Hermione Granger was a powerhouse. No one in the entire ministry would deny it; she was particularly imposing when demanding rights for centaurs or mountain trolls, which was probably why her combined success rate in receiving grants and passed legislation was currently sitting at a crisp 97.3%. Not that anyone was counting. But if they were, they would realize how very little she was told no, and how particularly good she was at what she did.
The staccato sound of her heels reverberating through the hallway of the Department of the Treasury sent others to scatter. People cleared the way for her, men scurried out of her path - men wearing suits that cost more than a month's rent who definitely didn't believe in wage equality simply fell over themselves to get out of her way. Hermione was practically crackling with energy, and the seas parted for her. Someone had crossed her, and no one was going to be around to find out who the unlucky bastard was.
Her manicured nails dug into the palms of her balled fists as she approached the open door at the end of the hall, a door leading to one of the largest offices in the ministry, aside from the minister's itself. Another time, she may have paused, briefly prepared for battle, smoothed her fitted pencil skirt and straightened her white blouse. Today, she barreled down the hall as fast as her (somewhat impractical) shoes would permit, and nothing, or no one, could stop her.
"How dare you," she seethed the minute she was across the office's threshold. Anger rolled off her in waves; the temperature seemed to spike at least ten degrees.
"Hm. Granger. Close the door." And therein lied Hermione Granger's weakness. Right here in this office, the only man who could say such a command and have her listen. She still wasn't quite sure why, and had spent the better part of the last three months ignoring the matter at all costs. She closed the door.
"How fucking dare you, Malfoy! You know I've been working for ages on the Pixie legislation – you know how fucking important it is, to not only me, but to the entire wizarding community –"
Draco Malfoy held up one, long fingered hand and it shut her up entirely.
"Have a seat." She sat.
"Now," Draco drawled, standing from his desk, circling around it in what could only be considered a predatory manner. "What on earth makes you think this is an appropriate way to address this?"
Hermione gulped. Her throat felt tight, like there was something caught in it. The room seemed to get even warmer, unbearably so.
"Look, Malfoy," she all but stuttered. "I have been pouring my heart and soul into this. I have not spent all of this time and effort to have it shot down before it was even read. Now, I understand why it may not seem important to you – "
The hand again. Draco was leaning against his desk now, legs crossed at the ankle and Hermione shuddered. He cut a frightening figure in his perfectly tailored grey suit, his shoulders broad in a way she wouldn't, couldn't consider, his grey eyes almost slits with the intensity of his scowl. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for half a second. Focus. Focus, Hermione, goddamit, he shot your work down in less than a minute, the stupid, self-absorbed bloody Tory, he –
"Had you come in here like a good girl, we may have been able to discuss this in a reasonable manner. I should have known that would be impossible for you." Her fingers itched to reach into the band of her skirt, where her wand was tucked like a loaded gun, and curse him into oblivion. However, the words "good girl" had rendered her absolutely useless.
He uncrossed his legs and Hermione realized that sitting in a chair as she was, she was directly at eye level with his crotch. She could've groaned at the faint outline of his cock against the placket of his trousers. No, no, NO Hermione, breathe, inhale exhale, oh fuck –
Absentmindedly, Draco adjusted himself in full view of her, and her lips parted with a barely audible gasp. She looked up, realizing she had been staring and could've smacked herself. Three months ago, Draco had been promoted to Head of the Department of the Treasury and three months ago the dreams had started. She hated them. She hated him.
Three months ago, Hermione Granger began having the most fantastically naughty, seriously debauched dreams starring none other than Draco Malfoy and she had no idea why. There had been no big apology of the way he treated her in school, no befriending her friends (even though they, too, worked closely with him). There had been absolutely nothing different in their relationship to provoke such dreams, other than the fact that she now went directly to him with her work. And perhaps the fact that he really had grown into his looks (the rich always did, didn't they?). However, all of a sudden, Hermione Granger was dreaming of Draco Malfoy ordering her around in his perfectly posh accent, forcing her onto her knees before -
"Granger. If you're quite through with your examination," the word felt like a hot poker, her cheeks flushed, "I'm ready for your apology."
She sputtered. "My – my what?! Are you joking, Malfoy? You are seriously mentally deranged if you think I'm- "
The sound of his zipper lowering shut her up even more effectively than his hand.
"Now, now Granger. Be a darling. Open your mouth and apologize." Her brain short circuited. Her nails dug into the arms of the leather chair and another Hermione Granger, the sane one would've jumped to her feet and stormed off to file an HR report. Instead, this Hermione Granger, clearly out of her mind, parted her lips further, panting, looking up at him through heavily lashed eyes.
Gods, Hermione, I don't even know who you are anymore. Who do I think I am?
The soft head of his cock brushed against her lips and her tongue snaked out to brush along the underside of it. She groaned before he did. Whether or not he knew it, this was a long time coming.
"What a perfectly good girl you are," Draco breathed lightly, letting her wet him entirely with her tongue, maintaining composure in a way that was absolutely maddening to her. "But I need you to be even better."
Hermione paused, looking up at him questioningly before she felt her wrists being restrained to the chair. Wandless magic. Her breath quickened; anticipation and fear swirled together in her stomach, she closed her eyes again.
He was at her lips, pushing his way in. She allowed it, head bobbing along his length, testing. Her thighs pressed together in an attempt to alleviate her budding arousal and his chuckle meant he'd notice.
"Do you like this, Granger? Has anyone ever tied you up before?" Her response was muffled by his cock in her mouth and he chuckled deviously. "I'll take that as a 'no'. Open up a little wider, sweetheart, let's see how good you can be for me." Against her own will (had he imperius'd her? no, no she would've felt it), she opened her mouth wider, ready to take as much of him as she could.
Draco slowly drove his cock deeper into her mouth, into her throat and she gagged around him.
"Breathe, darling. Through your nose," he coaxed, wrapping his fist in her loose curls. "You're going to need to breathe for what I'm about to do." She felt another tug of fear at her navel, but the tug further down overruled it and she merely looked up at him, waiting.
Draco began a series of shallow thrusts into her throat, and it was almost more than she could handle, but gods, it was infuriatingly sexy. The sound of it, the sound of Draco Malfoy fucking her throat, the feeling of her own saliva dripping down her chin and neck, it was almost too much. He buried himself to the hilt and she exhaled heavily through her nose before he completely pulled away from her mouth with a soft 'pop'. And he did it again, and again, and Hermione knew her mascara was running down her cheeks from how much her eyes had watered. But fuck, she would probably leave a puddle on his expensive leather chair at this point – she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so wet.
Just like that, it was over and he was pulling out – "Tongue out, darling, yes that's a good girl" – and cumming over her face in thick, ropy spurts. She tasted the saltiness of him on her tongue, felt the heaviness across her eyelids.
A murmured cleaning charm and she could move her wrists again. Hermione opened her eyes, catching her breath.
"I'll have Chapman reallocate next month's funds from the Knight bus project to your little Pixie interest," Draco said, his drawl lazy in his aftermath. Hermione blinked. He tucked himself back in his painfully expensive pants and went back to his chair.
"We'll readdress the issue in a month's time. See if it still holds its… importance," he continued, tapping a pen against his desk in an almost agitated manner. "You may go."
Hermione Granger stood, and left.