A/N: Wow, y'all. I'm a bit overwhelmed by the amount of response to this fic already. I'm so pleased you're all on board to read more and I can't wait to see what you make of this chapter.

Bewitch, Ensnare

By Kittenshhift17

Chapter One

"You're so beautiful."

Sweet nothings uttered on hot breath that made her flesh crawl. Merlin, she loathed them. The words. The whisperers. The ones who looked at her Order of Merlin, First Class, and her double handful of NEWTs, and saw a ticket into the spotlight. Worse, the ones who saw the generous reimbursement for time and innocence lost with bright shiny galleons.

She'd so hoped that this one wouldn't be another on that long list but the insincerity in his wandering hands said it all. Boredom. It suffused her being and dulled her gaze. Already she'd begun scanning, her eyes seeking out messy black hair and a dashing set of dress robes.

Harry. Mingling, as was expected.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Adrian," Hermione spoke in a waspish hiss, catching the hand dancing up her thigh.

"Sorry? What?" Adrian Pucey asked, frowning at the tight grip she had on his wrist.

She made eye contact with Harry and very deliberately traced the fingertips of her free hand down the length of her nose under the pretence of a scratch. Harry paled and made excuses to disentangle himself from his current conversation.

"Why would you be sorry that I think you're beautiful, Hermione?" Adrian persisted, oblivious to Harry's approach and her sudden frostiness. She should have paid more attention to the way he'd necked the champagne of the formal function like it was going out of fashion.

"Adrian, sorry to interrupt but I really must insist on stealing Hermione for a dance. You don't mind, do you?" Harry said, clapping a less than gentle hand upon Adrian's shoulder. "Knew you wouldn't, there's a good lad. Hermione, my favourite witch, would you do me the honour of a dance?"

"I'd begun to think you'd never ask, Harry," Hermione smiled coolly at her friend, releasing Adrian's wrist and rising to her feet.

Harry led her toward the dancefloor in silence, the musicians looking thrilled at the idea of play a tune for a dance between two of their favourite war heroes.

"What happened?" Harry asked when he had one hand on her waist, leading her about the dancefloor.

"Don't let Draco talk me into dating anymore of his colleagues," Hermione murmured through a smile pasted on for the flash of cameras. Another stir for the morning paper, undoubtedly. They never let it go that she and Harry simply must be a couple. They'd no idea that when he wasn't forced into the public eye he was usually shacked up with Draco Malfoy, shagging like bunnies.

"That bad?"

"Did you know I'm beautiful?" she asked. "Particularly, my thighs."

"He was feeling you up?" Harry sighed, twisting her in a tight spin to level a glare at the wizard she'd accompanied for the evening's Ministry Gala.

"He's drunk, too," Hermione said.

"I thought Draco told me that the bastard was rich and looking to settle down?" Harry muttered.

"Oh, I'm sure he's very interested in settling. Right into my Gringott's vault with the intention to drink away all my galleons when he's not attempting to fuck the 'pretty little mudblood who scrubs up all right'."

"He called you a mudblood?" Harry's voice lowered to a dangerous growl that had been known to scare the life out of more than one photographer in the four years since the war ended.

"He didn't have to," Hermione replied. "But he apparently enjoys caressing the word where it's carved into my arm. He also used the words 'You scrub up nice' when he picked me up. At first I thought he was simply suffering the type of tactlessness we see, so often, in Ronald. But the rest of his conversation was much more eloquent."

"Fucker. But he's rich, right? Surely he doesn't only want your money."

"He wants my fame," Hermione sighed. "And I'd be willing to bet his vaults aren't as full as he'd like them to be."

"I swear, you have the worst luck with men, Hermione," Harry sighed.

"What did you expect?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Malfoy got the only decent man in the world and is getting stroppy right now at the idea of sharing."

"Don't mind him," Harry chuckled at the praise. "He's been in a strop all day. He didn't want to come out tonight. He'd been planning something for the two of us and a Ministry event threw a niffler in the works."

"Wouldn't happen to be a romantic weekend equipped with proposal, would it?" Hermione grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Draco Malfoy? Plucking up enough courage to propose? You've had too many if you're confusing him for me. He barely has the courage to ask me to sleep over, let alone to marry him."

"But if he asked?" Hermione wanted to know. "What would you say?"

"I'm sure I'd have to tell him I couldn't break your heart and leave you to the wolves," Harry smirked.

"You tease him entirely too much, Harry Potter."

"I like it when he gets extra stroppy with me. Hate-sex is so much fun."

Hermione giggled.

"You're not going to ask to snog me again for the sake of seeing him throw another tantrum, are you?"

"Hey, if you'd cooperate, I'd snog you all the time just to watch that angry flush cut across his cheeks," Harry winked.

"You're incorrigible."

"Actually, a snog with you would likely do a world of good to throw the reporters off the scent about me and Draco," Harry said. He pulled her in a little closer until his cheek rested against her ear, dancing a little closer when the music changed tempo to a slower, more romantic waltzing tune.

"Or you two could just come out of the closet and admit you're together?" Hermione suggested. "You know, like completely rational and sane human beings?"

"Half the fun is in the sneaking around, love," Harry laughed. "Besides, Draco doesn't want anyone to find out until he's had a chance to word up his mother and father. And what with Lucius still in prison…"

"Lucius is a monster who will never accept the idea of you and Draco together. He wants an heir for the Malfoy fortune. And I'm terribly sorry to break it to you, Harry, but I don't think you've got the right reproductive organs."

"Yeah, well… about that…."

Hermione pulled back to look at him. He was eyeing her curiously.

"Draco's not the only one in need of an heir to carry on his name and inherit his fortune," Harry told her quietly. "I've been thinking about making Teddy my legal heir, but Andromeda won't allow it. She doesn't know about me and Malfoy, obviously, so she refuses to let me sign my fortune to Teddy when I might end up with biological kids of my own."

"Why do I get the feeling there's more to it than that?" Hermione asked shrewdly, narrowing her eyes on him slightly.

"We've been… discussing the notion of…um… surrogacy. I mean obviously we can't conceive together and we do both have a duty to carry on the name. Adoption was tossed up, but Draco's parents would never accept a non-biological child as Draco's heir."

Harry dipped her low, his green eyes fixed upon her face intently.

"It was Draco who suggested… you," Harry said.

Hermione wondered if her face was a mask of the shock coursing through her.

"Me? As… what?"

"Well," Harry said, righting her once more and waltzing her around the dancefloor. "I know you've expressed the notion a number of times that you don't want kids and that you aren't much interested in marriage. I… we wondered if you wouldn't be agreeable to the idea of helping us."

Hermione felt a strange little flutter inside her chest.

"You want me to… mother a biological heir for you?" she asked.

"For both of us," Harry said softly. "One with me and one with Draco. He said you'd be perfect because you know about us; you don't have the impending complication of marrying anyone who might object; and you don't plan on having children of your own. It would make our kids half-siblings, one each to carry on our names, but still linked by blood. I told him I'd have to talk to you about it, in depth, and that it didn't seem fair to you. I'll understand if you say no. And we're not talking about anything immediate. This would be a long-term goal for a few years down the track. I mean, we're only twenty-two, but I thought I'd float the idea out there and…. Hermione?"

Hermione blinked stupidly. They wanted her to…

Confusion. It was thick and heady. On the one hand, she was flattered that they would ask at all, that they would consider her for such a task. On the other…

The song ended softly and Harry frowned at her worriedly for a long moment in the middle of the dancefloor. Idly, she found her hand clutching the silver orb hanging upon a short chain about her neck. Her Tenebris Sanctus. The magical artefact Snape had given her to collect her virgin's blood the night he'd divested her of her innocence six months after the end of the war.

She never took it off. She couldn't. It was too powerful and too dangerous an artefact to leave sitting in a drawer in her house or even inside her Gringott's vault. Containing her innocence, it was a dark artefact that could be used to hurt her should it fall into the wrong hands. The night she'd been given it flooded back to her as she stood there staring into Harry's green eyes.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked. "I didn't mean to shock you or spring it on you, love. You're under no obligation…"

Hermione pressed a finger to her lips, one hand still clutching the orb. It glowed faintly with white light, her purity housed within it.

"I… we should talk about this away from prying eyes and ears, Harry," Hermione said.

She needed to think. They wanted to ask her to birth them both an heir. She'd have to sleep with them. That was… alarming. Worse, the idea sparked a buried memory of the last time she'd had sex. The night Severus Snape had divested her of her innocence and then told her what a fool she was for gifting it to him.

The night she'd…

"Right," Harry muttered. He offered her his elbow, intent on leading her off the dancefloor.

"Wait," Hermione whispered, turning slightly until she stood in front of him.

"What is it?" he asked.

Hermione stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to Harry's carefully. He blinked at her, undoubtedly feeling Draco's eyes on them. It was for the good of their relationship, Hermione knew. They weren't ready for the world to know they were mad for each other. And if they wanted to get away with each conceiving an heir with her, they'd have to do their part.

Harry's surprised lips melted against hers after a moment, his hands sliding to her waist and pressing her to him gently. He was always gentle with her. It wasn't the first time she'd kissed him. Him or Draco, in fact. The papers loved to write about them and Hermione knew the pair of wizards enjoyed the thrill of the media painting them as rivals for her heart while they boinked each other silly in private. They all often laughed about it over a glass of wine and some good, elf-made food.

"Draco's going to throw a tantrum at me," Harry muttered against her lips when he pulled back from snogging her gently, cameras flashing all around them.

"I'll snog him later to even the odds, shall I?" Hermione asked.

"Gods, please do." Harry smirked. "He fancies you, you know?"

"He does not," she muttered, her cheeks flushing.

"He does. I don't mind. I fancy you, too."

Hermione shook her head at him. She'd never understand the strange relationship between herself, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

"Do you think I've caused enough of a stir to escape?" Hermione asked.

"You can't leave, Hermione." Harry frowned.

"I need to think, Harry."

"I know, but let us help you think before you use that wicked mind to talk yourself into a panic."

He led her off the dancefloor and over towards the drinks table. As he did so, Hermione's hand still clutched her Tenebris Sanctus. Her eyes skittered over the crowd, picking out Ronald. His blue eyes were narrowed in anger. Ah, another complication. As though they needed more?

He was eyeing the way she and Harry walked arm in arm, Harry using his thumb to wipe her lipstick from his mouth. Ron's cheeks mottled as he stared and Hermione knew it was time to get out of there. She'd have to do the rounds and say goodbye to Ginny, Luna and Neville while avoiding Ron.

When they reached the drinks table, Harry pressed another glass of champagne into her hand.

"Do they have anything stronger?" Hermione asked, sipping from the glass and making a face. "Ron looks ready to burst a blood vessel."

Harry winced.

"Might be time for the whiskey?" he asked.

Hermione trembled at even the mention of the word. It had been a long time since she'd been able to touch whiskey without thinking of Snape's hot lips devouring hers. Longer since she'd been able to touch anyone else – even Harry – without recalling the sear of his naked flesh against hers for the first time.

Her eyes scanned the crowd as Harry sought out some whiskey for the pair of them. Ginny and Luna were laughing across the room with Kingsley, Neville and George. Ron was standing amid the gaggle of hero-worshipping bints that always seemed to hang off him since the whirlwind romance that had fizzled between her and Ron in the months following the war.

A hot hand slipped around her middle from behind as her eyes danced and Hermione tensed until she spotted the Malfoy signet ring upon the hand around her.

"What's the big idea, Granger?" he asked, his lips by her ear, caressing the shell. Hermione trembled at the hold. Too sharp, it brought memories of Snape's teeth nibbling her earlobe. "Putting the moves on Potter, eh?"

Hermione felt a little smirk pull at the edges of her mouth. He sounded angry. It was affected for the sake of the press as they swarmed towards her, already having been snapping pictures of her and Harry drinking and talking, calling out questions about their relationship status and the kiss she'd shared with Harry. Draco might genuinely be jealous at the idea of her kissing his boyfriend, but he played it up for the sake of the media buying their lie that they were fighting for her affections rather than madly in love with each other.

"I just couldn't resist, Draco," she said, being sure to let the media hear her. "Harry's just always been so charming."

Draco's other arm slipped around her middle and he pressed his mouth to her ear, uttering words that were just for her.

"Did he talk to you?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded, affecting a cheeky little smile for the cameras in her face. She'd be concerned about being portrayed as a harlot in the papers, but she'd long since stopped caring what lies they wrote about her. Especially when it helped Harry and Draco be happy together.

"Scared you?" Draco murmured, nibbling her earlobe. She could practically feel the smirk on his lips for the cameras.

"I'm a Gryffindor, Draco," Hermione said loudly enough to be overheard. "I don't scare that easily."

His laughter was cool and wicked against her skin. Hermione caught sight of Harry returning with their drinks. He affected a slightly put out expression for the cameras, as though annoyed to find her in Malfoy's clutches.

"You're playing with fire, beautiful," Draco told her as Harry moved over to hand her a drink, all while the reporter's squealed questions and snapped pictures and splashed ink across their notepads. She'd made sure to stand under the banner for the fund raiser the gala was being held for, ensuring every picture would flash news about the construction of a War Orphans home.

Hermione turned her head to meet Draco's silver eyed gaze over her shoulder.

"Did you forget how much I like the heat?" she pretended to purr at him before pressing her lips to his. His arms tightened around her as he kissed her back, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and recalling to mind how she'd done the same thing to Snape.

Gods, she was pathetic. She needed to get over this utterly ridiculous hang-up on a man who'd made it more than clear that he didn't want her after one night of sloshed shagging.

"What's the big idea, Malfoy?" Harry asked for the sake of the papers, interrupting their kiss. "Hermione? You snog me and now you're snogging him."

"Try not to get your wand in a knot, Potter," Draco sneered, pulling back from her lips to taunt his boyfriend for the media.

"You want her? You'll have to fight me for the privilege, mate," Harry retorted. Hermione fought the urge to giggle. "May the best man win?"

He offered Draco a glass of whiskey. Draco took it and held it out in a bid to toast the idea.

"Don't worry, mate. I will." Draco said smugly, chinking his glass to Harry's and releasing Hermione.

Taking that as her cue to escape, Hermione slipped away from the silly sods so bent on each other yet so secretive about their love. She was throwing back the rest of her whiskey and ignoring questions from the reporters about whether Draco or Harry made a better lover; whether she thought they'd ever consider a triad with her and when she was going to let other witches have a shot at their individual fortunes rather than hogging both.

She almost stumbled when she spotted him. She choked on her last mouthful of whiskey. Across the crowded Ministry atrium, lingering in the shadows, she met his dark eyes. Her heart skipped several beats in a row. Those eyes, so dark, mesmerizing; they held her captive and she felt herself being sucked into them all over again. A pang inside her chest clenched her heart as he looked her up and down, eyes lingering upon the Tenebris Sanctus hanging from her throat. His gift to her.

Severus Snape. He'd returned.