The Malfoy-Granger Guide To Fake Dating

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Draco Malfoy had always been spoiled.

There was hardly any point in denying it, because naturally, being the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune had come with its fair share of perks.

For example, if he so desired, he would never have to work a day in his life. He could speak his mind to almost anyone and get away with it. He could buy all the best clothes; the biggest houses; the newest models of the fastest flying brooms and never so much as graze the surface of his inheritance.

In short, throughout most of his life, it wasn't often that he'd ever been left wanting for something.

That was, of course, until Hermione Granger.

He hadn't wanted her at first, mind you. Not in the least. But with time comes change. And he had certainly changed over time, in more ways than one.

In the physical sense, he'd grown taller. Filled out a bit from that thin, lanky teen he'd been years before, and could now boast that he had a fair bit of muscle on his bones. Not so much that it appeared he'd been trying too hard to buff up, but enough that he felt satisfied with his frame in the mirror.

He'd stopped slicking his hair back like some sort of greasy pervert and now wore it a bit longer than he had during his time at Hogwarts, allowing the fringe to fall over his forehead.

The things that had stayed the same were a given. He still had gray eyes. Silvery, white-blonde locks. Pale skin, though it didn't possess the same unhealthy quality it had before. Long limbs and broad shoulders, as well as particularly slender hands and fingers.

He wore the same rings. Maintained his usual impeccable posture. Walked with his head held high and nose lifted into the air, unconsciously looking down on all those who passed.

Because there were just some things that never quite changed about a person. Except, of course, the things that did.

And Hermione Granger had certainly changed since that first day he'd laid eyes on her aboard the Hogwarts express, inquiring as to whether or not he knew the whereabouts of a toad named Trevor.

She was the same in some ways, he supposed.

She still had that mess of curly brown hair, though it now seemed to gleam gold in the sunlight in a way he hadn't ever noticed before. She still poured every bit of herself into the goals she set, working as hard as humanly possible to achieve them. She still spoke with such unbridled passion, even when the person listening wasn't particularly an active participant in the conversation. She still worshiped books like they were her religion, and could be found most days in the archives of the DMLE, scanning through old case files and picking up on any missed details.

She wasn't even an Auror, for Merlin's sake. She just offered her assistance when she ran out of things to do with her own job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was insane, and so incredibly Granger-esque that he couldn't help but laugh at the predictability of it.

Unsurprisingly, that was where he tended to run into her from time to time, coming upon her mass of frizzy curls amidst the rows and rows of dusty file boxes.

And each time, without fail, they executed the very same dance. Over and over again like they'd long memorized the steps.

First, he would freeze. Watch her glance up at him through her lashes in a halfhearted attempt to identify whoever it was who'd so rudely interrupted her reading. Watch her jolt like she expected for it to be anyone but him. Listen to her quick intake of breath. To her hastily muttered, "Merlin, Malfoy, you startled me."