Dramione One Shots

19. Close Quarters

The only people who pull instead of push Stacked's front door are regular customers or tardy employees. Everyone one else wiggles and jiggles the handle until it gives way, often flushed after a display of utter incompetence, or maybe just abashed by Hermione's judgy looks. The most academic city in England, and people can't operate a bloody door. Once, a visitor gave up halfway and left altogether.

So when the door swings open without fuss, Hermione doesn't need to look up to know it's Draco, but it isn't until Crookshanks bounds off the counter to greet the newcomers that she realises he isn't alone. Under no circumstances would her grumpy boy ever quit lazing about for Malfoy. The half-kneazle sprawls out at their feet like a blob of spilled orange crush, purring wildly for attention. Bridget makes a cooing noise, kneeling down to scratch him behind the ears.

Unfazed, Malfoy skirts around the spoiled shop cat and grabs his apron from the hook behind the front desk, nodding at her in greeting. "Afternoon."

"You're late."

"By two minutes."

"I needed to pee."

"Come now, Granger, you're a big girl. You can hold your bladder for longer than that."

"Did Professor Mitchell agree to review your research, Hermione?" pipes Bridget from across the room, still fawning over Crookshanks.

"He did. Thanks for putting a word in," she says courteously, glaring subtle daggers at her traitorous cat when Bridget isn't looking.

Languorously waving his bottlebrush tail, Crooks eyes Hermione vindictively for spending the last two hours studying instead of luxuriating him with belly scratches.

Draco makes a low humming noise that only Hermione can hear standing right next to him. She shoots him a dark glare. His lips tug up at the corners before he turns the other way. "Thanks for walking me to work, love." He leans over the counter.

Rising to her feet, Bridget strolls over to him, kissing Draco goodbye with a moony look in her eyes. "Mm. Of course. Thanks for lunch, sweets. I'll see you over the weekend, maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe." Before she can walk off, he catches her wrist and lures her back in for one more kiss. Bridget melts into him.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione makes a beeline for the loo even though her bladder is perfectly empty.

By the time she returns to the shop front, Bridget is gone, and Draco has the RETURNS box on the counter, scanning the books for bent spines, folded pages, and general wear and tear before enchanting them back to their respective shelves. Flying books flap about the store like rainbow macaws, one paperback narrowly missing the head of a uni student in the Best Sellers section.

Draco glances up at her. "If I took a fifteen-minute bathroom break, you'd rip me a new one."

She cuts in sharply, "And that's why I'm supervisor and you're just an associate."

"Ooh, Granger's abusing her power. Rather out of character for you, don't you think?" He deliberates. "Or maybe it's exactly in character."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She stacks a pile of hardcovers in her arms to shelve away manually. Halfway down the Magical Tourism aisle, she bumps into Roger, and is slapped with instant-regret.

Damn it, Malfoy. A warning would have been nice!

"Hermione!" The lanky middle-aged man spots her immediately, holding up a paperback with a sailboat on the cover, its bright orange sails blowing taut against the wind. "Look, a book about South America. Did I tell you I'm travelling to Argentina in—"