Written for SilverOwlMalfoy's Your Typical Songfic Challenge.
Song: Disrespectful - Trey Songz ft Mila J
Unfortunately, I had to remove the song lyrics from the writing because I was told that apparently the site forbids posting lyrics in songfics.
Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the song belong to me.
Please read and review. :)
"Where are you going?" Astoria asked sleepily, opening her eyes by a millimetre. She rolled over to her side to get a better view of her husband, who was standing with his back to her.
Draco froze in the process of buttoning his shirt. Damn, did Astoria have to wake from her afternoon siesta just at that moment? Ten more minutes, and he would have been saved of all those lies. He would have to think something up by the time he returned, though. Oh well...
He turned towards his wife with a carefully placed smile.
"Oh, honey, I didn't know you were awake. I was just going out to the Diagon Alley. Theo told me he'd be meeting up to talk up that issue we were having over the Doberheim reports."
Astoria smiled, her eyes still heavy with sleep, her long lashes curling in that adorable way, as if beckoning him to get back to bed. "You work so hard, Draco. You are hardly ever home these days. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you were making out with some other girl." She brushed her long dark hair out of her face, and missed how the colour drained from Draco's face at that.
"You really know how to joke, darling," he forced a chuckle. Astoria joined in, her laughter like the ringing of wind chimes, and he relaxed slightly.
The antique clock on the wall showed fifteen minutes past four. If he didn't hurry, he would be late. And she did not like anyone not being punctual.
"Anyway, see you, Astoria," he managed to say with his voice steady. "Be home soon."
"Okay," she returned with a sweet smile. "I'll be waiting."
Draco walked out of the room as fast as he could without making it look like running. As he opened the main door, the smell of cherry blossoms hit him, fragrant and beautiful, wafting from the grove they had on the side. Spring made even the grey surroundings of the Malfoy Manor look cheery; Draco even managed to prevent himself from scowling at the peacocks strutting in the garden. He never understood that particular fad of his father; he had never liked those birds, ever since one of them bit his finger.
As Draco climbed down the stone steps that led out of the Malfoy Manor, he found those cursed doubts and misgivings rise again, all those second thoughts clouding his brain once more. Although after all those meetings, after having those precise thoughts so many times before, he idly wondered if they could be counted as second thoughts anymore. He was sick of this, of this uncertainty that gripped him every time he went out for one of those visits.
If someone had told him he would be doing what he was doing some years ago, he would have laughed perhaps, derisive and disbelieving, and sent a nasty curse in the person's wake for good measure. But now he was doing it, really doing it. He was seeing her. He had fallen for her. He was letting go of his dignity, his pride, his self-respect. He was lying to his family, to his friends, to his wife. All for her. Some part of him wondered to this day why exactly he couldn't leave her alone, only to sink back unanswered.
With each rendezvous, with each kiss, with each session in a bed that wasn't his own, he tried to summon up his strength to call it the last. After all, what they were doing wasn't right. He was married. She was married. Both of them were cheating, being unfaithful, being disrespectful to the laws of marital love. Astoria was so trusting, so sweet and unknowing; it almost made him regret every time he tangled his fingers his those impossibly curly brown locks. Almost.
Astoria would probably kill him if she found out about this. Or kill her, more likely.
He wondered what his parents would say if they heard of it. That he was having an extramarital affair with a mud— (no, he couldn't possibly call her that, not anymore) a muggleborn, of all people. He would be disowned faster than you could say 'Malfoy'.
He wondered absentmindedly what Weasley would do if he got wind of this. Try to get him with another half-broken wand maybe. Draco laughed at that old memory that ran through his head — Weasley belching slugs.
He quickly apparated to Diagon Alley. He wasn't lying when he said he was going there, just lying about who he was meeting. Oh, that reminded him, he needed to tell Theo to say yes if Astoria asked him whether they were meeting. You never know where the waters could flow. And then he would have to lie to him as well, about who he was actually meeting... he sighed. So many lies. He was living in lies now. Just for her.
Is this really worth? a small voice in his head spoke up again. You hated her a few years ago. Can't you get back to that?
No, he told himself, he couldn't do that. Not ever, not anymore. And the sight of her standing in a secluded spot by Madam Malkin's only confirmed that.
Diagon Alley was just as packed and crowded as always; there were people rushing and talking everywhere. Despite the fact that he didn't go there any longer, Draco had to admit that he preferred Knockturn Alley much more than this. It was way more quiet, and always radiated an aura of, albeit dark, power.
But for now, he only had his eyes for her. And at that moment, his mind whispered — Yes, she is worth everything.
She was simply dressed as always; she never bothered to dress up and do make-up. Come to think of it, the only he had seen her formally dressed was the Yule Ball. The mental image of her in that beautiful blue dress, her hair sleek and shiny and smooth, made his pants feel tight.
As he walked towards her, he looked around him carefully, checking for anyone he knew; it had become a habit now. It wouldn't do good for someone to see him and Granger together.
She looked up when he was within a couple of yards from her.
"I thought you were never going to turn up," she said, a smile tugging at one corner of her lips.
"Hey, some people actually have some work, you know," he smirked.
"Oh, yes, yes, Mr Ferret. As if I'm sitting at home doing nothing."
He no longer minded when she called him a ferret; although the memory itself was not a pleasant one, her voice no longer held spite when she called him that, unlike earlier, when they were, sort of, sworn enemies, just a playful adoration. As much as he tried to control himself, he never managed to suppress the silly grin that bloomed on his face in these moments. So very unlike him, he thought.
"I nearly blew it up today," he admitted as he took her hand. "Astoria woke up before I could leave."
He felt her stiffen. "And?" she prompted.
"And nothing. I managed to put it off by saying that I was meeting Theo."
"I told you nights were safer." He heard that typical know-it-all tone creep into her voice. "Anyone can see us during the day."
"Never knew when you turned so stupid, Granger," he couldn't stop the sneer from entering his voice, but then, he was not running those risks only to be bossed around. "If Astoria ever woke up in the night to find me gone, the game will be up immediately; she's not a fool. And I wonder if even Weasley is that dumb that he won't notice dark circles under your eyes in the morning." He traced the mentioned places with his thumb. She jerked away from his touch, hurt simmering in her eyes. Oh, right, he had forgotten that she didn't like her intelligence being questioned.
"And besides, I don't care."
She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. "Excuse me?"
"I said I don't care. I just want to see you and touch you and hold you, and I'll go through any amount of lies to get that done." Draco himself felt as stunned as Hermione looked when he finished. Had he somehow managed to switch souls or personalities with someone else? He never knew until then that he cared so much about her not to care about anyone or anything else.
"Um, right," she cleared her throat nervously. "I guess we're leaving."
"We are," he agreed.
"Where to?"
"I got a room in muggle hotel nearby. No one will recognise us there."
"Okay." She hooked her arm to his, and pulled out her wand. "This is your party, Mr Malfoy."
He smiled. "At your service, Miss Granger." (For he was never, ever calling her Mrs Weasley if he could help it.)
And with a hardly audible crack, they disappeared.
When darkness gave way to colourful reality, the two found themselves as standing in front of the grand expanse of the Ritz hotel. Draco smiled as Hermione let out a strangled gasp.
"Like it?" he murmured, burying his face in the base of her neck and moving away moments later in a teasing gesture.
"Draco, you — you shouldn't have —" she whispered, at a loss of words for once.
"It's been a month since we started dating. One month of lying to and evading our close ones successfully. I see no reason why it shouldn't call for celebration."
"You — obnoxious, stupid —" her insults were nullified by her breathless tone, flushed cheeks and teary eyes. Being treated to expensive stuff was evidently a new experience for her; that added another point to Draco's list of 'Why Weasley is no higher than a weasel'. That guy sure didn't know how to treat a lady. Before Hermione could get any more words out of her wise little (and sexy, you wouldn't imagine how creative those lips which once shot answers in the class could be) mouth, Draco pulled her by the hand and dragged her to the entrance.
A quick (and lavish) afternoon tea later, the two were in the bedroom. The door was locked from the inside.
Draco looked at Hermione. She was reclined on the bed, her dress hiked up just a bit (unintentionally, of course; Granger was never a tease), revealing those delicious long legs which made his mouth water.
"You are always selecting the most unfavourable timings for our meetings," she said petulantly, and he grinned to himself at how she stuck to calling their dates 'meetings', always. "I had to cancel another get-together with Ginny and Hannah. I'm sick of cancelling everything, just to meet you."
"Oh, but Granger," he smirked, striding like a predator towards the bed, and watching with growing satisfaction how her cheeks coloured and her breasts heaved with his every move. "You know you wanted this. You know that you have wanted this, always. And that is why you come to me every time, despite everything." He fell on the bed at her side, and leant over to trail his lips along her jawline. "Haven't you?"
"I...ohhh..." she moaned, responding to him just like he wanted. "I... Merlin, damn it!" And in a swift motion which took him completely by surprise, she captured his lips with uncharacteristic ferocity.
Draco wasn't complaining, anyway.
-o0o-
"Hermione, are you sure you don't want us to reschedule the tea party? I'm sure Hannah won't mind..."
"Oh, no, Gin. I can't possibly ask you to go through all that trouble. I will see you some other time." Hermione felt terrible as she cancelled yet another chance to meet her friends.
"It's a shame that you get your Ministry appointments at such horrible timings," Ginny said, her tone over the phone thick with empathy. After all, she too had a busy schedule with the Harpies, and hardly found time at home.
"Yeah, yeah. A pity." Hermione felt the lie almost choking her. She couldn't believe she was lying to her best friends, her relatives, her husband, only for a... for a sly little ferret!
A sly little ferret whom you love, her inner voice corrected her, much to her annoyance. Not because how superior the tone of that voice sounded, but because what it had said was absolutely true. She knew it, although she didn't want to admit it — she was in love with Draco Malfoy. She almost felt like laughing. Who would have thought things would turn out like this?
It was really astounding how many times she had had this argument with herself, and how many times its result had been the same. Don't do this! said her conscience, unwaveringly, but there was always this little part of the brain which always provided her with this delicious sense of rule-breaking at her actions, and she ended up defeating her goodwill anyway. Every time. Every time for one whole month. She felt herself colour at how she was deceiving Ron.
It had all began in an overcast afternoon at a crowded Flourish and Blotts', the third of August. She had had an argument with Ron, and had huffed out of the house. If it were in Hogwarts, she would have marched off to the library, for books always helped her relax, but since that was not so, she had headed for the famous bookstore which was always crammed with all sorts of books.
Her relationship with Ron hadn't gone smooth, especially after the marriage. Even until the last year, she could have sworn that she loved Ron more than her own life, that she loved him just as fervently and as deeply as she did in their sixth year and onwards, and perhaps even before. She had loved him for all he was — brave, faithful and funny, albeit a little idiotic, oblivious and even hurtful at times. Which was why she had accepted in tears his proposal for marriage. But it had cracked then, after the wedding. Two months of bliss, and then something seemed to slip out of their relationship. Ron was a bit more ill-tempered now, quite frequently, and they argued often. As much as she did not want to admit it, Hermione could feel her love for her husband waning at a rather rapid pace.
And it was in that attempt to cool of her anger that things took an unexpected turn. She had hardly been halfway through flicking across the little red-covered book (others would insist that she was pretty much memorising it, but she would beg to differ) when she heard someone stumble against a bookshelf and curse under his breath. Driven by common curiosity, she turned around, and found herself trapped by sharp silver eyes.
"Malfoy," she acknowledged the presence of the stranger, keeping the venom out of her voice; by her own principle, she always took care to speak civilly to most of the people, as the war was long over and there was no further reason to take sides.
"Granger," he nodded, his eyes widening slightly, probably in surprise at her almost friendly manner.
"Weasley now, actually," Hermione corrected. His features wrinkled in distaste.
"Don't tell me you finally married that weasel. Once would think a girl as clever as you would see sense and act better."
She flushed, and turned away, even though his passing compliment latched onto her brain. There was clearly no further reason to interact with someone who was apparently the same arrogant git that he had been.
"It's none of your business, Malfoy. And I see that you, for your part, have not changed at all," she replied coldly, and stalked off.
She had barely gone past two bookshelves when she heard him.
"No — I — Granger, wait!" By the last word, he had reached up to her and grabbed her hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Hermione turned, and stared at their linked hands with raised eyebrows (which reflected only a fraction of her shock). His cheeks flushed a light pink, and he broke the contact.
"Let's not keep going in those circles of viciousness all over again," he said. "What about a drink together?"
Hermione did not know what made her say yes to the offer made by the guy whose guts she (thought she) hated. Perhaps it was the loneliness and bitterness that had settled over her due the growing distance with Ron; perhaps it was due to the fact that she craved some closeness and love, and maybe some subconscious part of her mind which knew Draco to be capable of giving just that had nudged her to make that decision. Whatever be the reason, Hermione accepted his offer, and it led to an evening which she would never forget. Never, all through her life.
Not that there were many sharp details that Hermione had retained of that night. Somehow, breaking her usual principles, she had got hopelessly drunk. She remembered Draco ordering a bottle of firewhiskey for the two of them at the pub they had visited; she had lost track when that one shared bottle had turned into three for only her. Malfoy, of course, had remained quite sober. After the night, she had only a hazy recollection of all that had happened thereafter — her pulling Malfoy to his feet, his weak protests, disapparating to a local hotel (she did not understand to this day how she managed to apparate without losing any body parts; perhaps Draco helped), and then... oh, God, then...
This part didn't have much to do with precise details, rather sensations instead, and Hermione remembered those sensations perfectly. The soft but creaky bed, his soft, pale skin, their mingled heavy breathing, the unquenchable, burning heat, trickles of sweat rolling down her neck, his arms around her, her body over his, his grunts of pleasure, her screams of ecstasy, and the wonderful feeling of being sated as she sunk to sleep.
She did not know (that time and afterwards, she did not know a lot of things, which was unusual for Hermione Granger) just how potent the alcohol must had been to cumulate all of her marital loneliness into a night in bed with no one other than Malfoy. But even more, she didn't know why Malfoy had accepted her behaviour.
But there was one thing that couldn't be denied — she'd had drunken sex with a sober Draco Malfoy.
But what was strangest was that she had woken up in her bed, in her own bed in her own house. There had been a letter under her pillow.
Hermione, it said,
Just in case you are wondering, none of last night had been a dream. If you want to talk about it or anything (maybe a repeat of last night?), you can find me on Saturday, four o'clock at The Watchers.
D.M
Hermione was completely stumped.
Despite her promises to herself of forgetting all about it and never, ever talking to on Draco Malfoy, Hermione couldn't leave that night behind. It kept coming back to her, haunting her day and night. When she went to bed with Ron at night, she got flashes of silky blonde hair instead of ginger. Finally, she could take it no more. She decided to go and meet him. She would just apologise for her behaviour, she told herself, she would just do the required and leave, and never see him again.
The Watchers was a pub in Knockturn, and braving the creepy crowds and displays, just as she had done in her sixth year with her best friend and the boy who was now her husband, she arrived at the appointed time.
His knowing smirk when he saw her was infuriating.
"I knew you would come," he said, waving towards a chair beside him.
"Look," she said, feeling her face heat up as she sat down inches from him, "that night, it was all a mistake. I was drunk. I'm sorry for what I did, okay? I'll never repeat this." It gave a blow to her ego, apologising to Malfoy, but she felt she needed to do it.
"No." His answer took her by surprise.
"What no?"
"That night wasn't a mistake. What I'd call it, love, is the result of Weasel's inability to give his wife some much needed love."
"You —" she wanted to shout that he was wrong, that he had no business interfering in others' lives, and similar things, but he shushed her by placing his finger on her lips.
"Tsk, tsk, little lady, don't talk so much. Oh, and Granger, it also might be because you find me quite likeable."
Her eyes widened, but before she could form a reply against the finger dancing (oh so tantalisingly) on her lips, he spoke again. "Then why, pray, have you been blushing ever since you sat down beside me?"
Her blush intensified, but she was, for once, at a loss of words. She wouldn't have been able to speak had Draco allowed her to do so.
"So what about it, Miss Granger? Give me a chance?" he whispered, bending close to her, his hot breath falling on her ear. "I am sure you won't regret it, and given that you are such a sexy kitten, I know I won't."
At his words, her body suddenly seemed to start thinking for her. Her breathing rate intensified, her lips parted, and as if in a spell, she leaned forward, and before she knew it, her tongue was exploring the depths of his mouth, and her fingers danced across his back. She felt him smile triumphantly against her lips, but she was feeling too good to care.
That had been a month ago. And in that interval, she had met Draco around eight times, all the while hiding this from the other people in her life. And while her rational side rebelled against this lifestyle of deception and secrecy, she could never make each meeting the last, however much she tried. At first what stopped her was the sex, which was just too good and sating and goddamn perfect (now she wouldn't hesitate in admitting — Malfoy was amazing in bed) to leave behind, and she couldn't bring the strength to do it. But then, around the sixth meeting, love came into the equation. She realised that she loved Draco (a realisation that almost made her laugh then, at the irony), but what came as a bigger surprise was when Draco admitted that he was in love with her as well. And they both were married to someone else. Fate liked twists in the tales she wove, it seemed.
So here she was, in bed in a room in the Ritz (and Merlin, Ron never treated her so lavishly), and a certain Mr Malfoy was trailing wet kisses down her now naked body, and Hermione Granger could not find anything worth complaining.
-o0o-
Draco had known that the evening was not going to go to waste right from the moment he saw Hermione at Diagon Alley, and he wasn't wrong. For however sweet and beautiful Astoria might be, everything fell short to Hermione Granger. He wondered, these days, how he had kept up hating her all through the school years. Or perhaps he hadn't really hated her; he had only seen her blood status, and the fact that a muggleborn could give everyone in the magical world a run for their money in their own home ground was something he had been able to bear. Now it only caused a surge of pride and affection when he thought what an excellent specimen his lover was. Which made him wonder when he became such a softie.
"You're exquisite," he moaned against her skin, enjoying the sensation of her soft pale skin against his.
"Th-thank you!" she gasped out, her whole body trembling with the onslaught of sensations running through her.
His fingers roamed every inch of the bare expanse of her skin, and reached her arm. The scars — mudblood — prickled against his touch. He winced.
"I'm sorry," he said, softly tracing the letters crudely carved in with a silver knife. He said that every time he came across those scars. He felt unbearably guilty.
"Don't," she said quietly. "There was nothing you could do."
Except that he felt that there was; he could have not been an ass and watched her suffer, he should have stepped in and stopped the monstrosity of his aunt. He still remembered watching the blood run freely as Bellatrix bent over Hermione, and the overwhelming feeling of nausea that had gripped him. But he was not a Gryffindor — he wasn't brave and stupid, and at the time, with his feelings nowhere as strong as they were now for her, he had just watched helplessly with a faint feeling of rightness in the gruesome act.
Not wishing to ruin the mood with his brooding, he turned her attention back to her, suddenly determined to make up for all those years of horrible behaviour with this evening. He never ceased to be surprised at the change she had brought in him. It was as if he was a different person altogether.
They remained quiet for the time being, sighs and moans and incoherent mumblings all that broke the silence.
"Why don't you leave Weasley?" he asked suddenly.
She stiffened. "What?"
"Why don't you leave Weasley? Fat lot of good staying with him is doing to you."
"Why don't you leave Astoria?" she countered. "I don't think she deserves the sort of double-crossing game that you are playing with you."
"You don't seem to have a problem with my 'double-crossing' when I am kissing you, it seems," he smirked, emphasizing his words by bringing them to action. She squirmed. "And I could leave you if you wish. But do you?"
"Shut up, Draco. We both know what we doing isn't right. And you couldn't leave me if you wanted."
"Don't be so cocky, Granger," he said, a deep-throated chuckle accompanying his words. "Do not test me." But she was right, of course. "And while we indulge in our wrongdoing, let me be a bit more disrespectful to the laws."
And with that, he set on making good upon his words.
It was a surprise that their noises hadn't made it past their room. Past the curtained windows, London glittered, adorned in rows and rows of lights. But the room was dark, and neither of the two individuals cared to switch on the lights in the least.
-o0o-
Hermione sighed as she watched Draco put on his clothes and arrange his appearance in the mirror. Another evening was over, another special evening. Now she would have to get back home and have dinner with Ron (and Merlin knew how much longer she would be able to stand him) and carry out her lies and acting and hope that the secret hadn't got out. This double life of deception and secrecy... Hermione Granger did not wish to live it like that.
"How long, Draco?" she murmured as he smoothed down his hair. "How long will this go on? Will things ever smoothen out? Will we be caught? Will we..." she trailed off, unable to express all the uncertainties and fears. She felt like she was standing on a hanging bridge which was slowly tearing apart, unable to move either forward or backward.
Draco looked behind at her figure still stretched out on the bed, looking as lovely as ever. He watched her intently for a few seconds, and then walked back slowly to the bed.
"Honestly, Mione," he said, smoothing the tangle bush of brown hair framing her face, "I don't care. As long as I have you, I can overlook what might happen. I don't care. I just don't."
His words were so sincere, so full of promise, that Hermione felt the shadow lift off her heart. This was no longer the boy whom she had hated in her school years, he was the man she loved. And while she had no idea where to go, he was holding her, giving her strength, and she could stand it all, even if the hanging bridge fell.
"You know what, Draco?" she whispered, leaning in for a last kiss. "If you don't care, I don't, either."
-o0o-