Chapter 56
Friday 21 March 2003: PM
A shiver ripples along Hermione's spine as Draco's warm, strong hand presses a little more firmly against the small of her back; even through the satin and velvet of her dress, his touch instantaneously zings along her nerve endings. Noticing her fine tremor, Draco bends his mouth to her ear.
"Ma petite – are you cold? Let me drape my outer robes around your shoulders," he is already moving to shrug out of the expensive black wool garment before Hermione shakes her head and smooths her hands down his arms to still his solicitous movements.
"Thank you, but I'm fine… simply eternally vulnerable to your touch, Malfoy," she confesses, relishing in the way Draco's eyes darken from heather to pewter grey.
Ignoring the fact they are blocking the Floo they have recently exited, he crowds a little closer, murmuring, "Are you deliberately trying to arouse me, Granger? I am having a difficult enough time keeping my resolve to not ravish you in your office until after our first dance, as it is."
Ohhhh. Hermione unconsciously sways nearer to his tall, muscular form, wondering if they might yet have time to sneak away before sitting down to dinner–
"Enough of that – we have a Dramatic Entrance to co-ordinate and execute, remember?" Pansy whisks Hermione away from her blond boyfriend by dint of hooking her arm through Hermione's elbow and quick-stepping them back over to where Luna and Ginny are standing. "Come along, Draco – you can have her back once we've settled on the best way to rub everyone's noses in our unmatched beauty and grace."
"We'd better make our way over to our dates," Theo apologetically remarks, dropping a soft kiss on each witch's proffered cheek. "Hurry up, Blaise – and stop craning your neck, you'll do yourself a mischief if you keep rubbernecking."
"Who are you searching for, anyway?" Ginny queries. "I can see the Greengrass sisters near the entry to the ballroom from here."
"No one in particular," Blaise interrupts, following Theo's example by quickly kissing their faces. "Just marvelling at the crowd, that's all." He appears unusually distracted and discomposed as he tugs at the collar of his dark grey formal robes.
Pansy snickers. "That's not what I've heard, Zabini. But go on, delude yourself into thinking you have a chance with a certain statuesque blonde Auror: I might start running my own betting pool as to when you'll spectacularly crash and burn."
"Har-de-har, Pans. You have the wrong end of the wand, my dear. Theo's right, we need to get a wriggle on – I can almost hear Astoria impatiently tapping her stiletto," Blaise swiftly changes the subject. "Ladies, you are utterly sfarzoso – gorgeous – and I will beg a dance with each of you before the night is through," he regains some of his usual smooth charm.
Waving goodbye to the pair, Hermione turns back to her girl friends. Pansy has formed them into a huddle as she authoritatively runs over her 'plan of attack'.
"Pansy – is it really a great idea to have me situated in the middle of you all as we enter? I'm going to look like a dissolute sheik with his harem," Draco complains.
"Listen, if people are going to talk about you anyway – give them something to really flap their gums about," Pansy grins evilly. "Quit your carping and look aloof, you're good at that." She positions Luna on Draco's other arm, and puts Ginny beside Hermione.
"Excellent. I'm going to walk slightly ahead and strut," Pansy follows words with action as she sashays toward the wide open doors of the Ministry's ballroom and function centre. "Let's do this!".
Pansy's unabashedly smug promenade into the Gala proper puts an amused smile on Hermione's face, helping to allay some of the anxiety she is feeling from the dozens of curious eyes already fixed upon their unusual party. There is a distinct thrum of excitation and… vitality in the air tonight, Hermione decides, as the gathering crowd chitters and chatters around them.
Draco must sense her nerves: he murmurs, "We're a team, Granger – there's nothing this mob can throw at us that we can't best. I have you, sweetheart."
Merlin – I love you so, Malfoy. Hermione doesn't realize she has communicated her heartfelt sentiment telepathically until Draco replies in the same manner.
I love you with everything I am, Hermione. Ma glorieuse lionne.Draco risks Pansy's wrath by briefly stopping to raise her hand to his lips. "My dearest love."
Confidence regained, Hermione smiles gratefully at her gorgeous lover as they resume their assured parade. Reaching the portal to the ballroom, they all come to a halt as a familiar male tenor speaks a greeting.
"Hey guys – over here." Harry steps out of a small alcove, flanked by Gilmont and Faulkner… and Ron Weasley.
Eeekkkkk. Hermione had abstractedly considered dealing with Ron's presence here tonight; just not quite this… soon. Her easy smile stiffens as Ron's narrowed sea-blue eyes rake over their party. He is dressed in an obviously new set of navy robes, with his usually shaggy dark copper hair clipped short and brushed off his face.
Shame he never made this much effort while we were dating. Hermione cannot help the uncharitable thought that pops into her mind. I suppose I should say something polite.
"Hi." Well, that was shockingly inane. Hermione tries again. "Good evening Harry, Ron, Aurors Gilmont and Faulkner. Is everything… progressing on schedule?".
The silence stretches as everyone waits on Harry's response. The black- and burgundy-robed Auror remains mute.
"Potter?" Draco prompts, as Hermione follows the direction of Harry's captivated gaze.
Her best friend is staring at Pansy Parkinson as though he has just stumbled out of the desert and she is a satin-wrapped bottle of fresh water. For her part, Pansy's dark emerald eyes are locked with Harry's, her previously sassy movements frozen as the two gawk at one another.
Sweet Venus… if Harry's jade eyes grow any larger, they may fall out of his head. Hermione coughs discreetly, alarmed by the potential of early disaster. Harry hasn't acknowledged Ginny yet; to be fair, he doesn't appear to have noticed anyone but the sexy Slytherin witch standing six feet from him.
Luna saves the day as she moves from Hermione's side to bestow a light hug on Harry, effectively cutting off his direct line of sight. "Hullo, Harry. Hi, Ron. How's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes going? Hagrid said you've helped many of the Hogwarts students with your recycled Quidditch Necessities program."
"Hi, Luna. You look real pretty – I mean, you're always pretty… Nice dress," Ron bumbles. "Yeah, me and George are happy with the way the shop's going, and it's good to give back when you can."
"Luna – lovely to see you," Harry finally regains the power of coherent speech; Hermione is quietly diverted by his swamping blush.
"Hermione, Malfoy… Pansy. Ah… Ginny. You all look very b-beautiful," Harry stammers. He raises his hand as if to graunch at his neatly combed black mane, but instead lowers it to fiddle with his spectacles.
"Thanks, Potter – but you'll have to ask Hermione's permission if you wish to dance with me later," Draco drawls, breaking the creeping tension. "And I must insist on leading."
Pansy's burst of laughter is perhaps a shade too raucous, but Hermione is relieved when everyone except Harry and Ron smiles or chortles at Draco's quip.
"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Anyway – I wanted to let you all know I've adjusted the seating for the dinner service: Ron and I are now sitting at your table. Plus Viktor Krum – the Minister wanted to ensure Krum is amongst friends," Harry briskly advises.
Aargh… bloody blithering Bundimuns. Hermione doesn't have to look at Draco to sense his glower. His forearm has tightened beneath her hand.
Before the objections can begin, Harry decrees, "It's a security issue, alright? Gilmont and Faulkner will be discreetly watching over you throughout the Gala, but I am still technically on duty tonight, and it's primarily my responsibility to keep you all safe. I won't be budging on this – so please do not push the issue." The steel in his voice matches his unusually stern demeanour.
Draco clears his throat. "I appreciate your diligence, Potter. You have my word I shan't start any unprovoked arguments," he stresses, looking down his patrician nose at Ron.
Opening and closing his mouth a number of times, Ron finally settles on a succinct, "Likewise."
Harry doesn't waste any more time arguing the point. "Great. Let's find our table." He nods to his fellow Aurors, who fall in behind the seven-strong group as they traverse the ballroom floor and make their way to the adjoining function centre.
Hermione whispers to Draco as they approach 'their' large round table, "Malfoy – are you truly OK with this? I'm sorry, I had no idea this was part of Harry's 'safety program'."
Draco tucks her against his side, his hand stroking her left hip in a gesture of comfort. "It's fine, Granger; it's not ideal, but I can stomach sharing a table with two of your ex-boyfriends for a few hours, if it keeps you safe from harm. I'll simply fantasize about ripping off their heads and using them as Quaffles," he dryly states.
"Um… I promised Viktor a waltz, when he dropped into my office yesterday," Hermione bites her lip. "He's very respectful, you needn't worry he'd ever overstep…"
"Krum would live to regret such a heinous infraction, I assure you," is Draco's crisp reply. "There are clearly delineated boundaries with regard to my possessiveness about you, Hermione. I hope – for their sake – your previous beaus do not attempt to test those limits."
Damn… why is Draco's proprietorial attitude so… unghhh… hot!? Hermione wonders. Does it make me a bad feminist for being slightly thrilled by it? Perhaps it's because I know he doesn't view or treat me as a 'possession'… but simply his. As he is mine. Deciding to leave that contentious topic for another time, Hermione simply smiles reassuringly.
Finding their place cards, Draco performs some rapid sleight-of-hand to shuffle the marker beside Hermione's with one diagonally opposite, before he pulls out her chair and carefully tucks her into the table.
"Draco – I don't think you should be meddling with the seating arrangements," Hermione warns, speaking out of the side of her mouth. "This party is a shaping up to be a ticking time bomb as it is."
Her crafty boyfriend places a kiss to her temple. "Ma petite, I am merely ensuring Krum lives to see another sunrise; and this way, Harry is seated next to Pansy. There is usually a method to my madness, Granger," he teases.
Clucking her tongue affectionately, Hermione takes a moment to soak in her surroundings. The ballroom and Great Hall have been transformed into a veritable wonderland of blossoms, ribbons, and twinkling lights that glimmer subtly between festooned bouquets of wildflowers and herbs. The prevailing colours are white, natural greens, and shades of purple, from the palest lilac to royal hues. Repeated octagrams fashioned from sage sprigs, meadowsweet, daisies, ramsons, columbines, wood anemones, and sweet violets swing gently from magically suspended vines.
In keeping with the Druid traditions of rebirth and fertility, stylized paintings of hares, butterflies, and tiny rabbits decorate the walls. Each dining table has a central wreath of blossoms, vines and seeds, with a small basket of rune-painted eggs. Hermione bites her tongue as she witnesses Ron casually reach for an egg and thumb off the pretty outer shell.
"Those eggs are decorative, Ron – you berk," Harry exasperatedly protests, as Ron bites it in half and pulls an unhappy face.
"Shouldn't be on the ruddy table if you can't eat it," Ron grumbles, making an abortive move to return the partially consumed cackleberry to the table, before Luna magicks it away with a quick 'Evanesco' spell. She pats Ron's freckled hand consolingly.
"I agree, Ronald. If you feel ill because that egg was elderly, I have an excellent stomach-settling potion in my purse. We use it on the Hippogriff herd after they've gorged on too many green grasshoppers," Luna sagely offers.
"Yeah… erm, thanks, Luna. I'll– I'll let you know how I go," Ron faintly acknowledges her offer of assistance.
"Serves you right for being a greedy pig, Ronniekins," Ginny gibes as she takes the chair next to her brother.
"Leave it out, Gin – and why am I sitting next to you, anyway? Does anyone want to swap?" Ron grouses, jostling his sister as he loudly scrapes his chair to stand up. No one moves; Ron flushes red before disgruntledly flopping back into his chair.
Hermione thinks she hears Draco say something cutting beneath his breath, but chooses to ignore it. The buzz of excitement in the room is growing palpably stronger, as splendidly dressed witches and wizards flood into the grand space. Blaise and Theo – and the Greengrass sisters – are seated two tables away; Hermione isn't surprised to see Blaise openly staring at Auror Gilmont, who is unobtrusively standing at attention beside her partner Faulkner, a few metres away from them, in front of the podium.
Gus Gilmont shows no sign of having realized Zabini's intense regard as she confers quietly with her tall colleague. Both are dressed in scarlet Auror robes, though Hermione notes that they are more fitted than their regular uniform, and sport a deeper crimson embroidery along the lapels and hems. Gilmont's chestnut-blonde hair is up in a stunning fishtail braid that wraps regally around her head, crowned with a single pretty daisy, in a quaint, incongruous touch.
Checking Blaise's table again, Hermione's gaze clashes with Astoria Greengrass's bluebell eyes. Hermione tries not to recoil when Astoria shoots her a look of undiluted contempt, hoicking her small nose in the air as though she's smelled something unpleasant.
Still a nasty little bitch, then. Hermione raises an eyebrow and leans closer to Draco, smirking as her message is clearly received, if Astoria's pink-painted curled lip is any indication.
Get that into you, Seῆorita Snoot-face. Dismissing the small by-play, Hermione refocuses on her own party of friends.
Ginny is on Draco's left, with Harry on Hermione's right; beside Harry sits Pansy; then Viktor, Luna and Ron. Pansy and Harry appear both adorable and foolish, pretending not to notice each other's shy, sidelong glances. Ginny is observing their URST-filled non-verbal interactions with an inscrutable mien, while Ron is also glaring at the 'friendly' pair. Luna is looking dreamily about the Gala and humming softly as she takes it all in.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Granger?" Draco wraps his hand around hers beneath the table, tenderly stroking her palm with his fingertips.
"I am… because I'm here with you," Hermione breathes. "You make me so happy, Draco. Thank you for being my date." She impulsively pecks a fleeting kiss on his smiling mouth, pulling away before his seeking lips can return the caress.
"Thank you for being my everything, Hermione." The profound sincerity and affection in Draco's voice makes Hermione's heart miss a couple of beats. Not even Ron's sour huff dents her ebullient reaction.
"Good evening, everybody; I offer my apologies for my tardy arrival," Viktor Krum's deep voice captures the table's attention. "Ven I come through the doors, Minister Dankworth insists upon introducing me to every employee in building," he kids with a wry smile. "It seems the Minister is very passionate fan of Quidditch."
"Yes – he's forever hassling my team for signed photographs," Ginny chips in. "Don't be surprised if he ropes you into posing for a hundred snapshots tonight, too."
Viktor bows respectfully over Ginny's hand. "Miss Weasley: it is indeed my honour to meet such a gifted Chaser. I shall suggest to Minister Dankworth that you replace me in any photographs tonight, hmmm?".
"Please – call me Ginevra. The honour is all mine, Mr Krum," Ginny bats her lashes fetchingly.
She delivers a swift elbow jab to Ron as he scoffs, "'Ginevra'? Talk about putting on the dog – oww!".
"Then I am Viktor, and you are Ginny-evra," the husky Bulgarian concedes. He lifts his head to smile genially at the rest of the table. "Such beautiful witches, we are blessed to sit with tonight – do you not agree, gentlemen?".
Harry, Ron and Draco all nod, with varying degrees of formality. Viktor moves around the table, shaking hands with the men and kissing the women's hands, before taking the seat between Luna and Pansy. "Vot is the saying you British haff? I am the thorn between two lovely roses," he chuckles. "I know some of you think me a prick ven I first visit Hogwarts, yes? Happily, ve all grow up since then," Viktor's comments.
Draco chokes back a laugh at Viktor's little joke. "Indeed." He casts his eyes to where Ron is sniping at Ginny: the term 'suck-up' carries across the table.
"Some of us more than others," Draco pithily suggests, as Hermione tugs at his hand.
"Malfoy, would you care to take a turn about the room with me? I'd like to introduce you to Mrs Sandore; she's repeatedly expressed her desire to properly meet you," Hermione requests.
"Of course, ma chérie," Draco readily accedes. "We've plenty of time; the speeches are not scheduled to begin for another fifteen minutes."
They rise and make their way to the other side of the function room; Hermione nods and smiles at various acquaintances and colleagues, waving brightly at Headmistress McGonagall and Hagrid. The latter seems torn between rearranging his substantial beard across his mammoth shoulders and yanking at the collar and necktie of his tweedy dark brown robes. Hermione mouths, 'We'll come back', as they continue walking toward Marilda.
Before they reach her supervisor's table, Draco halts their progress as he turns Hermione to face him, gliding his hand around her waist. "Have I told you tonight that your unrivalled beauty has wholly bewtiched me, Hermione? That watching you walk down those stairs was akin to watching Aphrodite descend from the heavens?" he looks deep in her eyes, his bent platinum head no more than a few inches from her own. Somehow, Draco projects absolute sincerity and gentle teasing, his eyes crinkling attractively at the corners.
"A mite cheesy – but I'll take it," Hermione's giggles are swiftly quelled as Draco touches his lips to hers, sharing a delicately mellifluous, yet impassioned kiss. She is seized with a wild urge to drag the gorgeous wizard into the nearest dark nook and ravish him to her heart's content. The impulse doesn't fade as Draco breaks contact and sighs regretfully.
"How long until we can sneak away to your office for some fancy fadoodling in your poky, dusty office, my sexy little witch? I'm willing to skip dessert in favour of eating your sweet–"
"Ms Granger! How wonderful you look tonight!" Mrs Sandore's eager tones break in before Draco can finish his doubtlessly lewd proposition. Draco's naughty mouth folds inward as he suppresses a snicker at Hermione's horrified reaction to the near-miss.
"Uh – thank you, Mrs Sandore. You look lovely," Hermione recovers with a small gulp. Marilda is wearing an attractive floor-length dark green dress reminiscent of a 70s caftan, with beautiful large bluebells appliqued along the neckline and sleeves. The balding, bespectacled man beside her is dressed rather adorably in a thick-striped, brown suit and a bow tie that matches the flowers on her gown.
"This is my husband, Nigel; Nigel, this is Ms Granger – the brilliant young witch I've told you so much about – and her boyfriend, Lord Malfoy," Mrs Sandore babbles, affectionately nudging Nigel forward. "Don't they look perfect together? And look – Lord Malfoy's vest matches Hermione's dress, just like our outfits! I told you it's quite the done thing to harmonize, at these type of events," she cheerily chides.
"Please, call me Draco; it's a pleasure to meet you both," Draco shakes Nigel's hand and kisses Mrs Sandore's, much to her blushing delight. "I apologize for failing to formally introduce myself when we first met, Mrs Sandore; I was in somewhat of a panic about Hermione, that night," he refers to his mad dash through the Ministry when Hermione was attacked.
"Oh, never fear – I was beside myself, too!" Marilda exclaims. "I do hope the other perpetrators are swiftly uncovered and brought to justice. Hermione is very dear to us here at the Ministry, you know." Her smile falters as she adds, "I wish you all the very best in your new career, Ms Granger – but you will be sorely missed, both professionally and personally. I'd – I'd hoped, that in time… Never mind, dear." She dabs a fingertip to her wet eyes.
"There, there, love – I'm sure Ms Granger will stay in touch," Nigel soothes, gathering his spouse in a gentle side-hug. "Can't say as how I blame her for seeking fresh pastures, so to speak: this joint is riddled with nepotism and foolery. You should be running your Department by now, my dear," he staunchly avers.
Patting her husband fondly on the back, Marilda beams at his praise. "You've always been my number one fan, Nigel – and I adore you for it." The middle-aged couple share a tender-hearted look.
"We'd best not hold you up indefinitely, Ms Granger; the speeches are due to start any moment, I believe. I can see more of your friends vying for your attention, in any case," Marilda indicates towards the table to their far left. "Have a lovely evening, dear, and remember that you have always done the Ministry proud. Hogwarts are blessed to have you join their staff."
"Thank you, Mrs Sandore – that means a lot to me. I'm going to miss you too… you're the best boss I've ever had," Hermione holds back her emotional sniffles with an effort, giving Marilda a hug. Taking their leave, Draco rests his hand to her back as they turn towards the table Marilda indicated.
"Hermione! Over here!" Neville Longbottom almost topples his chair in his haste to greet her. He gives her a bashful smile as she nears. "It's been an age since I saw you – Luna said you're starting work as the new Professor of Arithmancy next week – that's great! Gee, you look really beautiful tonight – I mean, you always look beautiful – not that I think your looks are important, they're lovely, of course – I'm not saying that you are just a pretty face, I mean I think you're wonderful in all respects–" poor Neville looks agonized as he digs his conversational hole deeper with every hurried word.
"It's fine, Neville: I know what you mean." Hermione kisses his embarrassed cheek as Neville hangs his head and sticks his hands in the pockets of his dark green robes. "It's really nice to see you, too; I would have liked to have caught up with you when I interviewed at Hogwarts, but Luna said you were visiting with your grandmother."
"Yes, I take Gran for an old fashioned high tea every Sunday morning; she still alternates between trying to feed me up on scones and warning me off for over-indulgence," Neville chuckles. "At least her horrid old vulture hat finally bit the dust, you'll be glad to know," he rolls his eyes as he refers to the Longbottom matriarch's confronting choice in headwear. Hermione laughs softly as she remembers the moth-eaten hat bobbing along Platform 9 ¾ at the start of each school year.
"Hello, Longbottom," Draco pushes forward a little, keeping his arm around Hermione's waist. "I may also begin a new job on the Hogwarts staffing line-up, dependent on what Headmistress McGonagall is able to arrange with the Board."
"Didn't realize they were that hard up for teachers that they're willing to give Death-Eating drunks a go," the caustic comment emanates from none other than Cormac McLaggen, sprawled in the chair opposite Neville's. The table falls silent, each head swivelling between Draco and Cormac.
Surprisingly, Seamus Finnegan is the first to come to Malfoy's defence. "That's a bit harsh, Cormac: you know the Prophet printed a retraction for calling him that. And none of us coped real well after the War, yourself included," the sandy-haired Irishman comments. "I'm glad I'm not famous or important enough for anyone to have followed me around with a camera when I was falling-down absolutely bladdered out of one pub after another, in me wasted youth."
"Ah, maybe you're right, Seamus," Cormac shrugs languidly, stroking the shoulder of the young brunette witch nestled into his side. "I suppose Malfoy must be doing something right, considering he's squiring none other than Gryffindor's famous Golden Girl on his arm," he flashes a dazzling smile at the table at large.
Neville looks unimpressed with McLaggen's conciliatory remark. "Seems to me you're still rankled by Hermione not giving you the time of day when we were at school together – or any time since, Cormac."
"He's got a point though, hasn't he?" Dean Thomas rebuts, his dark brown eyes studying Draco curiously. "It's a fair jump from wallowing in alcoholism to being accepted on the Hogwarts staff, if you ask me. I guess it's true, what they say… Money talks, right?"
"If you're implying I bought my way into a job, Thomas – you can go ask McGonagall herself if she accepted a bribe. Perhaps keep your distance when you enquire, though: she'll likely hex you into a tortoise for taking the trouble to insinuate she isn't on the level," Draco coolly defends. "Does anyone else care to offer an opinion? No? This is your one and only chance to have a dig at me – but I warn you, if any of you dare to criticize Hermione for dating me, or imply that her reputation is sullied because of our relationship… you'll find out for yourselves just how 'Dark' my magical abilities really are."
Nodding jerkily at Neville, Draco swivels on his heel. "Are you ready to return to our table, Granger? Excellent. Have a good night, Longbottom." Hermione glares at everyone bar Seamus and Neville before she accepts Draco's hand.
"And if any of you try to attack or badmouth Draco again – whether through spurious gossip, or an ill-considered formal objection to his Hogwarts posting: be prepared for me to come for you like a goddamn Valkyrie," Hermione hisses, rage bubbling through her veins like lava. "You're not fit to lick his dragon-leather boots."
Draco grasps her firmly and tows her away before she can elaborate on her vicious plans for the naysayers. "Granger, don't let them upset you, sweetheart; you know that prejudice is hard to shake, especially with Slytherin's traditional House rivals. Forget about them – let's enjoy a nice meal together, yes? I'll gaze adoringly at you while you perch on my lap and feed me titbits by hand, yes?" he grins.
"You're not bothered – by what Cormac and Dean said?" Hermione frets.
"I'm only displeased that you are subjected to their uncomplimentary opinions, simply by association," Draco declares. "I'd be more concerned if I happened to be in McLaggen's good graces, actually: let us not forget the dolt willing consumed a clutch of fifty Doxy eggs for the sake of a bet... then complained bitterly at his 'misfortune' in thoroughly sickening himself."
"True. Although I expected better of Dean," Hermione glumly sighs. "Ginny always spoke highly of him… they used to date, before she and Harry became a couple."
"Perhaps Thomas is still sore about their relationship breaking down… either way, we won't let it ruin the Gala, OK? Besides, I thought any inevitable drama would eventuate from me finally having had enough of Weasley's acidic sneers, or Krum's wistful peeks in your direction," Draco confesses. "Hearing you menace a couple of Lion twits was certainly arousing… but I would prefer you channelled that fierce passion into our office tryst, Granger."
They are almost back at their table; Draco steps just out of earshot of their friends to crowd her body from behind, nibbling at her earlobe and lacing his hands at the gold clasp of her red velvet belt.
"Hermione… you drive me wild… I ache for you, darling. I cannot wait to push aside that cunning front slit in the folds of your pretty dress, to slide my fingertips to your hot, damp core… I will kneel before you and use my teeth to slowly peel your miniscule red lace knickers down your silky legs– they are crimson, and lacy, aren't they?... Yes… I will make you come with my hungry mouth, until your body is quavering from the strength of your orgasm, and your hands are tangled in my hair, torn between keeping me in place and pushing me away when your pleasure overwhelms you… You like that, don't you, chaton? My beautiful witch – I will take you then, against the wall… I will stroke inside your wetness, fill you with my long, girthy cock until you scream my name and your second climax triggers my first… I will claim you, Hermione. Is that what you want? Say 'yes, Draco'," he murmurs.
"Y-Yes, Draco," Hermione whimpers, trembling as the images his skillful words have created cause her breath to catch and her pulse to jitter. "Claim me – I want everything you just described."
"As do I, mon amour. But first – our entrées have arrived."
Draco guides her forward; her shaky legs barely make it into her seat without collapse.
Cross as a bear, Hermione discreetly blots her warm face with her napkin, clenching her thighs together in a fruitless attempt to diminish her throbbing arousal.
Draco leers as he notices her slight movements beside him.
"Hoping the speeches don't take too long tonight, Granger?" he smirks.
Hermione doesn't give the cheeky wretch the satisfaction of a reply, instead turning her attention to her plate of mini lobster balls and spicy sweet chilli dipping sauce. She represses a wicked grin as she considers the best way to turn the tables on her sly, sexy, taunting lover.
Cutting into the luscious, deep-fried seafood spheres, Hermione pops a morsel into her mouth, deliberately slowing her withdrawal of the small fork from between her lips.
She delights in Draco's dilating pupils as he watches her delicately lick clean the fine tines of her cutlery with the tiny pink tip of her tongue.
"Oh, I'm positive you'll grow tired of the night's events long before I do, Malfoy," she purrs.
We'll see who screams whose name in my office, mon chéri… especially when I put my own oral fantasy into action…
My beautiful, arrogant, silly wizard.
