Chapter 3

The man was going to die from cardiac arrest, and there was nothing that any Muggle could do to stop it.

Hermione continued the direction to administer shocks. Draco was also present, looking at her, anxious she wasn't going to perform a cardiac-healing spell to attempt to revitalize the heart. He was dying anyway, it was a last shot.

Hermione shook her head.

"One, two, three, clear," Dr. Taylor said, administering the next AED shock. The man's status remained the same.

"Malfoy, I can't. It would be obvious on the report what happened. I'm a Muggle doctor," she whispered through gritted teeth at him.

He shot back quietly, "You have to do this. I will, if you won't."

But Hermione's mind was set-she would let this Muggle die if it meant preventing exposure of the wizarding world.

Malfoy gripped his wand in his pocket, silently saying the cardiac spell to save his life. Hermione glared at him.

Immediately, he knew his mistake-he didn't time the spell with the next round of EKG shocks. But, as a vital organ that was dying, the man's brain needed his blood pumping to not lose function. Draco not only wanted the man alive, but he wanted him to have his full faculties.

Nearly in tears, Hermione left the medical room in frustration. The other doctors and nurses were confused, but relieved, looking at each other in disbelief as the man's vitals were returning to normal. One of the nurses, a squib, chimed in with, "It's a miracle! Thank you, Lord!"

Draco said approvingly, "A bloody miracle. Great job though, team, way to stay with this one."

Draco knew he had crossed the ethical line with Granger, and frankly, he didn't care. The witch, for whatever reason, could deny using magic all she wanted. She could even quit working at the hospital, and his mind was set that he was doing the right thing.

He wanted to go after her, but first, he should attempt to do some damage control. Disperse any suspicion on what happened here.

Other than the nurses, the other doctor present was Hermione's boss, Taylor. A forty-something, complete and total Muggle, the man was painfully boring to Draco and he could never find anything to talk about. "This makes no sense," he said to Draco, in honesty, his face pale. "The man's heart was in really bad shape as an organ-weak, unstable. He needed a transplant! And he's on a carefully monitored dose of nitroglycerin. It just doesn't add up that now, the guy has a heart of an Olympic athlete, you know?" He pointed to the monitors which showed that his blood saturation of oxygen was at 100 percent, and his heartbeat was strong and stable, even slower than normal, like he was in a deep, healthy sleep. His blood pressure was perfect. Eerily perfect.

Draco realized that Taylor's attention to data and science would be the end of Hermione's Muggle career. The Ministry would make her transfer, maybe even cast a memory spell on Taylor to get him off the trail. Fuck, it might have been what happened with Siva. People like Taylor were why the Ministry enforced strict laws to hide the magical world from Muggles and, this fact was why Muggle-borns were intrusive into some witches' and wizards' way of life. That's where the prejudice was rooted. It wasn't about blood, strictly, it was about culture.

But Taylor wasn't done. "The same thing happened with Siva. Teenage girl, drunk driving accident, severe brain damage. Should've died. Give her an MRI now, and it looks like the accident actually helped her brain function. I don't know how it's possible, but Siva didn't even seem surprised!"

Draco immediately felt his blood run cold, and he had an unbearable instinct to protect Granger. A confusion charm came to mind, or even one for memory-loss. But would that draw even more suspicion from him? Either way, those spells would be harder to mask from the Ministry's close eye.

"Take a closer look, Doctor," Draco said, a noticeable lack of amusement in his voice, "Our response team was late, noticeably late. We should have sent a helicopter, and we didn't. If he'd died, it would've been because we took our sweet bloody time, and that's not on us, but it's on the hospital. And our reputation. So, take this as a motherfucking miracle, Taylor," he commanded, squaring his shoulders and reaching his full height. Taylor was also tall and broad, but they withered slightly under Draco's command.

"Dr. Malfoy, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful or anythi-" Taylor began.

"For all you care, I sold my soul to the Devil and he brought him back," he said darkly. "Just be fucking grateful the man is alive, and leave it at that." Draco growled, then left the nurses to assist the man whose life he just saved. Forget Taylor and his annoying, prying, ungrateful skepticism, he had to find Granger.

After a few seconds of looking for her, he was already intensely annoyed she was gone. Had she walked to an apparition spot and gone home?

With humorous timing, she came out of the public bathroom and looked at him with tired eyes.

"Seems like you can cover for me, so I'm heading home," she groaned, walking past him.

He hated that she was making him go after her. It felt beneath him.

"Talk to me, Granger," he said, frustrated. "Was that spell really that bad to you? They're all convinced it was a miracle and-" he tried to explain.

She kept walking to the elevators. "Bullshit," she said, simply. "Taylor's catching on and knows there's something weird happening, maybe even connected to you, Malfoy. And any more memory charms, and it's going to affect Taylor's brain. Who he is as a person. I can't let that happen," she said, so passionately that it caught Draco off-guard. Tears burned in her hazel eyes, and Draco sensed he didn't fully understand why she was so upset. But he wanted to find out.

"I refuse to do magic when it's exposing witches and wizards, and also putting the Muggles in danger. I won't break laws for you. This is something I won't bend on. Sorry."

She pushed the elevator button with her elbow as he began to explain, starting to feel like he wasn't going to reason with her on this. "I covered for you. He won't pry into this. Just trust me," he said quietly, hoping to lower her defenses with his voice alone.

"Trust me when I say that you have to stop practicing medicine to feel like a hero," she said to him, calmly. Not unkindly.

"I'm not," he said simply, shrugging. "I just want to use my power...magic, money, influence, for good. To help people."

The elevator opened, and she ignored it. "Bullshit. You could put your assets to better uses. Politics, law, you name it, you could have done it. I don't know where you found it, but you somehow obtained a Muggle medical degree that you barely even know. You use magic for fucking everything in a treatment, don't you? You don't even know which method would be better or worse. You just don't even consider that Muggle-based medical procedures could be safer because they're beneath you."

She wasn't wrong, he forgot most of the Muggle medical practices, all the math and numbers. He was proficient in Arithmancy, but this was different. Too textbook.

But that was why he stayed out of the operating room and simply hired witches or wizards that would intercede with magical science, according to their judgment. Based on this motive alone, it was disappointing that Taylor had hired Granger without his permission. Perhaps serendipitously, or just pure instinct, Taylor had hired a brilliant Muggle doctor, through and through.

Something nagged on Draco's mind, something wasn't adding up. With a flood of realization, something had to have happened to her...there was a reason she wasn't using magic. She was passionate, livid, about the issue-it had to be personal.

The elevator had come and went, and they were standing close to each other, face-to-face, her cheeks flushed with anger towards him. He began with a sigh. "You're right, Granger. To be honest, this is merely an interest of mine. Usually, I'm not actually dealing with patients."

He sensed that her heart rate was slowing down to a more normal pace. He wanted to be closer to her. Feeling almost like he was under an Imperius curse, he was actively trying to keep himself from not pressing his body into hers. Suddenly, he had a fierce wish he could be back on the dance floor with her, during the song that no one noticed they were together.

"Seriously, Malfoy, I'm going home," she said weakly. "We're doing the triathlon tomorrow, and I need to take a break. I'm exhausted, and I'm too tired to argue with you. Just get me through the race tomorrow, 'kay?"

She took the stairs, leaving him feeling aroused, tense, and wanting more.


Draco apparated home later, to find Blaise and Pansy obviously fucking in Zabini's room. It was just the thing to tank his mood even further. Retreating to his bedroom suite, he blasted music and did planks and pullups to blow off some steam and prepare for tomorrow. He wasn't worried about keeping up with Granger without magic-not because he thought she'd be slow, but he had always kept himself in top-tier physical condition. He finished the night with yoga, a couple hits off of his vape, and then fell asleep on his emerald green silk sheets.


The next morning, Hermione was waiting for him in the same Gryffindor wetsuit from 6th year when they were on the Hogwarts swim team. Ginny had convinced her to join the team, pleading with her to wake up at six AM every other day and dive in a freezing pool in the dungeons. She probably had convinced Hermione by listing all of the boys from different houses-notably a lot of 7th years- that were on the team already. When she showed up to her first practice, she realized that Ginny was right-the swim team was full of athletic guys from other houses. Most of them were bribed by Madam Hooch as extra conditioning for the Quidditch field.

Draco had been one of those, recruited from Quidditch and always cracking jokes with Zabini. He had ignored and avoided "Granger and the Weasley-girl" whenever he could. It was like he never even looked at her-his eyes always were flitting elsewhere.

She saw Draco's tall, broad form walking up to the small crowd of athletes by the lake. His white-blond hair was impossible to miss in a crowd. Nervousness bubbled up in her suddenly, and she knew it wasn't because of the race.

Draco saw her too-nearly groaned in frustration at what she was wearing. The same wetsuit from Hogwarts? Fuck him. He was always trying not to stare at her before the weekend practice swims in the Hogwarts lake, as she quietly chatted with Chang or the Weasley girl, impressing them with the new charms she had learned the night before. He remembered lying to Zabini, claiming he couldn't stop staring at Cho Chang in anything skin-tight, but for a while, he had it bad for Granger.

In the sunrise light, her hair shone more golden than brown. She had the same tired eyes as the morning before, but Draco's breath caught in his throat when he saw her up close. She looked so beautiful. Her hair was woven in an intricate braid, and having her hair back accentuated her sharp, defined features. She shivered in the morning cold.

Draco chose his normal, black wetsuit he used for surfing, his wand in a hidden compartment. And, he even wore his Quidditch letter jacket over it, hoping it'd be a nice throwback. As she stood there shivering, he noticed there was no way Hermione was hiding a wand anywhere.

"You don't bring your wand?" he asked, a little in disbelief, knowing that was also the only explanation for her not casting a warming spell, either.

"Good morning to you too, Malfoy," she said, fake-annoyed. "No, I don't bring it everywhere. I'm perfectly fine with handling most of my life without magic." She hopped up and down to stay warm.

"Sounds boring. And...cold, it seems."

"Nice jacket," she says with a knowing, playful smile. "You wore that to make me happy, didn't you?"

"Actually, I wore it to annoy you. You said everyone you knew loved Quidditch, so I thought it was a nice reminder."

She laughed, open and genuinely at him. Draco loved making her laugh-so far, she had been his absolute favorite audience. Her alone.

He watched as her smiling face quickly flashed to shock at the person who approached. Draco turned to see who it was, and knew immediately by the man's stature and red hair. Weasley.

On his arm was, of course, Lavender Brown. She wore a tight, revealing swimsuit, showing off her huge tits and curvy body. Lavender was not thin-she was probably considered overweight, soft and curvy, and a total bombshell. She carried her body well and confidently and she oozed straight sex appeal.

But personally, she wasn't his type. Make no mistake, Draco could definitely understand why other men found her unbelievably attractive, and he could appreciate her looks. However, her personality had no appeal to him. She looked like she was here for a photoshoot than to swim a kilometer and a half in a fucking lake. Her bleach-blond hair was long and thick, and seemingly styled carefully.

Draco quickly gauged Hermione's face at seeing her ex-boyfriend. Or husband? He couldn't recall if they got married. Either way, he saw Hermione appraise Lavender's triathlon look, her face wearing amused derision.

"Looking as photogenic as ever, Lav," Hermione said, not in an unkind way. Draco noted her witty, double-sided point-she was complimenting, while quietly pointing out her priorities when there was a race in ten minutes.

Ron glowered at them both, wearing an orange wetsuit that matched the shade of his hair. "Why the fuck are you with him?" Ron said bluntly, aggressively.

Hermione glanced at Draco, unsure if she should interject. Now, along with the cold, the adrenaline from seeing Ron made her shake.

Draco looked calculative for a moment, then bored in an instant. He shook off his Slytherin Quidditch jacket, already annoyed at Weasley's presence. "You certainly can set a tone nicely, Weasley," he said, sounding altogether uninterested in his presence. Without any hesitation at all, he draped the Slytherin jacket over Granger's shoulders, smoothly, with obvious intention. The green and silver embroidered snake symbol looked good on Hermione-he always thought she'd look better in green than maroon.

Ron's eyes widened at the sight, seemingly forgetting about Lavender's presence entirely as he stepped toward Malfoy, intending to threaten him.

Shocked, Hermione moved her body between them, her hands outstretched. "Ronald! Stop!" Ron expectantly glared at her, his face demanding an explanation.

She crossed her arms over her chest, already feeling warm. "I owe you nothing," she said, feeling her cheeks get hot. She pulled the jacket tighter on her body. Wearing Draco's clothing, being surrounded by his scent, like a faint cologne she recalled from her teenage years but couldn't place...was so comforting. The familiar heaviness and weight of a Quidditch jacket made it especially meaningful. She had worn Ron's hundreds of times, so it was a comfortable, safe feeling. And wearing Draco's felt so...right. Like she should have been doing it from the beginning.

Lavender laughed awkwardly, touching Ron's arm gently. "Hey Malfoy, you guys look great. Good luck!" She adjusted her swimsuit over her breasts, showing them off.

Ron was still gaping at Hermione, looking like the sight of seeing her in Draco's Quidditch letter jacket was actually causing him brain damage. Lavender, maybe proving herself to be smarter than she was, pulled Ron away from them.

Once they were out of earshot, Hermione let out a breath. "I'm keeping this," she said, half joking.

He looked down at her as he jumped up and down for a warmup. God, she had a great body; obviously strong, tits sizable in comparison to how petite her torso was. "We have to beat that fucking prat. Be faster than him, and you can keep the jacket."

Hermione thought his proposition over, watching him jump in place to warm up his legs, remembering how she used to watch him play Quidditch, loved seeing his athleticism...even if he was an asshole. She had admired his dexterity, finesse and physique, his sense of strategy and loved to watch him calculate every play. She even went to the non-Gryffindor games, mainly as social events, but watching him soar through the air was also a main activity on her agenda.

Okay, fine, maybe she liked Quidditch more than she let on.

Draco was waiting for her answer, because suddenly and intensely he realized how badly he wanted to beat Weasley at this triathlon. But, he knew he wasn't going to do it without Hermione's involvement. She was the full reason he was here.

"Listen, Hermione," he said, intently, bending down so she was eye level with him. She froze at the use of her first name. "How fast are you?" he said seriously.

"I'm pretty fast," she said, with confidence. "The swimming, not so much, but neither is Ron."

"Can you actually beat Weasley, you think?"

She took a moment to think, looking away from him. Her eyebrows pulled together in serious consideration. "I don't know, Draco. But I'll try my hardest. Do try and keep up."

His name sounded perfect when it came from her.

The countdown started, and the gun went off-it was time to dive in. Hermione almost screamed when she hit the ice cold water. They were slow to start-her body just wasn't warm yet, and neither was his. It made him think about the summer mornings he had to do laps in his family's indoor pool, also acting as the greenhouse. And then the Hogwarts swimming pool, of course, in the dungeons. He loved how the pool refracted the light onto the domed, stone ceiling.

They swam out in the lake's open water, other swimmers close by, but they kept a consistent pace together that felt natural. Draco's long limbs required him to slow down his pace to Hermione's. Granted, he was basically a fish in the water-he wasn't sure how he'd fare on the biking or running, but the swimming would be no problem.

Hermione simply didn't have the physicality she needed to keep up with him. But even so, he liked the feeling of being next to her while swimming. They had raced in separate lanes years ago, but this was different.

About 15 minutes in, Hermione's pace was slowing down, but he kept his up, hoping it would encourage her. Ron was close in front-his stocky, thick build not making him as easily fast as Draco. He wanted Hermione to push herself, so he swam out in front of her. He made sure to look back periodically so she could see him.

Hermione liked that Draco was trying to push her forward, but she started losing focus, wondering where Ron and Lavender might be. Other bodies were vague and unspecific to her in the cacophony of the water, except for Draco's pale white form with the black suit. God, he moved like he was born in the water, made to swim.

Ultimately, the first leg of the race wasn't a test of how fast you could swim, it was how long. It was a test of endurance. Twenty-five minutes in, and Hermione and Draco were side by side, Malfoy staying close to keep her motivated. Reminding him of Quidditch, he kept mental tabs on Ron's position, making sure they were slightly ahead. The lake's water felt numbingly cold now as they sliced through it.

They came out of the water, running to their bikes. Hermione stripped off her wetsuit, revealing a mustard-gold tri-suit and tanned, tone skin. Draco also wore triathlon shorts and simple, black v-neck. Both of them dripping wet, they sprinted together to the bikes, Draco wishing he could have just a little more time to admire Hermione's body. But quickly, they clipped on their helmets and slipped on cycling shoes. Like a mythical warrior, Ron's massive, stocky form came sprinting out of the lake, onto the beach, and toward them. Lavender was nowhere in sight. Synchronously, Draco and Hermione pushed off the ground and started pedaling..

The bike ride was what Hermione was the least prepared for, but she figured it wasn't too much different than racing on foot. Pedaling hard, probably too hard for the length they had left, she tried to keep the inside spot during turns so Ron couldn't get ahead. Draco liked how she was going hard and fiery out of the gate, but stayed behind her-knowing that this was a marathon, not a sprint-literally.

After the laborious movement of swimming, biking felt amazing. The speed was almost intimidating, reminding him of being on a broomstick. But, after a few miles, it felt boring once again, like running, and he missed the total freedom that flying gave.

Hermione kept pushing herself hard, trying to stay ahead of the group behind face hardened to total focus and concentration. This amused Draco-he had never seen Granger be overly athletic. He'd seen her duel several times, wearing a similar expression, but this was just so harmless, normal, Muggle-like, that it made him feel lighter. After biking for over an hour, they were both thankful to get to the running segment-the last part of the triathlon.

He couldn't believe he had to run 10 more kilometers in this god-forsaken event. Why do Muggles like doing this so much? He griped in his head, getting annoyed from being passed. While ten kilometers was a length he could easily keep a fast pace, it still was exhausting. Little did he know that Hermione was an elite runner, and she was determined to impress Malfoy.

They made good running partners. Draco had to push himself to keep up with Hermione's breakneck speed. They left Ron way in the dust, and finally, they simply just enjoyed each other's silent company during the run. Their physical chemistry was painfully apparent to Draco-their breath came together, their fatigue mutually understood, and London's architecture made for an impressive backdrop, a silent, pleasant shared experience. Hermione was clearly too driven and focused to make conversation, and Draco was glad they didn't have to talk.

When they got to the finish, Lavender was waiting, wearing a bright pink sports bra and tiny running shorts. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked like she hardly even broke a sweat.

Hermione collapsed on the ground, chest heaving as she caught her breath. "That was... so fun," she breathed. Annoyed he couldn't use a summoning charm, he tore himself away from the sight of her panting for air in front him to fetch them bottles of water. She took it gratefully, and together they sat on the grass and watched people cross the finish line. Draco quickly scanned for the media or the press...none, yet. He relished in the moment.

"You were amazing," he said, after he had regained his breath. "I didn't know you could run like that."

She sat up, still leaning on her elbows. Her sweat made her skin glossy in the sun...almost irresistible to Draco. "I didn't know you could swim like that. Bloody hell, Malfoy. I thought you had transfigured yourself, or something."

"Careful," he said, looking around at the dozens of Muggles within earshot.

Her eyes widened, smiling. "Did you just tell me to be careful? Thought I'd never live to see the day."

He nodded toward Lavender. "Think she cheated?" Draco asked. "She's the first female finisher on the board."

"No, Gryffindors don't cheat," Hermione replied with certainty. "What a surprise though, right? Who knew she would've beaten us all."

Then, their eyes turned toward a red-faced, redheaded man stomping toward them, looking determined.

Sweat was running down Ron's face, his legs shaking as he stood. "Did you fucking cheat, Malfoy? Would be pretty second nature to you, I reckon," Ron spat at him.

Draco slowly, almost lazily, stood to his feet, and Hermione sat up defensively. "Classic Weasley," he sneered. "Too much of a bloody idiot and a sore loser to admit defeat."

"Answer the fucking question," Ron demanded, taking a step forward like he was going to fight him.

Ron was built like a wrestler, Draco knew, and he honestly wasn't sure if he could beat him in a physical altercation. But using magic alone, he had Weasley unquestionably outmatched and they both knew it. Regardless, he felt no fear, just an unwieldy hatred toward him he knew he should get under control.

"I didn't use magic during the race, but I can think of several appropriate hexes to use now," Draco threatened him.

Hermione, who honestly wasn't sure how the hell Malfoy had been keeping up with her without training, felt relief and awe towards him. He must have pushed himself to the limit during the bike and run-or he'd been maintaining an impressive level of endurance. That being said, she also was frustrated at how relatively easy the race was without even training for it. She spent nearly all of her free time running and keeping up her conditioning, and somehow he could waltz in and keep up with her like it was no big deal.

"Ron, he doesn't even have a number," she pointed out, knowing this fact would matter to Ron. The man loved to compete and look at his name on official ranking list.

"What?" Ron asked him incredulously, looking at him like he was a lunatic. "You didn't even register? That's just unrespectable."

Lavender made her way over to them, looking incredibly-and to Hermione, maddeningly-photogenic. Hermione couldn't help but compare herself as she sat on the grass, feeling gross and tired and altogether undesirable. A fucking great feeling to have when surrounded by an ex-husband, his mistress he chose over her, and Draco fucking Malfoy, who was someone she had actively been sexualizing for over ten years.


Yes-it was true, Hermione had to admit, she thought that maybe she could get close to Malfoy if she worked at his hospital. It was exactly why she applied, and she couldn't believe it had worked so well.

Out of anyone in the school-well, maybe except for Lupin-Malfoy had intrigued her the most at Hogwarts.

Yes, of course, he had been an absolute fucking dick the majority of the time. But it seemed like he knew what the right thing he wanted to do was, and did the exact opposite because of an external pressure or force, not his deep-down intentions or instinct. She saw it first during their advanced, smaller classes together-he was quiet and calculative instead of loud and obnoxious. Often, they both were the only non-Ravenclaws in the room, so they strangely sat by each other and sometimes, they were paired up as partners.

When a professor posed a question that not even Hermione knew the answer to, he raised his hand or called out the answer when the silence was painful enough. This frequently happened in Advanced Potions. He was one of the few who could outscore her, outsmart her-though Neville always knew everything in Herbology, even the most boring subjects.

During a memorable week in fourth year, she got paired with him in one group project for Potions, and it genuinely went well. They worked smoothly together, very professionally, and even kind of, friendly, in a way. It seemed like it was only around Harry that he had been completely terrible to her.

Then later, in fifth year Charms, they had a group project together with Lavender. Lav was an absolute disaster in every class except Divination, and everyone knew it, so Professor Flitwick had put her in Hermione's and Malfoy's group. She recalled the project had something to do with depulso, the banishing charm. It was the counter-charm to the summoning charm, accio. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered how excited she felt about actually talking to Malfoy about something other than being a mudblood or Voldemort or Harry or anything else. It was just about depulso, and the differing techniques they had in casting. She remembered going back to her dormitory after the class, unable to shake the lust she had felt for him off. That entire week, she had to fight off arousal at night just thinking about actually meeting his warm, grey eyes. She had never seen any warmth in his eyes before that day.

And now, years later, they were back in the same vicinity. Though maybe not by complete and total coincidence. In fact, it was Ginny who suggested that she apply to St. George's. She said it as a joke, but she meant it. But when one thought about it, it actually made sense-it was the most prominent Muggle hospital in her current city. She'd apply in all other reasonable circumstances, it just so happened that Malfoy owned this prominent hospital.

But actually getting to meet him...get this close to him...was unimaginable. His distaste for the Muggle way of life was palpable, though, and she knew that was genuine. His blatant disrespect for the Muggle medical research-in which fucking cancer treatment was more effective than magical science-was inexcusable. And, perhaps, unforgivable for her. After all, Hermione came from Muggle culture...that was her upbringing that Draco couldn't relate to. She loved her 90s childhood. Listening to N-Sync, chatting on AOL, watching Nickelodeon. She loved going to the mall to shop at Limited Too and Hot Topic.

Draco didn't have any of that-instead, they had entire magical cities hidden from Muggles. Entire shopping centers you accessed by a certain dressing room at a Forever 21 or a grocery store's bathroom. Different musical references, movies, everything. They also had a deeper knowledge and variety of animals, since all magical creatures (other than dogs and cats) were hidden from Muggles. Overall, the wizarding world and the Muggle world had an entire different reference of existence. Even Saturday Night Live was slightly inaccessible to them.

It was bizarre, their two separate worlds. That's why the "Muggle Studies" class had fascinated her so much. She needed to know how the wizarding world understood Muggles in order to understand the wizarding world.

So, today, Hermione watched Malfoy and Ron bicker, almost like old times. She was absolutely knackered, then she was faced with the task of reacting appropriately to a once close friend, a girl she'd lived with since she was 11. Lav, the close friend who seduced her dumb, yet sweet husband. And lied to her face about it for two fucking years. That close friend.

She watched Ron, taking his presence in again. He was both so familiar, yet so foreign to her now. A person she didn't want, but still wanted him to want her.

And, she was reminded that he was a pureblood, like Malfoy. Fuck, she guessed she had a type, after all. They shared their similarities in what references they knew, and even their humor. Deep in her core, Hermione adored the wizarding culture. With wizarding families, she felt at home-the way they had dinner, formal and beautiful, like it was a ceremony every night. Their strange music with unfamiliar instruments, weird and good food. The Weasleys made meals incredibly special-big families, lots of drinking and conversation and more of an event rather than a daily occurrence. Genuinely, she could imagine the Malfoys were similar, in their big, ancient mansion...servants and chefs and honored guests and extended family.

But as much as she loved the culture of purebloods, it was truly unfortunate that their culture didn't love her back. Her very existence, a witch born from a complete Muggle family history, completely Muggle blood, was the reason why their universes had to intersect. And why pureblood wizarding families resented her.

Except for the Weasleys, which, again, was why she worked so well with Ron. His father's fascination with Muggle culture made her presence a delight rather than a burden to endure, as Malfoy sometimes treated her.

But even so, when she was 11 and came to Hogwarts, she was introduced to the world of witchcraft, but also came aware of an intense hatred against her and her kind. So, she swore she'd do everything in her power to become a powerful, wise, and resilient witch, to prove that a Muggle-born wasn't a burden on wizard and witch-kind.

And she had failed.


"Hermione?" Lavender said, frowning at her. Hermione quit daydreaming and came back to this terrible moment. "I said, congratulations," she continued, being friendly. "Hermione, a sub-two-thirty is so good for you!" Lavender beamed at her, oblivious to the tension from the two males.

Hermione was too tired to put on a fake smile, and just looked at Lavender like she was in pain. It was the 'for you' of her "compliment" that really spiked her blood pressure. It was her personal record for the triathlon, exceeding her own expectations which of course, was entirely because of Malfoy's presence.

She focused her attention on Malfoy and Ron.

Ron had just become angry that Draco hadn't registered for the race. "It's unrespectable."

Draco shrugged. "Who fucking cares. I'm already bored of this conversation." He turned away from him, facing Hermione. "You ready? Let's get a drink and celebrate." While his voice was light, he looked at her intensely, reminding her of a wolf staring at its prey before pouncing to devour it.

She got to her feet, legs aching, and smiled at Draco. His arm draped over her shoulders, and she shivered the moment the length of his arm made contact with her bare, damp skin. With intention, he pulled her into his body as they walked, and she suddenly felt so much smaller than him. She could feel the hardness of his core underneath his thin shirt as he walked, slower than normal because of the fatigue.

Ron stared at them, mouth open, not believing what he was seeing.

Draco decided to guide Granger to his car-thank God he had wanted to drive here. He had ulterior motives, yes, and they were driving his actions now that his brain was too tired to fight them. He felt like he was bursting with energy, feeling possessive and frustrated and prideful, wanting to mail Weasley a copy of the fucking check he wrote to sponsor this race. Fucking "racing without a number", "being unrespectable"...what a joke. He felt like his chest was going to burst now that Granger-who apparently was an athletic prowess-fucking beat Weasley. The desire to kiss her...the absolute need to kiss her, was unbearable.

Not to mention, he almost came in his fucking pants seeing her in the Slytherin letter jacket. Fucking hot-the very sight would have been the subject of many a session in the Slytherin dormitories underneath his covers at night.

He used magic for the car door to open, and she scoffed. "Seriously?" she said, smiling reluctantly.

Draco felt a little self-conscious that his car looked absolutely non-conservative, like Granger would have chosen. His car was nice. It was an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera, dark silver. Everyone in London knew his car, and his assistant in London followed it around in another Superleggera. It was totally extra, and Draco knew it. And he didn't give a fuck what anyone thought about it...well now, apparently except for Granger. He just liked nice, expensive cars. He couldn't understand how people didn't care about, or at least admire, nice cars.

They got in, and Draco had to restrain himself from immediately pinning her against the passenger seat and putting his tongue in her mouth. He needed to make her moan, gasp, anything. In this moment especially, his lust for winning and hatred for Weasley fueling him, he hated how much control she had over him, so he wanted to make it clear that he was in charge.

"Before...you say anything," Hermione started, and Draco's guard shot back up in an instant. "I need to tell you something."

He had trouble focusing on her words, he needed to taste her so badly. Her scent was palpable as well-intoxicating and lovely and he wanted to explore her body to find the source of it.

"I think you're...unhealthy for me," she said painfully, heart pounding, wanting him to kiss her before she did the right thing. As always, the responsible thing. She was resentful of herself for it, but it was like she always had done...Once she identified an unhealthy and destructive thing in her life or something that she's doing, then it was done. She knew she'd do what she should do.

But this time, it was really fucking disappointing.

However, Draco had different plans. While she was saying those words, as she was processing that she shouldn't do what she wanted to do, Draco leaned over to the passenger seat and kissed her, forcefully pushing her back into the seat, her breath hot on his. His hand immediately found her neck, pulling her close to him, into him, and he teased her tongue with his tongue-almost as an introduction. Then, when she quickly reciprocated, his tongue confidently met hers with, perhaps, a touch too much enthusiasm. He had a hard time controlling himself-he just couldn't believe how good it felt to kiss her. Finally.

He heard her gasp as he did it, and as soon as he wanted to touch her over her shorts, he felt his hand already there, pressing possessively into her clit through the thin fabric. She moaned in shock and awe, the sound utterly delicious to Draco.

Changing his mind and doing exactly what he wanted, he lifted her easily over to his side and she quickly caught on, straddling him, her clit against his hard cock underneath his shorts. They were both sweaty, the smell of lakewater and arousal filling the car. Using the one hand on her hips, he pushed her down onto his cock, the other hand still holding her head behind her neck, easily able to move her where he wanted her. Letting his guard down, he kissed her like she was his, that she'd always be his, and she kissed him back fiercely, without reserve, moving her hips rhythmically so she was rubbing her clit along his shaft.

Doing exactly what she wanted, her mouth then found his neck, sucking and biting, smelling his sweat and feeling like she needed more. She couldn't believe the length and girth of his cock as she rubbed herself on him, couldn't stop herself from moaning, loving that he was pushing her down and making her body do whatever he wanted.

"Granger," he growled in her ear, and immediately she knew she was about to come-embarrassingly soon and fast, just from dry humping him in his fancy car.

The orgasm shuddered through her, and she attempted not to moan his name. "Draco," she said, failing, and he grinded against her as she came, which made her moan even louder. Tightly, he held her body down on his cock as waves of pleasure rippled through her again and again; he wanted to feel every inch of her body on his.

As she somewhat regained her awareness, she heard voices outside of the car and saw flashes. Turning behind her, unfortunately she saw several people taking photos of them through the windshield. Her stomach flipped; she should have listened to her gut.