A/N: Well, hello there! Yes, I know it's been forever since I've posted anything, but I found myself with a bit of free time on my hands recently and wanted to get back into writing. This is a challenge fic, presented to me by my loving boyfriend to help me stretch my muscles a bit and get back into the habit of writing, and his conditions were:
1) Main pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger
2) Ron and Hermione are on good terms with each other; they never got married.
3) Ginny is dating Blaise Zabini. Ginny and Hermione are close friends.
4) The following line must be used: "I don't think I'd be into that." The person who says it must turn out to be very 'into that'.
5) Harry is an Auror, Draco works at the Ministry as an expert/consultant on Dark Magic. They get along well.
6) A Grindylow, Newt Scamander, a tiger and a hippo must appear at some point in the story.
7) There should be black velvet somewhere. There should also be red velvet.
8) Fred is alive and he and George must play a prank on Hermione or challenge her to a dare, which ends up being good for her in the long run.
9) Time frame: around five years after the War.
Rated M for profanity and sexual content.
The songs mentioned are as follows:
Youth - Daughter
Pretty Thing – Bo Diddley
Kings of the Wild Frontier – Adam & The Ants
This'll be a three part fic, I'm thinking. I've already started on Part II, and it and part III will be up as soon as I've finished with them. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own no characters, names or places that you can recognize. All that belongs to JK. I also claim no ownership over any of the songs mentioned.
"We're all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine." — Unknown.
(Youth - November 1st, 2003 – Brixton, London)
The chill settled heavily around Hermione's shoulders, the heels of her boots tapping briskly on the sidewalk as she walked away from his building. The knot in her throat grew inexplicably tighter, her breath creating small puffs of white smoke in the night air. The street was fairly busy despite the cold, and she registered the chatter of a crowd of muggles exiting the nearby cinema.
She decided to walk until she calmed down enough to Apparate to her own flat in Camden, as splinching herself would be less than ideal. She took deep breaths then, watching as the white fog escaped her mouth. She knew he wouldn't follow her, not after all that had just been said, and she couldn't yet decide if that was a good or bad thing. She thought of the look in his eyes as she left, the unopened bottle of Pinot noir on the table...
No, she berated herself, it's for the best.
One salty tear rolled down her cheek, leaving an icy trail. Another followed, and then another.
"Damn it," she choked out. Taking another deep breath to steady herself, she continued on her way until she found an alleyway into which she could slip and Apparate without being detected by the muggles in the street. Ignoring the prickling in her eyes as she closed them, she turned on the spot and left the empty alleyway behind her.
(Pretty Thing - December 24th, 2002 – The Ministry of Magic, London)
"Hermione! Oi, Hermione!"
The witch turned at the mention of her name, spotting the person who called out to her within seconds: her flatmate, Ginny, accompanied at one of the tables by Blaise Zabini, Fred and George and the latter's girlfriend, Angelina Johnson. Hermione waved but did not approach the table, gesturing instead to the bar behind her.
"I'll be right there!" she called back, turning to the bar.
"Can I get you anything?" asked the bartender, a young blonde witch wearing a Santa hat and a red velvet dress that could only be described by Hermione as what Santa Claus would wear if Santa suddenly woke up and found himself to be a woman... and a stripper.
"I'll have a glass of Pinot noir, please," Hermione said. A few moments later, drink in hand, she made her way to the table occupied by her friends.
"I told you she'd come," Ginny said to the twins as Hermione took a seat, setting her charmed beaded bag on the table. The twins handed a couple galleons each to their younger sister, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"They bet you wouldn't come. I warned them against it, seeing as how persuasive this one can be," Blaise explained, kissing his girlfriend softly on the cheek. Ginny smiled.
"I'm glad my showing face is lucrative for you, at least," Hermione said to her friend, smiling a bit in spite of herself.
"Well, come on now, you can't really blame us for doubting," Fred spoke up.
"No offense, 'Mione," said George, taking a sip of his drink. "But these events aren't really your thing, are they?"
"No, I guess not," Hermione conceded. As the others went back to their conversation, she took in the decor around her. The annual Christmas party was being held in the Atrium of the Ministry, the entire place decked out to the nines in holiday cheer: Christmas trees, ornaments, tinsel, servers dressed like Santa's elves and even snow dropping from the high ceiling, disappearing into thin air a few feet above them. Hermione watched as sprigs of mistletoe floated around the room, stopping every so often to catch an unsuspecting couple underneath.
Hermione snapped back into the conversation just as the others were discussing the whereabouts of Blaise's best friend and fellow former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Mostly due to his relationship with Ginny, Blaise got on well with all the Weasleys, and he and Hermione had become friendly since he'd begun working at the Ministry about three years prior. Draco, on the other hand, had become friendly with the Weasleys, as well as Harry, through his job at the Ministry as a consultant on experimental and Dark magic for the Auror Office. This same job had forced him and Hermione to interact on a few occasions, mostly through investigative work on cases she took on in the Department of Magical Law-Enforcement. It had been rocky at first, but eventually the two had reached an understanding, putting aside their differences and letting go of childhood grudges and forming an amicable work relationship.
"He should be here any minute," Blaise was saying to George. "I saw him this morning, he said he'd be here but he would be stopping by Wiltshire to see his mum first." With a glance at his watch: "It's a bit late though, so maybe he got a little side-tracked..."
"I'm actually right here, Zabini," came a voice, and they all looked up to see Draco approaching the table, drink in hand. He was wearing a black suit, impeccably tailored to the broader shoulders and back he sported since the War. They all greeted him as he took the vacant seat beside Hermione.
"Nice dress, Granger," he commented. "Slytherin's a nice colour on you."
Hermione, who had been distracted by the conversation, glanced down at her deep green, long sleeved wrap dress and frowned at the wizard.
"What?" he defended. "It's true. I've never seen you in green before."
"It suits the festivities well enough, don't you think?" Hermione said.
"Naturally, though I was expecting you to wear something more…" he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink.
"More what?"
He smirked. "Gryffindor."
Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turning upwards as she rolled her eyes. "I think there are enough women here wearing red, don't you?"
"You mean the bartender?" he smirked again, his enjoyment of the blonde witch's outfit evident in his expression. She slapped him on the wrist at that, reaching for her half-empty glass of wine. Draco eyed her drink curiously as she took a sip.
"No firewhisky?" he asked.
She scoffed. "Does the crabby old man drinking Scotch and soda dare judge me?" He shrugged. "If you must know, Firewhisky gives me the most dreadful headaches. I prefer to stick with wine, thank you."
"Don't let her fool you, Malfoy," George stepped in. "She just can't handle firewhisky."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, offended. "I certainly can!"
"I'm not so sure," Angelina said with a grin. "Remember when we went out for Ginny's birthday?"
Ginny laughed at that. "We practically had to levitate her home, Ange, she probably doesn't remember."
Hermione blushed at the memory, feeling her temper rise as the others chuckled. "That was gin, not firewhisky. And I do remember that I drank more than any of you."
"True, but you still can't hold more than a couple shots of any hard liquor, can you?" Ginny asked.
"Sure, I can," she defended.
"Prove it," said Fred suddenly. Hermione blinked.
"What?"
"Prove it," said both twins this time. "We dare you to."
Hermione stared at them. "A drinking contest?"
The twins nodded. Hermione attempted to protest: "But it's not really a contest if I drink alone and seeing as none of you seem willing—"
"I'll do it," said Draco.
They all stared at him.
Hermione looked at him as though he'd suddenly turned into a Grindylow and was inviting her to be strangled with his long, green fingers.
"Come on, Granger. We'll match each other shot for shot until the lesser drinker falls. If I win, you get me a bottle of scotch. If you win, I'll get you a bottle of that wine you like so much."
Hermione thought about it. A free bottle of Pinot noir seemed tempting, and getting everyone off her back about being a lightweight when it came to drinking was an added plus. "Alright," she said finally. "I'm in."
A few minutes later, the scantily clothed bartender had set down the first two shots on the bar before them. The others crowded around, watching as each took one of the glasses and raised it in a toast. Hermione eyed the liquor in her glass.
"Tequila?"
"Bottoms up, Granger," said Malfoy, handing her a lemon wedge.
Hermione tipped back her head and swallowed back the contents of her glass in one go, feeling the liquor burn her throat before slamming the glass back on the bar at the same time as her adversary, feeling only a mild buzz from the drink as she bit into the lemon. The bartender set down two more shots before them, and Hermione smirked at Malfoy before taking hers and a fresh lemon wedge.
"You can back out at any moment," he reminded her.
"Never," she said, downing her shot.
Twenty minutes and eight shots later, Malfoy was pink in the face and Hermione looked a bit unstable on her black pumps. The others watched as neither showed signs of slowing down, and Hermione told the bartender to leave the bottle.
"Who d'you think will cave first?" Angelina asked.
"I thought for sure Hermione would've surrendered by now," Ginny replied. "She just might give us all a run for our money."
"I wouldn't count on Draco giving in just yet," said Blaise. "I think they've both got a few shots left in them before anyone gives in."
They watched as Hermione and Draco downed one, two, three more shots each. At the third, Fred was distracted from chatting up the bartender by his brother.
"Oi, Fred," George whispered in his ear. "Look at that."
"What?" Fred asked, rather irritable as the bartender walked away to tend to someone's drink. George pointed above Draco and Hermione's heads. Fred's eyes locked on the mistletoe floating above them, and a mischievous grin stole his features.
George nudged Angelina in the ribs, who in turn pointed the plant out Ginny and Blaise.
"You don't really think they'll kiss, do you?" Ginny whispered in Blaise's ear.
The wizard watched his best friend carefully. "I know Draco wouldn't be entirely—opposed to the idea."
Ginny looked at him, taken aback. "You think he fancies Hermione?"
Blaise shook his head. "No, but he finds her attractive enough. You have to admit she's become quite the looker since Hogwarts."
Ginny nodded, watching the two carefully. Hermione had certainly grown up since school. Her hair had been tamed from its wild ways, falling down her back in soft waves, her bangs stopping just short of her brown eyes. After her breakup with Ron a couple years back, Ginny had encouraged Hermione to embrace her figure, which she no longer hid under baggy jumpers and robes, and the dress she wore that night hugged her chest and waist nicely before falling loosely to her knees. Ginny thought Draco—or any wizard, for that matter—would have to be mad not to notice the fact that Hermione, on top of being incredibly brilliant, talented and successful, was a stunning witch.
Hermione, meanwhile, was giggling to herself. The tequila had muddled her head a bit, and an older witch sitting a few tables away suddenly bore a striking resemblance to one of the tutu-wearing, dancing hippos in a cartoon she watched with her parents as a child. When she pointed this out to Draco, he mentioned that the old witch was in fact, an older aunt of his on his father's side and they both laughed.
She was called out of her reverie by Fred's voice, and when she looked over at the ginger wizard, he was pointing at something above her and Draco. She looked up and her eyes went wide.
"Oh, shit," she said.
Draco, distracted in the act of pouring their next round, looked up to see what exactly what she was looking at and his slate grey eyes went wide as well with what he saw.
About two feet above Hermione's head was a floating sprig of mistletoe with a red ribbon tied around the stem.
The two looked at each other, just about ready to ignore the offending plant and get on with their drinking when the twins stopped them.
"No chickening out now!"
"You know the rules!"
Hermione glanced at Ginny helplessly, and the latter only shrugged in a manner that Hermione understood to mean just do it mate, how bad can it be?
Wordlessly, she took the shot Draco had poured her moments before, downing it. The blond wizard, not wanting to fall behind, also drank his shot before the twins yet again stepped in.
"That's fourteen shots each," said Fred.
"Might as well get on with it," added George, gesturing to the plant above them.
Hermione looked at the wizard in front of her, his cheeks and lips flushed as a result of the liquor they'd been drinking.
"Might as well," he said finally. She nodded lamely.
In the months to come, Hermione would never be able to accurately recall which of them moved first. The next thing she knew, her hands were wrapped around his neck, his were in her hair and they were kissing. His lips moved purposefully against hers, which parted almost involuntarily, allowing her to really savour the taste of tequila and the tang of the lemon he'd bitten mere seconds before. The seconds passed and soon it seemed as if neither of them needed to come up for air, until the sound of Blaise clearing his throat startled them enough to break apart.
Hermione took a step back, breathing heavily. It took her a moment to really get her bearings... I've been kissing Draco Malfoy! In public! And... Sweet Circe, I enjoyed it!
Finally looking at him, she saw that he looked nearly as shocked as she felt, breathing raggedly and resting against the bar. She swallowed, allowing herself a glance at the others' stunned faces before she regained her senses.
"You win, Malfoy," she said finally. "I—I should go."
And without another word, she sped off through the Atrium and disappeared in the crowd.
(Kings of the Wild Frontier - February 22nd, 2003 – Draco and Blaise's penthouse, Brixton, London)
She didn't see him again until she arrived at his and Blaise's flat almost two months later, a bottle of wine in one hand and a birthday present for Blaise—cufflinks—in the other. It had been Ginny who convinced her of going, saying "you can't avoid him forever, Hermione."
For the past two months, that was exactly what Hermione had done—avoided him altogether. The only contact they'd had was when she owled the owed bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, and he'd owled back a bottle of Pinot noir—the very bottle she was holding when she walked into the flat—with a note attached.
We drank fourteen each. I think this keeps us even. — DM.
She'd made the rounds upon arriving, saying hello to a few old classmates from Hogwarts and some people from the Ministry, when finally the search for a corkscrew and a glass led her to the kitchen, and ultimately, to the one wizard she was hell-bent on avoiding.
"Evening, Granger."
She nearly jumped out of her skin. "Shit, Malfoy. I hadn't seen you."
He snorted indignantly. "That much is obvious."
She fought hard to keep a straight face and not run from the scene. As if suddenly realizing they were alone: "What are you doing here?"
"I live here."
She scowled. "Prat. I meant here, in the kitchen, sipping on what I'm guessing is Scotch and soda, instead of out there with the rest of the guests."
He shrugged, and she noted how the dress shirt he was wearing moulded itself to his form; how the sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, fit his muscular arms snugly. "I fancied some peace and quiet," he said after a few moments. "You?"
She held up the bottle. "I need a corkscrew."
He looked confused. "A what?"
"You really aren't big on wine, are you?" she said. "You know, the metal contraption people use to get the corks out of bottles."
"I have no idea what you're on about, Granger. Muggles may use this cork—thing you speak of, but I've got other methods."
She blinked. "What?"
He sighed, walking over to her and extracting his wand from the pocket of his trousers. Taking the bottle of wine from her hands, he set it on the table and tapped the cork with his wand once, causing it to pop out of the bottle.
"For someone so bright, one would think you'd actually remember you are, in fact, a witch."
She scowled at that, taking the glass he offered her next and serving herself a glass of wine. He leaned back on the counter, taking a sip of his scotch and soda.
"I never thanked you for the wine," she said after a minute.
"I didn't thank you for the scotch, either," he replied. "I'm guessing you liked the wine?"
"Give me a second," she said. Taking a sip, she savoured it for a moment before replying: "Yes, it's quite nice. Thank you."
"You hadn't opened it?" he asked.
"I hadn't found the occasion," she replied simply. "Are you drinking the scotch I got you?"
"Merlin, no," he said. "That particular scotch is far too nice to waste it away on Blaise's birthday. I'm saving it for a special occasion."
She nodded in understanding.
"Tell me, Granger," he spoke after a minute. "Why is it you like that particular wine so much?"
She had been expecting him to bring up what had happened the past Christmas and was a bit surprised by his question, but she answered honestly nonetheless. "I read once a review on this wine by a Sommelier named Madeline Triffon," she said, "she's only the second woman to pass the Master Sommelier test, and the first American woman to do it... She called this wine 'sex in a glass'. It peaked my interest and I tried it, and it's been my drink of choice ever since."
"Sex in a glass?" Draco repeated. "That certainly does make it sound appealing."
She grinned. "Yeah, it does."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Is it? Sex in a glass?"
She offered the glass to him. "See for yourself."
He eyed her sceptically, giving the glass a good sniff before tasting its contents, closing his eyes and taking a minute to appreciate the flavour. "Damn," he said finally. "Yeah, 'sex in a glass'. I almost like this better than scotch... 'Almost' being the key word."
She chuckled. "I'd share, but I've only got the one bottle and I've become a little attached to it now."
"Lucky thing Blaise has a few more around here somewhere."
She smiled a bit at that. "Lucky indeed."
A few hours later, they found themselves sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, facing each other. Hermione's bottle of wine was long gone, as were two of Blaise's, and they were currently two-thirds into the fourth bottle. The crowd of guests had thinned considerably once midnight had come and gone. Blaise and Ginny had retired to the former's room after the last guest had left, which left them alone in the sitting room and it was probably this—combined with the amount of wine they'd both consumed—that had put them in such a relaxed position.
She was sitting with her back against the armrest; her legs, clad only in thin stockings, were draped carelessly over his, her shoes still on but occasionally dangling from her toes. Draco, on the other hand, had both his feet firmly planted on the carpet before him. His hair had become tousled in the time that had transpired since they'd met up in the kitchen, and when he leaned over her legs to pour them both another round of wine, Hermione could see that the first two buttons of his shirt were undone.
She'd caught a glimpse of his chest just then, muscles and fair skin and just the tip of a scar—from that curse Harry had hit him with all those years ago, in sixth year—and she thought she'd very much like to see the rest of his chest.
But that's just the wine talking, right?
Someone had told her once that a drunk only carries out the thoughts he had when sober, and she would've been lying, she would've had to be blind entirely, not to have noticed in the times their paths had crossed that the wizard sitting mere inches from her was indeed, extremely good-looking. He was flushed, both from the alcohol and from laughing at something she'd said, and his features betrayed a genuine smile—a rare one, despite the changes his character had experienced since they were younger.
He was mocking her on her inability to fly on a broom properly when she shoved him —playfully, almost— in the chest, and he caught her hand before she had a chance to withdraw it. He looked at her fingernails, painted a bright, cherry—Gryffindor, he thought—red.
"I like this colour on you," he remarked.
"I thought you preferred me in green," she shot back without missing a beat, and then their eyes met, and she knew, even through the wine-induced haze, she knew that he was thinking the same thing she was: the kiss, how his so-soft lips had moulded to hers and how his hands had felt in her hair.
Almost as if he had read her thoughts, his eyes locked on her lips, and she mirrored the action, watching his lips, coloured a deep pink from the wine and the light of the fire.
Later on, she would blame the wine—but in that moment, she had no way of knowing if it was the bottles of Pinot noir they'd had or if, had the circumstances been different, she would've done what she did.
He didn't stop her when she breached those final inches between them, surrendering against her lips with a barely-there groan she felt die in the back of her throat.
And then it all went by in a blur.
It was nothing tender, nothing sweet; just raw need and lust-driven, teeth and tongues and lips, and hands roaming everywhere they could reach. His hands had found their way under her skirt, pushing the fabric farther up her thighs until he encountered the lace at the very tops of her stockings. She didn't stop him, and they kept kissing feverishly, her hands in his silky hair.
Hermione felt his hand move between her thighs, his mouth abandoning her swollen lips to attend to her neck, and his fingers caressed the edge of her knickers, asking for permission. She shifted her hips, allowing him access, and he didn't waste a single second before dipping his fingers into her folds, slick with arousal. He slipped one, then two fingers inside her without hesitation, pumping into her while his thumb tended to her clit, and it all felt so bloody good to Hermione. The rational voice in her head had been drowned out by her own moans, and the sweet, sticky haze provided by the wine and the knot forming in her gut thanks to Draco's ministrations were enough to convince her to abandon all reason and just give in.
After what felt like days but might have, in reality, been only minutes, she felt the tension that had been building inside her reach a point where it was almost impossible to bear, and then it snapped; her hips bucked against his hand, her inner walls clenching around Draco's fingers, her limbs shuddering uncontrollably, and a broken sound halfway between a groan and a whimper escaped her lips.
That was the point of no return for them, she guessed, but they didn't stop kissing. It was only after a few minutes that they broke apart, both gasping for air, still in each other's arms, and she found her voice.
"B—bad idea, d'you think?"
"The worst," he answered with a smirk. He then kissed her again, and Hermione surrendered with a short bark of laughter smothered against his lips when he picked her up and carried her to his room.
(February 23rd, 2003 – Draco and Blaise's flat – Brixton, London)
The first thing Hermione was aware of when she woke was the softness of the bed she lay in. It was probably one of the most comfortable she'd ever slept in, and she relished in stretching her limbs, not opening her eyes just yet.
The second thing she became aware of was that she was naked under the sheets... And not only that, but she felt a tender, fairly damp soreness coming from between her legs that could only mean one thing...
Her eyes snapped open.
It took her about two seconds to get her bearings, flashes of the previous night dancing behind her eyelids. She sat up, squinting in the light of the early morning—eight a.m., read the clock—clutching the white sheet to her chest and thoroughly refusing to look over her shoulder at the sleeping man beside her.
Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks... Of all the people in the world to have a one-night stand with... Malfoy? Really, Hermione?
She quickly located her bra at the foot of the bed, and after a glance around the impeccably decorated room, she saw the most of the rest of her clothes lying on the floor around the bed. She hurriedly got out of bed, slipping her bra, skirt and stockings on before she realized her knickers were nowhere to be found.
"Looking for these?"
He's awake.
She turned, arms crossed over her chest, and there he was, bare-chested, the steel grey comforter—thankfully—covering the lower half of his body, leaning back against the cushioned headboard with her pink lace knickers hanging off his finger like a flag.
"Funny, I always thought you were too proper to wear something like this," he smirked, but she failed to see the humour in the situation, even as a faint blush tinted her cheeks.
"Malfoy... Could you please be so decent as to give me my knickers?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"Good morning to you too, Granger."
She rolled her eyes. "Really, Malfoy, give them here. I need to go."
He cocked is head to the side. "Why is that?"
"You know very well why. Now if you would please give me my knickers so I can go, I'd be grateful."
"If you're referring to our activities last night, I still don't see what problem is."
She gaped. "You don't see what the problem is?"
"I really don't, Granger."
Sick of his antics, she took her wand out of her skirt pocket and muttered an accio. The pink knickers few out of Draco's hand and she caught them, slipping them on quickly.
"It shouldn't have happened! Malfoy, we were drunk and wildly irresponsible and it should not have happened and you're acting entirely too nonchalant about this," she said, putting on her shirt.
"The fact is it did happen," he said, still lounging on the bed. "We, two willing and consenting—and yes, drunk—participants, had sex. Several times, if my memory serves." She blushed again, sitting down on the bed to put on her shoes.
"And I'd like to do it again sometime," he said then, and her left shoe slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor with a thud. She turned to look at him.
"Don't look so shocked, Granger," he said, one corner of his mouth turning upwards in amusement. "I've no shame in admitting it: that was probably the best sex I've ever had. I enjoyed it, and I know you did too."
Hermione blushed deeper then, turning her back to him and picking up her fallen shoe. "That's irrelevant," she said.
"It's actually completely relevant... Come on, Granger, you're honestly saying you wouldn't want to repeat what we did last night? Perhaps sober?"
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, and saw flashes of lips kissing and hands grabbing and his hips moving with hers, filling her up over and over...
Bad brain.
She cleared her throat, her fingers nimbly pulling her mussed hair into a ponytail. "Even if I did, I'm not the kind of girl who just sleeps with someone for fun, with no commitment or any relation whatsoever between them."
"You've never had a fuckbuddy, Granger?"
"I haven't."
"Colour me surprised..."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Frankly, I don't see the harm in it," he shrugged. "I'm not seeing anyone, and neither are you, and hell, from what I could gather from last night, shagging you is the most fun I've had in a while."
She took a second to mull over his proposal. Finally: "What happened last night was a one time thing, Malfoy. I shouldn't have happened in the first place and it won't happen again. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She headed for the door.
"Well," he said, and she wasn't quite sure why she turned and looked him over. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
(March 9th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny's flat, Camden, London)
"Alright, that's it. Out with it."
Hermione, without looking away from the television, swallowed before answering. "Out with what?"
"You know what. Stop trying to distract yourself with Casablanca and talk to me."
Hermione plucked a bit of chicken from the chinese take-away container with her chopsticks before answering. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about, Gin."
"What happened with you and Malfoy?"
"Nothing happened," Hermione said, her eyes still glued to the screen.
"Blaise has asked Draco about it, too, and he's silent as a grave," Ginny pressed, also taking a bite of food from her own container and sneaking a look at her best friend. "But I know you well enough to know when something's bothering you, and you've been off the last two weeks. Since Blaise's birthday. So that can only mean something happened between you two."
"Nothing happened, Ginny, really," Hermione insisted.
"Come on, Hermione. You two were all cuddled up on the sofa with a few empty bottles of wine—Blaise nearly had a fit when he saw you drank three of his. And when we woke up the next morning you were gone and Draco was very cryptic about what you two had done after we went to bed. Out with it."
Hermione sighed. "Well—we—after getting completely pissed, we sort of... snogged on the couch a bit and then we went to his room and...er ... had sex."
Ginny choked a bit on her latest bite of food, and after recovering, she snatched the remote from Hermione's hand and turned off the television.
"Oi!" the brunette protested.
"You do not really expect me to just watch the movie like you haven't revealed something massive," Ginny said, turning to face Hermione on the couch.
"I do, actually," Hermione attempted to take back the remote. "Chinese take-away and a movie on Sunday are a tradition, Ginevra. You are spitting in the face of tradition!"
"Don't try and change the subject, Hermione."
"It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh, bollocks. Of course it is. I figured you two had kissed a bit, considering what happened at Christmas, but I didn't think you'd actually jump the bastard!"
"Ginny," Hermione said calmly. "I slept with Malfoy because I was drunk. End of. It wouldn't have happened in other circumstances, and it shouldn't have happened at all."
"Why not?" asked Ginny.
"Why not? Are you hearing yourself? Aggripa's sake, he's Draco Malfoy. He's—"
"Don't you dare say 'a former Death-Eater', Hermione," Ginny warned. "Blaise is one, too. Both of them have changed tremendously in the past five years—hell, you've said it yourself, he's not the snivelling little shite-ball he was at Hogwarts, he's grown up. He's turned into a decent bloke and is pretty fantastic company, and you know it. Not to mention he's easy on the eyes."
"Be that as it may," said Hermione. "It was a one time thing, and it won't happen again."
"And why not?" Ginny said. "It wasn't bad, was it?"
"No," Hermione granted. "It was pretty fun, to be honest"—she swallowed a bite of food—"not sweet or gentle by any means, but still fun. Probably the best sex I've ever had."
A mischievous grin graced Ginny's features. "So, did he pin you down?"
"Ginevra!" Hermione scolded, giving her a shove.
"Spank you?"
"Don't be so crude!"
"What?" countered the ginger. "Two honest questions; did he?"
"No," Hermione said firmly. "Not that I remember, and I remember everything quite clearly. Besides, even if he had, I don't think I'd be into that."
"Right," said Ginny sceptically. "We'll see about that."
"Didn't you hear me? It's not happening again."
"I don't think Draco would complain if it did."
"No, he wouldn't," Hermione said, shaking her head as she remembered his offer. "Actually he—" she broke off.
"What?"
"He suggested we do it again. You know, that we have a sort of arrangement."
"What, like fuckbuddies?"
Hermione grimaced. "I really hate that word."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Friends With Benefits?" she tried.
"Technically, we're not even friends—"
"But you're not enemies, either."
"...No, I suppose not."
"So?"
"So, what?"
"Are you going to take him up on it?"
"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "I told him I wasn't interested."
"And yet here we are, having this conversation."
"I don't need that kind of complication, Ginny."
"It's not that complicated, Hermione," Ginny shrugged. "You get to have sex—which you could use, to be quite frank—with a really attractive bloke who, by the look on your face, is pretty good at it" —Hermione blushed—"without any strings attached. Just sex. I think it's a pretty good deal."
"Gin..."
"Just think about it, okay?" Ginny said, finally turning on the television.
(March 13th, 2003 – Auror Office, Ministry of Magic)
It took Hermione all week to make up her mind.
On Monday, she tried her best to put the conversation she'd had with Ginny the night before out of her mind. She failed miserably.
On Tuesday, she had was in charge of the orientation for some new interns at the Ministry and the entire day left her too exhausted to give the matter any thought before bed.
On Wednesday, she woke up sweaty and frustrated after a steamy recount of her one night stand with Malfoy in her dreams, and spent the entire day in a foul mood.
On Thursday, she tried once again to put the matter out of her mind, and once again, she failed. She spent the entire day thinking about what had happened, mulling over his offer, but went to bed confident that she'd made the right decision.
On Friday, she woke up feeling frustrated, unable to think of anything but the night she'd spent with Malfoy. After a morning of snapping at interns and general short-temperedness, she decided enough was enough.
Hermione wasn't one for rash decisions, but even five days of reluctantly thinking things over weren't enough to justify willingly sleeping with Malfoy, were they? Maybe she just needed to listen to Ginny. Hermione wasn't the type of witch who would enter into this sort of arrangement with anyone, and even if she had, Draco Malfoy certainly wouldn't have been her first choice, but there wasn't anything inherently wrong about it, was there? She was an adult, and she was allowed to lighten up and enjoy herself.
After telling her interns she'd be out for a bit, running some errand she made up on the spot, she left the Department and took the short walk to the Auror Office. She took advantage of the fact that the Office would be pretty empty with most people headed out for lunch, and knocked on Malfoy's office door a bit before two, knowing full well of his habit of working through his lunch hour. She didn't wait to be admitted, but entered and closed the door behind her.
He was sitting at his desk, and looked up only at the sound of the door closing. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of her, though he recovered quickly and looked her over in a way that made Hermione more conscious of the outfit she'd decided to wear that day: a cream coloured blouse of a light, almost translucent material, paired with a fitted, high-waisted black pencil skirt and sensible, shiny black pumps.
"Granger," he greeted.
"Malfoy," she said, keeping her tone firm and businesslike. "Do you have a minute? I'd like to discuss something with you."
He glanced at his watch. "Sure, but make it quick—I have a meeting with Potter at two and he should be here any minute."
"Oh," she faltered. Harry finding her here, in Malfoy's office, with no justification for her presence... Harry was probably one of the last people she needed to become aware of what she was doing there. "Yes, I suppose I should be quick then..."
"You can stop loitering by the door, Granger," he smirked. "I don't bite."
Unless provoked, she thought, but approached him nonetheless, going around the desk until she stood next to him and finally resting her bottom against the tabletop.
"I've changed my mind," she said then, looking him in the eye.
His eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "Changed your mind?"
"The offer you made me, after Blaise's birthday..." she raised her eyebrows for emphasis and hoped he got the message. "I've changed my mind."
It finally dawned on him and his grey eyes flashed with surprise. After a moment, he nodded. "Alright then."
Hermione looked a bit gobsmacked. "Alright then?" she echoed. "That's it?"
"Well, I'd suggest we get started, but I don't think Potter would enjoy walking into my office to find you bent over the desk, don't you agree?"
She frowned. "Yes, you're right about that. But I think it's important that we establish some ground rules."
"Ground rules?"
"Yes. You are familiar with the term, right?"
"I'm not big on rules, Granger. I think they're more like guidelines, if anything."
She rolled her eyes. "Malfoy..."
"Alright, alright," he held up his hands. "Let's see. You want to keep this strictly physical, you don't want any of our friends or acquaintances, mutual or otherwise to find out..."
"No sleep-overs," she said. "We can do this at my place or yours, but we keep it quick and simple."
"You don't mind Ginny or Blaise knowing?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I already told Gin we..." she trailed off, gesturing vaguely with her hands.
"Shagged?" he supplied.
"Had sex," she said. "She also knows you proposed this—arrangement, for lack of a better term."
"I told Blaise," he confessed. "He's a bit more discreet than Ginny, though. Still, I'm pretty confident they won't tell anyone." He glanced at the telling look on her face. "Did she talk you into accepting my proposal?"
"What? No," Hermione shrugged. "I talked to her and it got me thinking that this could be... mutually beneficial."
He nodded.
"Oh, and if I'm ever uncomfortable with anything and I ask you to stop and you don't, the deal is off."
His eyes narrowed a bit. "I wouldn't intentionally hurt you, Granger. Nor would I continue shagging you if you were uncomfortable with anything we're doing."
A moment of silence passed before she spoke. "Thank you," she said.
"No need," he replied. "Anything else?"
"Just one more thing," she said. "I don't plan on sleeping with anyone else but you while we have this arrangement going on, and I'd appreciate the same courtesy on your end."
"Consider me monogamous."
She frowned. "I'd figured you'd put up a bigger fight on that one."
Shrugging: "There really aren't that many women interested in me... And even fewer are as good in the sack as you were."
She blushed. "Alright, I think that settles things."
She made to get up from the desk, but he placed a hand on her thigh to hold her in place. "Hang on a minute, Granger. I have something to ask of you as well... It's only fair that I gain something out of this."
"More than gratuitous sex void of any commitment? Why am I not surprised?"
"It's the Slytherin in me, old habits die hard," he said. "But don't change the subject."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alright, name your conditions."
"Just the one," a smirk filled with mischief graced his features as he spoke. "I get to pick out lingerie for you to wear every once in a while."
She blushed even deeper, but eventually nodded. "Seems fair."
He held out his hand for her to shake. "Glad we've reached an agreement."
She smiled a bit at that, shaking his hand. "Likewi—"
A sharp knock on the door interrupted their exchange.
"Fuck," Draco whispered.
Hermione's eyes went wide. "Is that—"
"Oi, Malfoy, you in there?" called out Harry's voice from outside the door.
"Just a minute, I'll be right there!" Draco called back. "Shit, Granger, you can't be here. Potter'll have a fit."
"You think I don't know that?" she hissed back. She eyed the fireplace. "I can just floo out of here, my flat is connected to the Ministry floo network."
"You can't bloody floo out of here," Malfoy whispered. "He'll hear the fireplace, he'll think I was meeting someone and didn't want him to know about it, and how does that look, coming from a former Death Eater?"
"Not good," Hermione admitted.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Draco made to get up from his desk. Suddenly it occurred to him. "Quick, get under the desk."
"Under the d—are you mad?"
"There's plenty of room and he won't see you, just do it!"
Hermione saw that arguing in their circumstances was pointless, and reluctantly did as she was told, casting a Disillusionment Charm for good measure, as she was pretty sure Harry would be able to make out her shoes in the gap between the floor and the front of Malfoy's desk. She heard as Malfoy opened the door, he and Harry exchanged a greeting and Malfoy offered an apology for his delay in opening the door. The two men then walked towards the desk, and she soon found herself lodged between Malfoy's legs under the desk. Scowling, she attempted to settle herself comfortably on the floor, finally tucking her legs under herself and listening to the conversation the two men were having to pass the time.
"Alright, Malfoy, I'll just be a minute, this is pretty straightforward," Harry was saying. "We've found a house in Hungary that belongs to Rabastan Lestrange."
"Lestrange?" Draco repeated. "I thought the old loon had gotten the Dementor's Kiss and was rotting away in Azkaban."
And that's when Hermione had a rather wicked idea.
"And he is," Harry went on, and Hermione heard some papers being shuffled. "But we've just found a property in his name a few hours outside Budapest."
Slowly, she ran a hand up Draco's thigh, stopping just short of his crotch before coming back down.
Draco cleared his throat. "How are we only hearing about this now?"
"It seems the land that the estate is built on is of interest to the Hungarian Ministry, and when they tried to contact the owner to negotiate a buy-out, they found it belongs to Lestrange and contacted us."
Hermione's hand travelled farther up this time, and she boldly stroked him through his trousers, grinning at the growing bulge and at the strain evident in Draco's voice as he spoke.
"But—since Lestrange's in prison we could just—seize the property and sign it over to them, no?"
"That's the plan," said Harry, and Hermione could make out Draco's entire length straining against the inside of his trousers. "But we'll need to dismantle the wards and then conduct a full sweep of the place to make sure it's safe to—Malfoy, are you feeling alright?"
He wasn't.
Hermione had unzipped his trousers, taken him out of his boxers and was currently stroking him under the desk with a surprisingly strong grip. He felt long and hard in her hand, and she relished feeling in control as he attempted to give Harry an answer without giving anything away.
"I've got—er, a bit of a stomach ache. So, I'm guessing you want me to come with to take down the wards and—search the place?"
"Yeah. It shouldn't take long, we're just waiting on the Hungarian Ministry to approve a date for us to come over and take care of it."
"Alright," Draco managed to get out, and it took every ounce of his self control to keep his face straight. "Look, I'm really—not feeling well. How about you get back to me with the date once you get word, yeah?"
"So you'll do it?"
"Yes, Potter."
"Brilliant then," Hermione heard Harry get up from his chair on the other side of the desk, and a few moments passed as the wizards shook hands before she heard the door close with Harry's departure. Without loosening her grasp on Draco's length, she undid the Disillusionment Charm just was he pulled away from the desk enough to see her. Crawling out, she gave him only a second to recover before resuming her task.
"Really, Granger?" he choked out.
She smirked, her hand gripping up and down his hard length. "It was cramped under there, and I was starting to get a little bored."
"Potter would've had kittens if he knew what you were doing under my desk."
"Harry would have kittens if he knew the deal we just made," Hermione said. She was aware, of course, that this was most unlike her, but she had to admit that it was the most fun she'd had in a while, all the same.
"True. Now, it's not like I'm not thoroughly enjoying what you're doing, but I've got work, Granger, you can't just—"
"You're not honestly turning this down, Malfoy."
Hermione picked up her wand once again and wordlessly locked the door to his office, throwing up a Silencing Charm for good measure. She decided just then that she liked having Malfoy at her mercy.
"Granger, I'm not fucking around, we can't—"
And his protests died out as he felt the silky warmth of her mouth wrap around his shaft, replaced with one long, drawn out groan. She wasted no time in teasing him, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked hard on his length. She could feel the salty tang of precum on her tongue, the folds of his foreskin brushing against the roof of her mouth. Pulling him out of her mouth almost completely, she drew circles around the tip of his erection with her tongue and then sucked with almost bruising force. Draco was rendered completely incoherent, panting and shuddering as his release overcame him within minutes, his hands covering his red groaned when he felt his seed spill into Hermione's mouth and her throat contracting around him as she swallowed.
Hermione grinned to herself. It was rather arousing, to see Malfoy lose control of his composed demeanour, being the reason he lost control in the first place. She carefully returned him to the confines of his boxers, noting in the process that his erection had not entirely deflated. She then stood up, smoothed out her skirt and perched herself on the desk, waiting for him to recover.
"You're going to be the death of me, Granger," he found his voice after a few minutes, looking at her as though he'd never seen anything like her.
"Maybe," she said with a smile. "But what a way to go."
A/N: And that's part I! I hope you liked it!
Reviews are vanilla scented candles.
xo, V.