CHAPTER TWO: STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

The three friends spent four hours answering every question Vivienne had. Her curiosity was insatiable. By then, the pub was closing, however, and their discussion was cut short by Tom the barkeep's announcement of last call.

Theo yawned behind his hand. "Well, 'Just Vivienne,' fun though this has been, someone has work tomorrow and needs to get his beauty sleep."

Zabini nudged their friend's shoulder. "Snape's a task master, huh?"

Nott nodded. "The old man's the best Potioneer this side of the world, though. I was lucky to get this apprenticeship. I'm not blowing it with only a year left before I get my credential." He stood up, came around the table and took the neophyte witch's hand. "Vivienne, it's been lovely. I hope we'll see you again." He gave her a sly wink and kissed her knuckles. "Floo call me if you need anything once you get settled into this new world, yes?"

Vivienne made some vague promise to an agreement, and Theo sauntered off to the Apparition point.

Across the table, Draco traded a look with Blaise. Clearly, the other guy was interested, but Draco had staked his claim first, and the narrowed gaze he gave to his best friend was enough for the guy to get the hint. "Right," Zabini stated, putting his hands on the table and tapping it twice. "Time for me to get going as well. I have a full schedule tomorrow. Quidditch training calls." He stood up, and repeated Theo's goodbye gesture. "It was an honour to meet you, Vivienne. As Theo stated, if you have need, we're only a Floo call away. Good night." He reached out and shook Draco's hand. "Draco. See you on the pitch this weekend. We're going to thoroughly trounce your Magpies, but I suppose it would be bad sportsmanship to not wish you luck anyway."

Draco grinned up at him. "Still a beautiful dreamer, Zabini. It's refreshing how things don't change, despite the years. See you Saturday."

When Zabini was out of earshot, Vivienne turned to him. "You didn't mention being one of those Quiddutch players." She pointed to the sports paraphernalia above the bar.

"Quidditch," he gently corrected her. "And I'm a Seeker for the Montrose Magpies, a local British team, not National."

"Seeker," she rolled the word around, as if trying to remember the reference. Frankly, Draco thought they might have overloaded her brain with information. No way could he have kept so much straight if he'd been drinking and… "That's the centre position, the one that catches the Snitch, the fastest ball on the field. It's small, gold in colour, and has wings. If you catch the Snitch, your team is guaranteed the win," she regurgitated the facts they'd heaped on her, and almost word-for-word. "So that means you're streamlined for speed, not built like a bruiser, as a Beater would be." She looked him up and down, tilting her head this way and that. "I can see it. Although…" She reached out and voluntarily touched him, squeezing two hands around his left bicep. "There's some serious muscle there, too. You work out, like Mister Zabini." It wasn't a question.

Draco nodded, impressed again by her ability to retain so much knowledge, and for being so perceptive. "He, Theo and I have a regime of training together a few times a week. Helps us all keep in shape and competitive."

"With each other," she discerned, smiling with sudden understanding. "You don't play just to win – but to keep each other busy. You're all from old money, or so I gathered from the titles, so you're not doing it for the pay, I'm guessing. You're doing it for fun; just three very old friends, playing at who can build the better sandcastle."

Astute deductive reasoning capabilities in this one, too. Man, she was the whole package, wasn't she? She got him. "You see right through me, Vivienne. It's… refreshing."

She tweaked a dark eyebrow at him. "How so?"

He twirled his empty shot glass around. He hadn't even had the opportunity to drink it as Vivienne had downed the contents. Funny how he didn't mind. "Most women within my social circle are rather self-involved. They're cold as fish and rarely see what's happening in the world outside of their gossip mongering, and their tea, salon and shopping dates."

She took a sip from her lukewarm beer, which still had a half to go. "Group therapy sessions for the rich and famous," she mocked, smirking. "I remember."

That caught his attention. "Remember? Were your parents of the haute ton, then?"

Her smile slipped, and she stared into her glass as if it held all the answers in the universe. "No. My parents were – what did you call them? – Muggles. My dad was a dentist and my mum ran his accounting office. My mother was always concerned with social niceties and had a circle very much like the one you describe, though. As a small child, I tried to be the perfect little lady for her. I always dressed in the clothes she insisted, and behaved with excellent manners to gain her approval. She never liked me, though, no matter how hard I tried. See, I took after my father, mostly. He and I loved books and learning. Mum was only interested in knowledge if she could use it for personal gain. I think she resented that my father had fallen out of love with her at some point in their marriage. That was obvious to me, even at that age, because they never touched or kissed, and were rather cold towards each other in general. My father gave me all of his affection instead. I think my mother hated me for it. She died in a car crash with my dad before she and I could ever settle the matter, though."

"I'm sorry," Draco offered, and surprisingly, he meant it. He understood what it was like to strive to win a parent's love and approval, only for it to turn out bitter in the end. "Is that why you drove the automobile so recklessly tonight?"

Her brows lowered as she mulled over his words. "You know, I never thought of it like that before but, yes, I think you're right."

"You should quit that," he advised. "I'd rather not attend your funeral, if you don't mind."

Her glass turned around and around between her fingers. "We hardly know each other well enough to discuss funeral arrangements."

He snorted. "You know me better than most, and in only a few hours' time. I have absolutely no idea how you accomplished that feat either, you know. It's not the alcohol, as I've hardly touched the stuff tonight. I suppose it has something to do with you. You seem to have a magic all your own for getting me to talk."

They were silent for several minutes, reflecting over all they knew about each other, and in that time, Draco found that he'd developed not just fondness, but affection towards the witty, beautiful woman sitting next to him. It came as something of a surprise to note that he actually liked her, and that he desperately wanted to touch the skin on her bottom lip to see if it was, in fact, as soft as it looked.

"Do you want to go upstairs with me?"

His pulse leapt and his temperature rose a degree at her implication.

"On the way to the ladies' earlier, I saw that this wasn't just a pub, but that it contained lodgings as well," she explained, stopping to wet her mouth with another sip of her beer. "Do you… want to?"

No stranger to hooking up with a woman for a fun one-off, Draco reached out and caressed her hand. "Are you sure?"

Her throat convulsed on a heavy swallow. "Will you pay for it?"

He stilled. Was she saying…?

"I mean, the room," she stammered, correcting her words, her face going bright red. "I don't have any wizarding money. Only, um, British pounds, which you said couldn't be taken here."

Oh. He let out the breath he'd been holding. For a minute, he'd thought she was 'kerb crawling,' minus the curb. "That's fine. I'll go make the arrangements," he offered, slipping around the other side of the booth and heading over to the bar to speak with Tom.

Once he'd secured a room and had been given the magical key, he headed back to the table. Vivienne had downed the rest of the contents of the glass, and her face was still quite red. Draco held his hand out to her. "Set?"

She still wouldn't look him in the eye, as she took his hand and made her feet. He led her through the room and up the wooden stairs to the sleeping chambers. When they arrived at the room, she finally glanced up and noted the number as he inserted the key in the door. "Eleven. My favourite number," she admitted.

"Is it?" he asked, sincerely fascinated enough to want to know why.

He realized then that it wasn't just affection he was feeling - he'd become seriously infatuated with this woman in the span of only a few hours. He'd never cared a whit before about anyone's favourite number. In fact, the idea of thinking of numbers in such a personal manner seemed bizarre. After his Arithmancy classes back in school, he'd wanted to forget anything having to do with counting - except in terms of keeping track of his galleons. But then, this girl was rather odd, and it seemed almost… natural… that she'd have a favourite number. He was betting she had a favourite colour too. Probably periwinkle or some shade equally as peculiar.

Before he could ask her any questions, though, she was on him. She jumped him, literally, knocking him back against the jamb as the door swung open. Her lips were hot and anxious against his, and it was clear that she was very nervous and not very skilled. Her fingers grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him in tight.

"Whoa, slow down, love," he pulled away. "Easy."

Vivienne backed up and leaned against the opposite side of the jamb. "Sorry," she apologized, biting her lip. "I'm not… I've never…"

He stared at her with incredulity. "You've never had sex?"

"No. I mean yes!" she stammered the correction, shaking her head. "But, never like this… with a stranger."

The relief was palpable. Thank Merlin he wouldn't need to break her in. That kind of pressure would have made it awkward. "We're not strangers," he debated. "I told you: you know a lot about me already. More than any other woman I've been with, actually." That thought was kind-of disturbing, but at the same time, sort-of relieving.

"I don't know if you're married," she countered.

"I'm not," he reassured her.

"Engaged or seeing someone?" she challenged.

He smiled and shook his head. "No. And before you ask, I like the colour green, was born on the fifth of June, no, I don't colour-charm my hair, and I've decided right here and now that my favourite number is eleven, too."

Vivienne opened her mouth, shut it, and grinned. She shook her head around a chuckle. "You like eleven, too? And why is that?"

He reached across the short distance between them and caressed her face. "Because you like it, and I like you."

"What do you want out of life?" she blurted, seeming still afraid to trust this strange, magnetic connection between them that he was sure she was feeling every bit as much as he was.

Draco considered his answer as he followed the curves of her jaw, her lips, and her nose. The shadows from the dimly-lit corridor hid half her features from him. It made him realize that he didn't really know this witch as much as he wanted to. She was a mystery to him that he wanted to unravel.

"A woman who will love me for me," he answered honestly, dropping every guard for the first time in his life. "Not for my name, or my titles, or my bank account. I want what my father has, although he's too stupid to see it." He paused, and then confessed to something that no one else but his mind-healer knew. "I was very angry with him, you know. It cost me ten thousand galleons in therapy to say that sentence; 'I was very angry with him.' He's never appreciated what my mother goes through for him. He's got this… magnificent gift… just sitting there at home, waiting on him. Mother's beautiful and refined, she makes sure his clothing is always immaculate and stylish, and that his meals are on time. She takes care of his social obligations so that we'll remain within the circle of the elite and powerful, and she always reflects perfectly on him outside the home in dress and manners. She greets him at the Floo or door every night and when he returns from trips. She gave him me, his heir. He has all that, and still he brings home younger witches when she's out about town and shags them on the same table we eat dinner off of. I caught him once – when I was eighteen, hence the therapy." He sighed. "When I was younger, I wanted to be just like him. Now… I don't."

Vivienne stared at him with those gold-flecked eyes, seeming to see straight into his soul. "Then don't," she evenly stated. "Be you, in here." She pressed a hand over his heart. "Live the life you want, believe what makes you truly happy, and love what gives you joy and peace. At the end of your life, that's all that counts."

Her words touched him as none other ever had. It was the perfect advice, given at the perfect moment in his life. He wouldn't realize it until much later, but that second was a turning point for him.

Vivienne's palm was warm, but steady through his shirt. He liked how it felt. "What's your real name?"

The witch met his gaze, much more relaxed now, as if his baring of his soul had eased the path between them for trust to grow. "Hermione," she admitted. "Hermione Jean Granger." She withdrew her hand and reached up to her hair. With a tug, her blonde locks fell to the floor, revealing dark hair braided back. She undid the braid and fluffed her hair out with her fingers, and he could see it was long and naturally curly, not just kinked by having been bound. "I like shades of blue and purple, I was born on the nineteenth of September, and I was wearing a wig. I like the number eleven because it's a union of two ones. To me, it represents two single people coming together to make something greater – which is how I've always envisioned love. And this is the real me, standing right here before you now."

Draco stepped into her and reached up to finger a strand, bringing it towards the candlelight of the hallway to get a better glimpse of it. It was a warm, medium brown, but there were glints of auburn hidden within the tresses. "I like it better," he asserted, and met her gaze again. "Hermione."

Bending, he captured her lips and this time, it was just right. There was no edge, no panic. It was smooth and flowed with ease between them. Her arms came around his neck and she leaned into him, and simply gave herself up to him.

He walked her backwards into the room and towards the bed. With a quickly cast series of spells, he shut and locked the door behind them and bespelled the room for privacy and noise.

"Magic's very handy," she murmured as his mouth nibbled down her throat. Gods, she smelled fantastic!

"Very," he admitted, biting down over her pulse and causing her to let out a whimpering gasp that had him instantly going hard. Her honest reactions were an aphrodisiac.

He made quick work of her clothes, dropping them piece by piece to the floor and following it down, kissing and suckling over every inch as he got on his knees before her to pull her lingerie from her legs, and pressed his face between her thighs to worship her pussy with his lips and tongue. "Perfect," he murmured as he feasted, loving her honey-salt flavour and musky scent. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her nails raked his scalp. She orgasmed long minutes later as he pressed two fingers into her silken, soaked entrance from below, just as he nipped her clit.

As her knees gave out, he caught her and pressed her down into the bed. Divesting himself of his own clothing quickly, he leaned over her, inching between her legs to lay his fully erect, aching length between her lower lips.

"Did I mention," she grinned at him around kisses, "that my leg is forty inches from hip to toe? So, basically, we're talking about" – she wrapped both legs around his waist as he slid down to her opening – "eighty inches of therapy… wrapped around you. All for free."

Her humour at a time like this was strangely appropriate. Draco chuckled against her throat as he pressed into her. "If I'd known you existed back when I'd decided to hire a mind-healer, you'd be a very rich woman right now. I guess we'll just have to do with making you come hard instead."

There was no more time for talking as he moved, ever so slowly, to open up her passage and fill her. She wasn't a virgin, as he felt no hymen, but she couldn't have had sex very often, because she was so bloody tight. It was heavenly pushing through her sleek, humid depths, hearing her little cries of pleasure and feeling her tiny panting breaths blast across the skin of his shoulder as he slid in.

"Oh… oh, Draco," she whispered, and his heart trembled at the awe in her tone as he came to her end, fully buried in her moist warmth at last.

Stilled within her, he raised his head to look down upon her face. He very softly stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. She leaned into the touch and smiled up at him.

He didn't know this woman. They'd just met only a few hours before. She was most likely a Mud… Muggle-born, given the clues he'd picked up from their earlier discussion. And yet, in that moment, Draco thought it very likely that he was falling in love with her. "What do you want?" he asked, letting her direct their pleasure and speed as he circled his hips to further stimulate her arousal.

Her smile widened. "I want the fairy tale."

With that, she shoved her hips upwards with eagerness towards his, and he took his cue, giving it to her just as she wanted – with strong, full thrusts and rolling hips, their bodies intimately close, his mouth kissing hers with lust and need and his burgeoning feelings. He used great discipline to hold back the tide of his orgasm, wanting her to find hers first, relentlessly surging into her body at the rhythm she begged for. When she came, he felt her shaking, pulsing body, tasted her cries of pleasure, and breathed in the scent of her heady sexual release. A moment after her womb's final tremor, he thrust twice more and followed her over, his climax a powerful explosion of feeling and emotion.

Exhausted, replete, he fell asleep almost immediately in her arms once the rush of adrenaline had slowed and his satiation was complete. The sound of her strong, pounding heart and the feel of her fingertips smoothing over his face lulled him to his rest as she pulled the covers over them both.

... … …

Sometime in the middle of the night, Hermione began to slip out from under him, and Draco woke up. "Don't go," he pleaded with her, his mind still fogged from a drugging sleep the likes of which he hadn't known in years.

"I have to work tomorrow," she whispered.

"Skip it."

"I can't," she insisted.

He sighed. "How much do you make a day?"

"What?"

"Your daily wage – how much?" he demanded, flipping onto his back. "I'll match it. Problem solved."

There was a substantial pause that lasted long enough for him to almost slip back into sleep. When she spoke again, however, it woke him back up.

"Three thousand," she stated.

If he'd been more awake, he'd have heard the warning anger in her voice, but as it was, Draco just wanted to get back to sleep, cuddled around her. He'd agree to whatever she wanted, so long as he could keep her next to him for a while longer. "Done."

She was quiet again, and when he pulled her down into his arms, she settled a little stiffly about him. "I would have stayed for two thousand."

He was too tired to believe it was anything more than her teasing him again. "I would have paid four," he snarked back and pressed his nose into her curls, sighing with happiness. This, he could get used to.

Sleep came easily after that.

In the morning, though, to Draco's great consternation, Hermione was gone. There was no note, and no evidence of her having been with him, aside from the rumpled sheets and her scent on the pillow.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Song title for this chapter:

"Stairway To Heaven" by Led Zeppelin

.

Lines borrowed & rewritten for this chapter from "Pretty Woman" the movie:

Original:

Edward: "I was very angry with him, you know. It cost me ten thousand dollars in therapy to say that sentence; 'I was very angry with him.'"

Original:

Vivienne: "Did I mention… my leg is 44 inches from hip to toe, so basically, we're talkin' about… 88 inches of therapy… wrapped around you..."

Original:

Vivienne: "I want the fairy tale."

Original:

(after Vivienne counters Edward's offer of $2000 for $3000, he agrees easily)

Edward: "Done."

Vivienne: "I would have stayed for two thousand."

Edward: "I would have paid four."