Chapter Text
Hermione woke to the thudding rhythm above her head. Ever since moving into her new apartment, she hadn’t managed to sleep past six in the morning. Her upstairs neighbors seemed to think dawn was the perfect time for dance classes—or perhaps they were simply determined to test the limits of gravity.
With a frustrated groan, she pushed the sheets off her body and swung her legs to the floor. Another long day awaited her. She padded into the kitchenette, the hum of traffic already filtering through the thin windows, and set the coffee pot brewing. As the rich aroma filled the tiny space, she rubbed at her eyes, replaying the choices that had led her here.
After two years at Brown University, Hermione had decided to transfer to Columbia, chasing the challenge and pace of New York City. She told herself she loved the energy, the noise, the endless opportunities—but sometimes she wondered if she’d made her life more complicated than it needed to be.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, flashing a reminder she didn’t need.
Interview at 9:00 a.m. Don’t be late.
Her stomach tightened. She still couldn’t believe she had let her classmate, Parvati, talk her into this. “You’ll be brilliant,” Parvati had said, dismissing Hermione’s protests with a careless wave. “Besides, you write better than I do. He won’t even notice you’re nervous.”
He.
Draco Malfoy.
The youngest CEO in New York finance, if the gossip columns were to be believed. Brilliant. Ruthless. Beautiful, apparently—though Hermione couldn’t imagine caring less about that. Men like him were untouchable, perched on their ivory towers with too much money, too much control, and far too little conscience.
Still, she had agreed. She had promised. And now there was no escape.
By the time she had dressed—cream blouse, charcoal skirt, her most professional pair of flats—and wrangled her curls into something resembling order, the knot in her stomach had hardened into steel. She grabbed her notebook and recorder, shoving them into her worn leather satchel, and stepped out into the cool morning.
The city wrapped around her instantly: the rush of cars, the bite of exhaust, the endless tide of people moving with purpose. New York was a living creature—loud, insistent, always demanding more. Hermione matched the pace of the crowd, forcing her steps to stay even, controlled, though her heart felt anything but steady.
Halfway down the block, her phone buzzed again. She fished it from her bag and answered.
“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice crackled through the line, bright and impatient. “Tell me you’re on your way.”
“I’m on my way,” Hermione said, weaving around a man selling coffee from a cart. “Though I might be sick before I even get there.”
Ginny laughed, low and wicked. “You? Sick? You faced down Professor Snape without blinking. You’ve got this. It’s just a man.”
“A man who runs half of Manhattan finance,” Hermione muttered.
“A man who also happens to be devastatingly handsome,” Ginny countered. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I can hear it through the phone. Everyone says he’s like… stupidly attractive. Dangerous attractive. Don’t tell me you haven’t at least Googled him?”
“I didn’t,” Hermione said primly. Which was only half true. She had tried once, but slammed her laptop shut when a glossy photo of his pale blond hair and sharp jawline made her stomach swoop unpleasantly.
“Mmhmm,” Ginny said, clearly unconvinced. “Well, remember this: confidence, charm, and if you get nervous, picture him in ridiculous socks. No one’s terrifying in socks.”
Hermione almost laughed, tension breaking for a fraction of a second. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re brilliant,” Ginny shot back. “Now go knock him off his pedestal. Call me after.”
The call ended, but Ginny’s teasing words lingered, echoing alongside Hermione’s growing dread as she descended into the subway.
The subway ride blurred by, all screeching brakes and shifting bodies. She tried to focus on her notes, but the words slipped through her brain like water.
Stick to the questions, she ordered herself. Stay professional. Don’t let him get under your skin.
When she finally emerged onto Fifth Avenue, she stopped dead on the sidewalk.
The building rose before her like a monument to ambition—sleek glass and steel climbing skyward, dazzling in the morning light. The name Malfoy Enterprises gleamed across the entrance in bold, commanding letters.
Her chest tightened.
This was it.
Hermione drew in a breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed herself forward.
Inside, the lobby was cavernous, designed to impress and intimidate. Polished marble stretched across the floor, chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, and men and women in sharp suits moved with quiet efficiency.
At the reception desk, the young woman behind it looked impossibly perfect: sleek ponytail, crimson lips, the kind of posture Hermione could never master.
“Name?” the receptionist asked.
“Hermione Granger,” she managed.
“You’re expected. Top floor.”
Hermione murmured her thanks and walked to the elevators, her reflection following her in the glossy gold doors. She looked pale, curls pinned back too tightly, blouse buttoned high. Sensible. Safe. Entirely out of place in a building like this.
The elevator hummed as it ascended, each chime marking the floors ticking away, her pulse rising higher with them.
At last, the doors opened.
The top floor was hushed, cloaked in an intimidating silence. The air felt cooler, sharper, as though even the oxygen was rationed by power. At the end of the corridor, massive wooden doors loomed.
His doors.
Hermione swallowed hard and forced her feet forward. Each click of her flats echoed too loudly, announcing her nerves. She stopped before the doors, wiped her sweaty palms against her skirt, and reached for the handle—
When the doors suddenly swung open.
Hermione gasped, startled, and stumbled forward. Her flats slid against the polished floor, her bag slipping from her shoulder. With a graceless flail, she pitched forward through the doorway.
She landed hard on her knees, the strap of her satchel tangling around her arm, her notebook skittering across the immaculate floor like a dropped stone.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
She had fallen into Draco Malfoy’s office.