Chapter 1: The Sinister Glint

Someone once said that revenge is a dish that is best served cold, but whoever said that probably didn't know a thing about cooking up the best revenge plot.

Sprawled on a queen-sized bed, wearing only her lace thongs, a cigarette in hand and a fistful of cash, Hermione laughs. The kind of laugh that only the devil could empathize.

It wasn't an easy task to get what she needed, but she did anyway, and she didn't expect it to be oh so easy.

She rehashed the events leading up to the encounter in the bathroom stall with a smile.

A vodka tonic in her hand and a cigarette hanging loosely in her lips, she stalked through the profiles of the employees in Malfoy and Sons in the dark web.

Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the associates of the partnership. Regulus Arcturus Black. Severus Snape, the head adviser of the firm. Narcissa Malfoy, the wife of the chief lawyer of the firm, also one of the fiercest lawyers in UK. Draco Malfoy, sole son of the power couple, lawyer (and a criminal) in the making.

Then there's Lucius Malfoy. Chief lawyer, hired by politicians, businessmen and big-shot criminals alike. One of the biggest stakeholders of the biggest mafia in the country, the Death Eaters. Also, the stuff of her long-time nightmares. Even with her eyes closed, she couldn't erase the image of his retreating figure with his sterling hair stained by the crimson hands of her father.

She closes her laptop and concentrates. How could one infiltrate such a complex structure?

She sets her criminal law case readings aside and a bunch of brochures fall into the floor. And there she gets her answer.

Underlined in crimson marker on one of the brochures were a number, a name and a message.

For summer internships, inquire Chief of HR, Draco Malfoy.

To cook up a good plan, one must be patient.

With her darkly-tinted shades on, she surveys every person coming out of the building of Malfoy and Sons. She takes a sip of her Espresso and double checks the intel in her phone: Draco Malfoy usually exits the building every 7PM, drives his white Porsche to La Gavroche or to any other luxurious restaurants to meet up with his family (or on certain occasions, his girlfriend), and drives straight to his home on Admiralty Arch.

Just as expected, at 7 PM pronto, he walks out of the building, clad in a white tuxedo and a bouquet of roses in hand. He does as he routinely does, only this time he heads for The Square.

The Square is one of the most expensive restaurants in UK. Known for its French haute cuisine, it also boasts of its reputation for their sweet cocktails and is also always frequented by celebrities, monarchs, the filthily idle and rotten rich.

Inside, his girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass waits, her fingers lightly tapping the wooden table. When Draco enters, her face lights up in delight. Immediately, the paparazzi come flocking around to take pictures of the couple. He puts his arms around her and smiles. Picture perfect.

Hermione rolls her eyes. No person is that perfect. There must be a fatal flaw somewhere. A dirty little secret, a skeleton in the closet.

It has been days since she had stalked him and she had slowly been growing impatient. Surely the son of Lucius Malfoy couldn't be this... pristine? She had searched for dirty details in the dark web but even there, she couldn't find anything.

How the hell can someone be this clean?

To cook up a good plan, one must be resilient.

All it takes to topple a pristine record is an inconsistency. A glitch in the routine. Her patient had been worn thin but finally, after 14 days, the Gods have given her her chance for a reckoning.

Looking up from her darkly-tinted glasses, she looks at Draco Malfoy and the time. Odd. He's off early by an hour. What might be the reason for this glitch?

She followed after him with her Blue Honda. (Always choose common colors, she thought. Those are the most forgettable ones.)

Draco parks his car in an inconspicuous corner. He decides to walk the rest of the way of his destination. Hermione quietly follows suit. She wasn't exactly sure where he is headed, but she has her own suspicions in her head. If her suspicions had been proven right, then this could be damaging to Draco. Only does her mouth tilt up to the slightest of smiles when she finally saw it. Draco Malfoy, entering one of the dirtiest strip club in the country.

Hermione stops and hide. Draco turns around warily, and seeing no one behind him, enters. Hermione swiftly takes a picture of him and smirks.

Got you.

She sneaks inside the club through the back door and spots him immediately. Even in the haze of the faux smoke and neon lights, she wouldn't miss that despicable sterling hair. He was seated on one of the VIP couches situated in front of the stage. Hermione makes her way to the bar and chooses a seat where Draco is in her direct sight. She observes him like a predator does to a prey, never letting the smallest detail loose from her eyes. She eyes the way he was casually seated in the couch with a bourbon on his hand, his tousled hair and loosened tie. The bored and dead expression on his face. This is Draco Malfoy, stripped off his perfect boy veneer.

This wouldn't exactly make for a compelling blackmail, she mused. But as the night passed, she saw her interest rekindling. She saw it, the perfect opportunity.

The blonde stripper went down from the pole and began to give Draco a lap dance. Draco may have retained his stoic expression but Hermione did not miss it. That glint of malice in his eyes. That glint that craves for a disaster to happen. How could she, when she sees those same eyes in her mirror every day.

The first part of executing the perfect plan is to create an identity.

For the whole week, all she cared about was primping her self up to be the most marketable and appealing girl in the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Every time he frequented Valkyrie, she observed him more keenly. What type of girls is he into? The blonde ones? Brunettes? Redheads? Shy? Slutty?

She took note of them to the tiniest detail, never missing even the most unapparent details such as his kinks.

In a week her identity was erased and in a week she was born again.

Now, she slips on her red, plunging lace-up bustier from Victoria's Secret over her black netted stockings. Next, she grabs her pair of faux Stuart Weitzman Ruby Stilettos. She slips on her long coat and touches up her red lipstick. She stared at the prim, closeted dominatrix in the mirror. This night, Hermione Granger doesn't exist. There was only Alicia Martin.

She made her way inside Valkyrie and she inwardly smirked at the heads that turned at the punitive clack of her heels. She was aware of how attractive she was and she revelled at the amount of power that her sexuality had over the fools in this club. Unlike last time, she sat in a couch much nearer to Draco's, obviously trying to catch his attention.

His eyes may have been focused on the stripper on the stage but Hermione's presence commanded attention and Draco wasn't safe from it. He turns to look at her and eyes her from top to bottom.

His head tilts invitingly and there she sees the glint in his eyes once again.

A/N:

To be honest, I didn't know that I'd end up writing this kind of fic. I mean, this was supposed to be just a series of Dramione erotica oneshots but oh well... Please give me feedback! Constructive criticism is always welcome. :) I'll assess the reception of this fic and see if it's worth continuing. xoxo, anj.