Dramione One Shots

26. Teach Me How To Fall

This story was originally written for the D/Hr Advent 2023 collection on AO3. Hope you enjoy.

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There was absolutely no appreciation for the arts in this testosterone-fuelled hovel of the Ministry. Hermione tallied the Festive Fun ballot box results, counting a shocking two votes for her Pantomime Play idea while the Indoor Quidditch box was still coughing up names.

"Don't forget the other two, Malfoy!" Robards' voice cut across the bullpen, and on cue, a sulky Malfoy exited his office, carrying a bulky file box in his arms.

"Wanker," he hissed, coming up beside her. "He wants preliminary research for fifteen trials in two weeks. Fifteen, Granger. He's setting me up to fail."

Hermione turned her attention back to the votes, at a loss for words. Recently, Malfoy had started venting to her instead of about her. It was discombobulating.

He followed her gaze, his warm breath fanning down her neck as he sang, "Told you nobody wants to produce a dull play."

She shrugged him back. "It's not dull. It's classic." Then vanished the Pantomime box with a mournful sigh, enchanting a Quidditch sign-up sheet in its place. With little fanfare, she wrote: Hermione G. – Snacks on the top line.

Balancing the files awkwardly on his hip, Malfoy took the quill and scratched: Draco M. – Seeker.

He frowned, reading hers. "You can choose another role. We're signing up first."

"I can't play Quidditch."

"These idiots can barely play Quidditch. Auror ego will only take them so far."

He wasn't wrong. But even Dillon Pickles, the overnight guard who belched Accio Christmas after chugging down a bottle of Ginger Fizz, could bat a Quaffle better than she could.

She took the box from Malfoy's arms, through with Quidditch talk. "Two weeks is plenty of time. I'll help you."

⭐️

"Have you heard of Lionel Berry?" asked Hermione, examining a heavy-set wizard with gold-capped teeth sneer at the camera and crick his neck, showing off a mural of tattoos.

"You mean Lil Cran? His name was mentioned multiple times during Fruitcake's interrogation. I think he's trying to frame him, though. Cake seems more clever." Malfoy fidgeted with the lanky baton dangling from the blinds, dimming and undimming the room in thin slithers. By four-thirty, darkness covered the rest of London, but their window was filled with blinding sunlight as always.

"Little Cran may not seem like the brightest wick on the chandelier but that could be strategic."

"Lil Cran."

She gave Malfoy a blank look.

"You're pronouncing it wrong. There's no 't'."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not even a real—"

A knock came at the door.

"Got a sec?" asked Harry, filling the doorway handsomely in full Auror uniform.

She waved him in. "Night shift?"

"Unfortunately. Hey, is it alright if I play Seeker at the Quidditch game? I'm not much of a Beater, and that's the only position left. Besides Snacks. And you know I'm a useless cook."

"You could order catering," suggested Draco, tipping back the lofty office chair he'd brought from home and propping his wingtips up on the table. Embroidered Golden Snitches fluttered merrily on his socks. "Personally, I wouldn't mind Candy Cane Bark. Peppermint, though. Fairy floss makes your teeth ache."