They were, by no means, friends. Not by any definition of it. Not even in smallest sense of the word. Not even by Slytherin standards.

Or, at the very least, they hadn't been. Until things changed.

All in one day it seemed. He supposed he could trace the day's events back to one single inciting incident of the morning. An incident that took all of seven minutes to occur.

See, because that morning, Draco Malfoy woke up at six thirty-seven. And this was unheard of for the single occupant of Malfoy Manor. On Friday mornings, Draco Malfoy had work, and on days he had work he woke up at six thirty. Sharp.

However, Thursday night he had been hit with a wave of insomnia and it had thrown off his internal clock. It didn't help that his damn alarm clock had broken just the week before as well and he hadn't had the time or thought to send someone out to purchase a new one. And thus, he was late.

He had reached for his wristwatch from his nightstand with a sigh and checked the time. And then he swore. And then he swore again. And then he bolted out of bed and into the loo, all the while shouting for one of the house elves to get his suit ready.

Morps appeared but a second later. "Happy birthday, master Draco!" he exclaimed. The little elf offered forth a messily made card with his own confused signature scrawled across it.

"Go get my suit," Draco ordered, squeezing toothpaste across bristles.

"But Master-" Morps began.

"Suit," Draco repeated around a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat into the sink and looked up to see that the elf hadn't left. Draco splashed his face. "Sorry," he said, accepting the card. "Thanks."

Morps smiled widely and bowed. "Morps shall get a grey suit, sir?"

Draco nodded, handed the card back to the elf and then set about shaving his stubble and doing the necessities. When he emerged from the ensuite, his bed was made impeccably neatly and a dark grey suit lay atop the bedding along with a thin, black silk tie. He dressed quickly and left for work without further delay. Maybe if he hadn't been in such a hurry, he would have noticed the card had been tucked into his suit and he would have left it behind.

"You're la—"

"I'm well aware," Draco snapped as he passed by his secretary and entered his large corner office. "Messages," he commanded.

"Staples wants to see you right away and Miss Granger has arranged a meeting with you for nine o'clock," Laura reported.

Draco took the files on his desk and left his office. "Where's Staples now?" he asked.

"The third conference room," Laura replied. "And where shall I tell Miss Granger to meet you?"

"We won't be meeting. I'm busy." Draco made to walk right by the girl's desk when she continued.

"She says you've no way out of this one. If you don't meet her she'll go straight to Mr. Staples."

Draco slapped the folders together in frustration. "Fine. My office. But make it nine thirty." Not because he'd be busy at nine, only because he couldn't possibly let Granger get her way entirely.

The truth was that he was never busy. Not really. That was the thing about his job: he knew he arrived every day and had things to do, but if he was completely honest, he had no idea what he did for a living. He had attended the job interview for the hell of it about a year and a half prior, his only purpose for wanting a job being to have a routine of sorts and something to do with his time. Money was not of a concern to him, as is common with those who have it in excess.

He wasn't even sure how he had gotten the job. He had shown up to the interview dressed sharply and perfectly punctual. He had stridden into the room and sat down in the chair opposite of Mr. Richard Staples and they'd had a conversation. It was only a day later that he was owled by an assistant to go in and see Mr. Staples again. He hadn't anything else to do. So, he went. This time there was coffee involved, and they had another chat. And then soon enough Draco found himself signed to a contract, working for the ministry and going in every day to have a coffee and chat with Mr. Staples. And he had a corner office.

Of course, he did some work, too.

After the chat portion of the day was over, he attended meetings, he took files from people, he took files to people, he hired people, he fired people, he went out to lunch with whomever he was told to and charmed the pants off of them until they agreed to whatever little statement or deal he had been sent out to share with them. For the most part, that was all he did and apparently he was very good at it.

By eight o'clock, Draco was finished his daily discussion with his boss and he was back and lounging in his office, flipping through documents lazily and cursing sporadically.

Hermione Granger appeared in his doorway at nine on the dot.

"Malfoy, I need to talk to you about—" she began, talking rapidly and getting right down to business the moment her foot stepped over the threshold into his office. Uninvited, he noted.

He held up a hand to stop her and she froze as she looked up, her mouth open mid-word and eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Not another word, Granger."

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Nine thirty," Draco said. "We meet at nine thirty. It is nine o'clock. Whatever you need to talk about will have to wait a half an hour."

"Are you busy at the moment?" The young woman pulled her crazily curly hair off of her shoulders and straightened her blouse.

"Yes."

Hermione leaned out of his office door and addressed his secretary. "Laura, is Malfoy busy at the moment?" she enquired.

"Not at all," Laura replied.

"Perfect," Hermione said.

She re-entered his office with a sweet smile and dropped a thick file on his desk. "We need to discuss this," she said.

"Fine. Come back in a half hour."

"No. Now. Or I swear, I'll just skip over you and take the matter straight to Staples," she threatened.

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Alright. What is this?" he asked, gesturing at the file, completely uninterested.

"Open it," she ordered.

He flipped open the folder carelessly and skimmed through the pages. "Résumés?"

"Mhm."

"And?" he prompted.

"These are the résumés, resignations, and dismissal reports of everyone you've hired and fired since you've gotten here," Hermione informed, fixing him what he reckoned was supposed to be a very stern look. He was hardly affected.

"So I sacked people." He shrugged. "Staples said I had full jurisdiction."

"Yes, but these reports are ridiculous and all of these employees are women," Hermione said.

"So?"

Her mouth fell open wordlessly, closed, and then opened once more. "You had no reasonable grounds to dismiss these girls!" she burst. "Your reports are ludicrous!"

"Staples doesn't seem to mind," Draco said.

"That's because Staples never reads the bloody reports!" Hermione exclaimed. Draco shrugged and she glared. "Well, I have read the reports," she said. "And the résumés are hardly impressive, and half of the resignations are filled with threats and the only connection that can be drawn between all of these women is that rumours swirled each time you hired them that you were sleeping with them."

"Well, Granger, I surely thought you of all people might be above taking part in workplace gossip," he drawled. The truth was that he'd only slept with two of them. The others had proven too incompetent too soon.

"It's not gossip when it actually pertains to work," Hermione stated, smoothing down her black pencil skirt.

He raised an eyebrow. "And how, pray tell, does my personal life pertain to your work?"

"It's not your personal life when you use…office resources," she phrased.

"Come now, Granger, people aren't objects." He smirked.

"You're one to talk," she retorted.

"Oh, I treated those girl well," Draco said, his tone anything but innocent. "Very well, I assure you. I'm the victim here. I'm the one who was stalked and pestered and threatened." A slight exaggeration, but mostly true.

"I wonder why," Hermione said.

"Merlin knows," he replied, shrugging and ignoring her obvious sarcasm. "I mean, I know I'm irresistible, but a little pride and a bit of respect. Honestly."

"Right." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well. This needs to stop," she pointed to the folder, "right now. In fact, I'll be the one approving your next hire."

That got his attention. "No."

"Yes," she countered. "And I don't give a flying duck what you have to say about it. Otherwise I'll just be taking that little collection straight to Staples. Or even higher if I have to." Her eyes flicked down to the file.

He raised a pale eyebrow. "A flying duck? Seriously, Granger?"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Just tell me when you're holding interviews next, alright? I want to be in the room."

"You know Granger, if you wanted to get close to me," he goaded, "all you have to do is ask."

"The only reason I'll be getting any nearer than this is when I reach over to slap you, Malfoy," she snapped.

"Oh, you're no fun."

"And you're an arse. But I still manage to do my job," she said.

"Maybe you should get back to it then," he said. "As far as I know, your job description doesn't include hovering over me."

"And thank Merlin for that," she quipped.

"No shit," he returned.

Hermione swept the file from his desk and tucked it under her arm, fixing him a fierce glare before shaking her head, turning on her heel and leaving his office.

"Thank you, Laura," she acknowledged.

"You're welcome, Miss Granger."

"Malfoy—" She was back.

"Laura!" he snapped.

The nasally, irritated voice of his assistant/secretary was heard just around his doorway. "Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"Stop letting her in here!" he barked.

"Malfoy—"

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I already dealt with you. You just left here."

"That was three and a half hours ago," she pointed out. He knew that. The clocks were moving a little too slowly today. "Relax. I'm just here because I've seemed to misplace my day planner and I was retracing my steps." Her eyes began to roam over every surface in his office. "I thought perhaps I left it here…"

"You didn't leave anything," he told her. All she'd brought with her had been that annoying file.

"Well, it's really important," she said tightly, "so I'd appreciate it if you'd just let me look around." She was already walking over to his desk, her eyes skimming over its surface. "Where is it?" she muttered.

"Not here," Draco said sharply.

She ignored him and continued her search. Draco knew what was she was looking for; this stupid, black leather, book thing that she carried around, pages sticking out here and there, begging to escape. It was the equivalent of his Laura, except inanimate and probably better at its job. He watched as her fingers ran over the drawers of his filing cabinet thoughtfully.

"Well, it's not in there," he snapped. "Don't go in there."

She gave him a distrustful glance.

"You weren't even in there this morning!" he exclaimed. "How the hell would you have misplaced it there‽"

"I don't know."

There was something in her expression that had him glaring. "You think I took it?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to have hidden it," she said simply.

"Why would I do that Granger?" he asked.

"You know how important it is," she accused. "You're trying to drive me mad because I came in here this morning."

"I didn't take, nor hide, your fucking diary," he assured.

"It's not a diary, it's a day planner. And if you didn't take it then why can't I look in here?" Hermione questioned, still nearing the cabinet drawers.

In all honesty, there wasn't a particular reason that she couldn't look in there aside from how annoying it was to have her poking around his space. The filing cabinet was near empty but for whatever had been left in it before he received it. He hadn't had anything to file in there. Most things he was given to hold onto were tossed into one of his three desk drawers. "It's an invasion of privacy," he said.

"It's ministry property."

"Get out," he ordered. "It's not in here, alright? Look." He pulled out his wand and accio-ed the object. Nothing came whizzing his way. "See?"

Hermione was not deterred, continuing to look around his office.

"Granger, get out."

"Just—"

"No."

"But—"

"I'm going on my lunch break," he said. "Get out of my office."

"What's this?"

Draco turned to see her holding the folded parchment Morps had presented him with earlier that morning, fingering the messily decorated card. "Granger, put that down or I swear—"

"Is this a birthday card? From whom?" She opened it even as Draco practically lunged across the room to get it out of her grasp. She swiftly danced around his desk and out of his reach. He knew he should have just thrown the damn thing out as soon as he noticed it'd come to work with him. "Master Draco," she read aloud. "Oh, Merlin, Malfoy, this looks like a child's creation. What sick relationship—"

"It's from a house elf," Draco snapped, a half-second away from blowing the card to bits whilst still in her hand.

"A house elf?" she repeated incredulously. "That poor creature! You cruel bastard!"

"Nice words, Granger," he said. "It's not like I abuse the crit. I wouldn't be getting birthday cards otherwise," he drawled, reaching over the desk and plucking the card from her hand. He wouldn't be surprised if she reported him for disorderly conduct had he used any other method of regaining the parchment.

As it left her grip her eyes caught the numbers scrawled on it. "Your birthday was last month?" she asked without thinking. "I hadn't known."

Draco shook his head. "The little thing never gets it right," he said. "It's not May sixth, it's June fifth."

"June fifth…" Hermione frowned. "That's today."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he drawled.

"Um…Happy birthday," she offered lamely.

"Thanks." His tone was clipped.

"Do...what're your plans?" she asked.

"Well, lunch once you get the hell out of my office," he replied.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'll be out of your way then. If you see my day planner, will you just let me know, please?"

He laughed.

"What?" Hermione asked self-consciously.

He shook his head. "You're suddenly being sickeningly nice to me, Granger."

"I'm not being nicer to you."

"Yes, you are. And it's throwing me off, so cut it the hell out."

"Whatever, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes, then, as an afterthought, shot him a sweet smile. "Have a nice lunch."

Draco walked past her briskly and left his office. She followed after him and the door slammed behind her, seemingly on its own accord. He shot his secretary a dark look for turning on him, then strode by and made his way to the lifts. Seven annoying dings later and he was on his way out of the building.

He covered the two blocks to the family-owned bakery he frequented during the workweek and joined the queue tiredly. He contemplated the pros and cons of a sandwich against their homemade pasta. The woman two people ahead of him was ordering enough food for an army. He'd only been there five minutes when he heard the same voice he'd heard twice that morning already.

"Malfoy?"

Seriously? Draco looked skywards; somebody up there really had it out for him today. "What, Granger? What do you want now?"

"Well, you said you had lunch plans. What are you doing here?"

"This is my lunch plan," Draco said, looking around. "And what? Did you stalk me here?"

She sighed. "Your hair is very distinctive. I was on my way to grab lunch when I saw you."

"I'm touched."

"I thought you were meeting people."

"No."

"So, you don't have…birthday plans?" she questioned curiously.

"No."

"Why not?"

"None of your business."

"But…"

"What Granger?" he snapped.

"You're alone on your birthday?" she asked.

He compensated her soft, pitying tone with a hard, flat voice of his own. "Just like every other day. Comfortably so," he said. He turned back round to face the counter.

"Nobody—nobody should be alone on their birthday," she told him.

He laughed bitterly. "So, you're one of those."

"Those?"

"Those people who think birthdays are some sort of…production," he said.

"It's your birthday! I'd think you of all people would expect a production," she commented.

"I don't need one."

Her eyebrows drew together and the corners of her mouth turned down. "Nobody needs one. It's just a nice thing to celebrate," she said.

"Why?"

"Because it's your birthday!" she exclaimed. "Today marks your completion of yet another year."

"And yesterday I completed yet another day," he remarked flippantly. "No need to write it in icing."

"A day is not the same as a year," she told him.

"So? I could've dropped dead yesterday," he pointed out.

"And today we celebrate that you didn't."

"We celebrate?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. He stepped forward in line as the woman left the shop with her plethora of sandwiches.

"Well, you should celebrate," Hermione clarified quickly, pulling at a stray dark curl.

"Bullocks," Draco said mindlessly. "One year living is one year closer to death. What's there to celebrate?"

She sighed. "You're not celebrating then?" she asked.

"No."

Hermione bit her lip and glanced at the one person ahead of them, who was handing over their galleons. "Come on," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on," she said. "I'll take you out for lunch."

"I'm good, thanks," he said dryly.

"It's your birthday though," she argued.

"So I should get what I want," he returned.

"Oh, now you believe in birthdays?" she taunted.

He resisted rolling his eyes. "Just leave me alone."

"Have lunch with me."

"Careful Granger, I'm beginning to think you're just dying to be in my company."

"Spot on, Malfoy. Now, will you join me for lunch or not?" she asked.

He appeared to think this over for quite some time, his jaw set, his eyes skyward. Just as the person in front of them began to leave the counter and Hermione figured she wasn't going to convince him, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. "We're going to Palo," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Whatever Malfoy."

He wasn't saying anything. He ordered a drink. Hermione bit her tongue from commenting on its alcohol content. He ordered his meal. Hermione fought the urge to break the silence. He smirked at her over his scotch, waiting for her to break.

Hermione delicately twirled her pasta around her fork and frowned at her plate.

"So, you're twenty-seven," she said finally, blurting the first thing that came to mind. "How's it feel?"

"Aren't you twenty-seven, Granger?" he questioned.

"Yes," she replied. She'd celebrated her birthday back in September.

"Then you tell me," he answered.

"I just wondered if you felt any different," she said tightly.

"How?" he asked. "From yesterday? Was there some sort of power I should have gained overnight for turning twenty-seven?"

She huffed. "No. But perhaps you should feel older."

"Not at all," he said with a smirk. "I'm comforted by the knowledge that I'm still younger than you."

She glared at him.

"Now, there's a Granger expression I'm familiar with," he told her. "Good to know you're back to your old self."

Hermione frowned. "You know, I'm usually very pleasant," she said. "You seem to bring out the worst side of me." She sipped from her water glass, her brows drawn together.

He chewed, swallowed, and then pointed his fork at her. "I don't think that's true," he contradicted.

"Oh?" she prompted.

"I think I bring out the most honest side of you," he told her.

"Honest," she repeated, twirling noodles with practiced movements. "And how's that, Malfoy, pray tell?"

"Aw, come on, Granger. You may hate me, but at least you have no pretences here." He returned to his own meal without further explanation.

She understood what he meant though, choosing to ignore the truth in it. "I don't hate you," she said.

"Yeah?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Why? Because it's my birthday?" he suggested derisively.

"No," she said, "because I've gotten past our school days and ridiculous rivalry and I realize that you're not soulless. You're just arrogant and spoiled. I can frown upon that, but, no, I can't hate you for it."

He hummed. "Put a lot of thought into this, Granger?"

"Oh, yes," she assured. "I had to have some explanation for Harry and Ron when I told them I didn't hex you at work."

He swigged the last bit of his drink and all but dropped the heavy tumbler back on the table. "Thanks for that."

She sighed. "Alright, Malfoy," she began, "if I'm so honest with you, how about you be honest with me? Why do you hate your birthday?"

"First of all," Draco began, placing his cutlery beside his near empty plate, "I never said I hated the day. I don't. It's not hate, it's apathy, alright?"

"Fine," she agreed easily. "Why?"

"Because it's not an important day," he said simply. "Nothing especially good ever happens. No need to celebrate."

"Ever?" she repeated. "Nothing good ever happens?"

He shook his head. "I've never celebrated it," he said. "I mean, today I was supposed to have a sandwich from that bakery. That would have been good. But now I'm here having lunch with you. So that was shot to hell."

"That may be the rudest thing someone's ever said to me," she told him lightly.

"I've said worse to you," he dismissed. "And, you know, actually, this isn't bad. Quite good actually."

"Really?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes," he confirmed. "This steak all but melts."

She shot him a look but couldn't help her amused smile.

Strangely enough, lunch passed quickly. Somehow, Hermione found that she and Draco didn't clash as much as she thought they did. In fact, his dry humour, though far more blunt and bordering offensive, was not as unlike her own as she would have thought.

By the end of their meal, she had to admit, he was tolerable.

The bill was delivered to them, placed next to Draco's serviette.

Hermione frowned at the traditional delivery. "That's rather presumptuous," she noted. She sat up in her seat and stretched across the table for the cheque.

He pulled it just out of her reach and flipped the book open, scanning down to the total.

"I've got it," she said.

He glanced at her with an amused expression, half a grin pulling at his lips before he shook his head and returned his attention to the slip, reaching into his pocket.

"Hey," she protested, "I can pay."

When he ignored her, she repeated herself. "I'm an arsehole, Granger, but I'm not a prick," he told her. "You're not paying for lunch."

She ignored the vulgarity. "But I asked you here."

"If I recall correctly, I told you we were coming here."

"Yes, but I asked you to lunch in the first place," she said, mimicking his intonation. "Besides, I couldn't let you pay for your birthday lunch."

He laughed, a genuine sound that struck something within her, lingering with a surprisingly pleasant thrum. She couldn't think of a time she'd ever heard the sound without a tinge of contempt or condescension. She smiled. "You're cute, Granger," he muttered.

She was stunned into silence, watching as he handed a purse of galleons over to the waiter and sent him on his way. "Did you just call me cute?" she asked.

He looked at her as though startled by her presence. "What are you on about, Granger?"

She stared at him in confusion.

"Back to work then?" he suggested.

"Yes," she said. "Right. Um. Thanks for lunch then."

"Alright Granger. Let's go."

She had expected him to walk off without her. They were heading in the same direction, so there wasn't any real parting of ways, but she'd assumed he'd take the opportunity to be rid of her at that point. She found it strange to watch him slow his substantially longer strides to walk beside her.

"So, Malfoy, back to earlier conversation—you've never, not once, celebrated your birthday?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "Look, it's not a big deal," he told her.

"Do you even know what you're missing though?" she asked. "You've never had a cake with your name on it?"

"There are plenty of things that have my name on them," Draco replied. "I don't need a fucking cake."

She gave him an admonishing look but went on. "Never made a wish and blown out a candle?"

"Don't tell me you believe in wishes, Granger."

"I don't see the harm in them," she replied easily. "Okay. What about presents? You've gotten presents, haven't you?" Surely his spoiled childhood involved birthday presents.

"I got money and whatever I asked for, yes," he told her.

"How satisfying," she quipped.

"I didn't mind."

She thought for a moment. "Malfoy, has there ever been a time when you didn't get what you asked for?"

"Never," Draco said.

"Ever wanted something and never asked for it?" she tried.

He nodded. "Hasn't everyone?"

"What could Draco Malfoy possibly want that he could not get?" Hermione asked musingly.

"I don't think so, Granger."

"You mean I'm not getting an answer?"

His silence was reply enough.

"Draco Malfoy, do you try to be an enigma?"

"I don't try for anything," he said. "And quit using my full name."

Draco returned to his office caught between being pissed off and quite cheerful. Stupid Granger. She just had to barge into his office. She just had to stalk him to lunch. She just had to be her persistent, do-gooding self. He couldn't believe he'd caved to her pitying insistence. That's all it was, he told himself. Pity. It was simply in her nature. He was trying desperately to forget the interaction entirely. He didn't plan to do much work for the rest of the day. He had a few files he had to wait around to collect, but beyond that, the plan was merely to get through the rest of the day without any other event.

And then he saw his desk.

"Laura," he said, his voice taking on a threatening note, "what the hell is this?"

His assistant looked up from her own workspace with a calm, disinterested expression. "I believe that's Miss Granger's day runner," she replied.

"What the hell is it doing in my office? How'd it get in here?" He picked it up and walked straight to his assistant's desk.

"How should I know?" Laura said.

"Well, who put it there?" he demanded.

"I went on my lunch break, sir."

He sighed. "Whatever. Take this back to Granger then." He dropped the book on her desk.

"Do I look like an owl?" Laura asked monotonously. "Delivering personal belongings is not my job."

"No," he said. "Taking orders from me, that's your job."

Laura seemed to consider this carefully. "I'm busy at the moment. Perhaps at the end of the day," she said finally, dismissing the topic.

Draco sighed. The woman was mad enough with her stupid day-book-thing, without it she'd run like a banshee. "Damn you, I'll do it myself," he snapped, grabbing the leather portfolio and storming off down the corridor.

Hermione wandered into her office slightly dazed. Her mind was stuck on the past hour, befuddled by the strange yet not unpleasant encounter. Had she actually enjoyed being in Malfoy's company? Better yet, had he enjoyed being in hers?

This wasn't the way they worked, she reminded herself, shaking her head as she sat down at her desk. They didn't get along. They fought. They bickered. They insulted one other. She couldn't stand him. And still she wondered if the opportunity to sit and chat with him would ever rise again.

She was going mad, she decided.

"Hermione?"

She froze. The voice was familiar, lazy, yet authoritative, but her reaction to it was inexplicably different. Something about the sound was foreign. She'd never heard it say her name, her first name, before.

He cleared his throat as she turned her attention to him. "Granger, I found your…whatever. Here." He handed over the book.

Her eyes narrowed at him as she accepted it. "I thought you said you didn't have it."

"I didn't. It appeared on my desk after lunch. Don't know why. Don't know how. Don't fucking care, but there you go." He gave her a sardonic smile and turned to leave.

"Well. Thanks," she piped. "For returning it. And I'm sorry I accused you of stealing it."

He paused halfway out of her office, staring at her curiously. "You believe that it just appeared on my desk then?" he asked.

"Should I not?" she returned suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't see why you would."

She shrugged. "Like you said, at least we're honest with each other."

"I never said that," he told her.

"Yes, you did," she countered.

"I said you were honest," he corrected. "You need to pay more attention." Then he was gone.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger's here to see you."

Again? he thought. In all his time there she'd only ever tried to steer clear of him and now, on today of all days, she decided to come dancing in and out of his office as she pleased.

"Yes, again," Laura confirmed.

He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. "Tell her I'm leaving," he said. "Tell her I'm already gone."

"I can hear you," Hermione called indignantly.

"Good," he muttered.

"I'm leaving, Mister Malfoy," Laura said clearly. "You can tell her whatever you'd like yourself."

"Bye Laura."

"Bye Miss Granger."

"What do you want now?" Draco asked, continuing to look busy while she strode into his office for the third time that day, standing in front of his desk expectantly. "What?" he snapped.

She placed something in front of him, right atop a file, and her hands sat on her hips, waiting for the object to catch his attention. He stared at it a moment before his eyes flicked up to her. "This is for me?" he asked.

She nodded, waiting for a reaction.

His gaze returned to his desk. "Uh, thanks."

She frowned. "Everyone deserves a cake on his or her birthday, at least once," she told him. "Even if it is in cup form."

His eyes stayed on the cupcake, chocolate cake with white icing. A plaque of chocolate with Draco scrawled on it.

"If you don't want it," she said, "you can toss it. It's fine. I just thought maybe—"

"No," he interrupted. "I meant it. Thanks."

"Okay," she said warily. She drew a quill from her bag and transfigured it to a short candle, pressing it into the icing and lighting it with her wand. He didn't move. "Well…I'll just go then," she told him, shuffling awkwardly. "Happy birthday."

"Wait." She froze. "Aren't you going to sing to me?"

"What?"

"Isn't that how this goes?" he asked. "Isn't there a song of some sort everyone sings off key before the person blows the wick out?"

She smiled. "I'm not singing to you, Malfoy," she said, drawing nearer to his desk once again. "But you're welcome to make a wish before you blow out the candle. You are entitled to one wish."

He blew it out with one quick breath, without waiting even a second.

"Oh, that's right," she remembered. "You don't believe in wishes."

"I made a wish," he assured, plucking out the candle and peeling away the wrapper to take a bite.

"So quickly?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I know what I want."

"And what was that?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but does telling it not nullify the wish?" he said.

"This coming from someone who doesn't believe in wishes," she noted.

"I suppose this might be the exception," he considered. He licked the icing off of his upper lip and her eyes followed the movement.

"Really?" she asked, snapping her attention back to his quicksilver eyes. "So what did you wish for?"

"Oh, I wished for you, Granger," he replied.

"Me?" she squeaked.

"You."

"What—why—" she stammered. "That isn't funny, Malfoy."

"I'm not joking." He continued to eat his cupcake, seeming completely unbothered.

It took a moment for her to find her voice. "You fancy me?" she asked, blushing to the tips of her ears.

"I'm not some third year Hufflepuff, Granger. I don't fancy anyone," he said.

She huffed. "You're…attracted to me then?" she rephrased.

"Strangely enough, yes," he confirmed.

"Really?"

"For Merlin's sake, Granger! Yes, I'm attracted to you. Why else would I put up with your madness?"

"You don't like me," she told him adamantly. "You hate me."

"If I hated you, I would have fired you the day I got here," he stated.

Her mouth opened indignantly. "You can't fire me."

"If I really wanted to, I could. You know Staples would take any word of advice I give. Full jurisdiction." And they both knew this was likely true.

She mulled this over a moment, shocked. She shook her head. "You're full of crap," she said. "You don't even like me. Let alone—" She stopped abruptly, changing tracks. "You've slept with everyone around here."

"I've slept with two people here," he corrected angrily. "And that's hardly any of your business. I wasn't about to pine after you, alright? I thought you hated me. But then today, you said you didn't, and I thought maybe you actually meant it, and we were getting on, and you brought me this cupcake, which is crap by the way, it's dry, and—"

She picked up the cake, dropped it in the bin, and leaned across the desk to press her lips to his briefly. She pulled away quickly before he could even react. "You want me?" she asked.

He nodded. "To take to dinner, to take home, to take to bed," he listed off.

Her eyebrows lifted.

"And then repeat," he said. "I want you."

"Would you let me pay?" she asked. "For the dinner, I mean."

He shook his head, rising from his seat and sidling around his desk, his eyes trained on hers. "Never."

"This is crazy," she breathed.

"Fine. You can pay once." His hand came up to cup her cheek, slipping to the back of her neck and tilting her head back as he finally stood right in front of her. His lips descended on hers as he walked her backwards. His lips moved slowly as he waited for a protest that never came.

She could taste the sugary remnants of icing on his lips as he kissed her. His hand found her waist and his fingers pressed into her, pulling her closer against him even as he guided her back. Tingles ran through her as she stumbled while he held her upright. He tangled a hand into her unruly hair. His tongue sought hers. She sighed into him and granted him access, her arms looping around his neck. She pulled away for air before her lips began a path along his defined jaw, making her way down his neck. Her mind was still reeling.

He groaned. "Sweet Merlin."

She looked up at him with a laugh. "What?" she asked.

"I love birthdays," he told her, crashing his lips back to hers.

Laura watched as the office door shut with a bang, neither of its occupants exiting. She rolled her eyes. "Finally," she said. "It's about damn time."

A/N: I really don't know where this came from. As with most of my one shots it's just a file I found unfinished and figured why not? I think it was supposed to be saved until June 5th but oh well. I have a mean case of wb and thought this might solve it.

Thanks for reading and please review!

Anyways,

Scarlett