Friends with a Big "F"

Untitled Part 1

"This isn't working."

She was already halfway buttoned up when she turned to face him. His slacks still unbuttoned and his shirt open around his shoulder, which he gave no indication of closing anytime soon.

Hermione rolled her eyes, continuing to do up her blouse. "We just finished. Give it a moment. Besides, I have to be—"

"No, not this," Draco scoffs, gesturing to his open trousers. " This."

She blinks carefully, watching his long fingers extend from his own chest to hers. Her brows furrow.

"Malfoy, what--" and then it hits her suddenly, "Oh... Oh."

Draco nods slowly, beginning to tuck his shirt into the waistband of his slacks and smooth down the hair that was endearingly tousled from their previous activities. Hermione continues to stare at his flushed face while he doesn't meet her eye, trying to absorb what he had just said.

What they had was good. Very good, if she could say so herself. Beyond the physical chemistry that was undeniable, they complimented each other well.

At work, they were an unstoppable force. They had been paired together within their first year working at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He protected her weak spots and she was great at setting him up for clear shots.

That chemistry is what nearly threw them together inside a ministry coat closet during the annual Halloween ball and that's what kept them together nearly a year later.

Never in a bed, never a meal after, but sometimes they would lay across her desk with its things strewn across the floor, her head propped up on his shoulder and running lazy circles on his belly while he wound a curl around his finger; they would talk. About his parents, about her friends, about their dreams for the future.

A year later and they practically knew everything about each other without ever seeing each other outside the ministry walls.

"I don't-- is it-- why?"

Draco stops fussing with his hair and sighs, sucking his cheek into his mouth to bite on it. "How long have we been doing this?"

"I'm not-- a year or so."

"Right," he sighs again. "A year of casual shags on your desk or on the ground or against the door."

"I don't see what's so wrong about that," Hermione smooths down her skirt and suddenly feels very bare despite being fully dressed.

"You don't talk to me outside this room."

"Yes, I--"

"Meetings don't count, Granger," he snaps. "You ignore me. Especially when your little friends are around. Alright, I can look past that. I can only imagine their reactions and perhaps you weren't ready for that."

He begins to adjust his tie. "I ask you to come to the manor. You say no. Sure, I can understand, that's not the most pleasant place for you."

He puts on his coat. "So then I ask to go to your flat. I ask you to visit Paris with me. I ask to take you somewhere you won't be as embarrassed of me--"

"I am not--"

He sneers. "Don't lie. You are. And you're so caught up in how well this arrangement is working for you that you've failed to see that I no longer wish to be kept hidden in your office."

Hermione sputters. She feels sick watching him grab his belongings from the ground. "Please stop."

He doesn't. He doesn't look up while he splits his shoes on and ties them. "I didn't know."