Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writer's Triwizard Fest, Entry #2.

Authors: Disenchantedglow & msmerlin13

Disclaimer: We do not own any of the characters from the Wizarding World Franchise.

Something Bad

So it begins….Draco Malfoy ruining her life yet again. It seemed her fate was intertwined with the pure-blood prat, something she desperately wished to change considering their last few interactions made it quite fucking difficult for her to do her damn job.

Safely hidden from view by a gaggle of scantily clad witches and their potential suitors, Hermione used her vantage point from the balcony at the top of the curved staircase to watch the former Slytherin move across the crowded mansion foyer. In the sea of people, it was nearly impossible to spot the white blond of his hair, but she spied him as soon as he entered the mansion, almost as if she were attuned to find the biggest arsehole in the room. Typically the award for biggest arsehole of the night was given to her mark for the evening, but with Draco's appearance it was obvious there would be a competition for who better deserved to meet the pointy end of her dagger.

"Hey doll." A large wizard stepped in her line of sight. He already stunk of liquor, his breath hot and peutrid. "You look like you need some company. Little girl like you could get hurt in a crowd like this."

Hermione lifted a single manicured brow at the drunk, a sneer falling over her bloodred lips, and she shook her head. "No thank you," she replied deadpan. "I don't do arseholes with little cocks. Perhaps the brunette over there might be interested." Hermione gestured lazily towards a group of women shuffling into the ballroom, all of whom were dressed in fuzzy pink negligees with matching fuzzy heels.

When the invitation to this disgusting New Year's Eve soirée had declared it to be a lingerie party, she had hoped some people would put more effort into dressing for the occasion, rather than just selecting some slinky outfit from the Morgana's catalog and calling it good. These were the richest of the rich; one would assume they'd have a little more fucking creativity or at least hire a designer who did.

The man's face turned mottled red, his weak chin jutting out of his soft jowls as he clenched his teeth. These rich wizards were not used to taking no for an answer. In their world, money meant everything, which included getting a hot, young piece of arse as arm candy. The poor girls usually hoped they would be able to marry into the money; little did they know, half of these bastards had aging wives at home. As his meaty hand reached out to grab Hermione's arm, she quickly took a step back, palming her wand with her right hand while her left tapped the carved bone handle of the knife that sat sheathed on her hip. "Uh -uh," she taunted, the tapping of her fingers drawing his eyes to the weapon at her side. "If you're fond of keeping your bollocks intact, I would suggest you reconsider touching me." Her words were not a threat, but a promise of serious bodily harm. Her eyes narrowed, waiting, watching for the wizard to react, but it seemed her words had done the trick because almost instantly he began to back away quickly as he muttered to himself about crazy bitches.

A self-satisfied smirk fell over her painted lips as she watched the wizard disappear down the stairs into the fray. Once alone, she stowed her wand in her wrist guard and adjusted the boning on her black leather corset to conceal her dagger. Her garb back in order, she plucked a champagne glass from a passing waiter's tray. He was dressed solely in tight black dress pants that left little to the imagination and black bow tie, definitely reminiscent of a Chippendales dancer. It was amusing to see the Muggle culture that had infiltrated some of the most pure-blood social circles postwar. Muggles and Mudbloods were in fashion, and pure-bloods refused to become obsolete even if they felt morally disgusted by the idea only ten short years ago.

Sipping the bubbly liquid, Hermione turned back to the crowd below her, scanning the faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive Bală—her target and reason for attending this deplorable show of skin and wealth this evening. Unfortunately, she had yet to spot the cretin in the crowd. On the plus side , she thought as her eyes were automatically drawn to the white blond of Malfoy's hair as she scanned the crowd, it doesn't look like Malfoy's seen him either.

Hermione watched as Malfoy serpentined his way through the throng of guests that funneled into the foyer, surreptitiously scanning the crowd. Taking the dressing requirements to heart, he wore a black smoking jacket and silk pants that made him look every bit the aristocratic heir he was. He was speaking softly to his companion, who looked decidedly uncomfortable in his attire for the evening. Hermione chuckled to herself, watching her childhood best friend attempt to tug his lapels closer together over his bare chest, running a hand through his already unkempt black hair, a habit the wizard had likely held since long before she knew him. Harry Potter may have been the lead Auror on this case, but it was apparent that Draco Malfoy was infinitely more confident in this posh environment. She would have to be on her guard tonight.

She knew Draco was onto her, likely having already figured out the nature of her work months ago, but she also knew the wizard lacked proof. She wasn't the brightest witch of her age for no reason. She was careful, making sure to leave no trace of her person on any crime scene. All Draco had to go on were chance encounters with her while tracking dark wizards and witches. Obviously he wasn't wrong; she had murdered those people, but without evidence his claims were nothing but speculation.

Because he knew what she was, it made this game of cat and mouse they were playing even more exciting. It added a level of danger and thrill that made her have to use every ounce of her intelligence to ensure she covered her ass. He was a gifted Auror; his teen years dancing with the devil gave him an edge that others seemed to lack. It was actually a shame he decided to take up the shield after the war because he would have made one hell of a partner in her line of work. Well, that, and he was an absolute beast in the sack.

Tipping back the champagne in her glass, Hermione drained the flute as she began to descend the staircase. Like a Dark Mark on alabaster skin, she stood out amongst the sea of pink and white, clothed in her black leather. The corset did wonders for her figure, she had to admit, but it was a bit too restrictive for normal attire. Black hot pants were worn over large weave fishnets, the cut leaving little to the imagination, and then, of course, her heeled boots, which were quite possibly her favourite part of tonight's ensemble. She rarely got to wear heels in her line of work as they were rather impractical while chasing her target, so she was eager to don then when given the opportunity. Over the knee, black suede. They clung to her legs like a second layer of skin. Her wild curls were tamed for the night, slicked back in a tight ponytail that played to the sharp angles her face had developed since the end of the war.

Reaching the gleaming marble floor of the foyer, she pressed the empty champagne flute into the bare chest of a wizard, silently demanding that he take care of it for her with a well-placed look, before moving through the crowd, careful to stay on the outer edge of both Draco and Harry's line of sight as she began toward the ballroom.

"Merlin, Potter. Pull it together," Draco hissed. "You're the bloody 'Chosen One,' stop acting like a sixteen-year-old virgin at the Yule Ball." Reaching out, Draco swatted at Harry's hands, which were yet again tugging at the lapels of his red smoking jacket. He knew he should have requested that Harry sit this one out. When they received intel that Bală was going to be attending Hamish Warbeck's New Year's Eve party, Draco knew immediately that the scene was not going to meet the moral and ethical standards of the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. Hamish had a knack for spending his mummy's hard earned money in the most morally corrupt ways possible. Draco had once had the privilege of garnering invites to his parties—long before he joined the DMLE—which meant he was very familiar with what type of debauchery was going to take place tonight

"Easy for you to say." Harry shoved Draco's hand away before tugging at his lapels once more, trying to hide the tuft of black hair that covered his chest. "I'm in bloody pajamas! How the hell am I supposed to apprehend Bală in silk fucking pants?"

"You aren't," Draco reminded, shooting Harry a hard look out of the corner of his eye. "You're the bait, remember?"

"Bait...right. About that, Malfoy. I'm still not exactly comfortable using my name to—"

"Bloody hell, Potter. This really is not up for reassessment considering we are in the middle of the bloody foyer." Draco swept his hand in front of them as his eyes surveyed the room, eyeing the nearly naked women. "Just fucking pull it together, get in that ballroom and make your rounds. Enjoy a drink, and if you actually manage to pull your wand from your arse long enough to at least enjoy the attention from a couple of these witches, I'll be fucking shocked."

Harry groaned, his hand going up to slide through his unkempt hair as his emerald eyes tracked the motion of Draco's hand around the room, pausing their search when a particularly fit redhead came into view. When the woman caught his stare and flashed him a wink and a smile, Harry quickly dropped his gaze to the floor as a slow blush stained his cheeks. "I'm not drinking, Malfoy. We're on a mission."

Draco chuckled, giving Harry a small shake of his head as he parted his black velvet smoking jacket and slid his hands in the pockets of his pyjama bottoms. "Whatever makes you happy, Potter." Draco turned to face Harry, a knowing smirk on his lips. Just as he opened his mouth to tease the wizard about having a thing for redheads, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face through the crowd over Harry's shoulder. His heart stuttered, and his face fell flat. No, there was no way. She was supposed to be in Bulgaria with that Quidditch cunt. "Fuck," Draco hissed.

"What?" Harry's head darted up and began to look around the room quickly. "Did you find him?"

Draco shook his head, his hand moving to smooth back his hair. "Merlin, Potter. You're about as subtle as a Niffler in Gringotts," Draco scolded. "No, I didn't see him.—Just an old friend. Look, stick to the plan." Draco instructed before shouldered past a bewildered Harry towards the ballroom. If Hermione was here, that meant their intel was good. But it also meant that their opportunity to catch Bală alive was rapidly diminishing. He needed to find her and stop her before she got to Bală first.

Hermione managed to avoid Draco most of the evening. Keeping both Harry and Draco in her peripheral vision as she walked around the room, she used her petite figure to her advantage, making sure to tuck herself behind a crowd of people or, in one case, a particularly rotund wizard every time Draco's searching eyes came close. It was almost more fun to hide from him than do her job. Her mark had arrived hours ago and was conducting business in one of the many suites on the second floor, distributing the party drug of choice to all the good little boys and girls in attendance. Dragon's Breath. Not her personal preference for a high, but she saw the appeal. Unfortunately, tonight with Malfoy looking to not only beat her to their mutual target, but also to gain the needed evidence regarding her career choice, she needed all of her wits about her and thus wouldn't be able to partake. At least not until the job was done.

Leaning against the back wall of the ballroom, chocolate coloured eyes watched as Harry looped his arm around the leggy redhead she had seen him eyeing earlier in the evening, and a small grin tugged on the corner of her lips. He had a crowd around him as he retold some of their war stories, doing exactly as he was supposed to. Drawing attention. What the Aurors didn't know was that Bală was more likely to bolt at the mention of Harry's name rather than coming to greet him.

Uncrossing her arms, Hermione pushed off the wall and began to move around the room, weaving through the guests making her way towards the foyer and the sweeping staircase that would take her to the second story. It was nearing midnight and it seemed Malfoy wasn't any closer to catching up to her than he was hours ago. What a shame. Must be getting rusty in his old age, Hermione thought as she slipped out of the ballroom. The tinkling sound of forced feminine laughter coming from the group surrounding Harry followed her into the foyer, gathering the attention of some of the guests that lingered there.

Hugging the wall, Hermione began to walk across the room. Just as she slowed her pace to allow a group of waiters to pass in front of her, she felt the pointed end of a wand press against her ribcage, and a large hand curl around her hip in an almost bruising hold. "Malfoy," Hermione whispered as a slow, wicked grin crossed her features. "I was beginning to worry about you."

Draco pressed his wand harder into her ribs, earning a small hiss of pain (or perhaps it was bit of pleasure; he was no stranger to how dark her tastes had become over the years), and his hand on her hip moved over her stomach, guiding her body back into his as he began walk her backwards towards a small closet. "You wish, Granger," he whispered.

A shiver ran down her spine at the sensation of his breath washing across her skin, and she let out a small playful laugh. "I'm not so sure about that." Turning her head, Hermione gave Draco a challenging glance before slamming her elbow into his stomach with one swift swing. Lifting her right foot, she stomped her heel down onto his loafered foot, causing Draco to send a string of curses into the air as the wizard instinctively let her go to cradle his throbbing appendage. She didn't bother to look at him as she took off; she knew he'd follow. That was part of the fun, wasn't it?

"Fucking bitch," Draco hissed as he hopped on one leg, silver eyes lifting from his examination of his foot to watch Hermione ascend the staircase in record time. She wanted a chase? Fine. She'd have it.

Hermione moved down the main hall on the second landing, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Draco was not too far behind. She hadn't done this in ages—well, actually since their meeting in Brazil seven months ago, but it felt like much longer. Reaching the end of the hallway, her mind swam through the notes she had received earlier, trying to remember which way she was supposed to turn once she'd reached the painting of the pig-nosed witch.

" Flipendo! "

The loud bang of the jinx shook the walls as it soared down the empty hallway, giving her barely enough time to dodge the bright blue light before it slammed into the portrait, sending it flying. "Really, Malfoy?" Hermione gasped as she looked at him with wide eyes and a growing smile.

"Stop running and maybe you won't get hurt," Draco warned, his eyes narrowing as he directed his wand directly at her, slowing his run to a cautious prowl, not wanting to spook her on his approach.

Hermione tipped her head back and let out a slow, breathy laugh. Flexing her wrist, she discreetly removed her wand from her wrist guard. "But what if I like a little pain?" Hermione questioned with a one brow arched. "And if my memory doesn't fail me—which it never does—you do as well."

"That was a long time ago, Granger."

"I know. Such a shame, isn't it?" Hermione sighed before snapping her wand from the wrist guard into her palm, and she sliced it through the air. " Impedimenta! " The turquoise light burst from the tip of her wand and landed directly in the center of Draco's chest.

He did not have time to react, but truth be told he likely would not have been able to avoid her spell regardless. Hermione's reaction time had vastly improved since the war. As the magic washed over him, his limbs felt like they were filled with lead. His arms dropped to his sides, and the soles of his feet sat heavily in his loafers.

Hermione blew a kiss towards the immobilized Draco before spinning on her heel and beginning down the right hallway, her heels snapping against the marble flooring. The spell would only last ten seconds, which wouldn't give her enough time to evade him, but it would provide her just enough of a head start to make his inevitable chase exciting.

"One...two….three," Hermione counted the seconds as she ran, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a weak attempt to contain her elation. "Seven...eight….nine…" Hermione's voice trailed off as she opened the first door on the left, sticking her head inside to check for her mark. The thrill of Draco chasing her was a definite perk, but she couldn't forget that she was here to complete a mission tonight.

"GRANGER!"

Hermione left the door ajar, moving from the empty bedroom towards the next room, and she yanked the door open. The smell of fine leather and old cigar smoke hit her first. A smoking room. Blast it. Bală was supposed to be in a study. Pursing her lips together at the slight disappointment. Her hand dropped from the doorknob and moved to the side of the heavy wooden door, preparing to swing it shut but suddenly a sharp pain rippled through her right shoulder and radiated down to her toes. "Fucking HELL!"

Draco was at the end of the hallway with his shield already raised; he had dueled the witch enough times to know he needed to be prepared. When she made no immediate means to retaliate he began to advance on her. His once perfectly coiffed blond hair swept in his eyes, and his smoking jacket fell open to reveal his toned chest that lay beneath. If Hermione's shoulder didn't feel like it was on fire, she might have taken a moment to appreciate the view.

"Put your wand down and hands in the air."

"You'll have to come take it from me, Ferrett." Hermione snapped through clenched teeth before darting from the doorway into the smoking room. She passed her wand to her left hand. Her reaction time was going to be slower, but she would bet her left tit she could still outdraw Draco with it. Darting around the leather couches, Hermione moved deeper into the room, brown eyes frantically searching for something to use as cover, or better yet, another door to escape through.

Her options were limited. There were windows, but jumping from the second floor in heels seemed incredibly inadvisable. That, and Bală was in one of two rooms remaining on this floor. She couldn't abandon her target just to avoid Draco Fucking Malfoy. Chewing on her bottom lip, Hermione's mind ticked through the possibilities before she knew there was only one way she was going to leave this bloody room. She would need to overpower Draco. It wasn't going to be easy, but fuck if she was going to go down without a fight.

"Don't move, Granger." Draco's voice cut through the noise of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "Drop your bloody wand, witch."

Hermione straightened her spine, and as she rolled her neck audible pops could be heard before she lifted her hands in the air slowly, her left loosely holding onto her wand. "Alright...alright," she began as she slowly turned around to face Draco.

Draco's eyes narrowed in distrust as he began towards Hermione, and, lifting his free hand behind him, he used a wandless spell to slam the door shut with just a snap of his wrist, the scraping sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room.

"Don't trust me, Malfoy?" Hermione cocked her head to the side, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Draco scoffed as his head gave a quick shake. "Your track record with my goodwill isn't exactly stellar," he reminded the witch as he edged closer. When she was within reach, the tip of his wand was pressed against the center of her chest before he reached up and slipped her vinewood from her fingers. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione's eyes dropped to the wand on her chest before looking up to meet his and gave a small shrug. "Can't a girl come to a New Year's party?" Hermione questioned innocently.

After slipping her wand into the back of his silk pajama bottoms, Draco began to pat down Hermione. "Don't play coy with me. I know you're up to something."

"If by up to something, you mean trying to have a good time, then you caught me." Hermione lifted her arms further into the air, her body arching into his hand as it ran down her side. "Oh, Auror Malfoy," she breathed out in a tone far too sultry to be anything but an act. "Are you this thorough with all your suspects, or am I just one lucky witch?"

Draco's eyes flashed to her face as a heat swept across his cheeks, his hand pausing at her waist. What the bloody hell was wrong with her? Why was she making this so easy? He knew he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and not knowing when it would happen was far more unnerving than it should have been. Shaking his head, Draco looked down at her figure once more as he began to pat across her midriff. Touching her hip, the distinct feeling of something hard let him know he found just what he was looking for. "Oh, Miss Granger," he returned in an equally syrupy tone. "What have you got here?"

Draco shifted her corset to reveal the hilt of her dagger, and his eyes widened. This was it. This was the bloody proof he needed! Silver eyes flashed up to hers, a split second too late to anticipate her next action. Her right elbow connected with the side of his neck while her other hand grabbed his wand that was still shoved into her chest and yanked it from his grasp.

Instead of stumbling away from her as she had hoped, Draco directed his weight into her and slammed her body against the wall. His hands latching onto her sides. As she stumbled backwards, his wand hit the floor and rolled away from the scuffle. His curse of pain was muffled into her shoulder as he continued to press into her, her ribs flexing in protest. "Get. Off. Me!" Hermione rasped out.

Draco's right hand dragged up her body bruisingly, his fingers forging a ruthless path over her breasts and up to her throat, and he wrapped them around her neck. "Fuck you!" Draco hissed in her ear as he gave her a rough shove.

Hermione's head bounced off the wall, causing white stars to burst behind her eyes. She felt his grip tighten, his thumb pressing into the center of her throat in a warning. She could still breathe, but in this position she was most definitely at his mercy. With Draco's body pinning her to the wall and his hand around her throat, she felt almost helpless, something she hadn't felt since she took this job. He had an easy four stone on her and was using every bit of his build to immobilise her.

Pulling his head back, Draco looked down at Hermione and he arched his wrist, causing her head to tip back and forcing her eyes to meet his. "Hands up," He commanded.

Hermione's hands moved slowly and she pressed into the wall above her head. The fingers on her throat flexed in warning as he dropped his other hand to her and withdrew the dagger from her hip.

Tossing it on the floor, the heavy metal clattered on hardwood as it skidded to a halt in front of the leather sofa. He needed to get that as far away from her as possible, and since she seemed keen on fighting despite being literally backed into a wall, tossing it halfway across the room would need to work for now. "You're under arrest, Granger," Draco breathed triumphantly. "You'll won't be able to explain your way out of this one."

"Not the first time you've said that," Hermione reminded him before letting out a small hiss of pain as his fingers tightened around her throat. Merlin, he really knew how to treat a witch, didn't he? Her back arched off the wall, pressing her hips against his as she shifted to try and slip out of his hold.

As her hips brushed his, the silver in Draco's eyes flashed with a familiar heat that caused Hermione's body to react in memory. Her nipples hardened beneath the leather corset and a flush of heat pooled between her thighs. Maybe that night in Brazil wasn't a fluke…

Hermione's hands slid down the wall a fraction of an inch, giving her just enough leverage to arch further into his body before rolling her hips against his once more.

Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and the hand on her hip moved to brace himself against the wall as he leaned his body even closer to her. His forehead pressed against hers as he took a shaky breath. "Stop it, Granger." Draco's words were whispered, sounding more like a plea than a command. "I'm not falling for this. I've made this mistake before; I'm not going to get distracted and fuck you again—New Year's resolution." His hand slipped down her throat to rest loosely around the base of her neck as he began to grind back into her, seeking relief for his rapidly hardening cock.

"Good thing it's not the new year yet." Hermione leaned forward and captured his lips roughly with hers, silently hoping he would give in to the lust that sparked between them every time they got this close. It had been like this in Brazil; the thrill of the chase, sun ripened skin, and hot sultry nights igniting this inferno. Unable to ignore the flames, they had given in, forgetting not only their pasts but also their current situations, surrendering to the pleasure of hands and tongues running along flushed skin. It had been fast and rough and undeniably sexy. She only hoped tonight would promise to be more of the same, and judging by the bulge in Draco's bottoms, she didn't appear to have her desire misplaced.

Draco didn't return the kiss; nor did he push her away. Taking the risk, Hermione dropped her hand to grasp the side of his face as she deepened their liplock. She tilted her head and ran her tongue along the seam of Draco's mouth, begging for entrance. When his lips parted, she internally roared in triumph and pressed her body further into his. As her tongue slipped against his, enticing him to join her in exploration, a distinctly male noise rippled from the back of his throat sending a rush of heat to her core. Her hand on his jaw moved up his cheek, and her fingers delved into his impossibly blond hair, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp as she lost herself in the kiss. Her other hand snaked between their bodies and dropped down to rub the length of his hardening cock over the silk lounge pants that left little to the imagination. Her fingertips traced the tip of his cock, curving around the swollen head, and her pussy ached as the memory of feeling him pounding between her thighs again and again replayed in her mind on a broken loop. Merlin, she needed that again. She needed to relive that night in Brazil.

As her fingers began to untie the drawstring that held his pants in place, Draco pulled back from her lips, gasping for breath. "Granger...stop," he rasped.

Hermione paid no heed to his request, instead her fingers curled into his hair, fisting the short flaxen locks as she pulled his mouth back to hers in a bruising kiss. Stop? Who the hell was Malfoy kidding? It was more than obvious he was enjoying this. Maybe a little more encouragement was needed.

Draco growled, his teeth sinking into her bottom lip and when the metallic taste of blood reached their intertwined tongues, Hermione keened. The sound seemed to do the opposite of what Hermione was hoping. His fist slammed against the wall beside her head as he broke their kiss roughly. "Fuck. FUCK .Granger, what the bloody hell are you—we—what are we doing? I can't let this happen again. I can't risk—"

"You talk too much, Malfoy," Hermione whispered, her voice breathless, husky, almost unrecognizable. Leaning in, she pressed her lips under his jawline, letting her tongue run along the sharp angle as she kissed down his neck. "Just fuck me. Stop denying your needs, Draco," she purred into the hollow of his throat.

Draco's eyes snapped shut as he took two deep breaths, trying to gather his resolve, but when his eyes opened once again, all Hermione could see was molten silver desire that sent a shiver down her spine.

She barely had time to react before Draco was on her again. Her body slammed into the wall, knocking all the air from her lungs and directly into his mouth. His hands were everywhere, on her throat, pulling at her tight black hotpants and rolling down the thick gold zipper that ran down the center of her corset. The cold air pebbled her skin as the leather top fell to the ground, exposing her breasts.

Draco's mouth left Hermione's to trail hot, wet kisses along her jawline, distracting her from the fact that he had grabbed her wrists in each of his hands before moving to press them against the wall above her head, securing them both in the vice-like grip of one of his hands. "Keep these still or I'll use a sticking charm to keep you fastened to this fucking wall," he panted darkly into her ear, biting her lobe before pulling away again.

Hermione nodded, goosebumps forming on her skin at the touch of his breath. "Don't tempt me, Malfoy."

With his left hand still holding her wrists in place, Draco used his right hand to trail down the length of her arm, skimming her soft, flushed skin, until his fingers finally reached the side of her face. Gentle at first, Hermione let her guard down. She was surprised when he curled his hand around her jaw, yanking it towards him for a bruising kiss. Their teeth clicked together as his mouth devoured hers, and Hermione could again taste the metallic sharpness of blood from the cut on her lip that split wider with this second savage kiss.

Once he seemed satisfied with the kiss, Draco's hand released her jaw to continue its journey down her frame. His fingers danced across the soft skin of her throat, and he let his grip tighten around it to remind her just who it was who had the bloody upper hand. Hermione let out a slight gasp as her airway closed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head at the delicious tingle of the lack of oxygen, and just as the world began to grow fuzzy, he released her neck with a dark chuckle. His fingers slipped from her throat, down over her right breast. His nimble fingers quickly reached their target, rolling her nipple between the pads of his fingers, pinching slightly at the sound of her keen.

"You always were a slut, weren't you?" Draco whispered against her ear as he plucked her puckered nipple like one would a guitar string, testing the limits of pain she was willing to take. When Hermione made no move to respond to his goading, he trapped the tip of her nipple between his index and ring fingers and twisted. "Say it," he growled.

Hermione's back arched off the wall like a cat on Halloween, the combined pain and pleasure coursing through her body, tipping her head further back against the wall. Her nails bit into the soft skin on his hand as she tried to grasp anything she could for leverage to ease the overwhelming sensation. "I'm a slut! I'm a slu-ut!" she managed to gasp.

A low chuckle tickled her ear and he released her aching bud before slapping lightly at her breast. "Let's see how fucking wet you are. See how turned on you are, you filthy little witch."

Hot thrills of fire rippled across her skin as Draco's hand dropped to roughly peel the hot pants over her hips until they fell without resistance to her ankles. Shifting from one foot to the other, Hermione stepped out of the leather shorts, careful not to trip or remove her hands that were still pinned to the wall under Draco's strong grasp.

"Don't move," Draco reminded her before his hand holding hers to the wall slowly released her wrists to join his other at her waist. There he hooked two fingers into the front of her fishnets, and, before she could protest, he yanked the flimsy material, ripping a wide hole in the crotch of her stockings. He was not going to give her the opportunity to remove them. With only a scrap of black material for a thong preventing him from his goal, Draco wasted no time sliding his fingers down her panties and through her folds. A primal groan rippled from his throat as he found her absolutely sodden already.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, her hips involuntarily rolling into his palm. Merlin, he was taking his sweet fucking time. She didn't need foreplay, she needed to feel his hips snapping into hers. She needed to feel the weight of his body crushing the air from her lungs as he pounded her into the wall. "D-Draco," a stuttered plea slipped from her lips. "Fuck me!"

He instantly pulled his hand from her knickers, and she looked down just in time to watch his pajama bottoms fall to the floor. Her mouth grew dry as she watched him fist the length of his cock, pumping his weeping manhood as he eyed her body with a lecherous smirk. Hermione whimpered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she arched off the wall once more, pushing her hips towards him. "Draco."

"Beg me," Draco commanded, the molten silver in his eyes swirling.

Hermione gulped and her eyes dropped to his cock once more, watching him stroke himself in a slow, determined pace. Merlin, how badly did she want this? Beg? Who did he think she was?

"Now!"

Her eyes snapped back to his face, watching his own resolve beginning to crumble. His need for her was written plainly across his face, and it was then she knew she still had the upper hand. He might be playing dominant, but the power was still hers in this moment. "Please, Draco," she began, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. "Please fuck me, Draco. I need you…. I need your cock."

Moving forward, Draco grabbed her firmly by the small of her waist, and he hoisted her higher up the wall. She shivered as his hands skimmed over her skin to her backside, anchoring her to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles around his lower back, desperate to feel all of his naked flesh against hers.

Once he had Hermione securely pinned to the wall, Draco reached between their bodies. Hermione shivered in anticipation as she felt him rub his cock between her moist folds, her essence coating his cock before he plunged fully into her depths without any warning. "Ughh!"

Finally fully sheathed in her heat, Draco stilled and let his head fall down to rest on Hermione's shoulder. He was gasping for control as her walls clenched around him, fluttering in an attempt to acclimate to his intrusion. She was even tighter than he remembered.

Slowly he began to pump his hips, pulling out until just the head of his cock remained before pushing leisurely back into her tight cunt to the hilt. He needed to slow this down before his fucking cock errupted, ending this tryst before it could even really begin.

The pace was maddening, and by the fourth time he seated his hips against her, Hermione let out a little noise in frustration. "Malfoy, leave the bloody good guy Auror image on the floor with your pyjamas and fuck. Me. Harder!" Hermione taunted as she rolled her hips encouragingly. Leaning forward off the wall, she dropped her mouth to graze the tendon in his neck with her teeth, knowing from experience it drove him crazy. She needed him to be rough, to be wild. She could not chance feeling the emotions that came with a gentle coupling. She needed to stay focused and hard, fucking solely to quench this fire that flared between them. She couldn't start to doubt her assignment, or, Merlin forbid, develop feelings for the ferret.

Her thoughts were mercifully torn from her internal reflection as Draco's fingers curled painfully into her arse as he quickly withdrew his cock before pistoning his hips into hers, slamming his cock into her tight cunt. Hermione's hand slipped down the wall as his pace picked up, her jaw dropping as she tried to collect her breath through his merciless pounding, his pelvic bone grazing her clit with every thrust.

"Is this what you wanted, Granger?" Draco growled. "The big, bad Death Eater fucking you against a wall while hundreds of people celebrate downstairs?"

"Y-yes!" Hermione gasped, knowing better than to let his questions go unanswered.

"If only they could see you now," Draco slammed his palm beside her head, using the wall for leverage and support as he pistoned into her roughly, each thrust punctuating his words. "Know-it-all-Granger—Gryffindor Princess—getting fucked by a Malfoy."

Hermione was putty in his hands, her body absorbing the blows of his hips and arching for more. Her mind went blank, the coil in her belly beginning to tighten as he edged her closer to her bliss. Disobeying his instructions, her hands moved off of the wall to grip his shoulders as she leaned forward to kiss him. As much as she loved his wicked words, she needed his lips on hers now more than ever.

Draco bit roughly on her bottom lip, unable to hold himself back anymore with the picture Hermione posed. Deep red lipstick smeared across her lower face, tits bouncing, knickers pulled aside, exposing her pussy. She was nearly naked save for her shredded tights and heeled boots, she was the definition of debauchery. She may have been the one up against the wall, but he was totally fucked .

The sound of their bodies joining echoed across the room, barely audible over the primal noises torn from Draco and Hermione's throats. Pulling back from their kiss, Draco watched as Hermione's eyes fluttered to the back of her head, and he angled his hips until his cock hit the spot that made her toes curl. Doubling his efforts, his hand on her arse tightened its hold as he began to grind his hips into her with each thrust. He watched the little wrinkles of concentration form along her forehead as she sought her climax, but he knew she wouldn't find her release. Not without his help.

"Cum for me, Granger," Draco growled out. "Cum for me, you fucking slut!"

The sound of Draco's voice whispering filthy things in her ear was apparently all the encouragement she needed. On his command, Hermione's nails scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, leaving trails of red across the alabaster skin as she felt the coil inside her belly snap, sending her barreling over the cliff into oblivion. Her mouth opened wide as she tried to take in as much oxygen as possible, her arms curling tightly around his neck. Her orgasm hit her like crashing waves, pulsing in time with the brutal thrusts he slammed into her body. Her mind was blank, a stark white canvas, and the only thing she could focus on was how bloody fucking amazing it felt.
Draco watched her come apart in his arms, her thighs quivering around him, her pussy milking his cock until he too followed her into climax. He snarled her name as he bottomed out inside her petite frame, his face tucking into the crook of her neck. Partially a security measure to make sure she didn't bolt and partially because he couldn't do fucking anything else, Draco pressed the weight of his body onto hers, pinning her to the wall as he tried to regain his breath.

A thin layer of sweat coated her body, causing the strands of chestnut curls to stick to her skin. Her hands ran across his shoulders, soothing the raw scratches she had left as her eyes closed, trying in vain to lower her heart rate. "Draco…" Hermione whispered as she cracked one eye open to peer around the room. The fog of lust was still present, but it was beginning to finally dissipate as her breathing slowed, her reason for being at this bloody mansion in Italy coming into sharp focus. "Let me go; I won't run."

Draco hesitated, his fingers flexing against the wall with uncertainty before he slowly withdrew his softening cock, and he set her feet back on the ground. His hands stayed on her waist, making sure her legs were not going to turn to jelly before he took a half step back. Reaching down, Draco yanked his silk pyjama pants up around his waist, nimble fingers tying them securely before he moved to smooth back his flaxen locks. "We…I…" Draco struggled, trying to find the right words. Him fucking her didn't get her out of her arrest. She was wanted in multiple countries at this point. It didn't matter that she only killed the slime of the earth—she was a fucking criminal and he an Auror. He'd sworn to remove people like her from the public, regardless of who they killed or how well they performed in bed.

"I know," Hermione interrupted, flashing him a sympathetic smile before she bent down to grab her hot pants and shimmy them back into place. "Can you get me a drink before we have to go downstairs?"

Draco gave her a solemn nod, silver eyes flickering over her face to catch any glimpse of ill intent before he turned from Hermione and moved across the room towards a small dry bar tucked in the corner. It was then that the sound of chanting from the party down below began to trickle into the room.

" Ten…..nine….eight —"

Hermione watched Draco lift the top of the bar open and search the vintage bottles. She almost felt bad about what was to come, but almost was not enough to stop her. Her eyes dropped from the wizard and she scanned the floor searching for either one of their wands that were lost earlier in the scuffle.

"Five….four...three —"

"Firewhiskey?" Draco questioned as he lifted a dusty looking bottle from the back.

"Sounds great," Hermione lied as she silently moved towards the couch, careful to keep her weight off the back of her heels and she bent low and snatched her vinewood from beneath the couch.

" Two...one! "

The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime, and the roar of excitement from the crowd below ushered in the New Year. Draco poured two fingers full of Firewhiskey into two crystal tumblers, chuckling to himself about how ironic the timing of this all had been. He had sworn off Granger as part of his New Year's resolution... the feelings she stirred within him brought a darkness within his soul to the surface that he had tried so desperately to bury. He smirked because technically, he didn't break his resolution since they had shagged before the clock struck twelve. "Well, I guess this is 'Happy New Year'?" Draco mused as he picked up the glasses and turned around to find himself at the pointy end of her wand.

"Happy New Year, Draco," Hermione returned before she twisted her wand with expert precision. " Stupify!"

"Malfoy? Malfoy! Draco, get the bloody fuck up!"

Draco groaned. He would never grow used to hearing Potter say his given name, even after all these damn years. "Go away," Draco grumbled before he swatted blindly at Harry, who was tapping his cheek. It was early—far earlier than he wanted to wake up after spending a night on duty. He needed sleep, a long shower, and a strong cup of tea before he would even consider facing the day or Harry Bloody Potter.

"Malfoy, get up !" Harry growled before roughly shoving him.

"What the fuck, Potter?!" Draco's eyes snapped open, a deep frown etched over his face as he sat up in bed. Silver eyes came into focus on Harry, who looked quite possibly more disheveled than he did, but the only difference was that Harry appeared far more alarmed than Draco did. Looking around the room, Draco noticed immediately that they were not alone. In the center of the room a white sheet lay over what he could only assume was a dead body based on the blood that seeped from under the cloth.

The memory of what occurred last night came flooding back to him like the Hogwarts Express. Hermione! She—she stunned him! But—then why was he in a bedroom? Shifting out of the plush bed, Draco's hands moved to smooth back his hair. "Wha—what happened?!"

"I could ask you that same bloody question," Harry hissed. "I saw you leave the ballroom around eleven. I had assumed you'd gotten a lead on where the bastard was. But from the looks of it, the Siren got ahold of you first."

The Siren. A terrible choice of a name considering he was fairly certain Granger's ability to sing was not high on her list of numerous talents. It's not like she was a part of that dreaded Toad Choir or anything. But what she lacked in musical talent, she certainly made up for in spades with her ability to fuck him into a mindless stupor. The Siren wasn't his choice of a code name, but rather one that floated around the office after a string of unsolved murders began to point to a witch as the culprit. In the beginning the DMLE assumed there were multiple perpetrators. The killings were so spread out and nothing really connected them. But then intel came in from foreign Ministries and the dots began to connect. She seemed to be targeting fugitives from the war. Deserters. Traitors.

Her first victim Dolohov. He found his end in the middle of the Forest of Dean. Knife wound to the side of his neck after he put up what looked like a hard fight. His death was shortly followed by Travers; again, a knife wound, but this time to the gut. That gruesome little find changed protocol on prisoner delivery, and for a short period of time a rather intensive internal investigation took place that was more that a bit annoying. But once she was out of Death Eaters to slay, it seemed her sights were set on the most vile and corrupt members of society. Some of these people made Death Eaters look like his childhood nannies in comparison. Murders, mob bosses and obviously—drug dealers. One could argue that The Siren was doing the world a favor by riding it of terrible people, like some sort of fucked up Robin Hood reborn. However those people were bloody wrong. The fact remained the same. She was a murderer. Taking lives and passing judgment like some sort of goddess. She was on the Aurors' radar, albeit incredibly low priority, but each murder made her name tick higher and higher on Kingsley's list.

"Fuck," Draco swore. He wasn't sure who he was more pissed at in this moment, Granger or himself for falling into her trap. How could he have been so bloody dense? This was nearly exactly what she had done in Brazil: shag him and run. Except this time he didn't awake to an empty bed in a beach resort with a weekend full of memories to add salt to the metaphorical knife wound in his gut. No, this time he woke up in a room with a fucking dead body! He should have resisted. He knew better.

"No kidding," Harry murmured before tossing Draco his discarded smoking jacket from the floor. "Did you see her this time?"

"What?" Draco moved out of the bed. As his feet hit the floor, an overwhelming sense of nausea washed over him and he had to shut his eyes as he nearly doubled over in pain. The stunning spell always left him with a nasty hangover, but Granger's seemed even worse than it usually did.

"The Siren. Did you get a look at her before she knocked you out?" Harry pressed. Shooting a less than sympathetic glance over his shoulder to his partner, Harry advanced across the room, his Auror robes sweeping the ground behind him as he moved to crouch beside the covered body.

"Oh...no," Draco lied, gulping down the rising bile in his throat, and he straightened up, both hands rising to smooth back his sleep mussed hair.

"Figures." Harry reached into his pocket, withdrawing his wand and directing it to the body. With the flick of his wrist, Harry muttered a spell, and the sheet began to roll back, revealing the person below.

Draco watched as the shroud was slowly pulled back to reveal a thick mop of red hair. His brows rose in surprise, as the assumption around the precinct was that the notorious drug dealer was of Romanian descent. After all, his alias translated to 'monster' in that language. It wasn't until the sheet lowered and the striking image of a magically tattooed dragon that covered the dead man's entire back came into view did the puzzle pieces finally snap together in his mind. Oh shit.

"Potter," Draco said hastily as he began across the room towards his partner, hand outstretched to stop him, but it was too late. Harry was already turning over the body.

"No," Harry gasped, his wand dropping immediately, ending the spell and slamming the body onto the floor with a loud thump. He stumbled backwards, landing on his arse as he scrambled to move away from the corpse of a man he would have recognized anywhere.

"Harry, don't look," Draco commanded, and he put himself between Harry and the body, trying to act as a physical barrier between the two.

"Ch—Charlie?" Harry croaked, disbelief impregnating his words as he stared at the pool of blood that was seeping closer to him now that the body had been disturbed. "No. It can't be."

Draco looked over his shoulder toward the dead wizard. His face was swollen, and purple from the way the blood pooled in his skin, but there was no mistaking his identity. The shoulder length red hair, the light brush of freckles over his skin, and the dragon tattoo on his back were all clear indicators that the dead man was indeed Charlie Weasley. The truth was, had either of them looked over the case file without bias they might have been able to pin the details to him, but this...this hit too close to home for Potter, which meant they had never stood a chance. "Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head as he watched the crimson pool spread. "I... he... there's no way." Harry struggled to form words, obviously shaken by the reveal of the drug lord's true identity. They had been tracking him for over six months now, and not once had they considered the possibility of the Bală being someone they knew. He had just spent Christmas with Charlie, for Merlin's sake! He sat in The Burrow and shared a pot of Molly's mulled wine with the bloke and spoke about his work in Romania. How could he have been so blind?!

"I need to go," Harry breathed, pushing up off the floor. He refused to let his eyes fall to the body again, instead keeping them glued to the marble floor as he moved towards the hallway in a brisk pace. "I—I'll notify the office."

Draco stayed silent, knowing no words would be able to ease the pain Harry felt. Not only did he discover that a man he considered a brother was murdered, Harry also had to break the news and the circumstances of his death to Molly and Arthur. Their son was dead and had been the head of a drug cartel that spanned three continents and had taken countless lives of innocent witches and wizards.

As the door swung shut after Harry's swift departure, Draco turned and knelt down to once more cover the body with the sheet, careful to avoid disturbing the handle of the knife that protruded from the center of Charlie's chest.

How much had Hermione changed these past few years to be able to murder without hesitation? Yes, Charlie had been a supremely dangerous drug lord, but this was a man she had known for over a decade. He was a surrogate brother to not just Harry, but to her as well. Draco let out a soft whistle, slightly awed by the once bookish girl who had grown up to be harder than half the Death Eaters he had known. He was going to have to step up his game and watch his back if he wanted to keep tracking her movements. He stood up slowly, brushing his hands against the silk of his trouser leg.

The Scourgify Team would be arriving shortly, and he needed to find his damn jacket if he wanted to avoid any uncomfortable discussions with Kingsley once he was back in England. Draco turned from the covered corpse to scan the room. Hermione had not stunned him in here, which meant she had to have moved him to the bed after killing Charlie—or perhaps she got the wizard to help move him while he was stupified. Fucking witch. Despite knowing he should hate her more now than ever, he couldn't help but wonder what her goal was in tucking him in and making sure he didn't wake up cold and sore on the hard floor in the smoking room.

Pushing away the maelstrom of confusion that brewed inside him, Draco moved silently across the room towards a small settee where he spotted his black smoking jacket. It appeared as though Hermione had draped the jacket over the back cushion with an odd sort of care considering how little concern she had had stunning him while he was still practically postcoital. Sliding his arms into the cool silk that lined the inside of the jacket, Draco smoothed the lapels, trying to rid the garment of winkles before patting the pockets in search of his wand. "What the fuck?" Draco breathed, frowning when he felt an odd lump in his right pocket that was most definitely not his wand.

Draco slid his hand into his opening and fished out the hidden object. Black cloth wrapped around—newsprint? What the fuck was this? He had definitely not had this on his person earlier in the evening. Which could only mean Hermione placed it in his pocket after he was stunned.

Draco unwound the black cloth from around the newsprint, and his brows rose to his hairline when he realised this was not just a piece of scrap. She'd wrapped her fucking thong around something. Merlin, what the bloody hell was she playing at?! Separating the knickers from the paper in his hands, Draco could not help but recall the last time he had touched them, soaked with her arousal as he pushed them roughly aside to touch her core. Draco bit his lip as he released an uneven breath at the memory before shaking his head to rid himself of it. He couldn't spend another moment thinking of his night with her. She was a criminal. He didn't need to confuse lust with affection, not when she had just killed a man! He hastily tucked the evidence of their night together into his pocket, making sure it was hidden before he began to open the wadded up ball of paper.

The language wasn't English, which was no surprise considering they were in Italy, but Draco did not need to read the language to know what it was that Hermione had wanted him to see. The image of a smiling teenager beamed at him through the wrinkles in the paper. Adelia Quietus. Her face had been plastered across the Prophet for weeks now. The papers reported her as a runaway, but everyone in the DMLE knew she was just the latest victim in a string of human trafficking cases. Was this a clue? Why the hell would she leave this in his pocket? Turning over the piece of newsprint in his palm, the backside revealed an elegant script he would have recognized, even if he didn't already know the author's identity. He had spent too many years in that drafty castle with her to not know her hand writing by now. It looked to be written in hast, or perhaps there was a tremor in her hand, for the words looked slightly choppier than he remembered her script being. "St. Petersburg," Draco whispered, his brow knitting as he flipped the article over in his hand again and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip in quiet contemplation.

She had to know where these girls were; it was the only thing that made sense. This had to be her way of telling him who her next mark was and where she was headed. The question was whether her souvenir was an invitation to continue this sinful game of cat and mouse they had started or if it was a warning for him to avoid the area.

Draco's hand curled around the paper, wadding it back into a ball, a smirk curving his lips as he internally accepted her challenge. Silver eyes flashed to the mantle to check the time before he turned to face the room. The Scourgify Team would be here any minute, and he hoped they would release the crime scene in a timely manner, for he would need to change into something a bit warmer if he intended on spending the night in Russia.

Author's Note:

First and foremost, we owe massive thanks to two wonderful souls. That gorgeous aesthetic you see was created by LadyKenz347. And Ravenslight once again was our Beta. Both of these ladies are Goddess' and deserve way more than our humble gratitude.

I hope you enjoyed our take at this latest prompt! We had was too much fun writing this and it honestly spurred a need to explore the universe that these two characters live in. Maybe one day we will revisit them!

Leave us a review, let us know what you think.