Title: First Date
Warnings (if any): Implied rape.
Summary: Tonight was the night of Draco and Hermione's first date.

Tonight was the night.

With eager anticipation coursing through my veins, I walked down the cobblestone road on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. Each self-assured step formed part of my swagger, one that exhibited both prestige and power in an instant.

I was a beast out on the ultimate hunt tonight and anticipating the conquest with eagerness.

However, my swagger didn't seem to blind the witch I was about to see. No, I had had to work harder with her. She was not a witch that was easily dazzled by charm and good looks. She could not be swayed by fortune and power. No, she was more interested in my thoughts and, Merlin forbid, feelings.

I think this is why the witch captured my interest.

However, if I was to be honest, there was more to it than that. My interest started around our third year at Hogwarts. At the time, I'd thought it was morbid curiosity mixed with the confusing onset of puberty. My fascination and, dare I say it, attraction to her, was taboo, so I'd thought it was best left unacknowledged in the hope it would go away.

It did not.

As I matured, my morbid fascination with the Mudblood only grew, and I was eventually rendered weak and powerless to its compulsions. She was nothing short of brilliant, and it seemed there was nothing she could not do. It didn't hurt that she was easy on the eyes, with a pretty face, a petite waist, long legs, and an amazing arse.

However, she was also a walking contradiction. It never ceased to amaze me how someone who had earned the distinction of becoming the smartest witch of our age was so completely and utterly ignorant when it came to the effect she had on men. Yes, she truly had no idea what it did to surrounding males when she ate a banana or hummed in appreciation at the smell of coffee, and she was totally oblivious to the gaggle of men who often trailed behind her just to ogle her small, tight derriere.

Truthfully, she set the entire male population wild, and I was not immune to her charms.

I was supposed to settle down, to run the family business and find a good pure-blood wife. However, I was seemingly incapacitated to do any of those things. My mind was continually plagued by illicit fantasies which were not conducive to a person of, if at least not upstanding moral character, then one who tended not to want to attract the attention of law enforcement.

Eventually, I grew to resent the power Hermione Granger held over me.

After one recent humiliating and unfulfilling sexual interlude with one of my typical weekend conquests, where I was once again emasculated by thoughts of Granger and couldn't find fulfilment inside my partner, I decided to finally act upon my desires, so I might take back my power once and for all.

So began my plan to get close to the witch in question.

The first step was a series of orchestrated 'random' encounters, which would force us to interact. I'd arranged for us to bump into each other in a shop in Diagon Alley or at the Ministry. Initially, Granger was uncomfortable with those exchanges, however given our shared past that was to be expected. I made every effort to engage in polite conversation during those times, without seeming desperate or creepy. I'd wanted her to become curious about me, and perhaps even believe that I may have changed my views on pure-blood rhetoric.

The next phase was to case her life, research her habits, to study her as fervently as she did her books. I kept out of her sight for two months, instead watching her from the shadows. I learnt what she liked, where she lived, where she went after work, and with whom she associated, both professionally and personally.

After the two months had passed, I initiated phase three of my plan. With luck on my side, I had discovered that one of her co-workers was a mutual friend. I used their acquaintance to my advantage. I 'happened' to be at the pub where she went for Friday night drinks and bought an 'innocent' round for my friend and all his colleagues, among them Granger. That night, she and I talked for hours about everything and anything, albeit drunkenly. It was then that I observed that she didn't handle alcohol well. However, that night I behaved the perfect gentleman to crush all doubts she might have harboured about me, and to win her over.

Phase four was to make her believe I was a good man. I made some donations to a few 'worthwhile' causes over a period of time, causes in which she had a vested interest. I did it anonymously, of course, knowing full-well she would be curious as to the donor's identity, and would in secret work to track down the 'generous patron'. We attended a few of the same charity functions, which only added credibility to my identity as her mystery benefactor. Basically, we saw each other relatively often traveling in the same circles, however I made sure we were never alone.

My plan to win a date with her was not one constructed in the hope of immediate success. After all, she would not be convinced of my worth overnight. I would have to seduce her gradually into my web.

Within months, our awkward encounters had transformed into friendly banter mixed with intelligent conversation, thus launching phase five. She'd begun asking me more personal questions each time we met, morphing us from acquaintances into friends all on her own.

Finally, the moment felt right to strike. I asked her on a date.

Predictably, she accepted.

Now, feeling a sense of achievement and trepidation, as it had taken a year of intense planning to get this far, I had to forcibly stop at her front door and take a moment to find my calm. This was it. Once the door opened, that would be the end of the power she held over me and the beginning of my salvation.

I needed this to move on with my life. I needed to break this strange hold she had over me. I allowed myself a moment more to go through every aspect of the plan. Every piece had been accounted for; this would work. It had to.

I'd make it work, no matter what!

I knocked on her door, firm enough she would hear it, yet not so loud she would think I was a hippogriff trying to break in. After a few seconds, she opened the door.

The warm lights from inside helped to create a silhouette of perfection in front of me. She looked like an angel, and her brown curls held like a halo. My devilish eyes quickly adjusted, sweeping down the length of her and taking in every inch of her curve-hugging black dress and the three-inch dark green heels that accessorized her feet.

She was stunning.

"Good evening, Draco," she greeted in a coy voice. "Shall we get going?"

She turned and locked the door behind her, placing the key and her wand in the black clutch she held in her left hand.

I offered her my arm and she willingly took it with a shy smile. We proceeded to Apparate on the spot with a whirl of motion.

I savoured the feeling of having her nestled by my side as we magically transported to our destination. I even leaned down towards her and inhaled the delicious scent of her hair when we arrived. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and for a second, I was rendered powerless by the alluring scent.

However, at the moment we landed, she caught me smelling her hair and awkwardly stepped back, unhooking her arm from mine. I immediately felt bereft of her warmth and cursed myself for faltering so early in the night.

"So, what are we doing?" she asked, nervously looking around at the downtown Magical London street.

I quickly regained control of my features and gave her my best mischievous smirk. "We will be attending the London Magical Symphony."

I felt triumphant as her hazelnut-coloured eyes widened with a unique mixture of shock and elation. The performance was something I knew she'd wanted desperately to attend, but the tickets had been sold out for months. Also, a lack of finances had kept her from procuring a ticket.
Money was no object for me, however.

"I never knew you liked the Symphony," she commented with disbelief in her voice.

"I am just full of surprises," I responded casually, giving her my most charming smile. "Shall we?"

I offered Hermione my arm and she took it without question, ignoring my earlier slip and the ensuing awkwardness. I almost tutted out loud at such naivety; people really should trust their instincts more often, and honestly, I'd expected better from her.

I guided Hermione up the stairs and into a private box above the main floor. She gasped as she saw the romantic table I'd had set-up for us. There were candles in the centre, surrounded by decorative red rose petals, and a bottle of expensive Champagne sat in a silver ice bucket to the side.

I played the role of the perfect gentleman and pulled out the chair for her to sit, and then poured her a glass of the Champagne.

"What shall we toast to?" I asked.

"A night to remember," Hermione replied. I noted that in the dim candlelight the apples of her cheeks held a lovely pink tinge.

"That sounds perfect. To a night to remember."

We raised our crystal glasses and clinked them together, and held eye contact as we sipped.

A night to "remember"… How right she was!

With that, we settled into the seating and allowed the music to do the talking for us. Throughout the performance, I occasionally glanced sideways at the witch beside me. If only she knew the multitude of impure thoughts I was, even then, having about her. If only she knew what I intended to do, what I had planned for her later... I glanced down at her delicate hand resting on the softness of the rose petals on the table, noticing the contrast. The petals were blood red against her pale skin.

I licked my lips in anticipation.

I forced myself to turn away from her and pay attention to the orchestra playing below. However, my heart pounded in time to the heavy Timpani drum's beat, seeming to urge me on. It was a struggle not to give to my wants, to stay in my seat and in control of my desires.

Then, the unexpected happened: Hermione reached across the table and entwined her fingers with mine.

I glanced over at her, unable to conceal my surprise, and she looked at me through misty eyes, clearly affected by the music. She didn't make a sound, but mouthed the words, "thank you" to me. Then, she shot me the most beautiful smile and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

I was completely disarmed and sat dumbstruck for the rest of the first half of the performance. I didn't dare move a muscle, scared that if I did, her hand would retreat from mine.

I spent the time considering my next move.

This was going better than I'd ever anticipated! She was really buying the Romeo act I'd put on! It would make what came next easier, certainly. Her newfound trust in me was an additional weakness to exploit. It would make the fallout sweeter to know I'd not just abused her of her stupidity, but that I'd broken her heart, too.

When an intermission was called, Hermione immediately excused herself to go to the restroom. I pulled her chair back, once again playing the gentleman, and watched her leave.

My eyes shifted to her glass of Champagne, which was now empty. I tutted. That would not do.

I refilled the glass and waited patiently for her return.

Hermione did not take long, and I greeted her with a full glass and canapés when she reappeared in our box. We spent the rest of the intermission genuinely enjoying one another's company and the refreshments I'd provided.

Before long we were once again sitting quietly listening to the second half of the symphony. This time, we were seated slightly closer together. I could see that Hermione had let her guard down and she seemed to be indulging in the Champagne a bit more freely, finishing off her second glass with a quick tip of her head.

Perfect, I thought. Everything was going according to plan.

I set my own glass aside, deciding I'd need my wits about me for later. Besides, I wanted to enjoy the rest of our first, and likely last, night together.

I loved that she once again took my hand in hers during the performance. I used the opportunity to draw slow, seductive circles on the sensitive skin of her palm with my thumb. A quick look at her face told me she was affected by the game.

I refilled her glass again and even encouraged her to have one more for the road, as we were fast approaching the end of the performance.

"I really shouldn't," she demurred. Her speech was slightly slurred, letting me know she was already slightly intoxicated.

Excellent.

Pushing the advantage, I appealed to her pragmatism to get my way, commenting that it would be a shame to waste such a fine vintage. She finally agreed and allowed me to fill her glass a final time—although it was against her better judgment, she insisted.

It was in that moment I knew I had won.

At the end of the concert, I relished Hermione's staggering around, and how she eventually required my assistance to walk. As she leaned against me, her body felt so utterly pliable that it required all of my hard-earned Slytherin restraint not to push her down onto the dirty floor of the private box, shove her dress up, and take her right there.

Instead, I walked her down the private stairs and guided her towards the Floo.

"We need to get you home," I said with genuine affection as I gently pushed back a strand of curly hair behind her ear.

She merely nodded and followed me without question.

"Malfoy Manor," I called, and we were whisked away to the privacy of my home.

Upon landing in my bedroom, she collapsed against me, the ride having further discombobulated her senses. I took the opportunity to hold her captive against my frame.

"Where are we?" she asked, totally disorientated.

Here out of sight of others, in a location of my choosing, where I could control the outcome, I finally let my mask drop and allowed my baser self to rise up and claim its revenge.

"Where do you think you are, Hermione?"

Somehow, through the alcohol, she sensed the change in my voice and in my hold on her, because she looked up at me with knitted brows and genuine confusion. "Draco? I…I," she stammered before trying to free herself from my grip, clearly sensing danger. However my arms were now securely snaked around her small torso, and I held her firmly to me. "What do you think you are doing?" she asked, clearly alarmed.

Weakened by her drunken state, she had little in the way of an effective resistance. I didn't even have to work hard to disarm her; I just tossed her black clutch bag, which held her wand within, aside.

I walked her struggling form backward towards the edge of my bed and pushed her unceremoniously down upon it. I pounced upon her immediately, caging her body between the mattress and my hard frame. With a violent shove, my knees forced her legs apart and I lewdly rubbed the evidence of my arousal against her.

I looked down at her terrified face, wanting to devour her. She was utterly delectable, vulnerable under me. I would put my real plan in action and pillage every part of her body, leaving no part unexplored. I would take back my power and leave this witch powerless against me. I would exorcise myself of her, one thrust at a time.

And when I was done using her, I'd Obliviate her of everything after the Floo ride to my home. Going to Azkaban wasn't part of the plan, after all.

I leaned down so my mouth was against the shell of her ear. "You see, Mudblood, it'll only hurt for a little while. Sooner than you know, you'll forget it ever happened!"

With that, I allowed my inner beast loose, desecrating her in every way.