Two Idiots Walk Into a Bar (Dramione)

Two Idiots At Work

Monday

Draco walked down the Ministry corridors towards the (now hidden) lift that served only the Department of Mysteries – a new security measure added after the events of the war.

His daily path from the main lifts to the hidden one was simultaneously joyful and torturous, for on his way he had to walk by the Post-War Amendments Department – a.k.a. Her department. And She was hardly ever inside her office at the time he usually walked by it, and even if she were, her door was never closed.

Draco turned left and readied himself for what would come in the next corridor, wondering as usual if She did that deliberately or if it was just a coincidence that every morning around half past eight, She decided to open her door or talk to her assistant, taunting him with her presence, her eyes filling with indifference when they met his briefly as her lips bid him a good morning.

She usually kept her curls tamed in a bun on the back of her head, her choice of hairdo fully exposing the curve of her neck, teasing him with the skin he dreamed of kissing, licking, and marking with his teeth; and her curves were always clad in muggle-style clothing.

The memory had him groaning internally.

Muggle fashion was one of the best things muggles had ever invented (second only to the telly).

No billowing robes that hid everything.

No.

Muggles had a preference for tighter clothes that showcased a woman's curves or a man's fit physique.

Draco himself had foregone wizarding robes after finding out about three-piece suits and trenchcoats. The only wizarding item he still favoured was dragonhide shoes – the bovine equivalent that muggles sold just didn't have the same quality.

And female muggle clothing was something straight out of the realm of male dreams!

She, in particular, favoured tight pencil skirts and button-down blouses, with either black or skin-coloured sheer tights and high heels.

Fuck, those high heels of hers.

Draco had had many (many) dreams with Her in nothing but those high heels.

And at the end of every week, in the recent Ministry adoption of the muggle tradition known as Casual Fridays, She usually wore jeans and pretty jumpers.

And trainers.

Draco never thought he'd be panting after a woman in fucking trainers.

But Friday had become his favourite day of the week – he could admire Her in all her petite and curvy glory then.

She was more than a head shorter than him, and seeing her in trainers made him realise her head would fit perfectly under his chin, on his chest, his hands around her waist.

He turned into the next corridor, seeing the open waiting room where Her assistant sat at a small desk; he could already tell She wasn't outside of her office.

"Good Morning, Mr. Malfoy." Greeted her assistant when he slowed his pace and stopped beside her desk.

He cleared his throat discretely before replying politely: "Good morning, Miss Fawcett." He glanced into the office through the ajar door. "Is she busy already?"

"As always, sir." The girl giggled.

Draco nodded and then his eyes located Her standing near a large bookcase, looking for a book; and he immediately took notice of her choice of attire that day: