Chapter 73

Monday 24 March 2003: AM

Draco swaggers back into the bedroom, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his dial. He stretches it a tad wider as Hermione darts in from the ensuite, tucking a few wayward mahogany curls behind her sweet little ears. Here we go… he mentally rubs together his hands.

"Why are you grinning like the cat that got the cream, Malfoy?". Hands on hips, Hermione sharply looks him up and down. "You're dressed rather nattily for a day in the studio, aren't you?"

Flattening a non-existent wrinkle on his grey houndstooth three piece suit, Draco breezily replies, "I have excellent news, ma petite: I shall be coming into the Ministry with you for the entirety of your final week of employment. Now, before you start to huff and puff and blow down our townhouse - I've spoken with Macdolas and owled Mrs Sandore; both are agreeable to the arrangement. You shan't even know I'm in your office – I'll occupy the barest minimum of space, and content myself with drawing pencil sketches." He gestures to his brown leather art portfolio, propped beside the open door.

"No need to bombard with me with your appreciation for my intelligent solution to our professional and domestic problems, Granger; but feel free to shower me in congratulatory kisses, should you feel thusly inclined," Draco uses both index fingers to point to his smirking mouth.

One, two, three…

"Morgana's busted bra strap! Malfoy – could you not have discussed this idea with me, prior to arrogantly implementing it?!" Hermione covers her eyes with her hands, pressing into the sockets and yowling in frustration. "How the devil am I supposed to work with any degree of productivity with you haunting my office, looking like– like that!?" she removes her hands from her face to wildly wave them in his direction.

"Like what? I thought this ensemble was the epitome of 'Stylish Professional Man About Town'," Draco defends, feeling somewhat miffy as he checks his patterned black silk tie is tucked securely into the buttoned waistcoat. "Pansy sourced it for me last year, when I had to sit through the annual torture of dreary meetings with various company heads and bigwigs."

Prowling forward, Hermione reaches out to squeeze his biceps; he notes her dilated pupils with growing comprehension.

"You look good enough to eat… or at least, to lick," she murmurs, gasping in sudden dismay as she realizes she's spoken the last phrase aloud.

Oh, sweetheart… as if I'd let that clanger go unheralded! Draco reels her flush against his chest, his hands clamping firmly on her rounded buttocks. The soft, stretchy fabric of her wine red, knee length skirt tightens as he nudges his right leg between her legs.

"Hermione – would it help you to feel more comfortable with my presence in your dinky little office if I gave you full permission to… use me, in any manner you desire? Only on your mandated breaks, of course," he quips with mock solemnity. "I already have a particular fondness for your door; and a strong hankering to test the load-bearing capacity of your desk, as it so happens."

Pulling back a step, Hermione groans (part frustration, aggravation, and titillation, Draco interprets). She runs her greedy hands up his arms to feather the fine platinum hairs just above his pristine white shirt collar.

"You look like a walking personification of 'Sexy Tycoon', and you're disgustingly aware of the fact," she snipes. "All it would take is you wearing a pair of glasses to cause widespread pandemonium among the Ministry's female employee population… and a goodly portion of the male factor too, no doubt," she sighs.

"Well, as it so happens – I have a special pair of artist's spectacles I use for especially fine detailing– " Draco begins.

"No! Don't you dare! Not in public – I'll be beating off horny witches with a hockey stick!" Hermione shrieks. She licks her lips as she diffidently adds, "I would not be averse to a… private demonstration… you know, just to make sure your ocular health is up to scratch."

"Of course." Draco squeezes her delectable bum again. "I did not intend to be autocratic in my approach [well, not much, he privately amends]; I merely wished to resolve the bodyguard situation, and free up Mac to repair his romance with the fair Ruibby. Spending more time with you is a cross I shall bear with dignity and stoic fortitude," he winks.

Holding his head steady, Hermione intersperses chidings with enthusiastic kisses.

"You're bossy – kiss – sly – kiss – and as cocksure as the Manor's peacocks – kisskisskiss – and I am in terrible danger of succumbing to my craving to take you to bed for the rest of the day, work be damned," Hermione announces, before withdrawing her hands and lips, shaking her head as if to clear it. She puts up a warning hand to stay his eager progress.

"Stop – we'll be late, and you know I get anxious about that. I promised Marilda I would finalize all my work before I finish up on Friday… though I don't know how I'm going to concentrate with you parked in my office, what with your hot silver eyes and thousand Galleon bespoke suit," Hermione grumbles.

"Ah – the true cost of the ensemble was more in the region of– " Draco is silenced when she fits her palm over his mouth.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Mr Fancy (and Expensive) Pants. I agree to your proposition, though I will ask you to occupy yourself elsewhere while I'm cooped up in my 'dinky little office', scaling mountains of paperwork. Perhaps you could hang out with Blaise," Hermione suggests. "Get the skinny on what's going on with him and Gus, please."

Picking up his portfolio, Draco crowds her against the wall for one last torrid smooch. He drinks deeply of her willing mouth, ruing the layers of clothing separating his hot, tingling skin from touching hers. Hermione eagerly rubs her hands against his hips, moving to his crotch as he gasps into her mouth.

She whispers a fervid promise, "If you behave yourself during my working hours… I'm certain we can find 'an empty broom closet' – or similar – in my lunch hour, Draco." She cups him meaningfully, as his mind flashes back to his half-teasing suggestion the first morning they met with Harry at the DMLE.

"I'll be so damned good… Sweet Salazar, you're killing me, Hermione… Tu es la femme de mes rêves, Je pense toujours à toi. J'ai besoin de toi," Draco nips at her neck between declarations. He reluctantly steps back as Macdolas's animated voice bellows from downstairs.

"Her Grace and Master Malfoy have but one minute to depart!".

"The cuckoo clock that never needs winding," Draco wryly observes. "He'd better not pull this cock-blocking codswallop at Hogwarts. Don't scold me, darling, you know I'm teasing."

Hermione bites back her smile, reaching to hold his right hand and towing him down the stairs. "Come on. And for the record – you're the man of my dreams, Draco."

"By Merlin – I love you so… and when is morning tea scheduled, please? I'll be sure to promptly return from Blaise's office… to slake my thirst, you understand," he murmurs, relishing her blush.

He cannot resist getting in the last word: "And there's nothing better than a bit of hot, syrupy crumpet to renew one's energy and enthusiasm for the rest of the working day, you know."


Harry adjusts his robe cuffs as he strides into his office, gratified to see Gilmont and Faulkner already poring over papers on his desk. He makes a final effort to wipe his expression clear of the giddy glee that has stayed with him ever since he awoke with Pansy sleeping sweetly in his arms.

"Good night, sir?" Gus grins, poking Kolton in his side as Harry closes the door.

Faulkner's dark blue eyes crinkle as he contributes, "You missed a spot, sir – there's a trace of pink lippie just beside your mouth," he points to the same place on his own kisser.

"Shi– call me Harry, I'll have to start docking your pay if you keep referring to me as 'sir'," Harry uses his fingers to wipe at his lips, hoping his gruff admonition is enough to deflect their impudent gibes. "What do you have there?" he nods to the loose pages they were looking at before his arrival.

"Barry Bones has gone missing; Pritchard-Hawes sent around another Auror team to bring him in for questioning this morning, after – after what you found in the McLaggen dungeon last night," Faulkner appears uncomfortable, his voice lowering as he studiously avoids directly mentioning Pansy and those terrible, revolting photographs. "Gus had a brilliant idea, which we're checking into now."

"I pulled a record search on any property owned or administered by Barry Bones and his family," Gus informs. "Bones is both dumb and arrogant enough to hole up somewhere familiar, plus he's a known cheapskate – why pay for accommodation when you can mooch off your unsuspecting clan?".

"Smart thinking, Gus," Harry nods approvingly. "What are your top picks as to Bones's hideaway?".

Gilmont jabs her forefinger to the top sheet. "This inn in Berkshire is my best guess: it's managed by his elderly aunt Lucretia. Four of the five rooms are let to permanent residents – and the attic room is listed as having been unoccupied for years, due to needing major plumbing repairs. It's possible Bones could sneak in and lurk up there indefinitely, without his aunt ever being aware of his presence." Her topaz eyes glimmer with excitement.

"I know the other Auror team has already checked out Bones's immediate family's houses – but that's as far as they've looked, sir–Harry," Gus explains. "I think it's definitely worth a shot."

"I agree. Before we head to Berkshire: is there any news of whether the Veritaserum orders have been approved?" Harry forces himself to unclench his hands as he thinks about finally gleaning the truth of the sordid roofie plot from the two lowlifes currently occupying cells in Azkaban. I've tamped down my rage as best I can; I have to remember to keep Pansy's needs at the forefront of my every word and deed, until this foul business is finally resolved.

He suppresses his involuntary smile as he remembers Pansy's goodbye kiss this morning: sweet and chaste, until she'd slipped her tongue inside his parted mouth and set his blood racing, just before she'd winked saucily and stepped into the Floo to return to her apartment. Harry lifts his hand to touch his lips, managing to turn the sappy movement into an jaw scratch as Kolton replies to his query.

"We received a memo that stated Flint's lawyer has lodged an interim injunction, claiming there are no proven grounds to use the serum, given that no preliminary interview has yet been conducted," Faulkner grimly informs. "And McLaggen is protesting that he has received insufficient medical attention for his burst testicle, and hasn't been given a medical clearance."

"That's absolute rubbish – McLaggen's been given thorough medical care – and as for Flint's slimy legal team! These bastards are determined to stretch out this process for as long as possible, aren't they?!" Harry poses the question rhetorically. "They're merely delaying the inevitable – they're guilty as sin, and we've the evidence to prove it."

His colleagues appear as aggrieved and frustrated as he feels. Gus is the first to recover.

"Let's nab Bones, and have faith that Pritchard-Hawes and his legal eagles will prevail. I've identified that the safest place for us to Apparate near Lucretia Bones's inn is the small Wizarding High Street behind the town proper." Holding up a moving map of the small township of Pangbourne, she and Faulkner look expectantly to Harry.

"Let's go, guys."


Blaise's cheery whistling comes to an abrupt halt as he opens his office door and spies Draco lounging in his imported Italian leather executive office chair… no, rocking in my luxury Cassina chair – with his feet propped on my Francisco Sobrinho walnut desk, the prick!

Charging over, Blaise swipes at the offending footwear, further incensed as Draco smoothly shifts his shoes just before Blaise makes contact. The complacent blond yawns as he swivels to face him.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Draco?! I know I locked my door and warded it properly – how the devil did you sneak in? Get out of my chair and keep your filthy feet off the furniture while you're at it," Blaise chips.

"Oh-ho-ho-ho – I seem to remember a certain Zucchini draping his dirty shoes all over the Manor's fine antiques and telling me to 'chill out', not so long ago?" Draco steeples his hands on his chest, thoroughly enjoying the turning of tables. "Suck it up, sweetheart."

Blaise's teeth clack together forcefully at the mention of Barney's idiotic nickname. "Get out."

"No need to get nasty, Blaise – what happened to that charming little tune you were whistling? Sounded a lot like 'I Will Give My Love an Apple'; how sweet." Draco makes a derisory gagging sound before languidly rising to dodge around the desk, actually giggling as he evades Blaise's attempts to whack at him.

Pratty arsehole. Fucker's quick, too. Blaise doubles his endeavours, his temper fading as the absurdity of the situation sinks in. After a minute or so of fruitless chase, he flumps into his chair and lets loose his infectious laughter.

"Right – you've proven we're both about ten years old, mentally – why are you here, Draco? I'm tattling to Hermione that you called me 'sweetheart', by the way," Blaise taunts, pouring himself a glass of water.

"It's Work Experience Week, and my love claims I'm too distracting to be in her office all day," Draco struts to one of the visitor's chairs, smoothing his pale hair off his forehead whilst slyly winking. "True love is a wonderful, wonderful thing, Blaise the Praised."

Biting his lip, Blaise somehow manages to reel back his instinctive 'Yeah – I know' response. He instead settles for, "Is that right?".

Draco regards him shrewdly. "How's Gus? Did she and Tavi enjoy themselves at brunch? Hermione mentioned how eager you were to see them safely home."

"I am a gentleman; I was raised to see a lady to her door, after inviting her on an excursion," Blaise stiffly defends. "Gus and Tavi are well. They asked me to pass along their sincere thanks for a lovely day." He fiddles with his favourite raven quill in an effort to not think of the incendiary, all-too-brief kiss he shared with Gus after bidding her goodnight outside her door. Draco's already sniffing around like a damned bloodhound on a hunt – give him nothing, take him nowhere, he sternly reminds himself.

"Excellent. You didn't see Daphne home though, did you? It's funny – you were raving about the elder Miss Greengrass's bounteous attributes for weeks, prior to the Gala… yet I haven't heard a single word of her leave your garrulous mouth since you set eyes upon Augusta Gilmont." Draco's shit-eating grin has Blaise's ire again rising like fresh dough.

"If you're implying that I'm fickle– " Blaise thumps the desk, bridling in a flash.

Draco interrupts, "Fickle?! Au contraire, Monsieur Zucchini! Quite the opposite: your curious heart has finally settled on the right witch, my friend; and let me tell you, watching you fall and flail is a spectator's delight. After all the crap you twerps have hung on me about Hermione – this is karma at her purest. Feel free to petition for my superior romantic wisdom, or to simply unburden your troubled heart – I am all ears." Draco leans forward, ostentatiously turning his head to display his milk-white aural appendages.

Blaise presses his palms to his hot cheeks, conflicted as to whether he should take up Draco's semi-facetious offer, or pretend an impassivity he definitely doesn't feel. He decides to take the middle ground.

"Gus is my friend; I ask that you respect that, and her. I know you think this is all hilarious, but I meant what I said at Saturday's completely unnecessary 'intervention': I am going to be a supportive and reliable friend to Gus and Tavi. My own... private feelings are irrelevant." Blaise coughs to cover his vulnerable hitch, mid-sentence.

Malfoy abandons his teasing approach. "You really have fallen for her – well, them – hard, haven't you? I apologize, Blaise. For being flippant, and for insulting your honour. My offer stands, though; if you ever need advice, or a safe place to vent, I'm here." He gingerly claps a hand to Blaise's shoulder blade.

"Yeah– right– thanks," Blaise mumbles, keeping his dark eyes trained on his ink blotter.

"Erm– I should tell you that Hermione is going to wheedle most of our conversation out of me, though," Draco has the grace to look shamefaced at his confession. "Best to tell me to 'put it in the Vault' if there's anything you really don't wish me to share with her – the Vault is sacrosanct." He nods solemnly to underline his statement.

They stare sheepishly at one another.

Well, at least he was honest about it. The Vault can stay empty for the time being, Blaise swiftly decides.

"Are you really intending to shadow me all week?" Blaise asks. "Can't Hermione find you something menial to do?".

"Thanks, mate – you know I successfully run Malfoy estate at a decent profit, and have been doing so for the last five years, yes? Your faith in my professional business abilities is so heartening," Draco replies sourly. "It will be interesting to see how little actual work you do on a day-to-day basis, in any case."

"Get stuffed, Lord Malfoy," Blaise affectionately pronounces. "I suppose you can stay, provided you don't get underfoot. And no drawing rude caricatures of me, either," he adds, having spied Draco's portfolio parked on the other chair. "Bernard Granger wouldn't shut up about that weird dentist one you drew for him."

Draco shivers as though someone has just walked over his grave. "Blaise – listen to me, man. If ever anyone – ANYONE – tells you to watch this Muggle film called "Little Shop of Horrors' – RUN. Seriously: bolt, instantly. It's a bad, bad scene… I wish I'd never seen it." He whispers, "Don't tell Barney I said that, though; he's mad for it. It's not right…"

"Alright, buddy – it's OK, I won't watch it," Blaise placates. "On the proviso you quit calling me 'Zucchini', you dick."

"Look – you could take it as a compliment; zucchinis are usually a decent size? Not that Gus… never mind." Draco clams up, jumping to his feet and clapping together his hands as Blaise narrows his eyes.

"'Not that Gus' – what? What does that mean?" Blaise demands, as Draco once more skips out of reach. "Cut that out, Draco – and I insist you tell me what you meant by that last cryptic utterance."

"Yeah… no," Draco chortles, opening the door. "Maybe if you treated me to a decent coffee – not the burnt swill they serve in the cafeteria, mind you – I might be more forthcoming? Don't dawdle, Blaise."

Salazar's saggy jowls… am I this annoying? I am, aren't I? Blaise pouts his lower lip, before his natural confidence bounces to the fore.

Nah… I'm delightful… witty… effervescent. I'm the special sunlight that doesn't burn your retinas when you stare at it directly. I won't allow Draco's pathetic attempts to unsettle me get beneath my glowing skin.

Deliberately whistling 'I Will Give My Love an Apple', Blaise moves to follow Draco out the door.


"You cast the 'Muffliato', right?" Hermione gasps, as Draco recklessly (and noisily) knocks an actual broom to the farthest corner of the closet, before ruthlessly divesting her of her damp burgundy knickers… no, he just shredded my panties. The elastic on her left hip snaps once before the seam permanently gives way.

"Indeed I did, Granger – no one will be any the wiser, unless some fool decides to actually clean this dingy corner of the Ministry," Draco replies. He stuffs the ruined scraps of cotton and lace into his trouser pocket.

"Hey– they were one of my favourite pairs," she protests, secretly loving his little display of feral possessiveness. "You said – on Gala night – you didn't want me going about without underwear, remember?".

"I'll buy you a dozen more pairs – and I'll sit you on my lap for the rest of the afternoon to preserve your semi-nude dignity, if you like. No hardship for me, Granger," Draco promises, hiking up her claret-red skirt and hauling her even closer. His breathing is as ragged as hers.

"I said the– the 'Proprieque Dicitur' already, didn't I…? Ooohhh – Malfoy, more, please more –" she sinks her nails into his shoulders as he teases her clit with the lightest of strokes.

The only dim light in the cramped space leaks from the edges of the door, and through the small keyhole; yet the devilishly carnal glitter in Draco's carbon-grey eyes is easily discernible. He strums his nimble fingers through her short, damp brown curls as he murmurs, "Yes, yes, we both enacted the contraceptive charm. Tell me, ma petite – how many times do you wish to come? Twice? Thrice? I'll adapt my methods according to your wants – but you must decide now."

Hunh… what? "What? Two, I guess? I don't know – please, just keep touching me – yes, right there – why, will I be penalized for failing to meet your standards of lasciviousness? Doesn't– doesn't seem fair," she grumbles, as Draco slides two fingers carefully inside her slick channel, his thumb never stopping its expert, alternating circles on her budded pink pearl.

"Never think it, my love – but if you'd only taken my advice and ignored Blaise's attempts at lunch to pump us both for every scrap of arcane information about Gus and Tavi, we'd now have an extra ten minutes to explore the potential of this broom closet. I'm merely trying to maximize the experience, you see." The underlying smugness in Draco's voice makes her want to bite him.

Hermione does just that, nipping aggressively at his corded trapezius muscle, holding him in place as she suckles lower, until his shirt collar impedes her downward progress. She rapidly unbuttons the first four loops, watching in satisfaction as his Adam's apple bobbles.

"I'm so hungry for you, Draco – all the time," Hermione growls, feverish with urgency. She yanks at his zipper, hearing the tiny tick of the top button as it ricochets off a middle shelf. She kneels, wrenching his horribly expensive houndstooth woollen trousers and black trunks to his ankles.

"Hermione – wait, wait – you don't have to–" Draco hoarsely objects.

Resisting his attempts to pull her back upright, Hermione pushes him against the far wall, hoping he doesn't collide with any more cleaning equipment. "Stay still, please. I need to touch you – I want to lick and suck you, Draco. Do you have a problem with that?" She barely recognizes her own voice; it is low and heavy with patent lust. I sound like a siren, she thinks, astonished by her boldness.

"Not – not at all – uhhh –" Draco's head thwacks into the plaster as her agile fingers fondle his hardness; Hermione uses her left hand to cup and rub his heavy ballocks, while her right digits trace the impossibly silken texture of his long, rigid cock.

Blowing on the tip, Hermione coos, "You feel so good in my hands, Draco… I can't wait to taste you… I'm dying to wrap my lips around your hard, thick cock… Mmmm, you like when I talk dirty, don't you? Tell me," she instructs. Her thumb collects the wetness of his pre-come, sliding his slick back along the length of his shaft.

"Oh, fuck– baise moi mor, I love it," Draco chokes, his fingers lightly tangled in her abundant hair. "Please, Hermione–"

"Please… what? What do you want, Draco? Be specific," Hermione licks delicately at the slit at the end of his glans, feeling his reactive shudder and his restless shift against the edge of the shelf. His muscular thighs are trembling, his breath reduced to irregular heaves.

"Please… take me in your warm, beautiful mouth, Hermione," he hoarsely answers. "Sucer ma bite, ma belle sorcière." His hands gently guide her head a little loser.

Damn… I never realized how arousing it is, having my gorgeous man at my mercy like this, Hermione marvels. She wriggles, her own wet sex throbbing from the sheer eroticism of the moment. The added illicit thrill of fellating my boyfriend in a broom closet at my workplace certainly adds some spice to this intoxicating experience.

Taking and releasing a deep, settling breath, Hermione slowly takes Draco's hot, hard length between her lips. He stills instantly, making her wonder if he's forgotten to keep breathing. Her unspoken question is answered when he groans deeply and widens his stance.

He tastes… salty, musky… clean, yet earthy. Hermione swirls her tongue around his bell-end, taking care to keep her teeth covered as she carefully moves his shaft in and out. I hope this is OK… well, Draco doesn't seem to be complaining, she assures her shaky confidence. I can't take all of him, though… he's just too big… She concentrates on using her hands on the bottom half of his turgid rod, circling him firmly while tugging up and down.

"Tu as tellement bon gout, Draco… Je veux te faire voir des étoiles, mon amour," she mumbles around his cock.

"Hermione… you're incredible… you can go a little harder, ma chérieplus fort– please," Draco pants, moving his hands to grip a nearby shelf and the door handle, his hips thrusting in the smallest of movements.

Elated by the devastating effect she is wreaking on him, Hermione readily complies. She alternates feathery strokes of her tongue with hollowing her cheeks and suckling strongly. Draco whines, rattling the shelf so hard that a few cleaning rags tumble to the floor beside his foot.

"Tu me fais sentir tellement bien– Merlin, Hermione, I'm close–" he rasps.

"Veux-tu jouir dans ma bouche? Do you want to come in my mouth?" Hermione repeats in English, maintaining her steady hold on him as she looks up triumphantly.

She squeaks as Draco hauls her upright, flipping their positions so that she is now backed into the plastered wall.

"Je veux jouir dans ta douce chatte: I want to come inside your sweet pussy, Hermione," Draco insists. He coats his fingertips in her wetness, using his other hand to flick open the buttons on her coal black blouse. His hand cups her right breast, pulling it free before his head bends to lick and suckle the creamy globe with his avid mouth.

Oh, Draco – I burn for you – I need you – I'll never stop craving your touch. A whine leaves her throat as he greedily traces his tongue under and over her other breast.

Splayed legs quaking, Hermione tips back her head and clutches at Draco's flaxen locks as blissful goosebumps erupt across her exposed skin. His fingers tap and rub relentlessly, coaxing her orgasm ever closer.

"Want– want you inside me– I want your cock inside my dripping pussy, Draco," she moans, vaguely aware their magic has made a familiar appearance; her beautiful blond beau's face is stippled with reflected dots of light in the tiny space.

"Prends-moi – S'il te plait, mon amour. Take me, Draco – please," she implores. "Baise-moi!"

Draco's feet scuff the flooring as he hastens to obey; he captures her lips in a desperate kiss, bunching her skirt up her thighs as he deftly guides his rock-hard cock into her core. He thrusts inside in one smooth, savage motion, watching her with ferine intensity and unmasked devotion.

"Wrap your legs around me and hold on tight," Draco directs, hoisting her off the floor and supporting her whole weight with his strong forearms braced underneath her flexed buttocks. The new angle pushes him deeper; Hermione feels her eyes cross in ecstasy behind her closed lids. Mewling, she manages to scrabble her feet to the small of his back, locking her ankles there right before he lifts her up and down his straining shaft.

Good thing I wore flats today, she thinks dazedly, before the joyous arousal rocketing through her builds ever higher with each jolting thrust. Their tight position doesn't allow for much expansion of motion, but the pressure of Draco's groin against her sensitive clitoris more than makes up for any lack of range.

Draco keeps up an impassioned patter of filthy French into her left ear. "T'es trop belle – ta petite bouche chaude enroulée autour de ma bite m'a rendu sauvage, Hermione. You got off on the power you wield over me, didn't you, ma petite? Look at me," he demands. His hips rock into hers as she opens her passion-blown eyes and brazenly bares her teeth in an exultant grin.

"I did – I fucking loved it, Draco. Next time, I'll make you come in my mouth," she vows, sensing her pinnacle screaming towards her as his tempo increases. "Harder– I'm gonna come–" she bites her lower lip and hangs onto his neck for dear life as Draco's cock twists against her inner wall, her orgasm swamping her in drugging waves. His pace never falters, while her acme stretches on and on, flooding her with an onslaught of stupendous joy.

She slumps forward, keening tiny mews as Draco softly commands, "Again."

"I don't think I can– I– I came really hard…" The words have no sooner left her wheezing mouth when she starts to feel another, less intense climax building. His hands knead her heart-shaped bum, his cock tunnelling rhythmically inside her pulsing channel.

"I have you – place the fingers of your right hand on your pretty pink pussy lips, sweetheart. Rub your sweet little blossom: I love watching you, seeing what you like… ma magnifique femme. Je veux sentir ta chatte sucer ma bite quand je te remplirai de ma graine."

Her fingers grinding furiously, Hermione babbles something wildly incoherent as her second peak eventually coincides with Draco's potent apogee; he drives into her with a few last, powerful strokes, burying his face in her neck as she cries out his name.

"Hermione… ma petite… my gorgeous, sexy, amazing Golden Girl…" Draco kisses her reverently, as he gently lowers them to the floor. Somehow they find just enough space for their tangled limbs; Hermione is thankful for the wall at her back, as her legs feel jellified from their ardent passions.

They swap tender, pecking kisses, ceasing only when the doorknob suddenly clatters. An exasperated, familiar deep voice booms through the keyhole.

"Oi! I know you're in there – you two have about a minute before Hermione's boss comes down this corridor – she's terrified your combined absence indicates another kidnapping attempt! Clean yourselves up and get out of there, pronto," Blaise hollers. "This is a place of Very Important Business, not a love hotel, you filthy fornicators." The mirth in his voice belies his censure.

"Oh, hells bells," Hermione whispers, as Draco begins to button her loose blouse. "How does he know we're in here, anyway?"

"Your crazy sex magic pyrotechnics gave you away, in case you were wondering how I managed to track you down," Blaise's answer is eerily well-timed. "It's leaking out from under the door, for the love of Snakes."

He jingles the door handle again. "One last thing, Malfoy – don't come slithering into my office wearing your post-coital bliss like a bloody cape! I don't want to see your smug mug unless it's an emergency, alright? He's been a terribly corruptive influence on you, Hermione. I heartily approve." Blaise's boisterous guffaws fade as he moves away from the closet.

Draco and Hermione share a look comprised of equal parts mortification and amusement.

How embarrassing! Why is it that my primary reaction is that of proud satisfaction, though? Hermione purrs out a relaxed breath, stretching her arms over her head before linking them at Draco's nape.

"Do you regret this, Hermione?" Draco quietly enquires. "I never meant to shame or discomfit you, darling."

"I regret nothing, Draco… except that we were such inflexible mortal enemies at school, and hence never tried this kind of fun, sexy caper at Hogwarts," Hermione quickly negates his concerns. "The good news is – we'll be able to put those particular fantasies into play very soon," she beams.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any sexier – you have to prove me wrong," Draco chuckles. "I guess two orgasms will have to suffice, for today. I love you, Granger."

"I love you, Malfoy. So very much."


Harry drops heavily into his creaky office chair, absently shaking his aching hands before reaching for the necessary paperwork related to Bones's dramatic arrest. He scowls darkly as he remembers the foul diatribe the piggy bastard had caterwauled when he'd realized the Aurors had him trapped in a corner of the dilapidated attic suite.

"You're a fool, Potter – all this fuss for a few snapshots of that dirty little Parkinson slut!" Bones had raged, after Harry had read him his rights and informed him of the charges against him. "Anyone could have found those pictures – this is a set-up, you've been jealous of my success and reputation since I started at the Ministry, you petty little turd!"

Harry had lowered his wand, charging forward until he'd been able to see the fear and fury in Bones's porcine eyes. Gus and Kolton had also advanced; the sound of Kolton unsnapping his magical manacles had made Barry's head whip round.

"You stupid arseholes – you haven't got a shred of actual proof – I'll be back out quicker than you can say 'Potter's a wanker'," Barry had snarled, spittle speckling his chin and cheeks.

"I never mentioned Miss Parkinson's name in relation to the child pornography distribution charges against you, Bones," Harry had informed the fool. His voice had been lethally controlled as he'd added, "You've also broken the conditions of your bail – it's off to Azkaban for you now. Why don't you make my day even sweeter and resist arrest, connard?".

"What did you call me?! Yeah, you're a big man with a wand, aren't you? One-on-one, you wouldn't stand a chance against me, Potter," Barry had taunted, clumsily knocking over a small bookcase as he'd wedged himself deeper into the farthest corner of the small bedroom. "Without your paltry magic and that badge you hide behind – you're just a scrawny little pretender."

Harry had immediately re-holstered his wand, grinning barbarously as he'd held open his arms in the universal gesture of physical challenge. "Come on then, Barry – I'm waiting," he'd jeered, as the blustering jackass had nervously blinked at him and shuffled his feet.

"Sir– Harry– this isn't exactly Ministry procedure–" Kolton had remonstrated, interrupted by Gus's counter-claim.

"Just keep your wand on Bones, Kolt – I've got the Anti-Apparition spellwork under control," the tall witch had coolly advised.

Her nostrils had flared with distaste as she'd sneered at Barry, "You're the biggest disgrace to ever hold an Auror's badge, Bones – and you couldn't win a fight against a store mannequin, you chump."

"You freakish fucking bitch–" Bones hadn't had the chance to finish his derogatory exclamation, as Harry had finally unleashed his raw wrath and rushed forward, fists swinging. He'd felt a primitive satisfaction as his blows had struck the two-legged turd with devastating force, precisely colliding with Bones's jaw, nose, and prodigious gut.

That's for Pansy, you utter slimeball. May you rot in hell for exploiting her pain, Harry had grimly cursed.

Squealing like the hog he closely resembles, Bones had capitulated immediately, collapsing onto the floor and feebly kicking out his stumpy legs.

The lack of any fightback had stymied Harry's burning desire to draw more blood. Bones had cupped his streaming nose between his hands, protesting unintelligibly as Harry had stepped back in disgust. Kolt had efficiently applied the enspelled manacles, drying Bones's nosebleed with a quick 'Episkey', before hauling him to his feet.

"Harry – are you alright?" Gus had murmured, her golden eyes projecting approval, and a modicum of concern. "He won't be leaving Azkaban for a eon… but I understand your raging need for revenge. What he did – what they all did – they deserve nothing but pain and suffering. For a very, very long time."

She'd hesitated before her next question. "How's Pansy? I don't mean to intrude or overstep; but if she ever needs someone to listen quietly, and attentively… I'm available."

"Thanks, Gus," Harry had cleared his throat, emotion clogging his airways. "She's… she'll be alright. Pansy's a fighter – like you," he'd smiled gratefully.

"Like you, you mean? I thought I heard the first bars of the 'Rocky' theme music blasting in the background, the way you were socking The Great White Dope," Gus jerks her head to the whimpering Barry. "Nice work, Slugger."

Harry is recalled to the present as a light tap sounds on his door. "Come in," he calls.

He joyfully leaps to his feet as Pansy's beautiful face pops around the door. She keeps hold of the jamb as she smiles, "Hi, Harry. I brought you some lunch – I figured you'd skip the meal otherwise, and I don't want you to faint again." She twirls a loose tendril from her sophisticated up-do.

Bundling her into his arms, Harry kisses her adorable little ear as he rebuts, "I merely suffered a very brief dizzy spell, love. Godric, it's good to see you," he breathes, reluctantly relinquishing her as she chirps something about crushing the lunch bag.

"You say dizzy, I say fizzled onto the floor," Pansy chuckles. "It's just sandwiches, I picked them up from a nearby deli. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a few different varieties. I thought we could eat a few now; you can have the rest for dinner, or perhaps share them with your team."

"Thanks, Pansy." Harry kisses her properly, thoroughly enjoying the returned pressure of her mouth as he zealously slants his parted lips over hers. His fingers curl at her curvy hips, the callouses abrading against the fabric of her pale pink linen suit trousers.

"You look amazing," he murmurs, before his tongue seeks hers again. "Professional, powerful, pretty… perfect."

Sliding the deli bag onto her wrist, Pansy slips her arms around his waist, knotting her fingers at his lower back. Her wide smile is utterly dazzling; Harry tells her precisely that as she shakes her head laughingly.

"I'm calling you out for lying, last night, when you solemnly told me you 'weren't good with words'… your flattery is almost as smooth as Macdolas's – and that's saying something." Pansy bestows a last affectionate smooch before she steps past him.

"Have you had a busy– Harry, your hands!" Dropping the sandwich bag onto his desk, Pansy makes a grab for his swollen mitts. "What happened? Are you hurt?" Her beryl-green eyes speedily track across his face and body; she exhales in relief when she doesn't find any other visible injuries.

"It's nothing– I was busy, I'll treat them later," Harry dismisses. "Let's eat, love; I'm starving."

"Uh-uh– I repeat, what happened? I'll fix you up right now," Pansy slides her wand from her pocket, chanting the basic Healing spell before tenderly kissing each stinging, swollen knuckle. The aches fade, along with most of the swelling and bruising. She retains her hold on his hands as she glares severely at his chagrined face.

Ducking his head, Harry admits, "I– um– I employed physical force while bringing a resisting suspect into the custody of the DMLE. Did you bring any ham and cheese sandwiches, Pansy? I'm rather fond of those."

"You punched someone?! Who? That doesn't usually happen while you're undertaking an arrest, surely?" Pansy wholly ignores his weak attempt at distraction.

Her intelligent eyes taper to suspicious slits as she awaits his response.

Gulping, Harry speaks. "It was Barry Bones. Gus figured out the imbecile was hiding at his aunt's inn, and when we closed in, Bones challenged me to a brawl. I got in a few good licks before he crumpled to a heap and cried off. He's nothing but a bullying thug – a weak, repugnant blowhard. I realize I let my temper best me, but I don't regret it."

Harry sighs as he concludes, "I'm sorry, Pansy. Gus and Kolton will testify that the arrest was legal – I'd never do anything to jeopardize Bones's legal punishments."

Affixing his apologetic gaze to the sandwich bag, Harry is flummoxed by Pansy's reaction.

"You hit Bones… for me?" she questions, unfurling his palms to press minute kisses along the inner skin of his fingers. "Did you hurt him?"

"Yeah… I broke his nose, and cracked a tooth. He's being patched up at Azkaban– "

Pansy launches herself at him so hard, Harry bounces off the edge of his desk and spins into the nearest spare chair; his Seeker reflexes enable him to balance her on his lap as she jumps on him.

"You are a magnificent, strong, sexy, lion-hearted, utterly wonderful man, Harry Potter – don't you dare apologize for any of that," Pansy growls, showering him in tight hugs and bussing kisses, as his bewilderment morphs to delight.

"I only wish I'd been there to see you thumping that moronic fuckwit – though I wouldn't have left until I'd literally carved a pound of flesh from his repulsive hide," she rumbles. "Probably it's a good thing I wasn't in attendance, come to that."

"Probably," Harry concurs, happily kissing her back as she delectably wiggles in his light but steady hold. "Pansy, I–"

The three-part rap on his door disrupts their gleeful, impassioned embrace. Pansy doesn't budge from his lap; she lays her hand possessively against his chest as Draco strolls through the portal.

"Harry, I want to talk to you about– Pansy! What– well– huh– I'll come back later," Malfoy begins to back out. "Lock the bloody door, why don't you?" he grouses.

Harry responds by loftily extending his right middle finger. "Piss off, Draco: now you know how I've felt for the past month." The door slams behind Draco with more force than necessary, causing them both to snicker.

"Now, Harry – you were saying?" Pansy urges, sinuously raking her fingers through his black hair. Harry shivers rapturously with every touch.

"I don't know… kiss me, Pansy. Please. And then let us feed each other sandwiches, and you can tell me about your day, love," he prompts, jostling her on his thighs until she giggles.

"You have yourself a deal, Auror Potter."


French translations:

Tu es la femme de mes rêves, Je pense toujours à toi. J'ai besoin de toi. – You are the woman of my dreams, I am always thinking of you. I need you.

baise moi mor – fuck me dead.

Sucer ma bite, ma belle sorcière Suck my cock, my beautiful witch.

Tu as tellement bon gout, Draco… Je veux te faire voir des étoiles, mon amour - You taste so good, Draco… I want you to see stars, my love.

Tu me fais sentir tellement bien – You make me feel so good.

Veux-tu jouir dans ma bouche? – Do you want to come in my mouth?

Prends-moi – S'il te plait, mon amour – Take me – Please, my love.

Baise-moi! – Fuck me!

T'es trop belle – ta petite bouche chaude enroulée autour de ma bite m'a rendu sauvage – You look so beautiful – your hot little mouth wrapped around my dick made me wild.

Ma magnifique femme. Je veux sentir ta chatte sucer ma bite quand je te remplirai de ma graine – My beautiful woman. I want to feel your pussy suck at my dick when I fill you with my seed.

Connard – Arsehole.