The Dinner Party and other Tales
About: A collection of M rated one shots all featuring Dramione. I want to try out a range of tropes and ideas rattling around in my brain. I may also throw in the odd spin off one shot from my other stories such as Stolen Memories or The Marriage Bond.
If you have read my work you'll know I make an effort to be mostly accurate, but I am not a stickler. I take liberties and I whilst I proofread, I often leave small errors I catch later if they don't undermine the story.
Warnings: M for adult content. Seriously, there will be lemons. If you are underage and/or offended by such content, please cease reading now. Reading things you know you wont like and complaining only ruins it for others.
Note: I am happy to take requests as well. If there is something you would like to read, let me know in the reviews!
Disclaimer: No profit made and I do not own Harry Potter.
The Dinner Party
Draco hated these events. Loathed them. Dreamt about the day when he could retire and never see these people again – but it had to be done.
As he now had control of the family fortune, family business, and thus, the family image, he was obligated to host stuffy dinner parties for senior Ministry officials and prominent members of the business community.
Harry Potter once said that suffering through a single hour of one of these events was worse than one of Snape's positions classes when he was in a particularly foul mood. For once in his life, he was inclined to agree with the boy-who-lived-then-basked-in-media-attention-for-the-rest-of-his-life.
Begrudgingly, he had accepted Potter wasn't so bad after all– not compared to the other Ministry department heads. As Head Auror, Potter was always at his events and frankly, thank Merlin he was. He may have hung himself from the nearest chandelier if he didn't have some reasonable company.
Between buttoned up career politicians and public servants, old racist pureblood elites and hyper-successful business types, it was a painful experience.
Then of course, there was the added discomfort of having to share a dinner table with Gryffindor's princess herself, Hermione Granger, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic.
No matter how much good he did in the world, she always looked at him with the same suspicion she had throughout their time at Hogwarts. If she bothered to look at him at all. In short, she was a constant reminder of his past mistakes.
Tonight her thick curls tamed and drawn into a tasteful up-do by a beautiful hair clip studded with rubies. He idly thought that it would look far better if they were emeralds. She had just the right complexion for green.
The hairstyle revealed her long, elegant neck on which she wore no jewellery. Most of the women in the room were from well to do pureblood families and the wives of his wealthy and 'charitable' guests. The Ministry hadn't quite caught on to gender equity yet and Granger being a department head was anomalous to say the least. She was the most well accomplished woman in the room – and one of the most well-respected individuals there generally.
The housewives all wore gaudy jewels around the necks – each trying to send a message to the others about her wealth and status. Having witnessed these displays for the entirety of his own life, he found the whole thing tiresome.
He much preferred Granger's neck. Creamy, unadorned… the kind of thing you could imagine your mouth all over.
Fuck, don't think these thoughts. Don't think these thoughts. Ron Weasley. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Ah yes, that will do it – I'll never have an erotic thought again after that image.
Back to business. Boring conversation. Trying not to look down Granger's dress.
Gods, when did she get a rack like that? Fuck. Ron Weasley. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom… in latex. Ah, much better.
He wasn't sure when his attentions towards the former fuzzy-haired bookworm had begun. Perhaps it was when he realised she looked stunning in anything she wore… and under those robes all of those years was not a frumpy body as he had assumed… but the body of a goddess.
Perhaps it was eavesdropping on her holding her own with misogynistic Ministry officials and closet racists from pureblood circles. Whatever it was, he couldn't help but covertly examine her with lust at every one of these events.
She was unattainable and it made every moment in her presence torture.
The dinner itself was typically painful. He sat beside Potter, who sat directly opposite Granger. Topics centred around a range of bills before the Ministry and a number of taxation issues. Potter looked like he would rather another round with the Dark Lord than to continue for another moment.
Poor guy, saves the world and winds up here.
Granger was predictably enthralled by some discussion or other about the welfare of magical creatures and the regulation of House Elves. He rolled his eyes and necked his champagne when no one was looking.
A nervous young waiter (it was no longer politically correct to use elves at these events) attempted to pour him more but somehow managed to drop the near-full glass, causing it to hit the table and empty its contents on Mr. Greengrass – father of Astoria, the woman he was supposed to marry in order to continue their noble family bloodlines. She was a twit, and it was never going to happen. He would sooner die a bachelor or jump the fence.
The rotund man scoffed at the young waiter. "This is what happens when we have to replace elves with mudbloods," he remarked, loudly enough for Potter, Granger, himself and one or two others in their section of the table to hear.
The boy looked mortified.
Draco was about to say something about the harassment of his staff when he saw Hermione lean forward to garner the prick's attention.
"Mr Greengrass. As the HEAD of Magical Law Enforcement – I would hate to have to act on what I have just seen and heard. The use of the term 'mudblood' may indicate ongoing loyalties to dark witches and wizards unknown who wish to continue on with Voldemort's legacy," she sighed thoughtfully. Although her tone was calm, her demeanour was threatening.
"I just think it would be such a bother to have to tear apart that beautiful mansion of yours looking for dark artefacts and the like… ohhh, and the interviews… every friend and family member… what a hassle, don't you think?" she asked him, shooting him a look Draco felt sure would cause the man to spontaneously combust.
The plump wizard cleared his throat. Draco knew that although it would kill him inside, Hermione had wielded her power over him perfectly. Families like his were always under suspicion with Ministry officials who were all waiting for the opportunity to get into their private vaults.
The man turned to the young waiter red faced. "I apologise for my language young man, it was a slip from a former life," he said with false graciousness.
The boy nodded with acceptance before scampering away – bottle in hand. Hermione smiled at Mr Greengrass and then excused herself politely.
He knew she wasn't headed in the direction of the ladies' room and given that she took off after the waiter, he concluded she was on her way to the kitchens. Excusing himself and asking Potter to play host in his absence, he followed suit.
When he arrived in the kitchen he was stunned to see Hermione with her hands in the sink doing dishes.
"Would you mind terribly, Damon, telling me why one of my guests is waist deep in the sink when everyone in here is equipped with perfectly good wands?" he asked his Head Chef, bemused.
"I'm sorry Sir, she insisted," he replied.
"Well, she always has been persuasive," he said, sending a glare in her direction. He was sure if her hands weren't in the sink she probably would have flipped him off.
"Everyone…" he announced, "take your evening break." The staff of Malfoy Manor did not need to be told twice and filed out of the room with military precision.
Once they were alone, Draco leaned on the side of the bench leisurely and watched her.
"Are you having some kind of life crisis Granger?" he asked finally, after observing her for a while.
"No Malfoy, I am not having a life crisis," she replied, rolling her eyes.
"Considering a new career in hospitality perhaps?" he asked sweetly.
"No," she replied bluntly.
"Then would you care to explain why you are presently washing the dishes like Cinderella?" he asked.
"I am surprised you know about Cinderella, Malfoy," she responded evenly.
"I grew up in elite circles Granger, not under a rock," he shot back, unfazed.
She snorted and continued to wash dishes and place them into the large dish racks. He made himself comfortable by sitting on the bench and continued to observe her.
"Malfoy…" she warned.
"Yes Granger?" he replied.
"Why are you still watching me?" she asked.
"Because you have yet to provide an explanation for your bizarre behaviour and I need to establish whether or not you are having a psychotic break, love!" he shot back.
"Don't call me love," she said, scowling.
"Okay darling," he replied cheekily.
"Har... Har... Malfoy," she snapped, unimpressed with his childish response.
He continued to look at her expectantly until she finally cracked.
"Sometimes I forget. I sit in my office in my great life… surrounded by supportive friends… and I forget," she confessed.
"Forget what?" he asked gently.
Truthfully, he thought he might get a good verbal sparring session in – he wasn't expecting for her to confide something personal in him. She never did that. He was Malfoy to her. Untrustworthy Malfoy.
She turned towards him and they locked eyes. She held his gaze as she continued her explanation.
"That there are still people who will always see me, and people like me, as mudbloods… sub-human… worthless," she said seriously.
"Old Greengrass is a prize twat Granger. Nobody likes him. If those tax bills go through he'll probably go broke or flee the country… don't pay attention to him," he instructed.
She stopped her scrubbing for a moment to address him. "That's very easy for you to say," she said dismissively.
"Perhaps," he conceded, "but that doesn't make me wrong."
Unexpectedly, she smiled.
"Are you feeling better? Will you stop pretending you're a house maid now?" he asked.
"I think I will do this a little longer," she said, "it always calms me down… and I would rather not go back in there and hex the man's balls off," she finished.
Draco snorted. "As much as I would love to see that… I think that's a good idea. Can I help you?"
This time it was Hermione's turn to snort. "Draco Malfoy? Doing dishes? Like some kind of commoner? You don't need to lower yourself to that, dear," she laughed.
"Don't call me dear," he shot back in his best impression of her earlier.
"Okay then, sweetheart," she responded using her best exaggerated Malfoy impersonation.
Malfoy scowled. Quick witted little cow, he thought to himself.
"Just let me help," he whined. He didn't mean to sound like a petulant child but... sometimes one simply couldn't help these things.
"Malfoy, you would have no idea what you were doing and would possibly break this rather lovely china," she insisted, holding up a plate as if to drive the point home.
"That sounds like a challenge to me Granger," he replied playfully. He wasn't one to be easily disparaged.
She exhaled loudly and turned to him.
"Fine, let me get you an apron," she said, wandlessly summoning one from a nearby hook.
He put it on quickly, much to her amusement.
"Draco Malfoy in an apron… not something I knew I wanted to see but… frankly I think this would make an excellent yearly calendar," she said appreciatively, "let me do one more thing," she added mischievously, spelling the apron pattern to change to the cartoon lower half of a bikini clad woman, the likes of which one might see in a Vegas souvenir shop.
Draco looked down, unimpressed. "Hilarious Granger, have you ever considered a career in comedy?" he snapped.
Hermione giggled and flicked some water at him. "Shut up and help or fuck off Malfoy."
"The disrespect…" he mused, "and in my own home too," he responded without malice.
Hermione rolled her eyes and handed him a dish towel, "I'll wash, you dry," she instructed.
"Yes ma'am," he said obediently, unable to believe that he was assisting with housekeeping activities in what he had to admit to himself, was an attempt to flirt with Hermione Granger.
Worse yet, she was flirting back, giving him (false?) hope that his vivid fantasies of hitching her dress up and taking her on the stainless steel bench by the sink – apron be damned, might just come true.
They washed and dried for some time in comfortable silence. He wasn't about to admit that Hermione Granger was right, but there was something deeply therapeutic about the repetitive action of it. Although he could think of several other repetitive actions he would prefer to be doing right now.
"Since you have so kindly taught me how to engage in the muggle activity of dish cleaning, Granger," he said carefully, would you possibly like to stay for a drink after I get rid of all of these insufferable assholes?"
Hermione smirked as she did a drying spell on the front of her dress, which had been soaked by several loads of dishes and Draco occasionally finding it hilarious to splash her.
It seemed like an eternity passed where she said nothing. Perhaps he had made a miscalculation. Sure, they had a 'moment' by the sink… but that didn't mean she was going to want to be pals all of a sudden.
"Just an offer Granger," he added casually. He had always been an excellent actor. One had to be, growing up in a house full of Death Eaters.
"Is it smart for a woman to stay in a mansion alone with a man that owns several dungeons?" she asked mischievously. Merlin, she was flirting with him. He had to do his best to remain calm.
"May I walk you to my personal living room in order to spare you from the goodbyes? I think Mr Greengrass would like to keep his balls. You can wait for me there if you would like," he offered.
"Offering to spare me from having to see all of those excruciating people again this evening…when did you become such a gentleman?" she asked.
He smirked and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her down the narrow passage way. "I always have been a gentleman Granger, I merely…. Forgot my manners for a few years during the war," he said silkily.
"I am pleased you seem to have located your manners again," she said softly as he gestured for her to sit on his large, plush, emerald green sofa.
Draco handed her a large crystal tumbler of firewhiskey and headed off to get his unwanted guests the hell off his property as quickly as possible so he could return to the beautiful woman in his living room before she changed her mind and ran.
"Where is Hermione?" asked Harry, the last to leave after seeing everyone else out of the floo along with Draco.
"She was understandably rattled by Mr Greengrass's comments and has gone home for the evening," he lied.
Harry smirked. An astute and accomplished Auror, he got the sense that wasn't quite the full story. Draco seemed just a little too cheerful to him. Not to mention, it had not gone unnoticed by the raven-haired wizard that Malfoy often shot Hermione covert but amorous glances.
"Understandable," said Harry, playing along.
"Well, I am going to go home to my wife. It really is lovely to have a beautiful woman waiting for you at home," he said innocently, projecting to Malfoy that the game was up.
Malfoy shuffled on the spot before regaining his composure.
"Quite," he said, "although I don't quite need to know just how excited you are to get home to your wife Potter, I don't think we are so close as to warrant this locker room talk," he said as prudishly as he could.
Harry simply smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder before taking a step towards the floo.
"I am simply saying, that, one should… appreciate… the attentions of a good woman," he said knowingly with a wink before climbing into the fireplace and disappearing.
"Prat," he mumbled to himself as he hurried from the room. He would be taking every secret shortcut in the Manor to get back to his lioness as quickly as possible.
"All done?" she asked him, looking up from the book she had helped herself to.
"Yes… I see you've made yourself comfortable," he said, amused.
"Well you did leave me in here unattended. What was I meant to do?" she asked, blushing lightly as she put the book back. She knew she probably shouldn't have touched his things, but she was bored… and a little bit anxious about what was to come.
Draco Malfoy had grown into what could only be described as an unfairly handsome man. He was repeatedly on every list of most eligible wizards and wherever he went, witches fell over themselves to get so much as a word from him. She knew it was shallow, but frankly, it had been a while for her. She had wanted to sleep with him for some time, and couldn't quite believe her luck when he came to the sink in a very obvious attempt to flirt with her.
"You can help yourself to whatever you like, Hermione," he said in a voice that caused her body to tense involuntarily.
He topped up her firewhiskey and prepared himself one, taking a seat next to her on the sofa.
"You're a gracious host," she said, raising her glass to his. The crystal made a light tinkling as they clinked.
"Well, it was undoubtedly rude of me to leave a lady unattended for such a lengthy period of time. Possibly foolish as well," he mused.
"Foolish?" she asked, intrigued.
"I thought perhaps when I returned, you would have thought better of spending time with me and have disappeared," he admitted.
"It's a good thing you have such great taste in books…plus, I'm good at amusing myself," she said with a wicked smirk.
Merlin, did she mean for that double entendre? He felt his pulse quicken.
"Oh really?" he said provocatively, "sometimes we do have to take matters into our own hands, don't we?"
Hermione crossed and then uncrossed her legs. She had needed to take matters into her own hands a little too often lately, hence her decision to stick around to attempt a one-night stand with Malfoy.
"Why did you ask me to stay for a drink?" she asked him with a sultry look.
"Would you like the correct answer or the honest one?" he asked.
"How about both? I am greedy like that…" she said, licking her lips.
When did Hermione Granger become such a fucking vixen? Why was there not some kind of report in the Daily Prophet to warn the innocent bloody men of the world?
Thinking of Longbottom and Weasley wasn't even enough to distract him from his lustful thoughts.
"The correct answer is we have not had much of a chance to get to know each other. I spent our school days being a terrible bully… and I understand why you have probably avoided me now as adults…. That is an honest answer too… it just so happens to be more proper of the two," he said.
Hermione smiled. "You were, factually, a terrible bully," she agreed. He held his hands up in mock surrender.
"And how about the other honest answer?" she ventured bravely.
She was going to make him say it. He knew it. Well fuck it. He was a Malfoy, they were hardly known for restraint.
"Because you're gorgeous and I was hoping you might let me fuck you all over this house tonight," he said matter-of-factly, his eyes challenging her.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs again and took a large drink of her firewhiskey.
"Not very gentlemanly of you, Draco," she purred. He shivered at her use of his first name.
"What can I say? I guess I misplaced my manners again," he said, raising his eyebrows, "plus, I thought you might appreciate my candour."
"I do…" she said thoughtfully, "and are you going to ask me why I said yes?"
Draco let go of the breath he didn't realise he had been holding.
"Why did you say yes, Hermione?" he asked.
"Because I was hoping you might want to fuck me all over this manor tonight," she said, maintaining a straight face.
Draco swallowed. Hermione smirked and finished her drink.
"Why me?" he asked sincerely.
"Have you seen yourself?" she asked incredulously, surprised by the question.
She sat her glass down and climbed onto his lap, straddling him and bringing her face down close to his. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and figured hers must be the same.
"So, all you care about are my, admittedly flawless, good looks?" he asked, stroking the side of the perfect neck he had been fantasising about earlier.
She moaned softly when he began to gently form a line of kisses down the side of her neck, his hands resting on her thighs which were exposed due to her dress hitching when she straddled him.
"That and… you're not such a bastard anymore," she giggled, turning her head so their lips could be aligned.
"You don't know how happy I am to hear that Hermione," he said genuinely. He had hoped she wanted him based on more than physical chemistry.
He wanted to be forgiven for his actions as a child. He wanted to be thought of well. By everyone, especially her. He wanted to think that a woman like her could want to be with him for reasons other than his good looks.
"Were you worried you were just a pretty face to me?" she said sexily, placing a soft kiss on his lips.
"Yes…" he breathed, capturing her lips again.
"Of course, you're not…." She began, "I've also heard about your stamina so there is that too," she joked playfully.
Draco raised his hand and gave her a stern slap on the arse for that one. She squeaked and then deepened their next kiss.
She leaned down and slid his trousers down enough to expose his hard staff which she felt press against her flimsy underwear.
"I like you," she breathed against his moist lips. She had been quite taken with him since they started having to spend so much time together given her role as a Department Head. She just avoided him because, well, it was hardly practical, was it?
"I like you too," he breathed, pushing her panties to the side.
"Fuck, Hermione," he breathed as she impaled herself on him with one quick motion.
He had wanted to take his time with it. Maybe seduce her… at least undress her. That went out the window as he began to fuck her, having failed to have got the clothes off either of their bodies.
Oh well, best laid plans and all that.
He would have to worship her properly later.
Perhaps the next dinner party wouldn't be too bad.
Fin
Stay tuned folks. Let me know in the reviews if there is something you would like to see a one-shot of!