Love Bites (Harry Potter: Official Dragon Tamer, Part One)

Suspicions

Thursday Morning & Afternoon
27 August 2009
Hermione's POV

"Where are you? Are you alright?"

It was 10:07, and now the second time I'd texted. And still no answer.

Which was very unlike Draco.

He treated work and punctuality almost as seriously as I did, so for Draco to be over an hour late was highly suspect.

"Sorry, Hermione," he apologised as he came stumbling through our office door, almost tripping in his haste to get to his desk, managing to look clumsy, even, as he wriggled out of his coat and sat down.

"I got tied up," he continued, pulling his laptop and a minuscule stack of parchment from his briefcase, a quick spell unshrinking them so they returned to normal size.

"Tied up?" I echoed, brows raising as I stared at him incredulously. "Doing what, exactly?"

"I got up early to go over some of the research I did last night and lost track of time," he replied as he deftly shuffled through the now giant stack of parchment before him.

He said it so smoothly that I almost believed him.

Save for the fact that his hair was an unkempt mess, at least by Malfoy's standards.

And his clothes had definitely been thrown on in a rush.

I was certainly no expert in sartorial trends, but I could see the difference between the artfully crafted nonchalance Malfoy's wardrobe usually exuded and the haphazard nonsense he was sporting this morning.

Not that it was anything ghastly, like what Ron would think was appropriate, left to his own devices.

But Draco, wearing a suit that had been carelessly thrown on? No little extras? No pizzazz? No pieces of flair to draw the eye?

Maybe a wristwatch fastened around the cuff of his shirtsleeve, as though he'd accidentally done so because he was in such a rush to get dressed.

A pocket scarf tucked hastily into the breast pocket, fancy folds forgotten for the time being, the rest of his impeccable outfit informing the casual onlooker that he knew perfectly well how to fold a pocket square but just couldn't be bothered at the moment.

Or perhaps his tie, casually knotted, just a tad askew to give an appearance of not giving a damn, but, in all reality, had probably taken at least ten minutes to "get right."

Sometimes, Draco didn't even bother wearing a tie at all, leaving just the top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his hair tousled so he looked as though he'd just been shagged.

This look was usually reserved for pubs and such where he knew the look would guarantee him that evening's pull.

Truth be told... my eyes narrowed as I studied him more closely.

Draco looked as though he'd actually just been shagged.

As though he'd actually just rolled out of bed and donned whatever outfit his hand had grasped at first when he'd realised he was late and, for once, actually hadn't cared what he put on, so long as it was decent, and matching, and easy to slip on before racing off to work.

And... my eyes narrowed even further.

"Draco Malfoy, is that a hickey on your neck?" I demanded.

His hand clapped up immediately to the bite mark in question, his eyes widening slightly, mouth forming an "O" of surprise.