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Draco schemes.
Not only because it's what he's good at and what he knows—it is—but mainly Draco schemes because he can. When it pertains to the things he cares about, Draco is the definition of clever, the epitome of hardworking, and the antithesis of stagnation. He devours every obstacle that stands in his way.
Except one.
Granger.
He's stockpiled every scrap of information she's ever given him, and he's studied her, learning what he's known long before she was ever his partner: she's infuriating to the point of apoplexy, logical to the point of dullness, and self-righteous to the point of bossiness. Granger sees nothing and everything, is both brilliant and stupid. Her organised chaos makes him want to scream.
But Draco can't help wanting her.
It's madness.
For the most part, he says the right things at the right time, but only because he has to. Rewards are better than punishment with Granger and he's scheming his way into her orbit.
He can't fuck it up. Draco pretends to get along with Weasley, brings her cruelty-free coffee and books she peeks at but never buys. He'd build her a library, start a house-elf commune, fight for every single one of her causes if she asked.
But she never does. Not that it matters.
No matter what he does, Draco can't seem to get her to notice anything.
Not even him.
So, after four years of scheming, he takes his plan in a different direction. He takes a page out of Granger's book and reads. Not that he doesn't normally, Draco reads as much as anyone, but now he's reading for a purpose, and that purpose is her.
Draco figures out her tastes and preferences in wizards. Or, he tries to. He doesn't have a lot to go on.
When he asks Pansy and Ginny for help, they exchange looks and laugh hysterically for ten minutes straight. Draco leaves despite them calling for him to come back in the midst of their cackling fits. The failure makes him go at it alone, gathering what he does know and making a plan.
Granger dated Weasley for a spell, and went on a date with Dean Thomas that went nowhere. Krum floats in and out of the picture in ways that make him cringe when she comes in smiling the day after their dates. But she's done with him. International relationships never work.
And now it's his turn.
Granger, Draco learns after Pansy and Ginny redeem themselves, is surprisingly romantic for someone who wields the power of her mind like the weapon it is. She likes big moments and small gestures, which is perfectly contrary, perfectly Granger in a way he's liked for years.
Draco reads about the language of flowers and finds it all soppy as fuck, but there's the matter of risk versus reward he can't ignore. And the reward is more than worth it, so he picks out the perfect bouquet, learning too late that his research failed to mention that Granger is allergic to every flower that speaks to his affection.
He throws them in the rubbish, tosses the bin out of their office, and calls for the Healer on duty. When Granger recovers, she asks him who the flowers were from. He lies.
"Krum."
"Oh."
At Christmas, Draco tries to get her under the mistletoe through every form of manipulation he knows, but she spends the night surrounded by their mutual friends, laughing and talking and drinking wine. When he finally gets Granger alone, she's flushed and pliant, but way too pissed to snog. He's no brute, so he puts her to bed, closes the door, and sleeps on the sofa. He doesn't sulk.
He does not.
Really.
Draco just tries again.
After all, next week is New Year's Eve. A perfect time for a new beginning—with him, of course.
But that doesn't go according to plan either.
Draco keeps her in sight all night. Not approaching. Just watching. He drinks enough not to draw suspicion but not too much. He wants to remember this. He makes his way to her five minutes before midnight, ready to start a conversation that will bring him to the pinnacle moment…
But then Pansy gets sick—everywhere.
Granger and Daphne help her out of the room. He spends the midnight countdown spelling vomit out of his antique rug and scowling at all the witches who chance a glance in his direction for their midnight kiss.
Potter pats his shoulder sympathetically and says, "Maybe next year." And when Blaise and Theo join in laughing, he decides he needs better friends.
They're all dead to him.
For a week.
"Hear me out, you could just… I don't know, tell her." Theo makes the rational suggestion in March after two more failures, one of which included Valentine's Day. Draco didn't attempt flowers again. He went with sweets and chocolate and learned very quickly that she didn't eat either.
At all.
Because they cause cavities.
"I can't do that," Draco argues. "It has to be a moment. A gesture. She likes romantic shite like that."
Theo can't help but laugh. "She would… if she actually noticed."
Draco drops his head on the table and it takes every bit of his restraint not to bang it against the wood.
Repeatedly.
"Bugger." Theo takes the word right out of his mouth. "You could always create a moment. Doesn't have to be a holiday."
An idea surges through him and he lifts his head. "You're a genius."
"I'm aware."
Draco tinkers.
Actually, the correct verbiage is sabotage, but he's desperate and so deep in semantics that he can't care about vocabulary when he's too busy creating a moment. One that involves them being trapped together, forced to huddle for warmth.
It's genius.
All he has to do is cause a little chaos with the Ministry's temperature regulation charms, make sure no one finds out and they're trapped alone, and….
It doesn't work.
Granger's aware of how to fix temperature charms after one particular incident he forgot about years ago. So, when it starts snowing and the temperature drops into the negatives in seconds, when he suggests they huddle for warmth, Granger scoffs at him like his idea is painfully absurd. She whips out her wand and fixes it with a series of charms that make her hair stand on end.
Hours of manipulating for nothing.
Draco would hate her for it if she weren't so bloody brilliant. If watching her perform complicated magic didn't play into his fantasies for the next few days. Weeks.
He goes back to the drawing board.
Literally.
It's in his home office. Books and parchment are arranged on his desk, and binned ideas litter the floor around the rubbish. Empty teacups are everywhere. He spends a lot of time there. Sue him.
Over the next three months, he tries other things. He locks them in a closet in the archive room, but she blasts the door off the hinges because she lives to make his life miserable.
Draco fakes going on dates to make her upset, but Granger never blinks twice. He pretends to be sick so she'll bring over tea and soup, but she sends a laughing Pansy instead.
Draco tries to create every cheesy moment he can. He sits close to her when she's reading, but Granger never looks up once. He asks her to attend an event with him for charity. Granger ends up spending the night impressing everyone into shelling out their Galleons for the cause. Draco watches films with her, pretends to yawn in order to curl an arm over her shoulder, but she cuts it off and sends him home. No kiss.
By June, he's frustrated to the point of dramatics, and Granger's putting in increasingly aggressive work orders to Magical Maintenance while glaring suspiciously at everything in their workspace. He's tried that locked door scheme to death and it shows in her paranoia.
What Draco doesn't do is lose his composure.
He's cool, calm, and collected… on the outside. Internally, he's more like a Regency-era bloke yelling his emotions every time he sees her, but he's better than that.
Sort of.
He's considered it.
But no.
Maybe.
Draco's close to breaking when an opportunity he can't fuck up falls into his lap: a Magical Law conference. It's in Boston and they're both required to attend. Just like that, Draco's moment is realised. It all falls together quickly. The conference is large, their invitations came late so all the hotels in the area are booked. The one they do find has one room, and even better, one bed.
It's kismet.
Granger looks put out but agrees and Draco has a hard time not throwing a celebratory fist in the air.
Only just.
When they arrive, it's the afternoon; the sun is shining, and Boston's weather is unforgivingly hot. A heatwave, they say. The conference starts tomorrow and Granger wants to explore, but Draco has everything planned. Room first. Exploring a city two centimetres from the sun second. But when they get to the counter to check-in, the man puts a Granger-esque Blasting Charm into his plan.
"Oh, so sorry. It looks like your original reservation was switched." Draco immediately doesn't like the sound of that. "Your reservation was made with one bed, but the only rooms left have two. My apologies, Mr Malfoy. We will compliment—"
"But—" He almost argues, but Granger's looking at him curiously so he remains calm. "Thank you." His tone is so polite it makes the employee's eyes shift from side to side. Fight or flight. Draco threatens him with another glare, snatches the room key, grabs his bag, and storms towards the lift with Granger trailing behind him.
When he lets them in, the room is nice and spacious, but sure enough, there are two beds. Draco aggressively drops his bag on one and that time he does sulk, but he makes sure to do it in the privacy of the kitchenette with a generic tea he knows Granger will hate.
Coffee in tea bags? He bins each abomination without thought.
Just when he finishes his pity party for one and remembers Granger is in the room, Draco hears the sound of the curtain being opened, sees the light filtering in from the window. The sun is the exact opposite of his bleak mood. And—
"I suppose this is another one of your failures."
Dread shoots from the pit of his stomach and settles in his throat. He turns to Granger, who is watching him from the other side of the room. Her expression is not one he's ever seen. Panic calls for him to retract everything, deny all his planning and efforts for the last several months, but then she chuckles. It turns into a laugh so loud she tosses her head back, hair everywhere, and it makes Draco smile, despite his mortification.
"How long have you known?"
Granger doesn't answer until she's standing in front of him. "I wasn't sure until the fourth time you locked us in a room together. I think I owe Magical Maintenance an apology for all of my strongly worded notes."
When the pieces fall together, her confession doesn't make him laugh. It irritates him. She's known since April, and still, she let him fumble around for the last two months. "You just let me—"
"I was hoping you'd just tell me."
"I was creating a moment." Draco scowls, refusing to entertain the notion that Theo might have been right. "You like gestures. I—"
"I happen to like you." A blush appears on her cheeks as she uselessly tucks her hair behind her ear.
It's everything he's been waiting for.
Draco gathers her in his arms, kisses her in a way that conveys how long—months, years—he's been waiting for this moment.
It's perfect.
The embodiment of who Granger is: fierce and bold, full of promise and electricity. Accompanied by a quiet sound, it sinks into his skin and bones and sets him on fire. Pitched low, it trails off into a sigh that does nothing but spike the urgency.
In no time, they're pulling at each other's clothes, moving towards the bed, each kiss more than the kiss before. When the last of their clothes are kicked off, Draco has one fleeting thought of waiting; one thought about timing and creating moments, things he's obsessed over for months, but they leave his mind when Granger's smile goes roguish under him.
"If you insist on us having a moment, we can pretend there's only one bed."
Draco almost swallows his tongue at the implication. "That won't be necessary."
It isn't a big moment or a small gesture, but it is the beginning of something that is theirs.