a thing in jest. At least, it had better have been in jest. “Do you think we could Disapparate like this?” he mused as he rested his hands lightly on her hips.

“I don’t think I want to try it,” she replied. “However, I do suppose we should clean up and go home. It’s getting late and dinner will get cold. I just put a temporary few warming charms on everything before I came to see you so they should be wearing off soon.”

“I love these shoes,” he told her as he reached down her leg to run his fingers along one, “but I don’t think I ever want another man to see them on you. Just me.”

“Just you,” she said with a smile before she kissed him again. He reluctantly let her go because he was ready to leave this place. He hoped old man Lovegood would understand and rather thought he would. Since he’d retired, Lovegood hadn’t seemed to much like how things were being run at the Quibbler anymore, anyway.

After she stood up, he got out of his chair and did a quick cleaning charm on both of them before he zipped his trousers. It didn’t take long to gather his few personal belongings and write a short note of resignation. He stared at the parchment and actually felt scared, not that he’d ever admit such a thing. He felt Hermione’s arms around him as she hugged him from behind, always knowing what he needed even when he didn’t. He dropped the note and felt as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders.

He turned to face her and saw that she was wearing that prim black robe again. He grinned as he pulled her against him. “I’ve decided that I’m going to make Zabini give me a private office with a big desk and a comfortable chair,” he told her as he smirked. “That way, you can visit me at the office any time you want.”

“You wish,” she said as she rolled her eyes and smiled.

“You know, someone told me that today was Valentine’s Day,” he informed her in between light kisses on her face. “I believe that calls for scheming and plans.”

“Does it?” she asked as she looked at him curiously, obviously wanting to know his plan.

He wrapped his arms around her as he prepared to Disapparate, already thinking about how he could make up for the briefness of their recent encounter. “I think seducing my wife sounds like a great plan,” he confided with a wink before he took them home.

The End