Chapter Text
It is a known fact that certain scents can transport people back to even their earliest memories.For example, the smell of cloves brings Draco back to Christmas 1985, when he had begged and begged his father to let him watch the elves prepare supper, and subsequently burned his hands whilst trying to take the ham from the oven.
Similarly, the smell of pumpkins had always reminded Draco of his first year at Hogwarts. The Hallow’s eve feast where the students had feared for their lives after Professor Quirrell had set a troll loose in the dungeons. And then Draco was carted off to the dungeons for his safety. Quite like hiding from a dragon among its eggs.
In recent years, this had changed. Pumpkins now reminded Draco of Granger. Every year, in preparation for All Hallow’s Eve, she decorated her office with pumpkins, charmed bats that fluttered around the ceiling, and plastic skeletons that she hung on the door. She had previously claimed that muggle decorations were better and more ‘fun’ than the magical kind (although, he had yet to see any of her poorly made skeletons jump out at anyone the way that the ones in Hogwarts had done).
As Draco stepped out of the floo and into the ministry atrium, he had to fight to control his smile. Somehow, he thought, grinning to himself whilst making his way through the ministry, may give the impression that he was rather loopy.
The pumpkin spiced latte in his hand was giving his mind no reprieve from his thoughts of Granger, and how she would react to the fact that it was ‘officially pumpkin season’. Last year she had squealed like a pig when he had arrived with the awful smelling beverage. He had tried to buy it when it was eventually ‘off-season’, but not a single café in the greater London area was selling anything pumpkin related.
As Draco entered the Department of Mysteries, he made a mental note to ask Granger about her plans for Friday. The group had decided that they would all participate in a ‘traditional Muggle Halloween’ (read: dressing up like idiots and getting completely and utterly sloshed), and he quite liked the idea of Granger dressed up as the devil. He could almost picture the little red dress, the horns peeking out above her mountain of hair, and the pitchfork she could use as a weapon against Weasley. Assuming she needed a weapon, that is.
Draco could then dress as an angel (because, obviously) and whisk her away from the ginger freak. He could then, possibly, snog her silly.
No! No, no, no, no.
That is wrong.
He put himself in yet another mental timeout just as he reached her office (once again, on his own!) and didn’t bother knocking as he pushed the door open with his hip, both hands full with steaming drinks.
Expecting paper bats and flimsy plastic skeletons, Draco was shocked to find the office empty. As he stepped forward to place the coffee on her desk, he noticed that her chair was not behind said desk.
Confused, Draco stepped around the desk to find a cot of sorts, taken up by a snoring mass of hair and blankets.
“Granger?”
More snoring.
He knelt down, nudging the blanket where he judged her shoulder may be. “Granger, wake up.”
She jumped at his touch, a scream muffled under what looked like ten blankets at the very least.
Her head shot up, eyes wild and accusing. “Draco! What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing? Why are you sleeping in your office?”
Granger huffed, pushing her mountainous hair out of her face. “That’s really none of your business, is it? What time is it?”
“It’s quarter to nine. Why are you sleeping in your office?”
She shot him a glare while she climbed out of the cot, throwing multiple blankets to the side. “Shut up.”
“Fine. I’ll just take this pumpkin drink and go.”
She whirled, a frown laying the foundations on her face. “WAIT!”
Draco smirked, picking up the paper cup and holding it close to his chest. “You can have this when you tell me why you’re sleeping in here.”
The frown was now a scowl.
“I had a fight with Ron, alright. I needed to get out of the flat. Happy?”
In hindsight, Draco thought he should have been a little more tactical about his questioning. If he had used his brain, he could have probably pieced that out without causing that terrifying look on her face and digging too far into her personal life. They were only co-workers after all.
“Right, uhm- do- do you want to, erm, talk about it?”
She decided that apparently, his poorly formed sentence did not even require a response as she snatched the coffee from his hand and began searching in her desk drawers.
“So, I’ll take that as a no.” He said under his breath, watching her grow more and more frustrated while she slammed a desk drawer closed and opened another with the same force. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“My wand.”
“Where did you have it last?”
Draco should have known at that point to leave while he still could, and that winding Hermione Granger up whilst she was already frustrated and short on sleep, was a monumentally bad idea. Draco was a very stupid man.
Wandless magic was an ill-studied subject. Most put it down to overpowering moments of emotion, similar to accidental magic found in young children, before they attended Hogwarts for their magical education. Others saw it a sign of a powerful witch or wizard, who had harvested their power over time, and reached a level of power not to be rivalled with. Hermione Granger was an example of perhaps both of these theories.
Before Draco could even think of running, she had him tied in a non verbal incarcerous, with his mouth glued together. As he fell to a lump on the ground, he wished that he had put his coffee down before the hot liquid splashed over him.
She ignored his grunts of frustration as she continued digging around her desk. What an evil witch.
Draco decided to accept his fate and lay still on the floor, his chest tingling from where the coffee was seeping through his shirt.
“Aha! Finally!” He heard her shout, from where she had crawled under her desk. He then felt the ropes loosen, and the power to move his lips returned. “Sorry about that Draco, you really do just push my buttons.”
“Well,” he started, rubbing at the rope burn on his wrist. “That is the understatement of the century. Remind me to stay away from you when you first wake up.” He huffed at the upturned (and empty) coffee cup at his feet. What a waste. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why did you sleep here? Surely you have a friend you could have stayed with?”
Granger didn’t even look at him as she transfigured her makeshift cot back into a desk chair. “I didn’t feel like telling my fiance’s sister or best friend about our fight. Nor you for that matter, so please butt out.”
Draco held his hands up in surrender, before taking the handkerchief from his pocket and transfiguring himself a new, clean shirt. “Right, well. I’ll meet you in the lab later?”
“Mhm” she mumbled, back still turned to him.
Perhaps, if Draco had not turned and left from her office so quickly, he would have been able to stop it all. Perhaps, if he had stuck around for a moment longer, he would have heard her utter the words “I need help.”