Shut Up and Date Me

Hermione yawned as the insipid American president droned on and on about the importance of British/American relations. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had just fished fifteen words out of a cap and rearranged them over and over to write this damn speech. She chanced a glance at Kingsley and was relieved to find that he didn't appear to be any more roused by the infantile politician than she was.

"How much longer?" she whispered to him.

A mild snort indicated he had been seconds away from nodding off. He examined the watch on his wrist. "We've got a dinner with the Vice President in an hour."

She stifled her groan. That wasn't exactly what she meant. What she truly wanted to know was how much longer they planned on staying in this country.

At the start of the year, several Department Heads, herself included, were invited to the United States to visit with both the Muggle—sorry...No Maj—government and the MACUSA. It was supposed to be a quick two-week trip between New York and Washington. Mostly diplomatic nonsense. It had turned into a month and a half long bore wherein Hermione determined that Americans were the most exhausting people on the planet. Twelve-hour days were the norm. Coffee breaks were seen as weaknesses, and therefore everyone seemed permanently glued to their takeaway double-shot lattes. People bragged about how little sleep they required, like it was some great virtue. Plus their words were funny. If she heard one more person use the term "No Maj," she was going to Avada Kedavra herself.

She missed England.

"Fine," she exhaled, rolling her eyes as the American president used the word "huge" for thirtieth time that hour. "But I swear to Merlin if the Vice President calls me 'little lady' again, I'm going to intimately acquaint his head with his arse."

Kingsley shrugged. "I think you're already too late on that one."

Hermione sniggered as she fished her mobile out of her jacket pocket. The slight vibration sent happy little shivers up her spine. She hoped it was him.

It was him!

She checked the new message he sent her: Kill me, please. Potter's on paternity leave, and no one in the office will play with me. I'm bored.

Hermione smirked as she pushed down a little bubble of guilt. She hated that she had missed Lily's birth, but Harry and Ginny insisted that she not come home for it. Mostly because they knew what a bitch she could be when jetlagged.

She typed a response: Kill ME. I'm fairly certain the American president is just a golem with a bad toupee. I've located the fire exits, and I think I might just make a run for it.

Mere seconds later her phone vibrated again. Get back here.

She bit her lip. I'm trying.

Sweet Merlin, was she trying. There was nothing more she wanted than to get back to England where she could have a decent cuppa, go home at 5:00 on weekdays, and pick up where she left off the night before she was called away.

Between Draco Malfoy's legs.

Granted, the two of them hadn't done anything sexual beyond some heavy petting in Harry's study during James's birthday party. They hadn't gone on a date, either. They were supposed to, but the following day—Christmas fucking day—she had received an urgent owl from Kingsley asking if she could make this trip. The Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports had to cancel at the last minute, and Hermione, being husbandless and childless, was the obvious choice.

Draco had been sweet and understanding, assuring her that the two of them would meet up when she got back. In that time, he had purchased a Muggle phone, and the two of them had been texting relentlessly ever since. His messages were a source of comfort and excitement for Hermione. It was odd how easy it was to speak to him, considering the fact that she really didn't know him that well. They had spoken more via text message than they ever had in person.