Author's Note: This was written for the Dramione Height Difference 2020 fest on AO3, hosted by the wonderful Musyc.

No beta - WE DIE LIKE MEN. *ahem* All mistakes are my own (and hopefully none are too embarrassing.)

Warnings for explicit consensual sex.

Shifting Perspectives

Day five of a five-day audit.

Hermione Granger, worn out, leaning back with her elbows on the reception desk in Vincet Semper's expansive, twilit lobby. Draco Malfoy, waving the Irish Ministerial representatives off, mirroring their wan smiles and business platitudes. It had been an exhausting week—all early mornings and late nights—but they had made it through. Calmed every nerve and answered every question.

Or Draco had, at least.

He cut a lean figure in his tailored grey robes, hair coiffed and shining bronze in the setting sunlight. Tall, too. Standing at six feet, his height made him hard to miss or ignore. His upright posture only reinforced it: Draco was an authority figure, and therefore automatically respected. The man with all the answers.

The government auditors had been polite to her, of course. They'd met her eyes when she spoke, smiled and nodded at all the right times, even laughed at her jokes, dry as they were. Their behavior was nearly unimpeachable.

Nearly.

Perhaps if she hadn't seen them before, she wouldn't have noticed the unconscious tics and habits that biased their actions. Perhaps if she were a different person—less ambitious or observant, or someone who had lived a life largely unconcerned about prejudicial treatment—she wouldn't have cared.

But she was who she was. She saw what she expected and damned if it didn't still hurt.

Had Draco noticed, too?

An unconscious frown crossed her lips as she slipped her right foot out of her shoe. She let her right hand dangle, casting a clever charm that cooled and freshened with a wiggle of her fingers. The left foot next, her focus drifting in the fleeting moments of relief.

"Are you okay?"

The auditors had Disapparated; there was no telling how long Draco had been standing at the lobby door watching her.

Hermione smiled through her grimace as she slipped her left foot back into the shoe. "Tired," she admitted. "It's been quite the week."

"Care to unwind with a drink?"

It was tempting to refuse him. She had been in the same godet skirt and button-down blouse for twelve hours; the fabric was deeply creased at her waist and starting to chafe at her elbows. Her charmed hairpins were losing strength. She could feel her tight bun slipping, errant curls springing free and wisping to frame her face. Worse, she felt like she could smell herself, a combination of Earl Grey tea, sweat, and fading lavender body lotion.

Not to mention her aching feet.

Draco seemed to see none of that. His eyes were light, the skin around them soft, and his eyebrows were lifted a tick higher than usual. Microexpressions that spoke of hope and excitement. Of interest, despite her rumpled clothes and the bags beneath her eyes.

They walked slowly through the halls of Vincet Semper's headquarters. Most of the staff—financial planners and accountants, regulatory personnel and marketing experts—had left for the day. The conference room lights were extinguished, the cubicles and kitchenette areas gone quiet.

Hermione's footsteps echoed off the ceramic floors, ringing in the silence, but they weren't the click-clack of a confident strut. Instead, her steps were uneven, mincing. Fortunately, the lift was close, and Draco's executive office was only a short walk from there.

She followed him through the frosted glass door of his office, the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a breathtaking panoramic of the Scottish countryside at dusk. The trees showed their autumnal colors, the scattering sunlight playing across the yellows, oranges, and reds. And when the wind scattered the loose leaves, the forest shifted in response, swaying like it had been set ablaze.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, heading to the bar cart. He uncorked a decanter of Firewhisky and shot her an over-the-shoulder glance. "You must be dying in those shoes."

"I'm fine," Hermione said. To prove it, she crossed the office in long, steady strides, biting her tongue against the pain until she could burn it away with the whisky.

"I'm sure." Draco handed her a tumbler, then took a sip of his own drink. He set the glass down and began to unclasp his robe. "I'm relaxing," he said, shrugging out of the garment. "You should, too." He tossed the robe away, and it was caught by a charm before the hem could so much as brush the floor. It floated to hang on a hatstand in the far corner.

"I am relaxed," she said, lifting her drink. "After another one of your pours, I might be asleep."

His look was deadpan, borderline annoyed. "Will you stop it?"

She took another sip to hide her nerves. "Stop what?"

"This act." He gestured vaguely at her. "I don't know what you feel you need to prove, or who you need to prove it to, but I'm not the right audience."

Anger was safer to summon than truth. She set down her tumbler with an audible tap.

"Any more assumptions you'd like to make before I leave?"

He gave her no warning. Just an exaggerated eye roll before grabbing her by the waist and lifting her off her feet. She squealed in surprise, but it was over before she could do more than grip his shoulders for stability. He set her down on his desk, square on his blotter, and caged her in with his arms, closer than he'd been in months.

Hermione's heart lurched. Draco had poached her from the Ministry just two months ago, a long-con he'd executed over a series of fancy meals and questionable business practices. They had traded flirtations along the way, stolen a kiss or two, but never more, and never since she'd signed her employment contract.

She knew why. The hierarchy was clear: he owned Vincet Semper, and she worked for him. A relationship would be inappropriate, but that did nothing to lessen the attraction. If anything, it made him all the more tempting.

"I've noticed." His voice dropped an octave. He looked down between them, to where her feet dangled several inches from the floor. She wore black pumps today; the heels were five inches high.

"I didn't mind at first. I liked hearing you coming." His eyes crawled back up her body, trailing heat. Her breath hitched as their eyes met. "But you don't like them, do you? They're not comfortable."

"I do like them," she said, voice huskier than intended. "But no, they're not comfortable."

"Then why wear them? I don't need—"

"They're not for you," she corrected, somewhat sharply. "They're for me."

His eyebrows flinched upwards. Surprise. She'd been right, then: he hadn't seen it.

"Did you notice anything strange about the auditors' behavior toward me? Anything unusual?"

"No," he said, tensing. "Why? What happened?"

"The same thing that's happened all of my life." Her smile was tight. "I'm consistently underestimated because of my sex. I'm literally overlooked because of my height. These…" She extended her legs with a sigh and rolled her ankles, admiring the pressed suede, hating and loving how they made her feel. "These solve one of those problems."

Draco's gaze had remained locked on her face, unguarded. "I see you."

"Other people need to."

"I'll make them."

"How? I stood right by your side at the audit. I had the answers. But who did they question? Who did they look to for follow up? Who was considered the expert, and who took the notes?"

His brow furrowed. "I didn't realize—"

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I'll do better."

"It's not your fault. I've had to look up to men my whole life. At least with these I can get closer to meeting them eye-to-eye."

Draco reached behind him, fingers outstretched. His chair rolled across the floor, silent, and he lowered himself into it slowly, eyes locked with hers.

Above her, level with her, below her.

Her breath caught as he touched her calves. Sure fingers traced the muscles of her legs, skimmed across the bumps of her ankles, stopped at the heels of her shoes.

"Draco…"

"Tell me to stop."

She wasn't sure if he was asking or ordering, but his eyes were bright and his cheeks pink with a gentle flush.

She said nothing.

Right shoe first, then left, each falling from his palm to the floor with a quiet thump. And then his thumbs pressed into the arch of her right foot.

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned, head hanging loose between her shoulders. For the next five minutes, all that existed were Draco's hands pressing into her aching soles, soothing her pain with steady pressure and whispered spells.

Her eyes fluttered open when his hands drifted back to her ankles, her calves, her knees… Almost on instinct, she let them fall open, but his touch went no further, stopping just below the hem of her skirt. He looked dazed.

"We should go," he said. "We shouldn't—"

She leaned forward and cut him off with a kiss, stunning him into a moment of stillness. Then his lips moved against hers, and the question of what they should or should not do was answered.

Draco curled an arm around her waist and dragged her forward off the desk. She eased onto his lap in a straddle, her skirt rucking up around her rear. She rolled her hips forward, feeling the length of him against her thigh. Draco wasted no time, pulling her shirt's hem from the waist of her skirt and undoing its buttons, only slowing when he'd bared her front.

Hermione lowered her shoulders, and the blouse landed on the floor behind them. Draco broke their kiss at the sound of falling fabric and drank her in with eyes the color of a storm. Slowly, she reached behind her. The straps of her bra slid down her shoulders, exposing her breasts.

Like a man before an idol, he worshipped her. Warm breath against her skin, lips tracing her curves, tongue flicking her nipples, bringing them to peaks and sending a searing jolt of desire through her as he nibbled and sucked. She threaded her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, delighting in each sensation.

His hands were warm against the skin of her lower back and the curve of her hip, exploring in a slow wander. Hermione ignored them, their paths of secondary importance against the feel of his mouth on her nipple, until one drifted past the seam of her thigh-high stockings and up the heightened hem of her skirt, stopping at the edge of her knickers.

Her hands fisted, pulled. Draco lifted his head from the swell of her breasts, looked a question at her.

"Now," she rasped.

She pulled herself from his grasp and fumbled her way back atop his desk, removing her knickers in the process. Draco undid his belt, dropping his trousers and pants in one swift movement. He did not give her time to ogle; a vague impression of length and girth, an instinctive estimation of angle and force was all she needed.

They met at the desk's edge, Hermione's knees canting wide, Draco stepping between them. He dipped a hand beneath her skirt, his fingers skimming across her slit, eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the feel of her wet heat.

"Tell me…" A low rumble. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she said. "This."

He nodded, but didn't move, his brow tense with concentration. "It's safe," he said. "I'm clean, I'm on a contraceptive, I'm—"

"Ready," she finished for him. "Just like me. You have nothing to worry about. Draco…" She reached for him, pulled herself up to him with a hand on his shoulder, convincing him with a kiss.

Their breath mingled as he pushed into her, his shuddering exhale the counterpoint to her measured inhale. She stretched around him, each aching inch of her filled until their hips met and he could go no further.

He paused for a moment, breathed. Hermione held herself steady with her hands on his shoulders. Their foreheads pressed. The feel of his body against hers, the impossibility of it, that they could connect in this way despite their history, threatened to overwhelm her. Perhaps he felt it, too.

"Hermione?"

She nodded, kissed him. "I'm with you."

He rocked against her, slow at first. Intentional. Languishing in every sensation, not wanting to rush. But control could only hold for so long; the press of her hands against him and the encouragement whispered along his lips were his undoing. His thrusts grew harder, more determined. His angle shifted, driving him deeper.

Pressure built in her belly, rising as steadily as a wave approaching the shore. She curled her fingers into the hair at his nape, her body taut, teetering on the edge of release. She found it on the next thrust, a wave of pleasure crashing over her as her body pulsed around him. He joined her a moment later, his grip on her tight as he released deep within her.

She didn't know how long they remained like that, bliss-struck and bound, but eventually he slipped free of her. Before she could move, pressed his fingers to her opening. She gasped, then shivered as a tingle of magic sparked over her sensitized skin. A standard self-care spell. Tears pricked her eyes; he was the first partner who had ever bothered to take care of her.

Hermione eased off the desk and dashed at her eyes while Draco buckled his belt. Her mind was a riot, spinning with questions that had no firm answers yet. Namely:

What had they done?

And where did they go from here?

"Would you like to grab dinner?" Draco asked.

She looked up from the task of buttoning her shirt, wondering for a moment if she had spoken aloud. "I… I'm not…"

He interrupted her stammering with a step forward. His hands closed over hers, stilling them halfway up her blouse. His finger traced the V of skin between her breasts, a familiar, intimate touch.

"You're worth more to me than an office shag, Hermione. When you're ready, I want to do this properly."

"Do what?"

"Date you." A matter-of-fact statement of purpose. No dissembling or hiding, no fear of rejection or scorn. Just his desires laid bare for her judgment, whatever it might be.

"It took me a lifetime to learn how," he continued, "but I see you, Hermione. Eye-to-eye. I'd like the chance to prove it."

Funny thing was: he already had. By recognizing her potential and how the Ministry had been squandering it. By pursuing her relentlessly, even when she doubted her own value and abilities. By negotiating fairly and treating her like an equal partner, regardless of the lines on the org chart. Even tonight, he had listened to her concerns, apologized for his ignorance, and promised to do better.

And she believed him. He had come so far in understanding her perspective; she had no doubt of his ability to continue the trend.

Hermione twined her fingers with his, then looked up at him with a cheeky grin.

"It's risky," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "Mixing business with pleasure."

"It is," he acknowledged, mock-serious. "But I wouldn't ask if I weren't sure. We executive types are notoriously risk-averse, you know."

"Are you saying I'm a safe bet?"

"No." Draco captured her lips in an easy kiss, and when they parted, he wore a genuine smile. "I'm saying you're the best one."

The End