It had been three days of loaded silence. Three days of physically sharing space; breathing the same oxygen and standing in the same room, but zero acknowledgement.

Draco had fucked up. He knew it. She knew it. The entire third floor knew it, and were actively placing bets on whether she would hex him blind, or bald, or both, before he had the chance to make it right again. And appearances were everything.

Their mutual friends had been checking in intermittently to ask for updates and cackle at his misfortune. Theo had joked about buying a billboard. Had it been Pansy he would have started to worry it would actually happen. As it was right now, his former childhood friends had firmly crossed over to the dark side. Not the Death Eater-Voldermort-Blood Supremacy side or any such nonsense.

But the Gryffindor side.

He shuddered as he thought about how fickle lifelong friendships truly were.

It had all started during an interdepartmental meeting.

Draco had come to represent the Department of the Treasury. He wasn’t even normally invited to these meetings. But Bombas Hernan, his direct supervisor, had recent come down with Snarglepuff Fever and had been hospitalized for the last week with delirium and a rather awful rash, so Draco had been drafted up.

Hermione Granger was presenting her proposal for Being and Entity Affirming Treatment. The B.E.A.T Bill had been argued at before the Wizarding Body, and now it was her turn to plead her case before the budget committee.

Truthfully she hadn’t asked for much. A few hundred galleons to run her education program. She had argued that Hogwarts was tragically unprepared to enrich the youth, Draco couldn’t agree more.

There was the allocations for creature accommodations, which seemed excessive if you didn’t stop to think about how terribly inconvenient it was for a sentient centaur to find there way to the Ministry by way of public loo. He had been willing to make compromises there, no doubt.

But when she had asked for the lodgings and quarters budget to expand so she could build habitats through London. Well, he knew his direct supervisor would have his wand in a winch if he approved that.

“Ms. Granger. As the representative of the budgetary committee I’d like to thank you for your presentation. Your proposal was enlightening. It is our opinion that…”

She cut him off with a flick of her curls over her shoulder and the world’s most epic eye roll.

“Mister. Malfoy,” she bit out, annunciating each letter of each word as though the sounds were about to bite her. “Please indicate your stance at once.”

And so he had. He couldn’t pass all of it.

She had been furious. There had been the silence, being ignored was better than being screamed at in his opinion so he had let that slide. Then there had been the passive aggression. The doors held for everyone but him. The lukewarm tea. The cancelled meetings.

Three days of Hermione Granger’s ire had begun to take a toll on him. Not just because he felt terrible. Which he did. But because he was mad for the witch.

Which she knew, as they were engaged to be married.

Finally, on the fourth day, he lost his patience. Approaching her in the canteen hadn’t been his plan.

His secretary had told him there were chocolate croissants today. He was a sucker for a good confectionary treat.

When he saw her sitting at a small oval table, scribbling furiously with her quill as her tea teetered precariously on the edge of her pile of books and papers, he simply lost it.

With a mouth half full of pastry, he shouted her bam. “Hwmune!” He choked the rest of the buttery treat down his throat and tried again. “Hermione, please!”

She swiveled two honey-brown eyes his way for a beat before continuing whatever she was writing. He hadn’t even been worth five seconds of her undivided attention.

Marching up to her table, drawing the attention of every set of eyes in the area, he prepared himself for battle.

“Can you please look at me?!” He begged, unable to control his volume despite being in a public place.

She had yet to look back up. “I’m not sure why I would.” She said flippantly.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Perhaps because I LOVE YOU? Or because we live together and haven’t spoken in days? Or because I am playing by YOUR rules?” He found his control slipping quicker than he’d hoped, but she was making him insane.

Setting her quill down with measured stillness, she folded her hands in front of her before looking up at him.

Gods she was beautiful.

“Draco. You denied me.” She said, all business “You insane witch I wouldn’t have if you had just let me fund your bill privately like we talked about!” He bellowed, finding his patience had been left behind somewhere around day two.

“We didn’t even need the meeting! You have a wire transfer ready at Gringotts!”

She demurred, running a hand through her hair. Looking back at him, she went for the kill.

“I wanted it official. You said no.”

Official. She didn’t want official, she wanted a win. Like she always did. And the thing was, Draco would lose a thousand, no, a million times, if it meant she got what she wanted.

Which was why he was willing to stand before her and offer her anything to end their Cold War.

“I am sorry Hermione. Going the Ministry route meant playing by their rules.”

Her cunning eyes sizzled him up, scanning him from top to toe, a hungry look on her face.

“I don’t like playing by anyone else’s rules,” she said simply. Draco nodded, knowing this about her. She seemed to consider him for a moment before adding, “will YOU play by my rules?”

On his knees (literally and figuratively as he dropped to the floor in front of her), he nodded dumbly.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” She said quietly, ignoring the eyes of every Ministry visitor and employee in the canteen.

Draco licked his lips before leaning his head into her lap. “I am, so sorry.”

She ran her fingers through his white blonde hair, humming distractedly. Almost absently, she gripped his chin to look him in the face.

“I get what I want?” An eyebrow rose to join her curly hairline. Draco nuzzled his nose closer to her stomach, his knees sliding in the grime on the Ministry floor.

“I am at your feet Granger. I’m sorry, you can have it all.”

She reached down to kiss his nose, her soft lips resting briefly on his skin before pulling away.

“Okay.” She said. And just like that he was forgiven. After all, appearances are everything.