Without lifting her gaze from the leather folders she was carrying, Hermione hurried into the elevator and distractedly slammed her palm against the button of the ground floor.
“Staying after-hours again, Granger?”
Hermione flinched at the voice that had spoken over the metallic rattling noise of the golden grilles sliding shut and cast a glance over her shoulder at the man leaning against the far wall. She bowed her head in reluctant greeting.
“I’ve got… paperwork,” she muttered, turning away and trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck.
“Sure. Paperwork…” hummed Malfoy, drawing out the last word in an almost indecent purr. “What about taking this paperwork somewhere else?”
Hermione’s gaze flickered to the golden grilles; they were nearing the Atrium. Malfoy’s office was the closest but they would still have to go back down a few levels.
“I was actually going to suggest my place,” sounded his voice again as though he had guessed her thoughts.
Hermione turned around, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.
“Malfoy…” she started.
“Yes, Granger, I know…” sighed Malfoy, rolling his eyes. “As soon as we take it home it becomes personal. After six months of your repeating it every other night, I get it. What I don’t get is what would be so terrible about it?”
Hermione stood still, taken aback, as the elevator screeched to a halt.
“I don’t- I don’t know…”
“Right,” cut her off Malfoy, his face suddenly shutting, although she glimpsed a flicker of bitterness in his gaze. “After you…” he said coolly, waiting for her to exit the elevator.
Hermione didn’t move.
“I was going to say I don’t know your address,” she said quietly, stepping out into the half-deserted Atrium.
Next moment, she felt a hand settle in the small of her back, firmly steering her to the row of fireplaces.
“Well, that can be easily fixed,” whispered Malfoy’s voice into her ear.