A/N: Thank you to my girls who are at my beck and call.
This chapter is for my dear friend, Lucy.
The flames licked her legs as they passed through the fire into Draco's bedroom. Hermione looked down at the journal — the leather cover scraped and worn, the parchment soft with age. Her fingers gripped it tightly, and she blinked. She flipped to the pages she'd never seen before, checking to make sure they were real.
The key to the Scourers' code stared back up at her. She drew a shaky breath, thumbing through the pages until her vision blurred. They'd done it. They'd gotten the information she needed. It was more than she'd dared to hope for.
She spun to Draco, feeling energy coursing through her. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her.
"I knew it would work," she said breathlessly.
He lifted a brow. "But it didn't. You failed to seduce the information out of him—"
"I still got him to share what he knew—"
"You got him to hand that book over? If I didn't have the foresight to—"
"—use truth serum on a defenseless girl?" She glowered at him. "Yes, we mustn't forget that part."
Draco scoffed. "An hour ago, you wouldn't have spit on her if she was on fire, but now you feel she's been unjustly treated—"
"I would have expected you to inform me of a plot like that—"
"It got you your bloody journal, didn't it?"
"No, it didn't! He invited us over because he was already planning to tell us—"
"He was eyeing the situation, and if I didn't have leverage he might have used it against us—"
"You're wrong! He gave it to us because he cares about Oliver!"
"It doesn't matter." Draco shoved his hand through his hair. "You have the journal now."
She pursed her lips and ran her fingers over the pages again. Her mind began whirring quickly, her irritation slipping away. "It's Gaulish," she said after a few moments. "The seventh cluster is based on Gaulish runes." Chewing her lip, she checked the clock on his mantle. It was 2:30 in the morning, but she was wide awake.
"I'll send coffee to the library," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Go."
Offering him a quick smile, she ran out the door and down the stairs. Within ten minutes, she had the library table scattered with journals, parchment, and inkpots, sipping her first cup of coffee and munching on a biscuit.
She worked through the night, astonished at how the key worked. She only had to visualize a rune and press her fingers to the parchment before the letters and figures would rearrange themselves, bringing the character in question to the top of the page. Scribbling furiously to untwine the symbols she had been staring at for months, she felt her mind spinning with the thrill of working on a problem, all thoughts and worries about Oliver and Theo slipping away.
Once the sun's rays began peeking through the large windows, she checked her progress. She'd translated a full page of Tolbrette's journal, a rate almost five times faster than her normal speed. Elation swelled through her — until her eyes caught the remaining journals.
She was only inches closer to deciphering all of it. And there was still the issue of all the missing pages. She'd have to fill in the blanks to reconstruct their spells. Shaking out her cramping hand, she frowned down at the journal. One page, one step at a time. After four hours, she rubbed her eyes and finally called it a night, slumping up to her room and falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The next week was spent tackling the journals as ferociously as she'd tackled O.W.L.s. She spent long days holed up in the library, translating side by side with Draco as they worked through their respective journals. Thankfully, she hadn't seen Lucius since her impromptu tour of the Manor. He'd left a note telling Draco he'd be away, so they didn't have to worry about him stumbling across their research.
The first thing Draco had tried once he'd joined her was a series of unscrambling and translation spells. But the journals had resisted. So they'd continued their routine of getting to the library early, sipping their tea and coffee over the pages, and bouncing ideas back and forth about the meanings behind the passages as they worked.
Every evening around eleven, Draco would insist that they retire for the night and walk with her back to their rooms. He would listen as she shared her theories about Tolbrette's "lightning barrier," explaining why she thought he'd started with Celtic magic. He would stand with her outside her door, patiently waiting as she worked through small ideas that nagged her. He would ask questions or offer input in small ways, but truly, simply having an intelligent sounding board was invaluable. She would close her bedroom door once she'd exhausted herself, still ruminating about the order of entries and what might have killed "Pigeon No. 5."
When Friday rolled around and Draco reminded her that they had to appear at Edinburgh in two hours, she huffed in irritation that her research would be cut short that evening. For the first time, she had no interest in going to Edinburgh. She stomped upstairs to get ready, finding a short navy dress from Pansy in her closet. Putting in minimal effort towards her hair and makeup, she finished getting ready with forty-five minutes to spare and ran back down to the library.
Draco found her at ten minutes past the hour, pouring over the texts and biting her lip in concentration. When he led her out the doors to the drive, he noticed she was missing her gold collar and had to summon Boppy to fetch it. Hermione snapped it on as they walked, her mind still lost among the journals. "Do you know if Ted Nott will be at Edinburgh tonight?"
"I'm not putting you in Ted Nott's path, Granger," Draco grumbled. "Not when you look like that."
She blinked at him as the gates opened. Looking down at herself, she didn't find anything objectionable. A short dress, tall heels, curled hair, and hasty makeup. She was about to ask him to clarify when he took her arm and Disapparated them to Edinburgh.
Throughout dinner she found her mind wandering to the translation. It was easy to do, as the room was unusually muted tonight. Flint was still absent, and so was Theo. She tried not to worry about what it might mean for him and Oliver. Susan Bones was missing, as Travers had needed her that evening, so Goyle was sulky and silent. After a few hushed remarks about the latest setbacks in France — apparently the Order had retaken Groix — the boys drifted to stilted pleasantries. By the time they wandered down to the Lounge, she'd worked through several possible meanings behind the Septagram she'd found in Tolbrette's journal. When Draco pulled her down next to him on the couches, she curled her legs up onto the cushions, letting her knees fall against his. His arm fell over her shoulder, but he didn't push her to slide on top of him.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the two shadows that fell over them until one spoke.
"Your kitten looks tired, Draco."
An older man with a broad torso and a balding head stared down at her. He swirled a glass of brandy methodically. Just behind him, Yaxley sent her a smirk.
Draco stood abruptly and shook his hand. "Well, I've been exhausting her, sir."
The bald man chuckled and ran his tongue over his teeth. Hermione recognized him, but couldn't place him.
"I hear you're territorial. That's a shame."
"Apologies, sir, but it's not a shame for me. I like knowing that she's only had my cock inside her. Makes it worth the Galleons." Draco laughed, a tight sound that sent a chill down her spine.
"Come now, even for an old friend like me?" The bald man leered down at her and adjusted himself in his trousers. "We were almost family, Draco."
"Almost," said Draco coolly.
And it clicked. Mr. Parkinson. She could see Pansy's features in him now clearly. Her lips parted in horror, and she quickly turned her eyes down, forcing herself not to glance to where "Giuliana Bravieri" sat with Blaise.
A Carrow Girl brought by two new brandy glasses for Yaxley and Parkinson, and Yaxley let his gaze travel down the girl's body as he reached for a new drink. "I have to say I'm surprised by how much you enjoy these little parties, Quince. To think that your daughter could have been one of these whores, should she not have—"
"She was no daughter of mine," Parkinson growled. He downed the rest of his brandy and traded his empty glass for a full one. "I'm prouder to have no heirs than to live with the disgrace of that slut. Draco and Blaise did the honorable thing by killing her."
Hermione felt her chest tightening, her ribs crushing her lungs. Parkinson took a long swig of his second brandy, his eyes narrowed at Draco, as if daring him to disagree.
"Indeed, sir," Draco said slowly. "She was a stain on all of us."
Hermione lifted her gaze and found Parkinson nodding at Draco and turning to Blaise. His eyes caught on Giuliana.
"Well, hello," he sang.
And Hermione watched in disgust as Mr. Parkinson ran his eyes down the body his daughter was currently inhabiting. She chanced a look in her direction, and found Giuliana Braveri's eyes were bright with a blaze of fury.
Mr. Parkinson laughed. "This one's got spirit left, Zabini. I thought we all fucked that out of her."
Hermione's stomach roiled.
She watched Giuliana Bravieri's shoulders roll back and her nostrils flare. Blaise made some quip, standing to shake Mr. Parkinson's hand as well, but Hermione could only hear the blood rushing in her ears.
Draco grabbed her elbow, made some excuse, and walked them around the room once before changing course toward the Floo. As soon as she stepped through, she stumbled to the nearest chair, bracing herself. She had a faint memory of a conversation with Pansy in the Ministry, a hint at her strained relationship with her father — but to sell his own daughter into slavery was unthinkable. She tried to put herself in Pansy's shoes. To imagine her own father... Her throat closed, and she felt herself gagging.
Draco was at her side in an instant. He ordered chamomile and a sleeping draught to be brought to her room, and brushed off her questions with a "Not now, Granger." He walked her there with a hand on her back and forced her to go to bed with the promise that they would work on the tattoos first thing in the morning.
Hermione threw herself into research for the next few days, burning through her disgust. Quincy Parkinson was simply another person to add to her list of people who were going to pay. Draco met her every morning and left with her every evening. The first two days, they made excellent progress. She was three-quarters of the way through Tolbrette's journal; he was two-thirds through with his. But as the week dragged on, his attention became less and less focused. She found his gaze on her often, trailing over her face or dragging down her legs before flitting away. He asked her to repeat questions, and she got the sense that he wasn't really listening when she spoke. He had to take more breaks, stretching and strolling through the library stacks. Perhaps he'd grown sick of helping her.
It wasn't until Tuesday, when Hermione woke from a very pleasant dream, that she sharply realized the meaning behind the burning in his eyes.
He was randy.
She blinked at herself in the mirror several minutes later, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She'd been so preoccupied, so consumed by her research, that she hadn't thought once about what happened before they went to Nott Manor. But maybe it wasn't far from his mind. She thought back to the way he would walk her back to her bedroom at the end of each day, the way he'd watch her lips close around the rim of her coffee mug. The way he'd find little reasons to touch her — his hand on her waist as he moved around her in the stacks, his fingers against hers as he passed her his notes.
Abruptly, her body remembered his fingers in her knickers, her hand against his erection, his breath in her ear, the sounds from his throat as he came.
It wasn't that she didn't want to… again. She did. She'd just been… busy.
Hermione cleaned the toothpaste from her mouth, washed her flushed face, and opened the cabinets. The Contraceptive Potions stared back at her. One a month. She and Draco wouldn't be… Not yet. But there was no reason to be stubborn about it. She drank a potion and dressed quickly before hurrying to meet him downstairs.
He was wearing the cobalt jumper, and her eyes lingered on the way it stretched across his chest.
She joined him at the large table, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe. His long fingers flipped a page, and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. She watched him read for a few moments, feeling her blood begin to hum with the caffeine and her own nerves.
"Anything interesting?" she said, echoing how he tried to draw her attention last week.
He sighed, not looking up. "Just a bit about magic ink. I think. I can't be sure yet."
She came around to his side of the table and peered over his shoulder to read what he was reading. He pointed out the translation, but she couldn't concentrate, too dizzy from his scent. She hummed when she needed to, leaning closer, keenly aware of her chest brushing against his arm.
She heard his throat click as he swallowed. But then he was standing, offering her his chair and Jones's key in favor of moving across the room. She watched him settle into the couch and pick up the reading she'd started yesterday on Celtic magic.
Hermione bit her lip and tried to restructure her plans. She wanted him to know she was still interested. Perhaps she needed to be blunt about it. She pretended to translate for five minutes before setting her journal aside and walking to the couch.
"Mm?" he hummed into his book when he felt her presence in front of him.
Hermione bent at the waist, steadied her hands on his shoulders, and pressed her lips to his. His lips softened under hers, and his book snapped closed. She pulled back and looked into his eyes as they flitted across her face.
"Yes?" He smiled.
"I was just thinking… we could use… a break?"
His grin widened. "Oh?"
"Um, yes." She took a deep breath and crawled into his lap, her legs on either side of his thighs. His brows jumped, and the book was tossed across the room as his hands landed on her hips. "We've both been working rather hard, and I, um… I was thinking we could use… a little bit of… um…"
She broke off, her cheeks heating, but he just smirked at her. She rolled her eyes and leaned in to kiss him again.
His arms wrapped around her back, dragging her closer. She'd worn her denims ever since Lucius had last scolded her, but now she was regretting that her legs couldn't widen like she wanted them to.
Draco kissed her lazily, unhurried. His hands roamed over her back and slid down to her hips, gliding down her thighs and rounding her knees before retracing his path up. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pushing her tongue into his mouth and relishing the surprised groan that tore from his throat. He squeezed her hips and pulled her closer.
She let her hands float down, tracing over the jumper and down his chest. He tangled his tongue with hers as her fingers tugged at the hem, slipping under to touch his bare skin. He sighed, and she let her palms skate over his skin.
Running into his Sectumsempra scars, she traced the zigzag up, across his ribs and over the sharp angle under his heart. She kissed him as her fingers pressed into his muscles, enjoying the firmness of his stomach and the hard edges of his ribs.
She pulled her mouth off of his and watched his eyes flutter open slowly. "Off?" she asked, tugging at the jumper.
His eyes flashed, and then he was sitting forward to pull it over his head. His alabaster skin was so bright under the morning light, and her fingers were immediately drawn to all of his scars — Sectumsempra, the acid curse from Dover, and a few others she didn't recognize. She wanted to ask — to make him explain each of them. But then he was leaning forward to kiss her neck, tugging her chest to his and sucking on her throat.
Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand ran into her curls, pulling her neck open for him, his other squeezing her hip, encouraging her to roll forward into him. She shifted her legs, and suddenly they were slotted together. She gasped, and he moaned. Even through her denims and his trousers, she felt him growing harder. She tried rolling her hips, and Draco's teeth scraped down her neck.
He chuckled into her skin. "The house-elves will stop us soon."
She bit her lip to keep from mentioning that they probably wouldn't, now that she'd taken the potion.
"Until they stop us then," she whispered back. And he grunted and squeezed her backside.
"Fuck."
He pulled her lips back to his, and she let him devour her as she sighed from the delicious feeling of their hips coming together. Her hands ran over his chest, loving the vast amount of warm skin at her disposal. She wanted more.
She pulled at her shirt, gathering it to tug off. Draco pulled back to watch her with heavy breaths and wandering eyes. Her hair fell awkwardly over her face as it came loose, but just as she'd cleared her vision, she felt his skin against hers as he pulled her toward him and turned them to lay her down on the couch.
"Okay?" he breathed. She nodded.
She'd only been under him once — on the chaise when they were interrupted. But there hadn't been this much skin. Now she could run her hands over his bare back. She could push her breasts up against his chest.
He covered her, crawling on top of her and kissing her neck as he slotted their hips together. His lips trailed lower, over her clavicles, dropping kisses across the tops of her breasts. He paused, and she looked down to see his gaze concentrated on the scar over her heart from the ritual that removed her virginity. He kissed it gently, and Hermione's knees curled up around his waist as something warm swirled low in her stomach.
He looked up at her, his lips over her chest, and she watched as his mouth dragged lower until he hovered over her bra. She could feel his warm breath on her. She nodded, and Draco kissed her breast, his lips brushing across the thin lace covering her nipple.
Her chest arched up into him, and a whine poured from her lips as his fingers cupped her other breast. Her eyes squeezed shut as pressure built in her hips, urging her to shift under him as his thumb grazed her. Her legs locked around his waist, trying to rub herself on him.
Draco shifted up, removing his lips from her chest and kissing her mouth. He pushed his length against her core, and she hissed, "Yes."
He did it again and asked, "It feels good?"
"Don't stop. Please don't—"
He kissed her and started grinding his body into hers. The hand on her breast tugged down her bra cup and began rolling her nipple. She gasped into his mouth, squeezing her knees around his waist.
His hips found a pace that dragged the denim over her core just right, and her hips jumped to meet his on every thrust.
"Want you to come, Granger," he panted against her lips. "Will you come like this?"
"I—I think so. Please—"
He pumped faster and faster, grinding his hips against her clit. Her nails cut across his back, and her back arched, closer and closer.
"What else?" he groaned. "What else do you need?"
"Just don't stop—"
"I can't—I'm gonna—Fuck—"
"Draco, please—"
His hand squeezed her breast, plucking at her nipple—
She listened to him grunt. Listened to the curses fall from his lips like raindrops against her cheek. His hips grew erratic, grinding exactly where she needed him. She was hovering over the edge of the cliff, just one more step—
"Beautiful—fucking—fuck—"
His hips rolled into her once more. She shuddered, her jaw falling open, her body coiling, her thighs shaking, and her cunt clenching. He shivered and moaned, hips stilling as he came.
They caught their breaths. Hermione's fingers traced patterns into his scalp, relishing the way his fine hair slipped through her fingertips. His face was buried in her shoulder, panting into her skin. Letting her hands drift down his neck and smooth over his back, she followed the curves of his shoulder blades, mapping the knots in his spine and memorizing his ribs as they expanded beneath her touch.
His hand was still on her breast, bare beneath his fingers from where he'd pulled down her bra. And when his hand gave her an infinitesimal squeeze — his thumb rolling over the peak of her — she was shocked to learn that her body was still responding.
He lifted his hand, pressing into the couch to hold himself up. He hovered over her, his eyes skating down her body, tracing her mouth, her exposed breast, her waist. She memorized him in return — the way his hair fell forward over his forehead, the definition in his lean arms and chest, the color of his lips when they were kiss-bruised.
Reaching up slowly, he pushed a curl away from her face. His fingers ran down her neck and shoulder, and softly tugged her bra cup back into place. He sat up, offering her his hands, and pulled her up.
They decided to freshen up, and meet back downstairs in an hour. The walk to their bedrooms was silent, but when he dropped her off at her door, she turned to him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. She was pleasantly surprised to find how quickly his tongue slipped into her mouth and his hands grabbed her arse.
Kissing Draco Malfoy was like a drug — a potion to clear your mind and set fire to your skin. She thought maybe she could brew it, bottle it, and keep it forever.
He kissed her in the mornings before her first cup of coffee, doing more to her body than a full pot of caffeine. He kissed her in the afternoons when he was bored with any translation that had no direct relation to the way her body moved or what made her moan. He kissed her in the evenings when they arrived at her bedroom door, pushing her up against the wall and letting his hands wander, sometimes pulling her up to wind her legs around his hips.
He liked her hair down, her jeans tight, and her bra blue lace.
He let her set their pace. The moment her fingers popped one of his buttons, her shirt was tugged off. If her hips rolled against his, suddenly the bulge in his trousers was grinding into her. But no matter what she tried to communicate, her jeans stayed firmly on. She'd tried taking them off herself once, but he'd stilled her hands. Before she could question it, his tongue was back in her mouth, drawing moans from her lungs.
They were running their hands over each other on Friday, her fingers drifting to the front of his trousers, wondering if maybe she should try to unbutton him today, when a rap-rap-rap sounded from somewhere.
She pulled her mouth off his neck and looked around. Draco went still underneath her.
Rap-rap-rap.
It sounded as if someone was knocking on the library doors.
Hermione straightened her top and scrambled off the chair she'd been straddling him in. Draco followed suit, smoothing out his shirt as he quickly crossed to the door. She stood behind him as he pulled it open, and Narcissa Malfoy stood there patiently, a vision in lavender.
"Mother," he croaked.
"Hello, darling. Hermione." She nodded to both of them and stepped through the door. "You'll excuse my caution, but I've heard that it's best to knock before entering a closed-door room nowadays."
Hermione's cheeks flamed. Draco coughed. "Er, I'm not sure why—"
"Oh, nonsense. I remember being your age and having the whole Manor to ourselves." She smiled sweetly at her son. Draco swallowed, looking quite grey.
"Mother, please don't—"
"I came to invite you both to dinner tonight. I know you usually go to Edinburgh on Fridays, but perhaps I can tempt you to stay home and visit with your father and me?"
"Father is home as well?" Draco ran an anxious hand through his hair. "I… yes I suppose—"
"Excellent," Narcissa said, her mouth twitching. "I'll see you both this evening then."
She gave Draco a quick peck on the cheek and excused herself, bidding them goodbye. They moved to a table further inside the library and spent the rest of the day focusing on their translations, leaving the doors propped open wide. It was too risky to pick up where they'd left off when his parents were both home, wandering the halls.
Dinner was a strange affair. Narcissa deflected all questions about her visit with Bellatrix, favoring small talk instead. Halfway through their first course, Lucius decided to begin drilling Hermione on the cutlery on the table, quizzing her on their names and purpose as Narcissa glared at him. Draco was mostly silent, apparently preoccupied with drinking more wine than she'd ever seen him drink before. At the end of dinner, Hermione excused herself back to her room, casting a quick look in his direction. He glanced away, and she supposed that meant that they wouldn't be snogging outside their bedrooms anymore.
They continued their translations over the next few days without any incident. But the following Wednesday, there was a headline in the paper about a military initiative in Switzerland. Bellatrix was on the front of the Prophet in a black ensemble, looking quite the role of a murderous general. Lucius had left the previous day. When Hermione asked Narcissa about it over breakfast, she sipped her tea and said, "Lucius has it under control." But her smile was tight. Hermione hoped to get answers from Draco later, but as soon as they reached the library, he pulled away. "I don't know any more than you do, Granger," he clipped, before turning to his translations.
They went to Edinburgh that Friday, but Draco was distracted. Theo was back, his face pinched and pale. Cassandra sat quietly in his lap, unusually demure. At dinner, Draco snapped at anyone who tried to ask about Switzerland. When they went downstairs to the Lounge, it was practically empty — only a few Carrow Girls with trays serving a handful of men at the gambling tables.
Draco tugged her out into the courtyard, following the other boys and whispering an apology in her ear. Before she could ask what for, a wave of sound hit her — a swell of jeering and yelling. Her heart seized with terror at the thought of another One O'Clock Gun, but Draco gripped her elbow tightly as he led her forward, and a peek through the packed crowd allowed her to take in her first view of Seamus Finnigan since the Auction. He was beaten and bloody, brawling with another male Lot. She tried to clear her mind, but she could only watch in horror as Seamus pounded his fist into the other person repeatedly, the crowd's cheers ringing in her ears. Seamus tugged the boy's head up by the hair, and before he slammed his fist into his nose, Hermione recognized Justin Finch-Fletchley beneath the blood. They left soon after, as the crowd whooped at Seamus's victory.
She managed to make it to the Apparition Point before she began crying. Draco held her as the wind whipped around them, his knuckles brushing her tear-stained cheeks. The next morning, he flatly refused to let her go to the library, insisting she had to spend the day practicing her Occlumency. To her annoyance, she agreed.
The following week flew by. There was a triumphant, though heavily censored, article about Switzerland in the Prophet on Monday. She and Draco worked in the library together most mornings after she'd spent an hour Occluding. Both of them were almost through their second journals. And though it was fewer and farther between, Draco still would find a reason to request her assistance in the back of the library, pulling her close to him and working his hands under her shirt.
Lucius finally returned on Thursday, and it seemed like a weight had lifted from Narcissa's shoulders. Hermione took it as an encouraging sign. Unfortunately, Lucius' presence also meant that Draco stopped finding excuses to touch her in the library or kiss her goodnight. By the time she was getting ready for Edinburgh on Friday, Hermione was talking herself out of taking a bath to… unwind.
Pansy had sent her a champagne-colored slip dress with matching heels that morning. The dress had thin straps and a short hem, and sliding into the silky fabric didn't help her current state one bit. The dress was cool on her overheated body, and her breasts stood out plainly against the draping silk. She carefully applied her makeup, snapped on her collar, and met Draco downstairs.
As usual, his drifting eyes liquefied her, his gaze curving over her hips and breasts, sliding down her legs, and trailing up to her collarbones and neck.
She sent him a smirk and said, "Shall we?"
He seemed to snap out of his trance, stepping forward to take her elbow and guide her out the front doors. They got down the front steps, onto the drive, and out the gate before he tugged her to the side and descended upon her lips. She squeaked as he pushed her against the stone wall, his tongue in her mouth and his hands roving her back, her waist, her hips. Her laughter died in her throat, and she kissed him back fiercely, throwing her arms around his neck. He groaned and squeezed her arse, the silk riding up her cheeks. His fingers slid beneath to palm her backside, and she gasped as his hard length ground against her.
"Been thinking about your arse all week, Granger."
She shivered, not from the October wind dancing over them, but from his words, spinning delicious melodies in her ear.
His hands glided over her hips, fingers running along her spine beneath the silk of her dress.
"Do you know what I love about this dress?"
She panted into his ear as his hands skated around her ribs, coming forward to cup her breasts. "What?"
He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, filling his palms with her.
"That I get to take it off you later."
She moaned, a high-pitched whine. He kissed her deeply, rubbing his thumbs in soft circles.
And just as quick as it started, he was pulling back, his hands sliding down her stomach. She caught her breath as he took her hand, threaded their fingers together, and dragged her to the top of the hill, Disapparating them.
The shock of Apparition cooled her off a bit, but there was something curling deep inside of her as they walked beneath the howling werewolves and passed the leering guards. It was a silly thought: inconsequential, if not irresponsible, given the circumstances. But it sent a thrill through her veins just the same.
Draco Malfoy wanted something from her that only she could give him.
And as they greeted Charlotte, as his hand pressed to her lower back — his fingers inching lower than before — she relished that kind of power. That intoxicating feeling of being desired. Not by someone who'd just take from her. Someone who wanted her to give herself freely.
They spent some time in the Great Hall, with Draco shaking hands and dodging questions about Switzerland. His left hand pulled her so close against him, she was practically straddling his hip. When they finally made their way up to the dining room, she felt Draco's hand drift lower as they climbed the stairs. She batted his hand away with a wink.
Harper opened the door for them, and her stomach swooped when she saw Flint back at the head of the table. His eyes lifted to them, but there was no snarky comment, no lingering gaze on Hermione's legs or chest. He almost looked nervous.
Draco greeted the boys, even patting Theo on the back, and took his seat at the head of the table. Hermione wound herself into his lap while he laughed at something Pucey had just said. His hand was on her leg as soon as she was settled, pulling her body closer, and sliding up her thigh to rest just below the short hem of her dress. She felt her skin flush, and every time he brushed his thumb across her inner thigh, she felt her stomach tighten.
"Marcus," Draco called out. "How was your holiday?"
The table quieted, waiting with bated breath.
Flint swallowed, and looked down at his wine glass. "Fine. Weather was perfect." He rolled his shoulders back and sent Draco a smirk. "Hope you didn't miss me too terribly."
Draco tapped his fingers on the table. "We hardly noticed you were gone." He reached for his glass and drank deeply, staring at him over the rim.
The table was silent. Several boys followed suit and grabbed their wine glasses.
There had been a palpable shift in power. The boys who usually clamored around Flint for his attention or guidance were shifting their focus to Draco. There was no talk of Sharing her, no ribbing Draco for his behavior. As the night dragged on, Flint sunk further and further into the background, his eyes flickering anxiously around the table.
And throughout dinner, Draco kept his hand on her thigh, moving infinitesimally higher and higher. But when she glanced down, he was only an inch under the hem of her dress. She took calming breaths once she noticed his erection against her hip.
When it was time for the Lounge, Hermione felt like she was about to combust. Draco kept her close to his side, his hand wrapping around her hip as they passed through the hallway. The Lounge was packed this time. Draco dropped into the large chair he usually sat in, and she settled against him, curling her legs up into his lap. He took two glasses of champagne from an offered tray, and once he'd handed her one, his free hand rested on her knee.
Graham Montague sat on his left, chatting sports and memories of Hogwarts days. He usually followed Flint like a puppy. His Carrow Girl straddled him and began kissing his neck, putting an end to his one-sided conversation.
There was nothing to distract her now from the humming in her skin. Hermione remembered the day in the Manor library, her thighs on either side of Draco's hips — the way he couldn't keep his hands off her arse, the sound of him moaning in her ear. She could feel eyes flicker to her and Draco, and then away. The boys watching, weighing.
After a few heartbeats, she leaned in, pulling his earlobe between her lips. His hand squeezed her leg. She pressed a kiss to his pulse point. She heard his voice tremble. Her hand slithered down his chest, trailing over his shirt buttons to rest lightly on his belt buckle. She heard his throat swallow. The hand on her thigh began skating across her skin.
Shifting on his lap, she moved to straddle him, kissing his neck and steadying herself on his shoulders. His hands jumped to her hips — just like she knew they would — and the soft gasp from his lips when she settled her core against the bulge in his trousers made her head spin. She pushed her chest forward, letting her breasts graze him, and one of his arms wrapped around her back. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, and his fingers twisted in the ends of her hair.
She could barely move like this — plastered to his front, the hand in her hair tugging her head back. Her throat was open to him, and as his hand glided down to her backside, his lips descended on her neck. She moaned softly, and felt his cock twitch between her legs.
Her hands slid up to his hair, holding him close. He sucked at his favorite spots, the places he'd discovered that made her groan and gasp. The hand on her arse massaged her over her silk dress, pulling her hips into his as the other hand held her chest and neck close. His teeth grazed her pulse, and she tried to shift her hips against his.
She could hear the sounds of glasses clinking, of boisterous voices and low music. The purr of a Carrow Girl in her ear as fingers brushed across her shoulders, offering more champagne. But it all vanished like sound in a vacuum when Draco splayed his hand on the base of her spine, rolling her hips forward at his own pace.
A tight whine escaped her throat. And suddenly the hand tugging at the ends of her hair jumped to cup her jaw, sliding into the hair behind her ear, and pulling her face to his — kissing her.
Hermione gasped in surprise, her eyes shooting open to find Draco's closed in bliss. Kissing her at Edinburgh.
Letting her lashes flutter shut, she sighed into his mouth as his tongue dove into her. Her arms draped over his shoulders, and her hips began undulating against his. Her breasts brushed his chest softly with every roll of her body, and the cold silk teased her nipples.
He was fully hard in his trousers now, something she could feel with every snap of their hips. His mouth nipped at her, and his tongue pulled moans from her throat.
She pulled back to catch her breath, and before her mind came back to her body, he was standing, saying his goodbyes, and dragging her toward the fireplaces. She stumbled behind him in her heels, trying to steady herself.
In a puff of green smoke, they stepped through to his bedroom, and she reached for him at the same time his hands lifted her by the waist, carrying her to his bed. Her breath caught as he dropped her on the edge of the mattress, her mind catching up. They were on a bed and he was hard and she was wet and they were on a bed.
He took her face in his hands, bending down to kiss her quickly. "Whatever you want. We'll do as much as you want."
She nodded, relieved that he'd read her mind, and let him push her back on the mattress, shifting her across the middle of it. He crawled over her, kissing her deeply and sliding his hand over her waist. Threading her fingers in his hair, she kissed him back, losing her breath in him.
His hands started rucking up her dress, pushing the silk over her hips, making good on his promise from a few hours before. She kicked off her heels, and he met her eyes as he dragged the silk up over her breasts, gaining her permission with her short nod. She helped him pull it over her head, and then she was down to her knickers on Draco Malfoy's bed.
He shifted his knees to slot between hers, and then he was kissing her, sucking a path down her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed, and his lips and tongue trailed down to her breasts, sucking and licking at her as his hand rubbed her hip. She arched her chest forward, pushing her nipple into his mouth as he teased it with soft rolls of his tongue.
"Don't tease," she moaned, twisting beneath him.
And then he sucked on her, drawing a strangled gasp from her lips as he pinched her other breast between his fingers.
He kissed each rib on his path down her stomach, over her bellybutton. His hand smoothed over her thighs, opening her wide even as she ached to rub them together. Draco kissed the lace band of her knickers.
Her eyes shot open.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, and she bit her lip, her legs tensing and trying to close.
Did he really want to… do that? She wasn't sure—
He looked up, his eyes black and locked on hers. And before she could blink, he was moving back up, kissing her stomach and throat until his mouth found hers again.
She sighed and ran her hands down his shirt. She was halfway down his chest when his mouth pulled away.
"Can I touch you again?"
She nodded. "Yes." She tugged at his shirt. "Take this off."
He sat up and fumbled with the buttons, his eyes drinking her in as she lay prone on his mattress. Once his shirt was off, he lowered himself to her side and ran his hand down her stomach.
"Can I take these off?"
She bit her lip and nodded. His eyes darkened, and then he was rolling her knickers down her thighs, helping her kick them off. Then his hand held her hip as he settled on her right side.
He stared down at her body for a moment that lasted forever, and she felt her heart pound, her face flushed with embarrassment and arousal.
Then his hand moved to her center, and she turned her eyes on the ceiling as his fingers dragged through her folds. He pressed his lips to her clavicle, kissing lightly as his fingers explored her.
She didn't know what to do with her hands. She let her left just lay at her side and her right slid under his waist, wrapping around his back.
"Is this… am I alright?" she whispered.
He hummed into her neck and dipped his fingers between her folds. "You're perfect."
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting Draco find her clit within seconds. She tried to stifle her gasp, but she knew he'd heard it when he smirked against her collarbone.
Gently, he pushed her thigh open, bending her knee to the mattress. When his hand returned to her center, she could feel everything. Every drag of his fingertips. Every brush of his knuckle. His fingers slid down, and she felt him pressing against her entrance.
"Fuck."
She jumped. "What?"
He shook his head and kissed her ear, dragging his fingers up to her clit, swirling her. Her hips shifted. "Gonna make you come, Granger."
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded her head. And then he was kissing her mouth again, lips and tongue insistent, distracting her. She sighed and arched her back when he found a rhythm she liked, increasing the pressure from his fingers. Her hips shifted, and she felt his cock against her, still hard in his trousers.
Her eyes shot open as he groaned into her mouth and rolled his hips forward again. She should be doing something, yes? She should be touching him back?
She turned on her side and reached up to wrap her arm around his neck, kissing him back and pressing their bare chests together. He grunted into her mouth and nipped her lip, adjusting his fingers between her legs. Her hand slithered down his chest, and she hooked her fingers into his belt.
His hand left her core and grabbed her wrist. She pulled back and looked up at him.
"It's okay, Granger," he breathed. "Just lay back—"
"Draco." She frowned up at him. "Let me touch you."
He hesitated. And she quirked a brow, feeling devious.
"Are you embarrassed?" she asked innocently.
His brows pulled together. "No, why would you—"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. She shrugged.
His eyes turned deadly. "What would I have to be embarrassed about, Granger?"
She chewed on her lip, biting back a grin. "I've heard boys can be rather embarrassed about their… size. But I'm sure you're good at other things—"
He tore her hands from his body and pinned them to the bed, rolling on top of her. He growled and ground his hips into her, scowling down at her.
"Does that feel 'small,' Granger?"
She shook, failing to keep her laughter at bay. "I don't really know. I haven't seen it yet—"
He sat up and ripped his belt from his trousers. Laughing, she tried helping him with his buttons, but he batted her hands away, still looking murderous. Which made her laugh harder.
Once unbuttoned, he pressed himself back down on top of her and kissed her breathless. She ran her hands over his ribs, drifting lower and lower until she was brushing her fingers against his trunks. He groaned and rolled his hips forward, sucking on her bottom lip.
She pushed his trousers down past his hips and reached for the elastic of his trunks. He pulled his mouth from hers and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, breathing harshly against her skin. She reached inside and lightly wrapped her fingers around him.
He shivered and groaned tightly.
The skin was warm and smooth. She tried trailing her fingertips along him softly, and Draco mumbled something into her neck. He drew a sharp breath, and then his hand returned to her core.
Her head tilted back, shifting her hips against his hand. His fingers trailed down to her entrance, and slowly he pushed one finger inside.
She gasped, her hand stilling and her leg curling up to his hip. "Oh—"
He lifted his head and kissed her again, pushing further into her. "Okay?"
"Yes. Sure. I mean, it's good—"
She stopped her stammering when he withdrew and pushed into her again, slowly filling her.
He cursed, and started kissing her neck again. He twisted his hand, and then his thumb was at her clit.
Hermione let her eyes flutter shut, brushing soft fingers across his cock and shifting her hips against him. His fingers picked up their pace, rubbing and thrusting faster and firmer. She could feel the strain that had been building since he kissed her outside the Manor gates swelling inside her. Her free hand twisted in the bedding, stretching out, reaching.
Her breath stuttered in her chest, her walls fluttering — so close.
"Fuck." Draco panted harshly against her jaw. "Felt that." She flushed. "Gonna make you come all over my sheets, Granger."
His thumb swirled her clit, working her higher and higher as his lips sucked at her neck. She realized her hand was still wrapped around him, but she couldn't think, let alone move, while he played with her. Her head fell back, arching her chest toward his canopy, her knees curling toward her chest.
He curled his finger, dragging against her inner wall, and she whimpered as her cunt clenched, squeezing him in place while his thumb worked her clit.
She cried out his name, and he pressed their mouths together as she rode out her climax on his fingers.
He slowly pumped his finger into her as she relaxed, and then finally pulled away from her. She caught her breath and remembered her hand on him — the hand that had pulled away and curled into a tight fist against his chest when she came.
Draco rolled to the side, laying on his back. She turned to him and trailed her hand down his stomach.
He took her wrist gently. "You don't have to—"
"I want you to feel good too." His eyes closed, and she watched him swallow. She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned in to kiss his neck as her hand dipped lower. "Just… teach me what to do."
He groaned, clenching his jaw.
She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked slowly, tentatively, watching his brows pull together. She looked down, and was momentarily fascinated by the way her hand moved around him. And… it seemed he had nothing to be embarrassed about after all.
"Is this—"
"Tighter."
She bit her lip and followed instructions. His eyes remained firmly closed, and his lips parted as he breathed harshly.
"Faster?"
"Yes. Fuck."
She sped up her hand and pressed herself closer, kissing his collarbones like he'd done for her. His hips jumped, and she watched his stomach muscles tense and release. He pressed a hand over his face.
"What's wrong?" she breathed into his shoulder.
His chest heaved for air, and he licked his lips. "I'm gonna come."
She pushed forward to kiss his lips. One hand wrapped in her hair, the other shifted down to cover her hand, showing her a pace he liked, and encouraging her to twist her wrist a certain way. He moaned when she did it on her own, and cursed while his hips jumped to meet her hand.
With a delicious sound, he grunted, stilling as he came, spurting up over her fist. He dragged her lips back to his, and she continued to pump him slowly, feeling him twitch and pulse, intrigued by the way he softened.
He grabbed his shirt and cleaned her hand. And she suddenly remembered that she was completely naked in Draco's bedroom.
"Um, thanks. Or… not 'thanks,' but…"
He grinned up at her, his eyes drifting over her skin.
Hermione swallowed. "Um, I should… get cleaned up."
He nodded slowly, staring at her. They sat up, and he handed her dress to her. Her knickers were missing again, but she was too embarrassed to linger. She kissed him quickly, and scurried back to her room, leaning back against the door and reliving the past hour.
Her hands ran over her face, sliding down her cheeks and neck—
The collar was still on. Hermione winced at the realization. She unclasped it, ready to toss it across the room, when a thin scrap of paper fluttered down to her feet.
Her breath caught. When had someone passed her a note? Bending swiftly, she snatched it up.
Don't miss next Friday.
Her heart pounding, eyes widening. What was going to happen next Friday? She ran her hand through her hair, wondering at what point in her distraction had someone gotten close enough to slip a note into her collar without her noticing. At some point in the evening, she'd lost herself. Lost track of the game.
She sank against the door, staring at the note. Taking a shaky breath as guilt overshadowed her euphoria.
The following weekend was Halloween. Hermione made sure there would be no special plans prohibiting them from attending. A batch of fresh makeup had appeared in her bathroom, and Hermione painted her lips and applied the shadow dutifully. Pansy had her in a long-sleeve black lace dress, skin-tight, the hemline barely covering her backside. But at least her chest was covered. It didn't stop Draco's wandering eyes, though. Or hands.
Dinner was a rambunctious affair, with the boys drinking spirits and singing songs. Draco ruled over them all, smirking and enjoying himself, letting his fingers trail over her thighs.
Hermione fought the urge to melt into him. She'd promised herself she wouldn't lose her head in the Lounge again. She could maintain appearances without winding herself up. If she and Draco wanted to touch each other, they could do so at home. She needed to stay alert for whatever she could not miss at this party.
Following the boys down to the Lounge, Hermione kept an eye out, not letting Draco's hand on her waist distract her from her mission. She sat in his lap, taking a glass of champagne offered by a Carrow Girl and searching the room. But alert as she was, she still was totally unprepared for a shadow to cross over them, and a voice to lilt, "Come with me, Mudblood."
She looked up into a pair of grey eyes, and she blinked to realize that Lucius Malfoy was at Edinburgh. Draco stilled underneath her before helping her scramble off his lap. He quickly stood with her.
"Father."
"Son." He eyed him coolly. "It's time for your pet to see the Burgundy Room, wouldn't you say?"
Hermione gaped at him. The Burgundy Room was where the important discussions happened — where the dignitaries were taken. The "other room." And Lucius Malfoy wanted to take her there? She was still reeling from the image of him being at Edinburgh, much less speaking to her publicly.
Draco coughed and gestured for his father to lead the way. Lucius lifted a brow before grabbing Hermione's elbow with firm fingers and turning to escort her to the thick door in the corner of the room. Draco took two steps to follow, and Lucius spun back.
"Don't bother, Draco. I'll take good care of her." His eyes flitted disdainfully over the Slytherin boys who were watching with rapt attention. "Play with your little friends."
Hermione's eyes widened and snapped to Draco. He was mouthing something wordlessly, his face as white as a sheet. Before he could argue, Lucius spun on his heel and dragged her away.
"I trust you know how to behave, Miss Granger," Lucius drawled once the doors had closed behind them.
She nodded, opening her mouth—
"That includes holding your tongue."
She snapped it closed. Lucius turned down a long hallway to the left, and she walked quietly by his side, her heart hammering in her ears. They turned a corner into another room where a small crowd was gathered, voices low and glasses clinking. Lucius stepped through them, greeting his friends and associates. Their gazes lingered over her body, but they made no mention of her. They approached the wooden door, and Lucius turned to the guard. A quick Detection Spell, and the door opened for them.
Hermione stepped into a dimly lit room filled with cozy fireplaces and low-lit sconces. There were twenty or so people in the room. She spied Yaxley and Dolohov speaking to the Spanish Minister, Santos, and someone who must be his wife. Avery sat in a comfortable chair, speaking lowly with an Asian man. A bodyguard stood just to his side. Charlotte looked up from where she was exchanging empty glasses, her eyes quickly passing over Hermione before looking away. And across the room, Minister Cirillo from Greece stood with Mulciber. Cho Chang hung off his arm with a light smile, not sparing her a glance.
Cirillo's eyes landed on them, and her lips split into a smile, revealing perfectly straight teeth. "Lucius, darling. I was hoping you'd come."
Lucius tugged her by the elbow to cross the room. Cirillo met them in the middle.
"Eleni," he greeted. "I promised, didn't I?" They kissed cheeks.
"Still. Antonin tells me you do not visit often."
"You must know how I loathe this castle. Built by Muggles." He sneered as he glanced around at the walls, then rolled his shoulders back. "But of course, when I'm not needed out of the country, I'm willing to stop by. Provided you're in town, Madam Minister."
Cirillo winked at him, and her eyes drifted over Hermione. "So you brought her. Your son's prize."
Lucius laughed and stroked her cheek with a single finger. Hermione froze, fighting the urge to jerk away. "She's more of a family prize, I'd say."
"Precisely what I was hoping to hear," Cirillo purred. She stepped into Hermione without permission, tracing her lips with her fingertips, touching her hair. As if she was inspecting cattle.
"Truly exquisite," she murmured. She turned back to Lucius. "Surely you can part with her for a few hours?" Hermione felt her chest grow tight, suffocating her lungs. If it weren't for Lucius's grip on her elbow, she might have stumbled backward.
"Oh, I'm sure that's a possibility," he said lightly. "But I must warn you,"—he chuckled—"she's awful with her mouth."
Hermione blinked once. Twice. She flushed in embarrassment.
"For all that talk, she's not a quick learner." Lucius looked her over disdainfully. "She may be pleasant to look at, but she's not my first choice."
Cirillo laughed and let her eyes wander down her body. "That's quite alright. I prefer to use my own mouth. Isn't that right, Charlotte?"
Charlotte appeared just next to them with her tray. Her eyes flickered before her lips curved in a demure smile.
"Well, the Mudblood might be good for something, then," Lucius lilted, grabbing the offered glass of scotch. "I'll talk to my son and see when is best for him."
"Good luck with that, Eleni," a dark, raspy voice said. Hermione looked up to see Dolohov strutting over to them. "You won't get the Malfoy heir to part with her for a night." He sipped from his glass and stared at her over the rim. "His son is quite… particular about the Mudblood."
Lucius stood very still next to her.
"Particular?" Cirillo asked.
"Mm. Perhaps I should say… taken with." Dolohov turned his eyes on Lucius.
"I'd be careful about what you're implying, Antonin. My son has refused to Share her with you on my orders." His lips curled." I'd rather not have her return to us diseased."
Dolohov looked like he wanted to respond, but bit his tongue.
Lucius turned back to Cirillo. "I'll be happy to consult Draco. But in the meantime, Eleni, have you met Anna?"
Cirillo raised a brow. "Anna?"
"A new Carrow Girl. Captured in Switzerland just last week. I'd planned to ask for her myself tonight, but one mustn't be greedy around their guests..." He chuckled, and the sound felt like knives in Hermione's chest.
"Hmm," said Cirillo, her interest clearly piqued. "I'd be interested to meet her."
"Charlotte," Lucius called out, and she approached. "Be a dear and fetch Anna for the Minister this evening. I think she's precisely what Eleni is looking for."
Charlotte inclined her head in acceptance, and before she moved away, Dolohov slammed his glass down on her tray and grabbed a new one. He sucked on his teeth.
"So. I hear Lestrange keeps asking for reinforcements in Switzerland. It's a shame she can't get that situation under control." He shook his head, then feigned a casual glance at Lucius. "Weren't you supposed to help her, Lucius? With your golden 'political touch?'"
"Yes, well, unfortunately we can't all have your subtleties, Antonin. What was it that got you demoted back to checking on the Lots? Raping the Italian Secretary's wife?" Lucius sipped his scotch.
Dolohov sneered at him, lips parting—
"Now, is that Minister Grubov?" Lucius gestured to the man across the room speaking to Yaxley. "I've been anxious to speak to him."
"Yes," Dolohov grumbled. "I'll introduce you—"
"I don't require an introduction from a half-blood. But thank you for your generous offer."
And without another glance in Dolohov's direction, Lucius was crossing the room with Hermione in tow. She was just recovering from the whiplash of the past few minutes when she was suddenly being introduced to a new Minister.
Her eyes cast around the room as Lucius spoke to Grubov. She listened to conversations, watched interactions, but very little was useful, as they all seemed determined to stick to pleasantries. She wondered who had slipped her the note, and for what purpose. Did they know she would be requested in the Burgundy Room tonight? Or was she now missing out on the important interaction in the Lounge because of Lucius?
"Ah! Here he is," Grubov said, clapping his hands together. "You found a fireplace?"
"I did," said a deep voice. "Many apologies for my lateness. I vuz needing to make a call."
Hermione turned, following the sound of the familiar voice up to a broad chest, thick shoulders, and face of dark stubble.
Viktor Krum clapped the shoulder of the Bulgarian Minister and nodded at Lucius Malfoy, barely glancing at Hermione.
"Vut did I miss?"
.
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A/N: Updates every other Sunday. (Next update 4/12/20)