Author's Note: Hey everyone. This was my submission for the HP-Creatures Fest 2019. My prompt was as follows: Draco never knew his family was part demiguise until the day his life was threatened and he realized he was now invisible with no idea how to regain his visibility. Hope you enjoy!

Alpha credit to Kyonomiko, and beta love to Frumpologist.

"Death threats," Draco sneered to himself as he lit a lengthy scroll of parchment on fire with his wandtip. "How banal."

It was the fourth similarly aggressive letter he had received in a fortnight, and Draco was ready to get on with his life. If the sods behind this were actually going to attack him, they would have done so already, and the threatening messages made of poorly patched Witch Weekly articles were growing redundant.

His lawyers would deal with it. As the CEO of Malfoy Industries, Draco didn't have the time to waste on unimportant, holier than thou sorts with a hero complex.

And if he never dipped his toe over the ethical, moral, and legal lines of business, nothing would ever get done, and no money would be made. Not that he would ever admit to such practices – but his lawyers took care of that sort of thing, too.

Leaning back in his seat, Draco propped his Dragonhide oxfords on the desk before him, absently thumbing through some quarterly reports.

The mess with the Demiguise activists was getting out of hand and costing the corporation more than he'd realized. His lip curled as he peered closer, before he huffed an exaggerated sigh and dispatched a memo to accounting.

Tossing the rest of the reports onto the desk with a yawn, Draco checked the overpriced timepiece on his wrist. He had a lunch meeting with one of the more corrupt higher-ups at the Wizengamot, and he suspected a touch of bribery wouldn't go amiss in the situation.

Really, none of his practices were illegal, per se, and he was sticking to that.

The ends always justified the means: he'd been raised with that mentality drilled into him. And while Draco had never imagined himself running the corporation in the same shady ways his father and grandfather had done, it had been easier, when he stepped into the top role five years ago, to simply go with the flow of things that were already in motion.

Draco was nothing if not cautious, and there was nothing on the books to incriminate him, at any rate.

With a spring in his step, Draco made his way to the lift; a smirk crossed his lips at the sultry smile of his new administrative assistant. It would be a good day.

A good day, indeed.

A tomato, of all things. Scowling, Draco wiped the ruby flesh from his face with a furious glare, despite that he couldn't see around the acidic juice in his eyes.

His suit was Armani, for Merlin's sake, and if the thrower of such pedestrian projectiles thought they wouldn't be paying –

"Mr Malfoy!" someone called, storming forward and brandishing a notepad and quill. "May I ask you a few questions?"

"No," he sneered, adjusting his tie as he ducked his head and pushed through the growing crowd of reporters and bystanders. "I'm running late."

He was, in fact, half an hour early, but Draco's mood had gone steeply downhill upon exiting the front doors of Malfoy Industries, and now he was going to have to Apparate home and change. One didn't simply Scourgify Armani.

"What do you have to say about Malfoy Industries' stance on the Demiguise smuggling ring that's been gaining prominence recently?" Another reporter.

Rolling his eyes, Draco paused mid-step and fixed the woman with a withering stare. "Malfoy Industries has no connection. And no further comments."

"But the poachers need to be brought to justice!" A third man cried, stepping into his personal space. Draco despised when people invaded his personal space.

Voice clipped through clenched teeth, Draco said, "That sounds like a job for the Aurors." Sweeping tomato seeds from his shoulder with a curl to his lip, he repeated, "Malfoy Industries has no connection."

With that, he shouldered past the last of the onlookers and made his way to the Apparition Point without looking back.

Strictly speaking, there was no connection. Draco wasn't a criminal or a liar, thanks.

However, he might have turned a blind eye when he first heard mention of such a thing. He didn't know much about Demiguises other than the fact that their coats were used in the manufacture of Invisibility Cloaks, and that was a lucrative business.

He certainly didn't condone poaching, but every so often Draco found himself with a case of selective hearing in the boardroom, in an effort to keep things running smoothly with his executives.

Landing outside the towering, modern building in wizarding London where he owned the penthouse suite, Draco rounded the corner and found himself face to face with the crazed eyes and outstretched wand of a middle-aged woman.

Freezing, his eyes widened as they fixed on the slight tremble to the woman's wand, and during the short moment in which he strung together a series of filthy curses, a jet of light flew square at his chest.

Nothing happened.

The woman recoiled, blinking several times as she stared just beyond him, her wand falling limp to her side.

"I'll get you next time," the woman hissed, and Disapparated.

Odd, given she'd had him at a disadvantage this very time. Draco frowned, clutching at his stained shirt for any signs of damage – his stomach plummeted to the ground as his hands felt awkward against his body. Swallowing thickly, he looked down.

Draco had vanished.

Not only could he not see his hands, chest, or legs, but all he could see was the walk below.

"What the fuck," Draco whispered to himself, before darting into the building and smashing the button for the lift. The operator's brows shot up as the lift descended to the ground floor without having been called, and he hurtled inside as the gates opened. Jamming the button for the penthouse floor, he watched the man's befuddled expression as the lift closed once more.

Heart racing in his chest, Draco made for the nearest mirror once he arrived in his suite. He was invisible. Cussing loudly, he stared in horrified curiosity as his body flickered once more into sight, dressed in Armani and accessorised in tomato juice.

Gaping, and lost for words, he swept a hand through his hair, feeling the fine strands slide through his fingers as they always did. Having grown up around magic, and given he'd survived a war, Draco considered himself difficult to phase, but his mind churned with the possibilities of what had happened.

He might have considered the fact that the entire incident was only in his mind, if not for the fact that the crazy woman outside had also bore witness. He hadn't even spiked his coffee with Firewhisky that morning.

Glancing at his watch, he rushed to his personal quarters and allowed himself a brief shower before dressing in a fresh suit. He had just enough time to mentally suppress the entire thing and still get to his lunch meeting fashionably late.

Tying the knot of his tie, Draco assessed himself in the mirror. Immaculate once more. Slipping his cufflinks into place, he looked back up with a self-assured smirk – and watched as his visage flickered once, and vanished.

"Sweet mother of fucking Merlin!"

It was a busy morning in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; they were understaffed because not one, but two employees had owled in sick, and Hermione Granger found herself under a barrage of owls about this horrific Demiguise smuggling business. All she wanted to do was return to her research on the migration of centaur herds.

The clock on the opposite wall showed it was ten minutes until noon, and Hermione released a breath of relief, looking forward to a brief respite.

She was ready to wring the throat of anyone who dared poach a Demiguise with her bare hands, and from within the offices of the Ministry, she was bound and limited by legislation and the confines of a desk.

So her day thus far had been frustrating, to say the least. It seemed there had been a ground swell of public outcry over the Demiguise situation within the last twenty-four hours, and if nothing else, Hermione was at least glad that society as a whole was reacting.

Not that public interest actually helped anything.

Creature poaching was one of the most despicable acts she could possibly imagine.

And furthermore, the Department of Creatures had their hands tied on the issue for the most part; it was the Aurors who needed to solve the situation.

A wry smile crossed Hermione's lips at the thought. If she was fielding this many inquiries on the subject, she could only imagine things in Harry's neck of the woods.

His hands felt strange, as if there was a soft, muted quality to everything he touched as Draco thumbed furiously through a stack of books.

After sending a frantic owl to the office to reschedule his lunch meeting and cancel the rest of his afternoon, Draco had Apparated to Malfoy Manor – devoid of any life beyond the few House Elves that still lingered, while his mother was living at one of the vacation homes in France – and began scouring the stacks of the ancient library.

Two hours later, he found himself with dry eyes, a splitting headache, and nothing to show for it.

If the woman's spell had been the cause of his invisibility, she wouldn't have reacted so surprised. And furthermore, the look in her eyes hadn't suggested the utilisation of a spell so harmless.

The only thing he could find about a human going invisible was by use of an Invisibility Cloak, and Draco didn't possess one of those. Rather, he had purchased one as a novelty once, but had been dismayed when it went opaque and lost its properties of invisibility six months in.

He might have wondered why Demiguise cloaks were so lucrative when the effects were temporary, but defensive magic in all its forms had settled into the collective interests of society after the war ended, despite that it had been a decade ago.

The only thing of even the remotest level of interest was a suggestion that sometimes the infusion of magical creature blood into a pure line could create adverse side effects in later generations.

Scoffing, Draco nearly chuckled aloud at the thought of it. His blood was as pure as any in England, and he set the book aside, the text having devalued itself.

But after another hour with no results, Draco found himself taking a tentative peek into a stack of old Malfoy journals. Page after page of tight script depicted irrelevant trivialities, and Draco felt his eyes crossing as he began to nod off.

The situation remained, however, that he was invisible with no way out, and he needed to find a solution, post-haste.

As he was nearly ready to give up on the pursuit, and hope he would either flicker back eventually – or perhaps he could settle into a quiet lifestyle as a recluse – his watery stare swept over something that struck him as odd.

A mention of a man with long silver hair and large golden eyes, who had appeared almost creature-like in appearance and gait, and had incited an affair with a daughter of the Malfoy line in the eighteenth century; the union resulted in a child, and from what Draco could surmise, the entire situation was covered up with a hasty marriage.

It wasn't uncommon.

Fighting the urge to sneer at the depiction, when it was the only potential lead he'd come across, Draco read closer into the pages that followed.

It was said the man would sometimes be present one day and absent the next, until eventually he vanished altogether and it was assumed he simply left.

But there was a brief, innocuous mention, that the man could physically appear and disappear at will. Like a Demiguise.

The blasted creatures – first the tomatoes on their account, and now this.

Fuming, Draco scoured the library for additional information, but found the resources on the subject to be woefully lacking.

Clenching his jaw, he paced the hallways of the Manor to the Apparition Point.

If there was one person he knew that could be considered a wealth of creature knowledge, it was Hermione Granger. Fighting a grimace at the thought, he Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

Releasing a great sigh at a knock on her door, Hermione dropped her face to the surface of her desk. Blowing out a long breath, she rose and straightened her skirt, before walking across the room and opening the door.

No one was there.

Peering into the hallway, Hermione frowned, but relief tugged at her chest in the hopes that whoever it was changed their mind, and no longer needed her assistance. After the day she'd had, she was more than ready to go home and relax on the couch with a good book.

Turning back into the office, she froze, startled, as the door closed before she could reach for it. Tensing, Hermione ground out, "Who's there?"

There was a long moment of silence, in which she drew her wand, before she heard a terse, "Granger."

Nose wrinkling, she briefly pondered the voice, and said, "Malfoy?"

"Yes."

Folding her arms, she didn't bother hiding the disdain from her face. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing here? I thought after that last altercation –"

"I need your help." The words were rushed, with an undertone of panic.

Hermione released a sharp laugh. "Not a chance. And take off the bleeding cloak, I've had enough trouble with Demiguise paraphernalia for one day."

Draco Malfoy had always been a thorn in her side, ever since their days at Hogwarts together. Despite that his life had led down the corporate path of his father before him, and hers in public service, they wound up clashing over some creature-related issue or other far too often.

Malfoy Industries had always been a little too willing to play fast and loose with creature rights, and Hermione watched many of their goings-on with narrowed eyes. Even though she'd never been able to prove his complicity as CEO, it had only allowed the bad blood between them to linger on.

His response finally came, the words thick and low. "I'm not wearing a cloak."

Sighing, Hermione leaned against her desk. "Look, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood for this, so either –"

"I told you," he said, something akin to frustration flaring in his words, "I need your help, and I'm willing to pay."

Hesitating, her eyes narrowed. "I don't know what sort of scam you're involved in now –"

Out of nowhere, a thin black journal appeared before her, floating in mid-air. Frowning, Hermione reached for it, and gave a bit of a tug, as if taking it from another set of fingers.

"Before you open that book, Granger –" His voice stalled her fingers as they absently brushed the leather cover. "I need you to swear to secrecy."

"Maybe if you'd tell me what's going on –"

"Swear it, Granger. On your magic."

"No," she hissed, glaring in the vague direction where she surmised him to be, as she stood and began to pace the office. "I'm not swearing anything, not least of all on my magic, until you tell me what in the name of Merlin is going on! I told you, I'm not in the mood."

A teasing drawl came into his voice. "Pity."

The other reason she avoided Malfoy – on more than one occasion, he'd made his desire for her apparent, despite the animosity between them. And she could never deny the resultant physiological response of her own traitorous flesh.

And if he wanted to play that game today, when he was bloody invisible – a shiver crept up her spine at the thought that he could be anywhere in the office. As if on cue, she thought she felt the ghost of a warm breath on her neck.

"Fine," she huffed, making for the island of her desk once more as she gazed down at the journal. "I swear I won't tell anyone what's in this book."

A long pause, then, "The page is marked."

Hermione turned to a length of thin ribbon separating two yellowed pages and skimmed its contents, her eyes tightening at the mention of a creature-like man who had sired a Malfoy heir. As the pieces fell, rather jagged and haphazard, into a semblance of order, she couldn't help a snicker.

"Wait," she mused, humour pulling at her lips, "so not only is the Malfoy line not as blessedly pure as you've always claimed, but you have an ancestor who is part Demiguise?" Eyes watering with mirth, she went on. "Merlin, Malfoy, they aren't even beings, they're right beasts. How does that even physically happen?" A titter escaped and she clapped a hand to her mouth, feeling his disdain rolling over her.

"Are you quite finished?" Malfoy snapped with a long-suffering sigh. "I only just learned today when I turned bloody invisible. And I don't know a fucking thing about Demiguises – what do I do?"

It was a long moment before Hermione was able to contain herself enough to consider his question; with a chuckle she said, "This is the best thing that's happened to me all day." At his lengthy huff, she shook her head. "Right. So Demiguises turn invisible when they feel threatened."

"Fair," Malfoy conceded, "given it happened when a woman tried to attack me."

Hermione spun to the sound of his voice. "What?"

"Long story," he said, his voice dismissive. "There is a large and loud contingent of people who believe I'm connected to these Demiguise poaching rings." Scoffing, there was a coil of humour in his tone as he added, "The irony."

Despite herself, Hermione quirked a brow and asked, "And are you?"

"No."

Every time his voice moved, she felt herself disarmed, unwilling to let him sneak up on her but unable to prevent it.

"Anyways," she went on, fighting the slight tremble in her voice, "that probably explains why you've turned invisible."

"But why have I remained invisible?" Malfoy drawled, unimpressed.

Shaking her head, Hermione frowned. "It's difficult to say without knowing the exact nature of the creature inheritance, the circumstances around the shift, how the instincts are reacting to your surroundings – Malfoy!"

Hermione leapt forward as she felt something brush against her arse.

Another languid drawl. "What?"

"You touched my arse!"

There was a haughty sniff. "I've done no such thing." Irritated, Hermione folded her arms as the declaration was followed with a quiet snicker. "But since you've brought up the idea…"

"Don't you dare," she hissed, eyes tightening though she no longer knew where he was. Feeling a flush in her cheeks and a flare in her core, she sighed, brandishing the book. Fingers brushed her own as they coiled around the journal, and it vanished into what she could only assume was a pocket of his jacket. Merlin knew, Malfoy scarcely left the house in anything less than a full suit.

"You're no fun," he pouted, and Hermione could hear the teasing smirk in his voice. "This could make for quite an interesting experience if you were amenable –"

"I'm not," she snapped, feeling the colour in her cheeks deepen.

Even though he'd made these sort of teasing advances for a few years now, Hermione had never been able to discern his intentions, or whether he was serious or just out for a lark.

Holding her ground, she lifted her chin. "Like I said – without knowing more about the situation, I can't help you further. I wish you the best."

"You're just going to leave me like this," he deadpanned.

"Yes," she said, voice in a higher pitch than she'd intended.

"Come on, Granger…" The low rumble of his voice shot straight to her core, and she felt a delicious clenching heat. Merlin, how long had it been since she'd been on a proper date?

Slightly out of breath, she managed, "I suppose you can browse some of my resources." Waving a hand towards her substantial bookshelf with as much flippancy as she could muster, Hermione returned to her desk in what she expected would be a vain effort to get any more work done.

Knowing Malfoy was invisible in her office left her tense and on her guard, even though she knew he wasn't likely to attack her.

Several minutes later, the chair opposite hers at the desk was dragged out, and a stack of books dropped on the wooden surface. The book atop the stack hovered in the air, flipping to the first page.

"Tell me something," Hermione said idly, gaze fixed on her desk. "If you aren't connected to the Demiguise smuggling, why would there be an angry mob after you?"

Malfoy's voice as lofty. "I imagine it's related to the death threats."

Eyes widening, she looked at him. "Death threats? Seriously?"

"I'm not lying, Granger. I'm not behind the smuggling or poaching." A long moment, and then, "But perhaps there are some areas in which Malfoy Industries dips a toe over the line."

"A toe." She snorted. "Not from what I've heard. You're a decent enough person, despite my own personal misgivings; why don't you try and clean up the mess your father left before the war?"

"Honestly, Granger?" A sheet of parchment slid between two pages of the book he was reading and landed back on the stack. "If it was that simple, I would have when I took things over."

Unconvinced, Hermione shrugged. "Wouldn't you rather run things ethically? It'll be your legacy, Malfoy – is the business you're running now the one you'd like to leave to your own children some day?"

"You're assuming the world would be better off if I chose to reproduce?" A cold, humourless 'ha.' "I don't know what will come of the company someday, but for now, the shareholders would have my head if I changed too many things."

"So make one change," she challenged, staring at the seat he occupied and somehow knowing he was looking back. "Then another. You have it in you, Malfoy – I saw the steps you took to assist with the reparation efforts after the war. I know you aren't all bad."

There was a tense pause so long that Hermione was certain she'd crossed a line and Malfoy was going to leave. She only knew he remained seated because the chair hadn't moved. Then there was a low chuckle. "Granger, that's the nicest damn thing you've ever said to me."

Flushing, she glanced away. "Well, perhaps it's time. The war ended ten years ago, and if you aren't behind these smuggling rings, my reasons for hating you are growing stale."

"My reasons," he began, letting the words hang between them, "never held any merit. You should know that."

Taken aback, Hermione felt her brows knit as she turned to him. "I appreciate that."

"And while we're flattering one another," he went on with a snicker, "you are sexy as hell."

"Fine." Hermione scowled, leaning back in her seat. "Just like you to ruin a nice moment."

Malfoy gave an affronted scoff. "How did that ruin it? You're supposed to say, 'Well thanks, Draco, you're also –'"

Despite herself, Hermione felt a bright laugh burst forth. "That would require I call you Draco, for one."

"And for another?"

Gaping across the desk, she shook her head. "For another, you're invisible." Sweeping a curl out of her face, she added, "It's incredibly strange to be having a conversation with someone I can't see, for the record."

"Well then." The top book opened once more, and Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I'm off in an hour," she mused, "so you'd better read fast."

There was no response aside from the next book being nudged across the desk in her direction. Shaking her head as she bit her lip to keep from smiling, Hermione picked up the book and began to read.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he had spent so many consecutive hours with his face in a book. A wry grin cracked his face when he realized this was what Granger probably spent the bulk of her waking hours doing. Given her love of books, maybe it felt like foreplay.

The best part of the situation was that she couldn't see him, and he could tell it was putting her on edge. The top three buttons of her blouse had been left undone, showing off a tantalizing hint of bosom, and she wasn't aware of the way he'd been blatantly staring while periodically turning the page.

And when he'd grazed her arse earlier, she'd let the subject go with relative ease, having no proof to speak of.

Maybe the invisibility situation came with more benefits than he'd initially realized. Of course, being lecherous would lose its appeal given the fact that Granger kept looking vaguely in his direction, and he longed to see the melted chocolate in her stare.

Every time he saw Granger he was always reminded of why he usually tried to avoid her.

She made him pant after her like a schoolboy.

Whenever he so much as hinted at the situation she was quick to dismiss his comments, which suited him well enough, but it also cut just a bit. The fact that she thought so little of him as to so easily wave off his advances, as if he were merely messing with her.

Granger was beautiful, brilliant, and obviously so far out of his league. She occupied a moral high ground he didn't even dare approach.

But what he wouldn't give for a romp or two.

Most often, Draco found himself chuckling off her rejections as if he expected them, even though there was a sting to his chest at the thought. Merlin knew the way she'd laugh if she knew how he really felt.

The situation at hand did feel dire, so Draco dragged his eyes from Granger's fit body and back to the book he'd been forcing himself to read. Maybe he could appeal to her natural love for magical creatures and –

Draco's nose wrinkled. That felt like crossing a line even he wasn't willing to touch.

But perhaps he'd be able to persuade her to keep working with him. Over drinks. Dinner. Coffee. He'd take what he could get when it came to her; it was something Draco had come to terms with years ago.

Casual dating was all well and fine, but Draco was nearing thirty, and there was a small part of him that had started to consider finding something more stable.

Of course – it was a roundabout argument, given the moral high ground and all.

Granger would never look twice at him.

He wasn't surprised. He'd dealt in corruption and collusion for so long already that he didn't even know how he'd begin to get out. While Granger's suggestion had sparked something with him – along with the idea that she might think more highly of him than he'd realized – it was unreasonable.

Not if Draco wanted to retain his position as CEO of Malfoy Industries. And he did.

Even though the coffers were mighty heavy without his salary, Draco was used to a certain lifestyle.

"Any luck?" Granger's voice interrupted his musings.

Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as her eyes scanned rapidly back and forth, and Draco stifled a groan. "Nothing yet."

Chocolate eyes lifted to a spot beyond his shoulder and she frowned. "The only thing I can see here is that the Demiguise will return to its standard opacity when it no longer feels threatened."

Scoffing, Draco shook his head. "I don't feel threatened."

"Well, I figured so," Granger said with a bit of a titter. "Unless you're frightened of me."

He muttered under his breath, "You have no idea."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Flipping a few more pages, Granger went on. "I'll be heading home soon. You can borrow these books if you like, so long as you return them within a day or two."

Leaning his head back to stretch out his neck, Draco rubbed at his exhausted eyes. "Honestly, I don't think I can read another word."

She waved a hand. "Tomorrow, then."

Before he could stop himself, he quipped, "It's a date."

Snorting, Granger didn't even look at him. "It isn't a date. Merlin forbid you actually cared to show a woman a nice time rather than just sex."

Draco flinched. He couldn't help it. Leaning forward in his seat, he breathed, "Would it be so crazy?"

"From what I've seen in the society pages," she snickered, still staring down at her book, "yes, it probably would."

Sucking on his teeth, he glared at her for a long moment. There was a sinking feeling in his chest and he nearly walked from her office without another word to lick his wounds and maybe slam a couple fingers of whisky. Finally he steeled himself and drawled, more of a bite in his tone than he'd intended, "You don't strike me as the type to believe everything you read in the gossip rags, Granger."

Her expression faltered, taken aback. Good. "Malfoy, I didn't –"

Shoving his seat back with a loud scrape, he found himself suddenly weary of her company. Her dismissive, derisive words. The worst part was that he deserved every one of them.

Not once had he ever done something worthy of someone like her.

"Think I will read these on my own, after all." He shrunk the books and then pocketed them. "I'll owl them back as soon as I'm through. Thank you for your assistance."

Though he could hear her words as a faint, muffled ringing, Draco swept from her office without another word, the anxious pounding in his chest more painful than he could handle.

He returned home to his penthouse suite, and the massive space felt empty and cold.

Several hours later, as Draco was a few glasses into a decanter of his finest amber, an owl tapped on the window of his sitting area. Granger's books sat untouched on the end table.

He snorted as he recognized Granger's tidy script and nearly lit the missive on fire, before blinking the haze of intoxication from his eyes and squinting to read.

Malfoy

I didn't mean to offend you earlier. I've taken the day off tomorrow, if you'd still like my assistance in researching your problem. Let me know.

HG

Something churned uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, and Draco didn't think it was the whisky.

He was of half a mind to ignore the letter, resolute on solving the issue on his own, when he realized he still had her books anyways. Half an hour later, he owled a response.

Fine by me. Name a time and location.

DM

It was all he could manage to write in a straight line, and it only reinforced the fact that she was worlds away from him.

Steeling her nerves, Hermione blew out a long breath as she pressed the buzzer to Malfoy's penthouse suite. He'd not responded to her owl that suggested she would come by his place at nine, but she was, by nature, both punctual and accountable, so she had shown up regardless. Merlin knew if he was still angry he'd let her know.

Despite the fact that he'd stormed from her office, she felt a coil of guilt over the last words she'd said to him. Perhaps it had been hasty and uncalled for to suggest he didn't have any genuine relationships. After all, she barely knew him, and all she did know was the side she saw in the papers and magazines – the side of him that made ladies swoon and reporters rich.

And it was evident there was more to him. After all, the war had affected everyone in different ways, and she had seen how Malfoy had changed over the years, even if he did still act like a wealthy playboy.

Glancing around, Hermione pressed the button again, clutching a few extra books she'd dug up tight to her chest.

Suddenly the door was flung open. Malfoy stood on the other side, startled. Hermione could only stare back in alarm. For one – he was visible. But the shock she felt was overridden by surprise at his appearance.

His blond hair was disheveled and splayed at odd angles, he wore a white t-shirt and plaid trousers, and there was a layer of stubble on his jaw. He was barefoot.

Hermione had never imagined any circumstances, since the age of eleven, in which she might see Draco Malfoy barefoot.

"Granger," he choked, eyes flitting to the watch at his wrist. "Fuck."

"Am I early?" she breathed, a horrified flush breaking along her throat and face. "I'm sorry – I'll go."

It was almost indecent, seeing him in such a way – it felt too intimate.

For so long, Hermione had lived in a world where he existed only in a fully immaculate state: hair styled to perfection; only the most absurdly expensive attire; clean-shaven; and well-polished.

"No," he blurted, dragging a hand down his face. "No, I overslept. I apologize."

If nothing else, he made her casual attire of jeans and a thin jumper feel more appropriate.

Then he froze, eyes wide. "You can see me." His gaze dragged slowly down his own form, and he grabbed hold of one hand in the other. Jaw dropping, he stared back at her, a heavy furrow in his brow. "I'm visible. What the fuck?"

"I don't know," Hermione whispered, shaking her head. Deep in thought, she bit down on her bottom lip, and Malfoy's gaze flickered. "I can only imagine the issue runs deeper than that, though."

"The first time it happened, I was visible for fifteen minutes before I vanished again," he conceded, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look, this is awkward. I'll make you a cup of tea and I'll go shower and dress. I overslept."

"Late night?" she asked with a bit of a chuckle.

"Something like that," he admitted with a grimace, then added, "maybe too much whisky."

Sweeping his casual look, Hermione shrugged. "I don't mind – if you're comfortable like that."

He eyed her warily for a moment and said, "I'm really not. I'm comfortable, but not –"

"Not with me seeing you," she surmised, feeling a twist of something in her stomach. Briefly she wondered whether his sharp veneer was as much a defense mechanism – an iron shield – as anything else.

Being disheveled made him look younger – fresher, and less hardened by the world around him. If she was honest, it made her heart tighten in her chest.

His eyes squinted, their pale grey meeting hers, and he opened his mouth to speak –

And vanished.

"Fuck."

Releasing a sigh, Hermione allowed a small smile. "And you're gone again." With a snicker, she added, "At least you don't have to worry about my seeing your pajamas."

"Well," he drawled, and the sudden sound of his hands clapping together once startled her. "Shall I make that pot of tea anyways?"

Granger was skittish when she was nervous, and she positively oozed nerves. It was highly amusing, and Draco couldn't help but stare at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

Surrounded by stacks of books on the couch in his sitting room, she would periodically look up and glance around his penthouse, then quickly back to her books. As if there was something she wanted to say but she couldn't quite summon the words.

Her hair was loose today, and it fell in a mess of curls that, despite itself, seemed to have some semblance of order. Without the professional skirts, blouses, and blazers she typically wore when he saw her at the Ministry, she looked younger. She looked nice.

Attempting to take a sip from her empty teacup, she set the cup down with a clatter, colour flaring in her cheeks. Smirking at her unease, Draco asked, "Shall I pour you another cup?"

Glancing away, she said, "Please."

As Draco busied himself with the tea service, fixing her cup the way he'd seen her do with the first, he sighed. "Granger, why are you here?"

"I told you." Her tone was infused with casual flippancy and Draco saw through it. "I wanted to help you."

"You've never wanted to help me."

"Right." The word drifted off into nothing and she gave a brief nod as he placed her fresh cup of tea on its saucer. "I guess I felt badly about what I said yesterday."

"It's nothing I haven't heard before." Even though it had stung coming from her, he was featured in Witch Weekly almost every month with the same sentiments.

Will Draco Malfoy ever settle down? One of Wizarding London's most eligible – and most wealthy – bachelors!

Rolling his eyes, he felt his lip curl with a sneer. Most of it was publicity anyways. Whenever he would attend a fundraising gala with some socialite or other, the reporters practically salivated.

But it kept the truth hidden behind closed doors, which was that Draco usually ended the night alone with his self-loathing because he couldn't bear the thought of letting someone in. Of being found wanting.

"That may be so," Granger intruded on his thoughts, her voice soft and apologetic, "but it wasn't my place."

Merlin, seeing her reading in his sitting room, dressed so casually, was doing strange things to his chest. When he had realized she could see him, and that he was still wearing his sleep clothes, un-showered, he had nearly fled.

Allowing her to see him at anything but his best had left him with a twinging sort of deep-seated anxiety pulsing through his veins; no one saw him in such a state.

But something about Granger always left him feeling disarmed. Vulnerable.

He hated it even as he craved it.

"Malfoy? Are you still here?"

As she stared just beyond him, he cleared his throat. "Yes. It's fine."

Tension radiated from her, and Draco could do or say nothing to lessen it, since he felt as if he could snap at any minute himself. Merlin, he wanted to touch her.

"Here's something," she mused, gazing at her book. "About Demiguises. It says here, a young Demiguise can't freely shift their translucency at will until it's been accessed – triggered – which could explain why you'd never experienced it before yesterday."

"And why it's now happened again," he drawled.

If they figured out the situation, and Draco could simply reappear, they could end this study session gone wrong and go their separate ways once more. For good, hopefully.

Maybe she'd want to see the bedroom first.

He doubted it, given the way she'd looked ready to run for the door since she had arrived.

"Yes," she added, eyes tight with consideration. "But I wonder why it's happened again. Maybe you became visible again at some point overnight – but then why?" With a mild snort, she grinned. "Malfoy, do I make you feel threatened?"

Draco scoffed. "Unlikely."

Voice low, she teased, "Merlin forbid," and he nearly didn't hear her for the pounding of his heart.

"You know," he said, pointing at her; he dropped his hand upon recalling she couldn't see anything he did. "That idea actually holds some merit. You are bloody terrifying, and I only vanished again when you arrived."

With a curious flicker in her brows, her head fell to the side. "What do you mean, terrifying? I'm not terrifying."

Huffing a laugh, he shifted his position on the couch. Only a stack of books separated them, and he could scent a hint of her fragrance. "Of course you are." Waving at her on instinct, he added, "You're Hermione Granger."

Her expression froze, shoulders tensing. "And?"

"And…" Draco trailed off, floundering for the words. This was the last thing he wanted to talk to her about, but he'd gone and initiated the subject. Bugger. "You're this paragon of morality. And obviously I'm not." Hesitating for a long moment while she stared in his direction, he finished with, "Maybe you make me question my own life."

As some of the tension sunk from her body, her head dropped to rest on the back of the couch, facing him. "Malfoy, I can assure you I've done things that were morally questionable. I think everyone has."

Dragging a hand down his face, he didn't answer. It felt humiliating and vulnerable to even share any of this – his skin was warm.

After a pause, Granger went on in a whisper. "I don't think you're as far gone as you seem to think you are."

Snorting, Draco shook his head. "You said it yourself, yesterday. Malfoy Industries is a corrupt mess. I wouldn't even know where to begin with straightening it all out."

"That isn't you."

Her words were imploring and genuine, and struck him square in the chest. Draco could only gape at her, thanking Merlin she couldn't see him, because he thought he felt a sting of moisture at his eyes.

"I have a theory." Folding her arms, Granger's eyes tightened on him. "I think you feel trapped in this existence – torn between the person you feel you need to be, and the person you are inside. I can only imagine that's a terrible way to feel – and maybe you feel threatened your entire life is going to unravel around you if you take a step one way or the other. So you're… I don't know, balancing on this precarious edge, and wondering all along when something is going to break." Dropping to a broken whisper, she said, "It sounds awfully lonely."

A harsh breath chased from his lungs as Draco's vision blurred. With an apologetic stare, Granger lifted a hand, waving cautiously until she found his arm. Her fingers curled around his bicep and her eyes widened slightly.

Chuckling, he looked away, adrenaline racing with the anxious rhythm of his heart. "You were aiming further south, Granger –"

"Don't do that," she whispered, shaking her head. "Don't hide behind innuendo and humour. It's okay to feel exposed, Malfoy."

"Ironic, isn't it," he mused in a breath.

A hint of a smile curled her lips. "Yes."

Blowing out a long exhale, Draco dragged a hand down his face. "You're right. About all of it."

Her expression didn't change, but she asked, "And what do you want to do about it?"

It felt like she had sliced open his chest cavity and wrenched his heart from his chest; he would have done anything she asked of him in that moment. The words sounded raw and disconnected as he said, "I want to do better."

Startled, Granger flinched at him, as if his words were so outlandish. But her eyes narrowed as she squinted at him, then shook her head. "I thought I'd seen something. Go on."

Every nerve was on edge, his blood pounding behind his brain with a dull roar. "I want to clean up the corruption, Granger, but it'll cost a lot of people a lot of money. The board will vote me out."

"I don't know," she mused, eyes sparkling, "I think it's doable. Look at how well you've done since taking over as CEO. Like I said yesterday, it isn't all at once. It can be one thing at a time. One division, one decision at a time."

Draco chuckled, glancing away. "And I suppose you have a plan, do you?"

A soft, secretive sort of a smile crossed her features. "I wouldn't call it a plan, but if you're serious about this – I'd be willing to help you."

Her eyes found his, as if she knew where to seek him, and Draco felt the words tumble from his lips before he could stop them. "I'm serious about you – I know you think I'm not." She blinked several times in surprise, but didn't look away. "Maybe I hide behind innuendo because you're so much better than I'll ever deserve."

"I don't think that's true," she whispered. Her grip tightened where she still held his arm, and Draco swallowed, glancing down. Granger's fingers looked so small around his arm, and he wanted to take her hand in his –

Chocolate eyes were waiting for his when he snapped his face back up. A genuine smile pulled at her lips and his mouth fell open in surprise. With a hoarse, "I'm back," he lifted his other hand, gazing at the visibility of his flesh.

Shifting her knees beneath her, she returned, "You're back." Something softened in her expression, and she added, "And I believe you."

Then she leaned in, dragging her hand up from his arm and around the back of his neck, and pressed her lips to his. Caught off guard, Draco hesitated for only a moment before he was returning the kiss, his eyes falling shut as he lifted a hand to her cheek.

He could feel his stubble scratch against the soft skin of her face and was reminded he was still a right disaster – but there was a soft warmth in Granger's stare as she drew back, her eyes finding his again.

And maybe, if she could listen to his deepest, darkest secrets without flinching – maybe she would have seen through him anyways. Metaphorically, as well as literally.

Searching her stare, he shook his head. "Granger, what –"

"I appreciate your honesty," she said, bold and unapologetic as she shrugged, her fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. "And I like this side of you."

Draco pressed his lips together with a thick swallow and stared at her. "Why am I not invisible anymore?"

There was a subtle shake of her head. "Maybe in sharing the truth, you released your fears. The threats that have bogged you down for so long have no more power over you."

Sobering, he stared at her. "I meant it. I want Malfoy Industries to be something I can be proud of one day, even though it'll be an uphill climb." Pondering for a moment, he glanced away. "There are a lot of things that go on around there, and I'm not even privy to the depths of it all. But I overhear things. And Granger… I'm not involved in the creature poachings, but I might know how to track down whoever is."

The elation that lit Granger's face could have sustained him for the rest of his life.

But before he could think on it too long, she was kissing him again. Draco drew her closer, releasing a groan when her mouth opened to his, her tongue slipping between his teeth, and the moment in actuality was better than he ever could have imagined.

Smirking against her mouth, Draco decided he could get used to this honesty thing.

Hermione sat in the chair outside of Draco's personal office, a book propped open in her lap. The appointment time she'd set with his personal assistant had come and gone, which was unsurprising, given the man meeting with him prior seemed displeased, and loudly so.

A month had passed since the incident, and she found herself both surprised and pleased by the voracity with which he had taken to his task of cleaning up Malfoy Industries.

After the collusion regarding the Demiguise poachings was revealed, there had been mixed reactions. Many claimed Malfoy Industries had been responsible given the involvement of two executives, but it quickly came out that they were operating outside the umbrella of the corporation, and it was merely a poor coincidence. Most important was the fact that the CEO had nothing to do with it.

Draco had fired the pair on the spot.

Then came the slow, arduous process of sorting through the rest of it, while also interviewing to replace the two executives.

While the media had been loud about the initiative, a lot of support had come from the woodwork, both within and outside of the company. As it turned out, many longtime Malfoy Industries employees had been hoping for a change when Draco stepped into the role of CEO, but hadn't wanted to put their own positions at risk by mentioning so.

Hermione could see the fatigue in his face every time they were able to see one another, which hadn't been often. But she knew he was doing something good, and she could see that knowledge in him as well.

The door flew open beside her face and Hermione's gaze snapped up as a man stormed past, snarling a string of expletives. Moments later Draco hovered in the doorway, peering down at her in surprise as she tucked her book away.

There were dark circles under his eyes and his usually immaculate hair was slightly out of place; he had removed his jacket, leaving him in just a shirt and tie. But a slow grin crept across his face. "Are you my next appointment?"

"Yes." Hermione rose to her feet, brandishing a paper bag. "And I brought lunch."

"Thank Merlin," he choked, dragging her into his office.

Toeing the door shut, Draco pulled her into his arms, extracting the bagged lunch from her hands and dropping it on the desk. Then his lips were on hers, his fingers toying with the loose strands at the nape of her neck, fallen free from her bun.

Kissing him in return, Hermione found her back to the wall as he pressed into her, one hand sliding down to grip her arse before he pulled away, grey eyes finding hers.

Smiling, she planted a last kiss to his lips. "I've missed you."

Chuckling, he dragged a hand through his pale hair. "You have no idea how good it is to see you after the week I've had."

With an apologetic smile, she said, "I'm proud of everything you've been doing."

"Then that makes it all worthwhile." A heated smirk spread across his face. "We're nearly through the worst of it, I think. It'll take some time to get everything running smoothly again, given how many initiatives and side ventures have been slashed. But a lot of investors have stepped forward in the interim."

"That's great news," Hermione said, fidgeting with his tie. Ducking her chin, she gave him a coy smile. "And you – don't think I didn't notice that sizable donation Malfoy Industries gave towards our upcoming creature rights benefit."

"What can I say," he quipped, moistening his lips, "as it turns out, creatures aren't so bad."

He jumped away before she could jab him in the stomach, and shot her a wink. "Precognition, love."

Gaping, Hermione stared at him. "Demiguise precognition?"

"Just a hint," Draco mused, selecting a sandwich from her bag. He took a large bite with a groan, as if the ham and swiss she'd prepared was gourmet, and she wondered when he had last eaten. "But also – watch this."

He vanished.

Hermione's jaw dropped, but moments later he flickered back wearing a grin. "You can control it? How?"

"Practice," he murmured, eating the last of the sandwich in a few bites before selecting another. "I only have to recall that time in third when you smacked me – apparently your anger is plenty threatening."

With a bright laugh, Hermione nearly choked on her own sandwich. "That was inappropriate of me, wasn't it?"

Snickering, he muttered, "I deserved it." Folding up the paper wrap from his sandwiches, he stepped closer, eyes searching hers. "But then I remind myself things between us aren't like that anymore."

"No, they aren't," she mused, smiling. "As long as you don't do anything as stupid as you did in third year."

Malfoy barked a laugh and perched on the side of his desk, dragging her closer by the hips. "I don't imagine that will happen." His expression sobered, grip tightening on her. "Come over tonight? We can have dinner and… who knows."

There was a sparkle in his eye and a soft curve to his lips; Hermione pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, dragging her fingers along the muscles of his stomach. "Who knows," she echoed, and his hands rounded the curve of her arse as she stepped between his legs. A jolt of desire clenched below her belly in anticipation. "On one condition."

"What's the condition?" he asked, voice low and husky as he ducked in to catch her lower lip with his own teeth in a sharp nip.

Fixing him with a stare, Hermione said, "No vanishing during sex."

Making a face, he released a sigh. "Really?"

"Really." Bewildered, she stared at him. "I can only imagine how jarring that would be."

"Okay," he said, lifting a hand, "but hear me out –"

"The first time," she whispered, humour tugging at her lips. "Not the first time."

"Merlin, no," he muttered, dragging her mouth to his. Quirking a brow when they pulled apart, he scoffed and said, "I didn't mean the first time." Hermione could only shake her head at him. His lips twitched and he breathed, "Kinky bloody witch."

Exasperated, she landed a kiss on his lips and mused near the shell of his ear, "I suppose you'll find out."

The blood drained from his face. He choked out, "Seven."

"Seven," Hermione agreed. "I need to get back to the Ministry, but I'll see you tonight."

"Fine." His tone was petulant but his grey eyes scintillating with heat as she backed away, making for the door. "Tonight."

There was a hint to the word that went well beyond one day and her heart leapt in her chest, a smile tilting her lips. It would be a good day.