Song Suggestion: Megan Davies- "Dark Horse" (Acoustic Katy Perry cover)

Something Dangerous

Hermione

Hermione opened the portrait and exited the Gryffindor common room to find Callum already waiting for her.

For the last two hours, Hermione was subject to Ginny's whims as she helped her get ready for the dance—something the youngest Weasley had wanted to do for years. Her face felt heavy with product, but she couldn't deny Ginny did an awesome job, ending with a delicate cat eye and bright red lipstick.

Callum put a hand over his heart.

"You're going to give the prim purebloods heart attacks with that muggle dress of yours."

Wizarding society tended to be conservative when it came to their attire. Dresses went to the ankles, the upper shins if brave enough. The less skin shown, the better. Hermione knew this, but she was tired of following their absurd rules.

"This old thing?" Hermione ran her hand down the deep red velvet, an homage to her house. It dropped to the floor, a mocking gesture to pureblood culture, but it fit like a glove and when she stepped a leg out, it revealed a slit up to the middle of her thigh. "You haven't seen the best part."

Hermione twisted around, looking at Callum over her shoulder and watched his sudden expression of surprise. His dimple soon appeared along with a delighted smile.

Where the front of her dress covered her arms and sliced across her shoulders in an angular cut, the back revealed bare skin all the way to her hips.

"Well, I'm not sure exactly what statement you're trying to make, but I feel like a luckiest bloke on Earth to be able to escort you today."

Callum held out his arm, grey eyes sparking. Hermione grabbed the crook of his elbow.

"My whole life I've fought for my place in this society. I refuse to bury my heritage just to please other people."

"You and I have similar views," he said. "It's why I think we get along."

Draco

Draco walked into the great hall, taking a moment to admire the decorations. Green moss lined the ground, spongy when stepped on. A delicate fog wrapped around his ankles and purple flowers bloomed in the background. Giant trees supplanted from the forbidden forest sprouted up from the old stone ground, and the ceiling glittered with stars and a low, full moon. A light dusting of faux snow lined the treetops and fell like powdered sugar. When touched, it disappeared.

"You really outdid yourself," Blaise said beside him.

Draco scoffed.

"As if Hermione would ever let me touch the planning."

"Hermione now, is it?" Blaise arched an elegant eyebrow. Draco held in a curse. Zabini knew him well enough to pick up the undercurrents. Though, out of anyone, the Italian wasn't one to judge.

"Your careful observations are not appreciated."

"Yes, master Draco," Blaise mimicked a house elf.

Pany's talons grabbed onto his arm, as if he might disappear if she eased up. Honestly, he forgot she was even there. He didn't even remember asking her. She just showed up.

"This looks so… tacky." Pansy sneered at the decorations.

"By your choice of dress," Blaise looked Pansy up and down. "Maybe you shouldn't try to define what's tacky or—"

The rest of the sentence became lost in Draco's brain. The world shuttered, filtering in and out of focus. The only bright pinpoint was Hermione Granger entering the great hall in a dark red dress bordering on evil, hair coiled up in smooth waves, and lips as red as blood. The dress stuck tight to her skin, as if painted on. A muggle dress for sure. And though it appeared to be appropriate, when she stepped forward, a slit opened to her upper thigh, revealing flashes of toned golden skin.

But that was nothing to when Granger gave a twist to greet the female weasel. The entire back of her dress was… gone.

He was sure a little groan left him at the sight.

"A brave choice, even for a Gryffindor," Blaise said, bringing him back to reality. "Embracing muggle culture, especially today, won't win her any favors." He was looking at Draco shrewdly, but Draco didn't care what conclusions he came to.

So wrapped up in looking at Granger, he almost missed the owner of the arm she gripped. Callum Mason met his glare and gave a slight nod, as if issuing a challenge, a look of defiance.

Draco curled his hand next to his pocket that held his wand.

"Drakey," Pansy whined in a voice like nails on his brain. "I'm bored. Let's dance."

"Not now, Pans." He pointed to the refreshment table. "Go and get us both some drinks."

Pansy pouted but gathered her purse to her chest with a huff and stomped her way over to the table displaying snacks and butterbeer. In the end, Pansy always did what she was told.

It left Blaise beside him, watching the dance floor. Callum and Hermione were in each other's arms, already twirling to the music. The piece of wizard scum whispered something in her ear, and she tipped her head back and laughed. With each turn, she flashed the expanse of smooth skin. Draco wished to slick his finger down her spine. Wished to rage. Wished to vanish the damn enchanted snowflakes.

Instead, he nodded in Callum's direction.

"I have a project for you, Blaise."

Blaise stuck his hands into his name brand robes. He always looked dapper, the type of person who could never be poor. Which was a good thing, because society didn't tolerate gay men, unless their pockets clinked with gold. In the end, he was the only person Draco trusted for the job.

"I don't do things for free."

"Of course."

Blaise didn't work for money. He didn't need too. He had so many galleons, his family owned two vaults at Gringotts. Just like Draco, they worked in favors. A whisper in an ear. A position on the board of directors. A meeting with a politician.

Blaise watched where Draco glared, at Callum and Granger, at how his hand touched the bare skin on her back, going lower to the place it curved.

"You want Mason's head?"

He didn't mean it literally. He meant it in the way that mattered.

Draco nodded.

"I want to know everything about him. Down to what he ate for his birthday when he was ten. Give me something twisted. I know he's hiding something."

"I'm sure it won't be too hard."

"He needs to be taught a lesson. A hard, painful lesson. I want him to know how it can hurt to cross a Malfoy."

Hermione

A traditional pureblood song began playing. It involved a dance Hermione didn't know too well, with complicated turns and dips.

Callum blushed because he didn't know the dance either. For the most part, he was an enjoyable partner. He stepped on her toes a few times, but his dimpled, crooked smile had a way of making her forgive him.

She was so caught up in the rush Hermione forgot the stares and her purpose for the night: the glare of Ron in one corner, nursing a drink she was sure he'd already spiked with alcohol, and Draco in another, eyes stabbing her like icicles.

Until Callum froze, hands digging into her shoulder, as if flash frozen. Hermione's heart sped up as she turned to find Draco with one hand extended towards her. His face lacked expression. Even through the link she felt nothing, as if he locked everything down with occlumency.

"You promised me a dance." Draco's fingers gave a little wave. "I doubt Mason would know what to do with this song anyway."

Callum didn't let go, until she shrugged out of his hold.

"It's alright," she said. "I promised McGonagall I'd dance with the ferret. Might as well get it over with."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione saw Callum clench his fists by his side, his dimpled smile vanishing.

"Fine, but if this arse bothers you—"

"I can handle Draco Malfoy."

"Can you?" Draco asked. Hermione gave a saccharine smile and grabbed his still outstretched hand.

"I think the real question is if you can handle me."

"Challenge accepted." Draco turned to Callum. "I believe this is your cue to leave."

Hermione hated the look Callum gave: hurt and vulnerable. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then he closed it and left the dance floor, leaving Draco and Hermione staring at each other.

"Remember, the cameras are watching," he said.

"You're acting as if I'd play some prank on you."

Draco gave her a warning glance.

"No games. Not with the ministry here."

She considered.

"I thought you said you could handle me."

He gave an exasperated sound under his breath.

They put their hands into position. Unlike Callum, Draco's left hand touched her hip like a proper pureblood, though the very edge of his fingers brushed the skin of her back. The barest, feathered touch.

"I don't know the steps," Hermione admitted.

"Luckily, you're in capable hands. I've been forced to dance these ridiculous songs since I could walk."

He began to move, much smoother than Callum, whisking her around, twisting her this way and that, so rapid it was hard to catch her breath. Like most upper crust purebloods, he was a superb dancer, a requirement for their position in society.

"Why Astoria?" Hermione asked, when the tempo slowed, and they once again landed face to face.

"She owed me a favor, and Weasley was an unnecessary distraction. It's not so complicated." He grabbed her waist and flung her out, keeping their hands tangled above their heads. She twisted a complete turn before he caught her. She avoided looking at him through it all. "You need to smile, Granger. They're about to take pictures."

A few reporters weaved through the crowd with cameras. Snap. Snap. Snap. White spots floated in her vision from the brilliant light.

"Good." She pointed her hand towards the ground and twisted her hand, turning the bottom of his shoes into ice.

Draco cursed and slipped just as the cameras went off again, just in time to catch him stumbling and righting himself.

"Undo it," he said.

She smirked once, but conceded, reaching her wrist down and twisting again, and the ice vanished, but her point didn't.

"I thought you agreed to not play games?" He flung her out, but this time it was much faster and harder, his anger coming out in the energy of motion. She almost didn't keep up with the movement. When they returned to the normal position, their noses almost touched. She glanced into his eyes, and then wished she hadn't.

"This isn't a game," she said. "Not anymore."

He pressed them tighter together. The song was winding down, turning slower. The world around her vanished. The crowds. The people. The expectations. The cameras. Nothing else mattered as she stared into his frozen eyes, cold and hard… and hopeful.

It was all just a little fun.

Until it wasn't.

Until it became a live wire that could injure them both if they messed with it too much.

"I'm not going to convince you to forgive me," he said. "But I will admit that when Astoria was involved, it was still a game to me as well. Something I had to win."

"What is it now?"

She needed to hear him say it, so she knew she wasn't the only one going insane.

"Something dangerous." His fingers dug into the skin of her back. "Something I've realized I can't win. Not in the way I thought I could."

He let go of her with the end of the song, just as the cameras clicked again. She wondered how the camera lens would interpret the way they stared into each other's eyes, searching and lost. Both drowning at the same time.

Hermione's heart sped up as Draco backed away and gave a deep bow at the waist, the typical action of a proper pureblood gentleman at the end of the dance. Then he straightened.

"There's no more time. And like you said, the game is over." His face shuttered again. Cold and hard. "Good night, Granger. I admit I'm surprised you won our little pull and tug."

And almost turned before she could respond, but then twisted back around with a smirk that almost looked… sad.

"Oh, and the memories are yours either way. I'll give you them tomorrow."

"Why would you do that?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe my father deserves to have a challenge. And just maybe he'll be bested by the only witch worthy of the honor."

He walked off the dance floor and out of the great hall, leaving Hermione alone in shock. She stood there until Callum came back with a butterbeer for her.

"Thanks… but I might have to call it a night. I don't feel so well."

Callum's eyes narrowed, but it was the truth. Her world tilted off balance. She came tonight prepared to fight a war. Never in her life, did she ever think she'd see the pureblood princeling, ruler of this small patch of this world, concede defeat.

And he planned to give the memory without conditions… her stomach dropped and twisted.

"What did that spoiled bastard do?"

"Nothing," she assured him. And that was the problem. "I really just don't feel right."

It took several minutes for Hermione to convince Callum to stay at the dance and let her go back alone. But eventually she was walking along the stone hallways, unsure of what to do next.

She should hold onto her hate and anger, feed it images of Draco and Astoria having secret conversations behind her back.

And yet, she almost wished she lost the bet. Almost wished he'd fought back.

Well… Hermione's stumbled on a sudden thought. The bet doesn't officially end until the clock strikes midnight.

Draco

Draco lay on his bed, the buttons on his formal dress robes loosened. He had a golden snitch in one hand. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it up, letting it flutter for a moment before snatching it out of the air. He did this over and over, trying to distract his mind.

With his other hand, he brought up the bottle of Ogden's finest he smuggled in last year, taking a small swig with each completion of a throw. The remnants of a fire gave a dull glow to the room, embers cracking. The cold of the night seeped through the stones around him, but he refused to place a warning charm tonight. The chill nipped his skin, helping him to forget his misery.

A noise sounded in the corner. A rustle of cloth and quiet curse. Draco sat up, wand at the ready, letting the golden snitch flutter out of his hand and into the corner of the room.

"Who's there?" He asked.

"It's me." Two floating hands and a head appeared out of thin air, as Hermione threw back the hood to Potter's invisibility cloak. He didn't need to ask how she snuck into the Slytherin dorms. Her left hand clutched the map. And in the state he was in, he'd forgotten to put up wards.

He sat up, feeling suddenly furious. He said she won, didn't he? Going against every instinct in his body. It had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Something he regretted instantly but couldn't take back once he exited the Great Hall, enchanted Snow melting from his hair.

He wanted to forget her, but here she was, ready to torment him some more.

"Why are you here?" He flung both legs off the side of the bed, toes pressed into the cold stone below. "If it's to get the memories, I'll give them tomorrow. You may think I'm a liar, but I've never backed from my word once it's given."

"Don't be an idiot, Draco," Hermione snapped in her most condescending voice. "I'm here to fuck you."

Everything in Draco froze and restarted several times before the words registered. When they did, the bottle of Ogden's slipped out of his hands, smashing its expensive contents all over the floor, soaking into the one-of-a-kind rug woven with Puffskein fur.

"Don't tease me," Draco warned.

She gave a cruel little smile. Something he'd never seen her give to anyone else. It was cultivated just for him.

"Tease you like this?" The invisibility cloak slipped off her like a shower of water, pooling on the floor around her bare feet, revealing she wore nothing but her naked flesh underneath.

If he was still holding the bottle of Ogden's, he'd have dropped it twice. His whole body shuddered; lungs painful because it suddenly became hard to breath.

"Honestly, Draco. It's fucking cold in here. I'm not sure how you stand it." Hermione snapped her fingers, and the fire roared to life behind her, illuminating her skin in a golden haze, showing every dip and curve. The rosy peeks of her breasts. The starburst scar on her stomach, joined by a smaller incision made by Rosewood's knife. His gaze went down to the apex of her thighs, a sight he'd dreamed of plenty. His imagination never came close to the real thing, a pathetic mimicry of life.

"If you don't mean it, leave now," Draco warned. "Because if you walk closer, you're making a choice."

Hermione bit her lip, as if suddenly self-conscious, but she took a step forward, passed the silky cloth of the invisibility cloak.

"I'm serious," he tried to warn. "If you enter my bed, your agreeing to be mine. And once you're mine, I'm not sure I'll ever let you go."

Hermione seemed to think on what he said, but she took another step. And then another. With each step, she made a steady beat of promise. Until she stood before him. Like a siren. Like a Veela. She looked like the most dangerous creature in the world with her hair billowing around her head, lips still red as blood.

His legs spread, and Hermione stepped between them. The back of his fingers brushed down the side of her hip, running the length of the curve, memorizing the way it dipped and tilted like a small hill, skin softer than the most expensive fabrics.

In answer, her finger stroked along the edges of his lips. A heated trail ignited in its wake.

"I want to see you," she said.

His shirt made a static crackle as it brushed passed his hair. His pants came slower, as Hermione helped him with the snaps, tugging and sliding, until he was a naked as she was.

He brought his fingers around her waist, intending to bring her down and under him. But her hands on her shoulders stopped him.

"No, tonight, it's my rules." She pushed his shoulders, and he didn't resist, leaning back into the mattress, just as she crawled up and straddled his waist.

There was nothing between them anymore, neither clothes, space, nor excuses.

She kept his gaze as she raised herself and then slowly lowered on his cock. It was the sweetest torture he ever felt. She gave a small whimper when they joined completely. The feeling was so wonderful, so wet and warm and tight, that he almost came right them. It took everything in him to steady himself. He grit his teeth as his hands found her bottom, digging fingers into her skin, just as she tilted forward, rolling her hips.

Whatever this was, it wasn't sweet. It wasn't love. It was rough and raw and ancient. He understood now why the paleolithic wizard tribes worshipped women, carrying talismans of their bodies. For right now she looked every bit the goddess, powerful and wild, as she rocked. His lower body became tight and heavy, little groans escaping his mouth. The tension sparked with each frantic thrust.

Draco reached up and cupped her breast, letting his thumb roll over the nipple, and Hermione threw her head back with pleasure, letting an answering moan exit her mouth, baring her smooth throat. Pure, unfiltered magic trailed out of her fingers, wrapping around him as she fucked him.

It hurt to not turn her under him, grind into her until he'd claimed every inch of her body. He nearly begged her to finish the torture, hanging on by a thread.

"I can't last any longer."

"I'm almost there."

Hermione's speed turned frantic, uncaring what he thought or felt. This was a punishment now. She fucked him until her whole body spasmed with a low scream, head thrown back. Magic sparking in the air.

Draco grabbed her hips hard, holding her firmly in place as he jumped over the edge, emptying himself inside her wet heat.

As the pleasure burst through him, the golden thread of magic connecting them erupted in a golden haze, so strong it blew out the fire and made the windows rattle.

Hermione collapsed against his chest; skin dewy with sweat. They stayed that way for a few moments. One of his hands went up and tangled into her hair, his palm cradling the back of head, while she caught her breath, cheek pressed over his heart. Their naked bodies rested perfectly together, his cock still inside her until it softened.

He wondered if this is what clouds felt like, pure sunlight streaking through the haze. If he hadn't known she was dangerous before, he surely did now. He was afraid he'd give her whatever she wanted, so long as he could experience this rush again.

"What happened?" She whispered in his ear, as the golden haze dissipated. The magic of the Anima Vinculum spell exhausted them both, but she had more raw magic to draw from, so it drained her more. Her eyelashes fluttered as she found it hard to stay awake.

"The old magic liked it as much as we did," he answered back. He gently rolled her off him, disconnecting him. She didn't protest as she snuggled against his sheets. A sight he'd daydreamed about more than once.

"Was it everything you wanted?" She said with her eyes closed. "All the scheming, all the planning. Was it worth it?"

He traced the edges of her lips and then leaned forward and for the first time tonight he kissed her, as soft as he could manage, giving her his answer. She gave a snort of laughter in reply, not even opening her eyes, before turning her face into the pillow and falling asleep.

He watched her, contemplating the future, memorizing every scar and freckle, every flaw and curve, until she softly snored. And then he pulled her naked body close to his, enjoying the pleasant heat of flesh. It seared his skin.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," he said.

The magic in the room zinged in agreement.