Hello my lovely readers,

I am so happy to share this plot bunny with you! I suppose this is my take on the Dramione marriage idea so many people have done wonderful jobs illustrating in their own renditions. Thank you for taking the time to read (and hopefully review!)

Cheers!

-Writethesun

Disclaimer: I own nothing of these characters except their actions towards one another and perhaps the thoughts in their minds.

Warnings: This story (and indeed this chapter) contains mature themes of alcohol, violence, gambling, dubcon and dubious noncon. Please only read if you are old enough to do so. I would really feel terrible if someone were scarred for life because they didn't stop reading right now!


The Illegalities of Goblin Wine

Very little is known about Goblin made wine except that it is illegal in England, it contains hallucinogenic properties, and it is stupidly expensive. Why on earth Draco Malfoy, current ambassador to the French Minister of Magic and candidate for Minister of Magic was wagering a thousand year old bottle in the parlor of the Delacour house, was anybody's guess. But he sat, dress robes strewn around his coiffed figure, silver blond hair falling into his handsome features, with a wand and cards in his hands, at the Delacour poker table and some of the Europe's most influential figures equally engrossed around him. The bottle, and other various objects of similar worth were hovering over the table in what looked like little golden cages, suspended for the tens of men crowding around the table to drool over no doubt.

A tall man, dressed in rented-but-elegant dress robes and an orchid blossom pinned to his right breast, pushed his way through the crowd. He had noticeably red hair, and his usually jovial expression darkened upon seeing the blond wizard. A path cleared between the two, allowing for the ginger man to approach at a distance Draco found distinctly unpleasant.

"What are you doing here?" The man demanded.

"Playing cards," Draco drawled. "You?"

The man, whose name was in fact Ron Weasley, stood himself up to his full height and his blue eyes flashed with ill-held irritation. Drawing his wand slowly, he growled out, "This is my wedding. I don't believe you were on the guest list."

"'Ee's 'ere at my invitation," Monsieur Delacour told him matter-a-factly. He picked up a new card and winced, putting all the cards he had on the table and drawing a snake with his wand in midair. "But per'aps I would 'ave been richer if 'ees invitation was lost in ze floo."

Draco chuckled darkly as Monsieur Delacour's contribution to the poker table was released from its golden cage and floated over Draco's relaxed form. If one looked closely, it would have been possible to notice that most of the objects floating above the table were hovering in Draco's general direction.

"I haven't been known to lose at card games, Patrick." Draco told the stout man, who stood and conjured a chair to Draco's left, perhaps to watch the master play the rest of the game.

"I want to play," Ron announced.

Draco looked up at him, surprised he was still there.

"No offence, Weasley, but I doubt you could afford the buy in," Draco told him.

Ron's lips curled. "Seeing as how you're at my wedding, I should say I don't have to have a buy-in." The tall ginger man strode around the table, oblivious or uncaring towards the people he shoved backwards and landed himself down in Monsieur Delacour's previously vacant chair. The table recognized the magic immediately and before Ron Weasley knew what was happening the table had manufactured cards for his hands and an open golden cage was in front of him, ready to be filled. "What the bloody-"

"You're an idiot," Draco told him calmly.

Ron tried to stand, but it was as though he had never given the command to his legs. He was stuck at the table and only Monsieur Delacour looked the least bit worried.

"My move?" Draco asked the table, as though one of its occupants wasn't about to hyperventilate. "And I think…" looking at Ron Weasley's failing attempts to spell himself out of the chair, "…a brandy for Mr. Weasley."

A house-elf appeared and placed a tall glass of brown liquid in front of Ron before disappearing with a crack. Draco turned to his right and addressed a silver haired man with dark eyebrows and a mustache.

"Francis, I really wasn't expecting to see you here. Aside from your friendship with Patrick," he indicated to Monsieur Delacour to his left, "who is related to the Weasley's by marriage, of course. I did not realize you knew Ron Weasley or had any desire to attend-"

"How do I get out of this bloody fucking chair!" Ron bellowed finally. Draco turned his head lazily and a smirk cracked from under his bored poker face.

"I thought you wanted to play poker, Weasley." Draco told him.

"My cards are blank and I can't get up," Ron snapped. His face was turning purple at an alarming rate.

"Well..." Draco said, making a big show of gesturing towards the golden cage which had gotten closer and closer to Ron in his attempts to stand. "Perhaps you should buy in so you can be accepted."

"I thought we agreed I didn't have to," Ron said petulantly.

"That's not how the game works, I'm afraid." Draco snapped his fingers and a glass of brandy was brought and placed on the table before him by the same small house-elf before it disappeared with another crack. No one paid it any attention. "Now go ahead and put something in that cage so we can all carry on our afternoons. We'll sit here until we're old, you know. It only ends when someone has won and you have a wedding-night to enjoy if I'm not mistaken. Despite being a mudblood, your wife certainly was built like an Italian courtesan."

Ron whipped his wand from his robes and pointed it menacingly at Draco before it was ripped out of his hands and suck to the table. Ron looked around but everyone seemed a bit bored by his antics.

"That," Draco said indicated towards the wand Ron had tried to hex him with, "is also not permissible in this game."

There was a long silence in which Draco was shuffling his cards around and other members of the table snapped their fingers and the drinks of their preferences were either brought to them or refilled by a team of house-elves. Monsieur Delacour looked a bit green at the prospect of the game going on longer than the original time he had allotted for it. Draco had not been lying. If Ron did not buy in the game would not release any of them. The only way out was to fold or win.

"What's the buy in?" Ron asked after some time.

"I'm glad you asked," Draco said, never looking up from his cards. "Four point four million galleons."

Ron, who had been taking a tentative sip of his brandy, spat it back out with such vigor that someone, most likely the dark-eyebrowed man called Francis, threw up a shield charm to repel the spittle. The resulting, rebounding mess landed back in Ron's face and made him gasp.

He looked decidedly revolting in that moment. Draco wondered idly why a witch, even one as lowly as Hermione Granger had agreed to marry him at all. He shuddered at the thought of waking up every morning to that face, or having it echoed in any way in his children.

"You're joking," Ron sputtered.

"You see that," Draco said as though Ron had not just made a complete mess of himself at his own wedding. He pointed up towards the wine, floating in the center of the golden cages like a crowned jewel. "That is thousand year old goblin wine. It's been in my family for generations and Monsieur Delacour coerced me to bring it into this little card game that you have so...graciously decided to join because I owe him a great favor. It has never before left the manor." The way Draco said gracious gave Ron and everyone else in the room the impression that gracious was the last thing he meant by that word. "It was my buy in. You'll have to bring something of equal value."

"Patr..." Ron started towards Monsieur Delaour, but stuttered once he caught the gruff expression of his brother's father-in-law. It was clear to everyone in the room that Ron Weasley was not allowed to call Monsieur Delacour, Patrick. "Uh... Monsieur Delacour, what was your buy in?"

"My chateaux in Normandy." The stout man said. "And eet eez of equal value, you can be sure."

Draco watched Ron swallow hard with no small amount of satisfaction and twirled his wand in his left hand. It was not hard to assume that Ron Weasley possessed nothing worth the single value of four point four million galleons, and indeed nothing with the cumulative value either. The sweat building up on Ron's brow threatened to tear torrents down his swollen face. Draco set down his wand and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to ease Ron's plight, but the redhead shunned it away as if it were an insult. It had been, in fact, an insult. Draco pocketed the serviette with a rogue grin and idly went back to toying with his wand.

"I think I'll raise," Draco told the room. The occupants at the table shifted nervously. Draco was well renowned in the poker circles, and though they had all put something on the table in the hopes of winning, no one had really thought they would best Draco Malfoy who had, as legend had it, been schooled in wizards poker by his grandfather Abraxas Malfoy when he was five. Poor Ron Weasley looked as though he might faint.

"Malfoy manor." A cage appeared in front of Draco and he conjured with his wand what looked to be the deed to Malfoy Manor. The occupants of the table groaned and snakes were being drawn as cards were flipped over and people removed themselves from the table until there were none but Draco and Ron. The cage closed once the deed was inside and floated around all the other cages in the air.

Ron chuckled nervously.

"You raise me Malfoy Manor? You're ancestral home?" Ron asked. Incredulity laced his every syllable. "And you expect me to have something that can match that?"

"You haven't even bought into the game," Draco reminded him.

"I haven't got anything," Ron admitted.

Draco sighed, "Come now, Weasel-king. You can't have nothing to your name."

"I have..." Ron wiped the sweat from his brow with the cuff of his sleeve. "I have a house my parents gave Hermione and me for our wedding."

"Can't be worth much," Draco commented. "If the Weasley's bought it."

There was a moment of riotous laughter in the room, as though there was nothing more funny in the world than the thought of a Weasley buying a house worth more than a few knuts, and for a second, Draco thought Ron Weasley was going to try and hex him again. But Ron surprised him by swallowing what could only be described as pride and boring his blue eyes into the steal grey of the Malfoy heir.

"It's not worth much," Ron echoed. "But it is something. I have an owl as well."

"I don't need your owl," Draco drawled. "And I doubt it alone could qualify as a buy-in." It was met with another round of laughter from the room.

"There must be a way to let me up from the table," Ron's tone had taken on an almost pleading quality. "Please, I just got married-"

"You have a wife," Draco said. His voice had turned sinister, and something about it had driven the hairs on Ron's arms to stand upright as though he were woodland prey.

Ron looked at Draco as though he were slow. "Yes," Ron said slowly. "You attended my wedding."

Draco held up a finger. "I didn't, actually. I passed through the reception on my way here with just enough time to see how wonderful your mudblood bride looked in her wedding robes. They must have cost her more than your yearly salary. It's amazing your masculinity was intact enough to pronounce your vows." More laughter from the room. "The wedding, I missed. But you brought up an interesting point. Your greatest asset, my dear Weasel, is perhaps your dear wife."

The room fell silent. As though no one dared draw breath lest that change the events that were beginning to unfold.

"How do you mean?" Ron asked.

"It's simple," Draco explained as though he were entreating a child. "I have placed incredible wealth in front of you, and you are unable to leave this table until we have played a little game. You, on the other hand, have nothing to offer but a cottage, an owl -who's age I dare not even inquire about- and...your wife."

Realization dawned on Ron. "She's not my property."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Of course she is," he reasoned. "Did you not perform a standard wizarding marriage?"

Ron seemed at a loss for words.

"Eet was," Monsieur Delacour told Draco from his right. "Amelia Bones married zhem. Eet was far more traditional zhen I would 'ave thought coming from a mudblood."

At this, it looked as though Ron had meant to stand up but couldn't again. Draco turned from Monsieur Delacour and shot Ron an exasperated look. Ron stopped his struggles, or it seemed that way, as his face had turned less purple and more flesh colored.

"What sum would you give your wife then?" Draco said softly. "Would you value her at four point four million galleons? The price of my goblin wine? Or perhaps an insurmountable sum of my manor and all of the treasures inside? Is she truly priceless?"

"I'm not putting Hermione in that little cage like livestock," Ron told him stubbornly.

The whole room seemed to laugh at him again and Ron had the decency to blush a bit.

"You wouldn't have to put the newest Mrs. Weasel in there," Draco assured, though his eyes danced as though the idea were humorous beyond words. "Only your marriage contract." He sighed dramatically and tossed his silver-blond hair out of his eyes. "If you win you'll be drinking goblin wine in a Manor for your honeymoon."

"We were supposed to go to France," Ron objected weakly. But his wand was already drawn.

"I don't have to remind you that you're already in France," Draco told him. He then turned, alarmed, to Monsieur Delacour. "My good man, Patrick," Draco exclaimed. "You weren't going to host their honeymoon were you?"

Monsieur Delacour looked a bit shaken up. "I 'ad offered my ancestral 'ome to ze brother of my daughter's 'usband." His stout face grew and bit heated and he felt the need to add, "Out of charity of course."

"Of course," Draco echoed distractedly. His attention was already back to Ron. He had grown infinitely impatient. Didn't Weasley realize that they were both unable to leave the poker table until Weasley made his move? They could be there for years. Literally. "I'm not keen on the idea of living out my life in this parlor. As much as Patrick would love to host me, I'm sure."

There was a fair amount of mumbling from Monsieur Delacour and the other occupants in the room. The same elf that had delivered Ron's brandy earlier came to refill the glass he hadn't realized he had emptied. And Draco remained motionless, as though he were poised to enter a battlefield. Ron raised his wand further than before and conjured within the golden cage in front of him, his marriage license to Hermione Jean Granger. The cage closed, having been sated, and joined the others dancing above the table. Draco smiled.

"Your turn I believe," he said to the sweating ginger across from him.

To say that Ron's hands were shaking badly would have been akin to saying the final battle at Hogwarts in 1997 was tragic, a true enough statement, but it somehow fails to capture the gravity of the event. Ron's hands shook with such force that the air around him seemed to vibrate, and every now and then sparks would shoot out at observers who neared too close. Draco had had to recalibrate the table twice because twice, Ron had managed to burst his entire hand into flames.

They sat there, for longer than Draco would have liked. He would never admit it but his left leg was cramping as if often did since the war after he sat for more than an hour and he was bored of looking at Ron's face which reminded him strikingly of constipation. Glancing at his watch, Draco realized that they had been sitting in silence well into the reception, and it wouldn't be long before guests began leaving, if they hadn't already or were staying overnight at the Delacours.

The room itself had cleared substantially, and the elegant seventeenth century style of architecture was visible where the curious faces had been only a half-hour before. Men had wandered off to find their wives and children, their dates, or more to eat. Soon it was only Draco, Ron, and Monsieur Delacour in the room, although the older stout man was by the door waving off the beckoning of the dark eyebrowed man called Francis to have thirds of the catering.

In the silence, Draco pondered what it really meant to have coerced Ron into wagering his wife of a few hours. His father would, no doubt be livid. And there was Astoria Greengrass to think of, his fiancé since the time he was three years old. She was a bit young still, and for all he knew was still dating Theo Nott, a relationship he had approved of as long as it never interfered with Astoria and his impending marriage. But he didn't really like Astoria. She had 'childbearing hips' as his mother had informed him when she was still alive, and a linage 'almost as pure' as his own, his father had told him only the day before. But she wasn't ideal for his wife. Really, Draco couldn't care less who he married. In the end, he thought, Hermione Granger would be, if anything, more interesting than Astoria (who, if he really thought about it was his second cousin.) If he won his hand, which Draco was sure he was going to do against the sweaty mess that was Ron Weasley, he would have to marry the mudblood, which it seemed suited him just fine. In fact, it might help him in the polls. Merlin knows he needed the support from the muggleborn population and the bloodtraitors that thought Arthur Weasley was their man. That Weasley couldn't organize wizarding society if he was given a manual. And Draco had to win because Draco always won. So it was inevitable really when Ron put his cards down, looked Draco in the eye and said; "It isn't fair."

"Life is seldom fair," Draco responded, his smirk not really hitting his eyes.

"There must be something I can do," argued Ron. "I love her."

It was then that the parlor doors burst open.

Hermione Weasley floated in, a dizzy-happy look on her face Draco had never seen on her before, and her white wedding-robes seemed to ripple in an invisible wind. She wore her usually messy hair in long chestnut ringlets down her back and framing her face, and a goblin tiara on her head. Happiness suited her, Draco decided. She bore the luminosity of someone who had known perfect joy, and it only dampened as she approached and took in the sight of her bridegroom and his table companion.

"There you are," she said in a soft voice and leaned over to kiss Ron softly on the mouth. The smile had fallen from her face completely as he trembled before her. "I've been looking for you for hours. What's wrong?" Ron whimpered pathetically and Hermione turned her gaze to Draco. "What did you do to him?"

Draco shrugged. "I-"

"Who even invited you?" Hermione pushed on, her ire was rising and her cheeks were flushed from irritation. Draco decided it was a good look on her as well.

"Patrick and I have been friends for a few years," Draco told her smoothly. He lounged further into his chair and Hermione bristled at his relaxed demeanor. "He invited me for a poker game to... continue the festivities."

"You should have declined," Hermione told him.

"I should have," Draco agreed, surprising her and himself.

"Ron," said Hermione sharply. "Let's go. There's still some food left, and-"

"He can't get up." Draco supplied before Ron made more of a fool out of himself. He was clutching onto Hermione's hands with his own like a needy child and her looks between the two men at the table were alternation between concerned and furious. "He decided to enter a game of poker. He can't get up until we finish the game."

Hermione's mouth pursed.

"And I suppose neither can you," she said finally. Draco shook his head. "And who's won this game of poker?"

"I have," said Draco.

"Why haven't either of you gotten up?" Hermione asked. Ron was crying openly now. Draco had never seen anyone cry like that. When his mother died, Draco had been told he was allowed thirteen silent tears, three for the funeral and ten for the rest of his life. He had already used five, sparingly, and in moments of complete solitude. Ron seemed to make crying a sport.

"He-"

But Draco was cut off by Ron's loud cry. "Please! Please I l-love her! You...c-can't..."

"You can't love her that much," Draco reasoned, eyes flickering between the bride and bridegroom of the wedding he had essentially crashed. "You wagered her for a bottle of wine."

This got Hermione's attention.

"Wagered?" Her voice was dangerously soft; it reminded Draco of Umbridge in his fifth year at Hogwarts. He really hadn't thought about that woman in years.

"Hm," Draco hummed affirming Hermione's question. "He put you up as collateral against my thousand year old goblin wine."

"What!" She exclaimed, wrenching her hands from her husband's and backing up. "What do you mean collateral?"

"S'not like th-that!" insisted Ron. But, as Draco thought on it, it actually was like that. "Hermione, this is just...please just..."

Draco shot his wand towards Ron's upturned cards and the hands of those that had left the table before and threw his own into the mix. They all burned save his own, and the little gold cages suspended in the air began to descend in his direction. The release the table had on Draco and Ron was instantaneous and they stood and collapsed respectively.

Draco stretched like a cat, using his wand to shrink his winnings and gather them in the forward pocket of his cloak. One however, he opened and released a document. "Monsieur Delacour," he called towards the far side of the room where everyone had quite forgotten the stout man was standing. "Merci pour le jeux. Mais, je n'ai pas besoin d'une autre maison en France." He handed the older man the deed to his chateaux in Normandy, and turned back towards the odd couple to his left. He had all he wanted out of the game and did not require the castle that would only cost him taxes in the end. Monsieur Delacour thanked him for his generosity and made his way without pause to the door of the parlor and left.

"Ron?" Hermione's soft voice rose over the echoes of her husband's sobs. "Ron, please...tell me what's going on?" She was crouched over him, the light weight of her white robes sweeping around them both like a pool of slippery cloud. Her deep brown eyes were alight with worry and apprehension. Her hands were sweeping patterns across Ron's back and through his bright red hair.

"Shall I call Harry?" She asked him. Ron sobbed louder. Hermione bit her lip and crooned to him. She told him it would be alright, but the goosbumps on her arms, exposed by the cut of her robes, gave away her own doubt.

"Granger," Draco tried to speak to her.

"It's Weasley," she told him vehemently. She reminded him very much of a lion who felt the need to save her young.

"Hermione," he implored again, softer, his voice like the wind. "It's time." Her expression changed. She looked disoriented, and for a second Draco realized it was the first time in all the years they had known each other that he had spoken aloud her first name. "Hermione, come with me and I'll explain everything."

His voice was so earnest she couldn't help but stand. Ron gripped the hem of her dress in desperation, and she looked torn between knowing the truth, and comforting the man to whom she had just pledged the rest of her life. She conjured a silver otter, her patronous, Draco realized, and spoke into it about Ron, needing help, and Harry Potter. Draco extended his hand towards her. She seemed, if anything, more surprised that perhaps he would even want to touch her after everything he had said to her in school.

Her patronous left the room through the wall and she looked into Draco's silver eyes with a furrowed brow and a step away from her husband. Her eyes darted between his outstretched hand and her own, which was lifting seemingly of its own accord. One more step away from Ron, and he curled into a fetal position, no longer touching her. That was all it took. Draco lunged forwards, seized Hermione away from the blubbering mess of her soon-to-be-former husband and apparated to Malfoy Manor. He had a lot of preparing to do.

To be honest, Draco had forgotten how exhausting sidelong apparition was. Especially international sidelong apparition and he regretted it as soon as he landed. The second they reached the grounds of Malfoy Manor, Draco and Hermione collapsed onto the marble floors. He had taken them to the ballroom, perhaps a mistake considering what had transpired years before (and the last time Hermione had been to the manor), as it was the furthest apparation point from his father's wing. And a confrontation between Hermione Weasley soon to be Malfoy and Lucious Malfoy was something Draco was not willing to deal with.

Currently, he was in no position to deal with anything at all. He was sprawled, haphazardly, across the floor while attempting to catch his breath. Hermione seemed to be recovering more quickly, and he kept a firm hand on his wand.

She had, in fact, not kept her wand on her for the wedding so he had little to worry about. Hermione could not fathom a place to put her magical instrument during the ceremony, and left it in the dressing room much to her scandalized bridesmaids. She was on her stomach, now, her forearms hoisting the front part of her body off the marble and her face turned in a mess of riotous curls towards Draco. He grasped his wand tighter, as though he would need to defend himself at any moment. He regretted falling on his back. He felt winded and weak, and the back of his head was throbbing. He would have to have a house-elf give him something before he developed a knot.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you hauled to Azkaban for kidnapping," said Hermione after a while.

Draco cocked his head and sat up slowly. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation.

"It's not kidnapping when you don't have a choice," Draco told her.

Hermione sat up as well and shot him an incredulous look. "No, Malfoy. When someone isn't given a choice in the matter, that pretty much exemplifies the term kidnapping."

Draco sighed. "No. I meant to say that you would have had to come with me whether you wanted to or not," he clarified. "So I didn't kidnap you."

Hermione grew flustered. "You're delusional. I'd hate to think what your definition of kidnapping is, Malfoy, because this is going to be reported as soon as I leave. In fact, you'll be lucky if you aren't automatically disqualified from the race. Good luck trying to be Minister of Magic now, Malfoy. You've just kidnapped one of the three most famous war heros from her own wedding. Which you were not invited to I might add." She struggled a moment, as if realizing all of this was in fact incumbent upon her exiting Malfoy Manor. "I can leave, can't I?"

Draco pursed his lips. And she was supposed to be the brightest witch in the century. That really didn't bode well for witches in general, did it? "No," he said. "Not until tomorrow."

Hermione sighed, trying a different tactic. "Why am I here, then?"

Draco snapped his fingers and Tuffle appeared, his personal house-elf. It was a strange little creature that usually did what it wanted, or more precisely what it thought was best for Draco, and not what Draco ordered it to. However, Draco couldn't bring himself to give it clothes or mount its head on the wall as was the practice of his forefathers. The little thing had soulful brown eyes and wore a pinstriped loincloth and a strange white-starched collar that Draco had never questioned. It bowed low on knobby legs and swept its hand in front of itself in a manner of subservience.

"Master is calling for Tuffle," it spoke slowly, eyeing Hermione with discretion.

"Yes," Draco said, hauling himself to his feet. "Ms. Granger and I-"

"Mrs. Weasley," corrected Hermione hotly.

"Hermione," Draco opted to say, "and I will be needing you to bring us tea and a bottle of firewhiskey. And I'll be needing the contract Mother had saved for Astoria. Go ahead and bring the whole chest. Something for my head as well. I hit it. And Merlin knows if you could bring something for Ms. G..." Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Draco corrected himself. "Something for Hermione from my mother's wardrobe, that would be appreciated. Something simple that my father wouldn't notice missing in the morning."

The house elf nodded and then disappeared with a pop.

"I'm not wearing anything of your mother's," Hermione said at once.

Draco nodded, "You don't have to. I just thought you might be more comfortable."

Hermione scoffed, "So you care what I think now?"

Draco walked over to her. She had turned over so that she was sitting on the marble. Her arms were clutched around herself and she was making herself as small as she possibly could in the large ballroom. He extended a hand to help her up but she pushed it away, batting it, telling him with her furrowed brow and tight jaw that she had made the mistake of trusting his extended hand once to many times that night already.

Finally she said, "Are we staying here to have tea?"

"You're cooperating now?"

She hugged herself tighter.

"I don't really have a choice right now," she reasoned, but leveled him with a menacing glare. "Tomorrow, if you're true to your word and you let me go, you'll know exactly what you've done pissing me off. I'm not someone to be trifled with. You'll be lucky if you can campaign to cockroaches as the minister of Azkaban prisoners. Or lost souls. You should get the dementors kiss for all I care."

"Duly noted," Draco told her. He wasn't worried about his campaign for Minister of Magic. "But this room has too many memories for the both of us, I think. Let us retire to my private sitting room. It's warmer at any rate."

He was surprised when she followed him out of the ballroom and up the stairs towards his wing. He preferred his personal sitting room to the large and rather ostentatious one of the ground floor. It was smaller at any rate, and decorated to his own personal taste and not the triumphs of his ancestors. He brought friends there, and not the formal retinue that his work brought through his house on a daily basis. In fact, this would be the first time he had brought someone he did not know very well.

Hermione was shivering. The corridors of Malfoy Manor were cold from disuse and she could barely remember which way she had come. Torches along the walls lit themselves when they sensed the presence of the two walking through the halls and a few portraits of Malfoys past woke themselves from their slumber and gave a sleepy hello before drifting back off to sleep. Hermione and Draco both realized then how late it really was. The large windows that dominated the right wall of the corridor in which they walked were dark and nothing could be seen outside. Hermione's jaw was clenched, and it was clear to see that she hated being in a situation that was out of her control. In school, and in her job in Magical Law Enforcement, she had relished control. Draco would have to punish Tuffle for keeping her cold. He turned to her and conjured a cloak to ward off her obvious chill, but she declined. He suspected he would have to get used to her refusal of his offerings, she was like a wounded animal.

They arrived and he ushered her inside the French-style double doors with his large had cupped in the small of her back. She recoiled from him as though he were diseased and he dropped his hand. Perhaps the gesture had been a bit too familiar with what she was comfortable with. The room was warm from a fire blazing to the right and two elegant cream couches illuminated by a crystal drop chandelier. A center coffee table held two cups of steaming tea, a pot, and a bottle of firewhiskey. The chest Draco had asked for was perched at the side of the coffee table, silver with ruby's encrusted along vertical lines, it caught Hermione's eye immediately, but Draco paid it no attention, not yet. A dark green rug with a forest embroidered into its center and different animals stitched into the trim lined the floor. Hermione moved towards the fire, instinctively. She stood with her back to it and forced the chills out of herself. Her body craved the warmth.

Draco fell into one of the couches, flicked his wand towards the beverages and had the firewhiskey pour a healthy amount of itself into one of the teacups. He then levitated the teacup to his outstretched hand and took a long swallow.

"Want some?" He asked Hermione. He gave his wand a twist, and the firewhiskey hovered over the other teacup.

In spite of herself she nodded and another generous portion left the bottle. Draco didn't bother floating her teacup her way, so Hermione was forced to move away from the flames and sit on the opposite cream couch in order to sip her drink. She did so skeptically.

"It's not poisoned," Draco told her.

"Would you tell me if it was?" asked Hermione.

"We're not here to talk about poison," said Draco. The firelight danced in his silver irises and made him look all the more dangerous. Hermione shifted. "Ron Weasley entered a card game this evening that he wasn't invited to, and I advised him not to get involved. He has about as much common sense as a snail-"

"I can't hex you now, Malfoy, but if you continue talking about my husband that way I'll make sure to make your life even more miserable-" Hermione growled out, but Draco held up a finger and she silenced.

"You owe him nothing," Draco told her. "He sat down, even though he was told not to. And he couldn't afford the buy-in."

"Goblin wine is illegal," Hermione informed him.

"In England," nodded Draco. "Yes. But we were in France."

"I suppose you have a stash here somewhere," Hermione said threateningly. "I could tell the ministry-"

Draco barked out a vicious laugh.

"You could tell the ministry to search my home? And what hope would they have of finding one little bottle, Granger?" Draco's eyes taunted her. He leaned forwards on the couch and took a long swallow of his tea. "Never mind the legalities. Weasley sat down at a table that required the sum of almost four and a half million galleons to get up from. He didn't have the money, or any acquisitions that would aid his cause. He couldn't forfeit, because he hadn't put anything down. He, and everyone else at the table were stuck there until he offered something up of equal value or grreater."

Hermione's eyes were alight.

"Then why wasn't anyone else there?" she demanded.

"Because I raised," he told her. "I put the deed to Malfoy Manor on the table. Everyone knew I was going to win. They folded immediately," he gloated. "Of course. Only your husband was left and the price had increased exponentially. He had nothing to put up. Except perhaps his life...and you."

"Me?"

"You're worth to him was completely subjective," Draco explained. "He could have valued you at any sum, and so you were a valid-"

"I'm not a chip someone can bargain away, Malfoy." Hermione said heatedly. She drank deeply from the cup in her hands, tipped it back and shuddered as the warm whiskey-tea mélange burned down her throat. Draco noticed her cheeks flushed as the alcohol metabolized in her system. He was becoming more content with his decision by the minute. "You say you won the game," Hermione continued.

"I did win the game."

"So, what?" Hermione concluded. "You've won me? Unfortunately I wasn't Ron's to give away. This is some sort of misunderstanding, Malfoy. He's my husband, he'll be sleeping on the couch for several years after this, but he's not...that is to say I don't belong to him."

Draco felt this was an excellent time to refill Hermione's tea cup. He did so without the pretence of tea, and let the firewhiskey rest, emptying itself into the teacup until it spilling over the sides a bit. Hermione gasped a bit as the warm brown liquid spilled onto her white wedding robes but said nothing.

"You had a traditional wizard's wedding," Draco told her. "Patrick told me," he supplied when she furrowed her brow in askance. "I doubt you would have allowed a blood ritual, you seem to thrive on legalities and they are," he tried to find a kind way to describe them, "barely legal."

"We didn't use blood magic," she confirmed. "And I think unquestionably illegal is a more appropriate term for that kind of marriage ceremony. The minister of magic was at my wedding, he might have had kittens if he had taken out cursed daggers."

"Anyway," Draco said quickly moving off the subject. "You had a traditional wedding. That makes you, legally, Weasley's property."

Hermione looked scandalized. "Don't look so shocked, Granger. You work in Magical law, I'm sure you of all people know how long it's taken the ministry to update some of their older rituals and ceremonies. Centuries. Does it really surprise you that wives belong to their husbands?"

She took a deep drink of her second cup of whiskey and set it on the table. Draco sat back against the couch again, and cast a quick glance towards his watch on his left wrist. It was almost midnight and he found himself more tired than usual. Hermione stood up and walked towards the fire. She was shivering but wasn't sure if it was from the cold or a deep seated dread that had taken root in the pit of her stomach. Draco watched her pace in front of the flames. They illuminated the figure of her dress and made the fabric look as though it were rippling like waves of water dancing under a setting sun. He was entranced.

"You'll let me go tomorrow," Hermione insisted. "You said you would."

"You'll be free to come and go as you please tomorrow," Draco assured her. But his eyes were fixed on her pacing form like that of a predator. Her arms crossed at his lingering gaze. They held silence for some time, the only sounds coming from the occasional sips of whiskey and the crackling fire.

"Say you're right," said Hermione after some time. "Say Ron did lose me in a game of cards. What...does...do you own me?"

"In a manner of speaking," Draco said cryptically. He relished her every shiver. He drew out his words and toyed with his wand idly. "I own you as much as your husband did."

"I don't understand," Hermione said.

Draco sighed. She really was supposed to be intelligent.

"Think, Granger. In which ways did Ronald Weasley own you?" He asked her. "What did he own of yours that he could possibly lose or give away in some capacity."

And then Hermione's pacing stilled. She turned to Draco with a look of horror smattered across her delicate features, she recoiled from his gaze, and the smirk that was developing on his curling lips. She hugged herself further, cocooning herself in her own arms as if it would change the predicament she found herself in. Tears, tears that Draco did not understand, fell from her haunted eyes and down the cheeks that still held the glow of what had been the happiest day of her life and the remnant pink of whiskey. The dip in her neck hollowed as she sucked in a breath that did not satisfy her lung's desperate need for air. She collapsed on the green rug in front of the fire, her white wedding robes spilling around her in a vision of a fallen angel.

"No," she gasped.

Draco stood with elegance and walked over to her before dropping to one knee beside her. She had fallen between the fire and the silver chest which Draco had asked Tuffle for. With a jab of his wand it opened and revealed four objects, two matching white-gold rings, and two daggers of the same mettle. Lethal by the looks of them. Draco picked one up from the chest and placed it in Hermione's hand. She was turned away, and sobbing with such force he worried she would cut herself. But as soon as he pried her fingers around the handle, she sat up, looked at him, and what she was now holding in her hand and her mouth opened.

"What are you doing?" She cried.

She dropped the dagger almost immediately but Draco had carefully pricked his finger with it while it was still in her hands. He picked up the matching one and nicked her hand that had dropped its twin. She pulled her hand to her chest and scooted backwards, getting tangled in her robes.

"How dare you!" She yelled, wiping angrily at the tears on her cheeks. "I do not give you permission to use my blood."

"It's not a matter of permission," Draco told her as he picked up the daggers and placed their reddened tips on the two rings in the chest. There was a humming sound so faint it sounded almost like the whine of a mosquito. Hermione flinched and Draco grimaced. But it ended after a few second and Draco picked up the rings. "In a sense we were already married." Holding the rings, he walked forward on his knees towards her and she backed away until she was firm against the wall adjacent to the fire and behind one of the couches. "We had been married ever since Weasley put his cards on the table. They burned because he lost. When your marriage contract touched my skin, we were married. This is just a technicality that has been in my family for years."

She reached out and slapped him hard across the face. His head turned with the impact. Before he could react her knee caught him in the thigh and her forearm clipped his ear, spinning him to the side. Hermione had a wild look in her eyes and Draco padded his wand, waiting for the right moment to stop her. She tried to kick her foot out and catch him in the gut but he immobilized her. Draco walked, on his knees, further towards her body. He walked in-between her legs, outstretched in her attempts to keep him away, but incapable of moving. He brought her left hand to his body slowly, it was somewhat rigid from the spell, and he took off the pair of rings she had on tying herself to Ron Weasley and slipped on his familial wedding ring in its place. It glowed as it slid down her finger and locked into place.

"Who am I to interfere with tradition," Draco whispered into her hair. He covered his own left hand with hers as he slid his ring on.

He grunted in pain as he felt his whole hand heat up from the ring's presence. He disengaged the immobilization spell and her reaction was instantaneous. She lifted her head rapidly, sending his, which had been almost resting atop her own, careening upward. Draco saw stars, and pain shot through his jaw. She scrambled, propelling herself away from him using the wall he had cornered her against. She stood and raced to the other side of the room, the one closest to the door where they had come from. Draco was sure for a moment she was going to run right out. He was too tired for a chase around the manor.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione shouted. She tried in vain to pull the ring off, but they both knew it was futile. "This is illegal! You can't just do this to someone!"

"We were already married," Draco told her, getting up from the ground. "I just gave you the ring."

"Blood magic is illegal in England!" Hermione bellowed. She was livid, crying, and tugging at her hand. Draco cast a localized silencing charm around the room incase his father was taking a midnight stroll through the estate. "I hope you get the kiss for this! I want to be there when the demeanors rip out your fucking soul!"

"I was right a minute ago," Draco told her softly. She could almost not hear him over her own cries. "When I said blood magic was barely legal. You were also right when you said it was illegal. See...it's only legal if you have a permit. Say, if you're family has been performing a certain marriage ceremony since the eleventh century. Certain exceptions have always been made for the better people of this world, Hermione. You should get used to that."

She went for the door to the corridor, and Draco sent a locking charm on it from across the room. She pounded on it, and he was thankful he had silenced the room a moment earlier.

"Let me out!" she screamed.

"No," he said plainly. He crossed the room back to where he'd left his drink and poured himself a bit more. "I don't think I will."

"Let me out!"

"Why, so that I can chase you around the manor?" He drawled. "So that you can wake up all the house-elves? I thought you were all for their rights and liberties. What about their rights to have a good night's sleep before they work incredibly hard to keep this place immaculate tomorrow?"

She turned around, facing him with red rimmed eyes.

"Don't you have a pureblood whore to marry and produce little pureblood children with?" She cried. "I've known you as long as I've known I was a witch and you...you never...this isn't like you! I'm a mudblood! I'm dirty to you! You don't want...please, Malfoy. There has to be a way..." She paused and hiccupped loudly. "I love Ron."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I was engaged. Well," he paused. "In a manner of speaking. Astoria Greengrass and I were betrothed at a very young age. Daphne, she was in our year at Hogwarts...it's her younger sister. It was expected sometime before we were thirty that we would marry."

"So you..." Hermione edged closer to the back of the couch opposite where Draco was sitting. "You could annul this...and I can remarry Ron and you can marry Astoria-"

"No." Draco said simply.

"No?" Hermione had moved to the back of the couch and her hands were white gripping the top. She seemed frozen and somewhat broken.

Her mind was whirling and she shook.

"It doesn't matter now," informed Draco. He, against everything his mother had taught him, put his feet up on the coffee table and stretched. "What's done is done. Another drink?"

"There has to be a way out," Hermione said. "I'll research something."

"Not everything can be found in a book."

"There's always a way," said Hermione defiantly. She released the back of the couch and walked towards the door, sniffling but keeping her emotions contained. "Let me out so I can go to your library. You'll be happier with Astoria-"

"We've been over this," Draco told her. "There's no way-"

"If I have to kill you in your sleep, Malfoy, I'm getting out of this marriage!"

The outburst came from her like a force. She clapped her hands in front of her mouth and watched as Draco's features morphed from an almost lazy indifference to something she hadn't seen since the war. She swallowed hard as Draco's eyes darkened. He slid forward on the couch and brought his legs underneath him in a fluid motion. Standing quickly, he was in front of her before she knew what was happening.

She instinctively pulled back her fist and clocked him in the cheek. His face, again, turned with the impact, but he kept advancing on her until both of his hands grasped her forearms. The pressure was painful. Draco was a fair amount taller than her. She wondered why she hadn't noticed before. He dominated her figure and looked down into her eyes will ill-disguised menace.

"That will be the last time you hit me," he told her coldly. She shivered. "The next time you act like a muggle, I'll show you how Malfoy's treat mud. Act like a witch and I'll treat you like one." Hermione cowered and Draco continued, "As for killing me in my sleep, you can't. It's part of the blood pact, you see." His tongue darted out and tasted the blood that had collected in the corner of his mouth. He had had no idea she hit so hard. "You can do nothing physical or magical to hasten my death. You can't hire someone to kill me. You cannot coerce one of the house elves to poison my food. You can't put marbles on the staircase incase I fall down." He lowered his mouth down to her own until they were sharing breath and whispered, "Sorry love...if that disappoints you."

"I hate you," she whispered into his lips. He kept hovering them millimeters above her own.

"The feeling is mutual," He insisted, but made no attempts to move away.

She threw back her head to headbut him, and knock him loose of her arms, but he matched her movement by forcing a brutal kiss onto her retreating lips. It was punishing, harsh. His left hand let go of her forearm, glided up her arm, and wrapped itself around her throat, choking her. She gasped, eyes widening at the sensation, and he used that moment to deepen the kiss and overwhelm her. She backed up and he moved with her until she was pinned against the wall next to the fireplace. It was too warm, she felt as though she couldn't breathe.

She gasped again and Draco invaded her mouth with his tongue. Their teeth clashed, hurting them both. She tried to bite his tongue and he tightened his grip on her throat. Her free hand pushed against his chest, but did little to deter him. His hand left her throat and he moved away just enough for him to see the fear in her eyes. He released his wand from the holder he kept on his hip, dragon-hide and spelled to accept only his hand to open it. The end was under Hermione's chin before her next shuddering breath.

"You're going to kill me now, Malfoy?" Hermione breathed. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and her mouth was swollen from his angry kisses. She tilted her head away from where he held her at wand-point. "Can't have yourself a mudblood wife after all?"

Draco shook his head.

"I can't kill you anymore that you could me," Draco told her. He twisted his wand at her neck and she winced. "But I'm afraid, darling..." He lifted the hand that wasn't holding his wand and pushed a strand of hair back that had fallen over her face. She leaned away from his touch, repulsed. "…that the wedding is far from over."

"You sealed it with a kiss," Hermione laughed grimly. "You have me at the tip of your wand. Do you even know what you want, Malfoy?"

He didn't answer her, instead took a step forward, pressing her impossibly further against the wall. Hermione stiffened. The wand against her throat was painful and he was holding it with such intensity she thought she felt the beginnings of sparks on her neck. They locked gazes and the hand Draco used to brush her hair out of her face came down and cupped her cheek.

"Are you going to behave or would you prefer Imperio?" He asked her. His voice was soft, lilting and smooth. He leaned in and inhaled deeply in her hair. "I hadn't wanted to marry you. I'm not usually this impulsive or...stupid I might even call it. But...I will enjoy this."

"What-"

"Imperio" He whispered. The affect was instantaneous. Hermione's eyes glazed over and her arms went limp at her sides. The inside of her mind turned into something warm, soft, and indescribably peaceful. She felt like she was floating on a cloud with not even the worries of her own conscious. Draco watched as serenity washed over her face. She relaxed against him. He took away the tip of his wand and sheathed it in its holder. "Close your eyes," he told her softly. She did so with no hesitation.

He stepped away from her and bade her to follow. She did so, a dreamy expression on her face. Draco glanced at the ring on her finger. It had been his mother's when she was alive. Draco's heart clenched as he thought about his mother's accident. It had been no one's fault, he was assured. Narcissa Malfoy had fallen asleep in the bathwater and died before she even knew she was drowning. Painless, they had told him when her body had been examined at St. Mungo's. She had simply slipped away from the world. Peacefully, from the flowers, essence, and different calming potions that she had sprinkled into her bathwater. They were of her own recipe. Narcissa Malfoy had been somewhat of a potions genius.

"You know why I had to this," Draco told Hermione. She stared up at him with a contented dazed expression in her warm brown eyes and he continued, "It's part of the blood magic." He brushed his thumb over her swollen bottom lip. "Respond to me," he bade her softly.

He leaned in to kiss her again, and this time she kissed him back. She was softer than he expected when willing. Draco took his wand back out and unlocked the door to the corridor. He turned and opened the door, letting in the cool air from the hallway. Hermione followed him mindlessly. He led her to his own room, not that of his childhood, but the one where he had taken residence since the death of his mother.

The furthest room from his parent's wing, the room was on one of the manor's corners facing the gardens. In the light, it had breathtaking views of the landscaping his mother had meticulously worked on since before Draco was born and his grandmother before her. In the dark, without being able to see what was outside, the giant windows were a looming presence.

Draco flicked his wand and large bay curtains swung to cover them. He held out his hand and asked Hermione to take it. She allowed herself to be led into the room, her shoes clicking on the wooden floor. A fire had already been started in the large, marble, fireplace opposite the bed. A simple dressing gown, one that had been his mother's, was bent over the back of the green loveseat in front of the fire. Draco smiled.

Tuffle had done well.

"Put that on," he commanded indicating towards the dressing gown. "You no longer require your wedding robes."

The sooner she was out of her intended wedding dress to Ron Weasley, the sooner Draco could forget the imbecile even existed. He watched as she reached around herself and undid the laces that held the bodice of the cream wedding robes together. Her face was still tearstained. He would have to fix that. Impatient, he banished the dress off of her body. She shivered under the spell, her body reacting to the cold of the room. She reached for the dressing gown to cover herself as he had commanded.

"Don't move," he said. His voice was almost reverent. His eyes, mesmerized by her naked form. "Drop it."

The material slid onto the floor.

She was wrapped in firelight, it seemed. The warm glow of the orange realized the highlights in her disheveled hair, and rounded her thin frame. His eyes explored her, sweeping the curve of her neck, the swell of each breast, and feasting in the way the firelight curled around the flare of her hips and each thigh and the brown curls at her center. He found himself walking towards her before he realized he had the will to move. The backs of his hands came up and traced the motionless lengths of her arms. Her skin was soft and delicate. She smelled faintly of his touch from their encounter in his personal sitting room.

Draco was taken by surprise by the force of his arousal. His need of her was instantaneous and powerful. He stripped his own robes with practiced hands, never taking his eyes from the sight of her body.

His lips descended as he dipped his head down to caress her shoulder. His mouth devoured her, placing open mouthed kisses down the path of her collar bone to the point between her breasts. He brought his hands up to cup the contours of her jaw line and placed a slow, sensuous, kiss on her silent lips. Her eyes were wide and almost unseeing. He reached a hand up and closed them. He pressed his body flush with hers and let his hand trickle down her front until it cupped her breast. He breathed into her. She stood.

"Respond to me," he growled out, unnerved by her stillness. He squeezed her breast harder, punishing her for her lack of response, "You know what I want."

In an instant her lips sought his and he reveled in her taste. Her stance widened, and the part in her legs allowed him to edge between them. He picked her up, resting her thighs on either side of his narrow hips as her legs wrapped around him for support. This allowed him to greater leverage. He ground into her center, making her gasp. He smirked, walking them over to his bed and depositing her onto its cream colored comforter.

He didn't ask when he removed the last piece of clothing separating them. He didn't ask when he covered her with his person. Or when he positioned himself over her most intimate body part and surged forwards. Draco Malfoy took what he wanted.

They both gasped.

"Fuck..." Draco breathed.

She wasn't as wet as he had hoped, but it mattered very little. He hadn't expected the pleasure to be so intense, so all consuming. He pulled back a bit and plunged forwards rolling his hips up as using a hand to coax her silken thighs to open further. His hand curled around her inner knee and he moaned as her widened position had him moving deeper within her. Her body was a flurry of movement beneath him as it struggled to accommodate his invasion. He hissed as it clenched, and ground down into her, nipping at her chin with his teeth.

"Enjoy this," he demanded before plunging into her again.

He felt a wash of her arousal coat his cock, and he slid easily in and out of her. His fingers traveled her body, finding points that caused her breathing to hasten and her inner walls to clench.

Thrust. Back. Gasp.

Draco closed his eyes. His back rippled as he sought his pleasure in her core. His pace increased. He hungered for her. His right arm came under her, arching her back and he let his mouth feast on her left breast. His tongue swirled around her nipple, causing it to pucker. He pulled it into his mouth, and only released it to give the other the same treatment.

Hermione moaned.

He was reaching a precipice faster than he wanted to, but the thought of slowing was long from his mind. His movements were growing frenzied, uncoordinated. His mouth traced her neck possessively, marking it over and over again as he claimed her carnally. He was losing control. He sat up, swinging her legs around his waist and pressing her pert breasts to his broad chest. He could feel her heartbeat. He could feel every flutter of her insides contract around him as he circled his hips and forced her to feel pleasure.

Draco bit his lip.

He could feel his orgasm coming upon him. Like butterflies starting in the tips of his toes and ripping through his body with startling speed. He arched his back into her as his hips stilled and his cock pulsed within her.

She was his.

His jaw slacked as he came with a gasp. Hermione continued to move and rock above him as he crested the largest orgasm he'd known in his life. He felt himself release into her. It seemed never ending. All-consuming. A pinnacle that irrevocably changed his life. He couldn't catch his breath.

Spent, he continued thrusting into her. Lazily. More in control. He was softer than before, but hard enough to keep pace. He rolled his hips and leaned his sweaty brow on to hers. Their hair mingled on their foreheads as they touched, their breath shared between them.

"Cum," he commanded. And then just as he felt her still and her core surge around him as the beginnings of her orgasm took hold, he whispered, "Finite."

Hermione's eyes flew open. Shock, horror, and then pleasure presented themselves across her flushed face. Her eyes were alight. She pulled her upper body away from him, trying to put distance between them, but her traitorous body continued to rock into his, allowing his pubic bone to stimulate her clit with each roll of his hips.

In her attempt to distance herself she fell back on her elbows and moaned despite herself as the new angle sent tremors through her. She fought his command for as long as she could, but she came despite her efforts to still her hips. She panted through her release, fisting the cream blankets behind her.

Draco smirked. And wiped his brow with his forearm, leaving his silver blond hair coated to one side of his forehead. He had never looked more menacing. He looked at her and raised an exaggerated eyebrow towards where they were connected and their mingled enjoyment pooled between them.

"Did you enjoy yourself, darling?" he asked.

"Fuck you," Hermione panted.

"Mmm," he hummed. "Give me a couple minutes."

"I've always thought you were stupid, Malfoy." Hermione seethed. "But now I know you're mad. You can't honestly think that I won't report you for this."

"You loved it," Draco informed her smugly. "You moaned like a-"

"Because you forced me to!" Hermione cried. "I didn't want this! I don't want this!"

He reached between them and rested the pad of his thumb on the sensitive flesh between her legs. They were still joined and the shivers of pleasure he gave her resonated through her body and made his arousal resurface. She gasped as he began to harden within her.

"I disagree," Draco said quietly as she shivered. "I think you don't want to want this."

He jerked his hips upwards, hitting a place inside her that caused her eyes to flutter shut for a moment. Her legs were on either side of him, and he traced his hand up one before grabbing hold to the curve of ass guiding her movements over him. Her breath hitched in her throat and admired the arch in her neck as she fought the sensations that were threatening to overtake her. Her reactions to him were inspiring.

Draco reveled in the way her body moved, albeit with reluctance, on his member. But before he could flip her over she began to push at his chest. He ignored her initially, but then her feeble attempts to dissuade him were accompanied by little cries. She had stopped moving altogether except to put distance between them.

"Stop," she whimpered. "Don't..."

She was still hitting at his chest and Draco stilled his rolling movements and caught her hands with his own. He brought them to his lips on a whim and dropped two kisses on the tops of her knuckles. She pulled them from his grasp only to have him snatch them back up. He held them painfully.

"You have to let me go," she told him through her tears.

He didn't respond. Instead he stared into her watery brown eyes. From the angle he could almost see his reflection and the flickering of the fire behind them. He found her so captivating.

His staring unnerved her.

"Please," she asked. "Please, Draco."

His name on her lips gave him pause. His hands released hers. His cock throbbed in her core. His lips parted. He wanted her to say it again.

But Hermione heaved herself backwards and he slipped from her with a wince on his part. She moved to get off the bed and make a run for the door, but he was behind her in an instant. Her feet had been on the ground; she was almost standing when he grabbed her around the waist, and brought her to his chest. His strong arms pulled her into him without yield and she was too weak from their coupling to fight him off. Her arms felt like jelly.

"You're not like other witches," he said against the back of her neck.

She felt very small in that moment.

"Let me go, Malfoy."

"Tomorrow," he promised.

"I won't stand for this," she told him, her voice was soft, but sure. "Tomorrow, you're going to Azkaban for-"

"Shh," he shushed her.

He laid down, and with his arms still around her, brought her down with him. She went reluctantly, but her abdominal muscles could not support both their weight. They landed heavy and Draco immediately covered his body with hers. She thrashed.

"I won't," he promised her as she tried to buck him off. "I won't!" he said again more forcefully.

She stilled.

"Please," she asked of him. "Think about this-"

"You're more beautiful than I thought you would be," he told her suddenly. "And you'll come to appreciate all that I can do for you. All that I hope to accomplish." He sighed and rolled across her so he was pinning her from her other side. "I'm not like the Dark Lord. Fear isn't the only way."

"What-"

"Instincts," he informed her. "Instincts lead me to this. They're rarely wrong." He looked into her eyes. "Going to France tonight was the best decision of my life. What you have to understand, Hermione, is that Astoria was never strong enough. She would have been fine if I had continued my life in diplomacy. If I had sought normalcy...which admittedly I craved right after the war. But I've grown so far since then. Astoria could never be what I need."

"You're insane," Hermione whispered horrified.

He fished behind him for his wand which he had laid haphazardly next to the pillows when they had initially reached the bed. He brought it around and Hermione squirmed, scared of what was to come. He held her down, pinning her with both his body weight and a light but firm hand tracing the dip in her neck. It bobbled as she swallowed deeply. She was so alluring to him and he felt his body continue to respond to her proximity and the smell of their mingled sex.

"Can't I go?" Hermione asked again. Her eyes were following the wand which he put to her face. She closed her eyes. "Please don't kill me."

"I can't," he reminded her and placed his wand in between her frightened teary eyes. The tip hit the bridge of her nose and her eyes shot open, alive with fear.

"Malfoy-"

"Obliviate."


Done with the 1st chapter! Woah! I must thank my lovely beta Caffeinefreetea without whom this story would be a hopeless pile of misspelled word mush.

xoxo-Writethesun

PS: Reviews make me write faster :)