Chapter Text
It was 8.33am – she was running late. Again.
As she sat up, she allowed herself a moment to groan, her body sagging from disturbed sleep, and scrubbed her face with her hands. And then she was on her feet, hotfooting it to her limited wardrobe. For the (admittedly, hopeless) last time, she cursed herself for not picking out her clothes the night before.
“Why can I never find that skirt…” she murmured to herself, frantically skimming through her hangers with a finger. “Ah-hah!” she cried triumphantly, grabbing it from the hanger and yanking it over her hips. She heard a meow from behind her and turned to look for the familiar orange furball that she saw every day. “Oh Crooks, did I disturb you?” she crooned, finding her cat stretching pointedly on the bed, having been woken up by her rough throwing back of the duvet. He meowed once again, slowly softening to purrs as loud as a blocked drain as she scratched his chin indulgently.
Distractedly, she looked back at her wardrobe to assess her choices. She saw a white blouse on the floor – a little crumpled, but otherwise clean – and pulls it on overhead. Crookshanks wailed once more at the loss of contact with his mistress, and to appease him she filled his food bowl to the top, whipping out her wand to free her mouth from morning breath.
“Be a good boy, Crooks!” she called, pulling on a heel at a time and finally casting a quick cushioning charm to keep her sanity intact, as she grabbed her briefcase and closed the door behind her. From his perch on the bed, Crooks rolled his eyes and made slow circles, coming to a stop on her pillow before finally dropping down and finding peace once more.
Hermione hurried to the apparition point around the corner from her cosy little flat, mentally assessing her workload for the day. A meeting with the Minister for the inaugural Magical-Muggle Liaison ball, a lunch date with Harry and Ron in the café, and several stacks of paperwork, including legislation for muggle-born students and parents to reduce the bumpiness transitioning to the wizarding world.
She sighed, arriving at the apparition spot and promptly appearing within the ministry. Checking the time again, she squeaked as she saw 8.57am. Less than 5 minutes to get to her desk and get started.
She hated being late. She always used to be more of an early bird, but she found that even 10 years post-war Hermione had nightmares that made it a struggle to fall asleep before 2am. And that was on a good day.
More often than not, her nights were filled with fitful sleep and a healthy dose of insomnia. After a past dependency on Dreamless Sleep which resulted in a groggy, slow brain she just couldn’t abide, she resolved never to use it again. Her brain was her most valuable asset against everything, and she needed it working.
Consequently, she found it harder and harder for her body to rise with the alarm, no matter how many she set on her wand.
Breathing a quiet but no less insistent “fuck, fuck, fuck”, she scurried towards the lifts across the mostly empty foyer (which made sense as most self-respecting witches and wizards were already seated at their desks, she thought bitterly) and called for the lift. After what felt like an eternity, the ornate gold doors slid smoothly open to a mercifully empty compartment, and she stepped in gratefully.
Turning around, she pressed the button for her floor and started to revise for the second time the events for her day, when a hand snagged the door, stopping it on its journey to close completely. She looked up.
Following the hand, a suited arm, then a well-tailored, trim torso, and finally the blond head of none other than Draco bloody Malfoy.