Song Suggestion: PatrickReza- "TipToe"
A/N: We're closing in on the end. Things are about to start amping up. I hope you feel the plot twists coming.
STOP: If you don't want spoilers, you need to read through chapter 6 of Marcus/ Katie story Mercy and Something Else. A guest suggested I put on top of the chapters which order to read both the stories in, and I think that's a great idea, so I'll do that soon. Before I get to that (because reuploading is tedious), I'll put up a chapter guide on my profile/ bio.
Sleight of Hand
Hermione
Hermione stayed behind, sending Draco back to the manor.
McGonagall sat at her imposing desk, scratching her quill against parchment in a methodical way Hermione always found soothing.
Hermione walked over and sat in the chair across from her and waited until she set the quill down, eyes inspecting with thoughtful patience.
"Did you have a good time with Draco?"
"It was certainly surprising." That much she admitted. Every time she thought they had a set destination, Draco twisted the wheel, leading them down a new and bumpy path with an almost gleeful abandon.
Hermione's eyes went to the portrait of Dumbledore. The old wizard stared back at her, and she couldn't help but picture him putting his hand on Marcus' young shoulders as he sobbed. A shot of hatred went through her.
"My brother said you pardoned him in the war. I want to know why."
Her old professor sat up straighter. She organized a few things on the desk, almost in a fidgeting manner.
"It's not my place to give all the details, but an overview would do no harm. I must press you for silence, because it involves other innocent parties that may not want the story told."
Hermione considered. Eventually, she nodded.
"Your brother won us the war."
"Pardon?" Out of everything, she didn't expect that.
"Harry defeated Voldemort, but Marcus compromised some of the worst death eaters with firewisky shots laced with a potion that slowed their reflexes. Not only that, but he managed to eliminate eight of them during the final battle. He saved countless lives."
Hermione took a moment to let that sink in.
"I sense there's more."
"He also saved the lives of two women from a revel. Kept them in a safehouse for most of the final year, providing for all their needs."
Hermione's eyes felt hot, and she clenched her hands on the armrests. She always worried about the things he had to do to survive. In the end, he kept his promise to his uncle, found a way to keep his humanity through it all.
"That's—that's good to hear." She looked back at the portrait. "Could I have a moment of privacy? There are things I wish to ask Dumbledore."
"Of course." McGonagall stood up, taking her parchment with her. Before she could exit the room, she stopped. "Be careful with the information you seek from him. Though I still love the man, his agenda comes before your safety, even in death."
Hermione took the warning to heart.
Hermione
"Hermione Granger," Dumbledore greeted her in a jovial voice that irritated her. Even in portrait form, he retained the sly grin she used to think represented an endless optimism. Did the old man ever truly care for Harry? Hermione believed he did, which made the situation worse.
She almost asked about Marcus but bit her tongue. The anger still burned white hot, and she might set fire to his portrait in revenge. Instead, she asked something else that bothered her.
"You knew what I was," she began. "But you never told me."
Dumbledore's congenial mask dropped, betraying his wariness. He might have been fond of Harry, but he'd always looked at her like a project he couldn't figure out
"Forgive me for my silence. There's a muggle saying. I'm sure you've heard of it." His kept their eyes locked in a stare. "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The very nature of your heritage can twist a good heart to evil."
"You think I'm evil?"
Dumbledore stare turned hard.
"I believe you're capable of it, much like any other human. Do you disagree? Tom Riddle had great potential too. I didn't want to repeat my mistake."
Hermione remembered the hatred toward the court, the way she wished to burn it all to the ground. Yes, she was capable of it. Would she have been able to stop if Marcus hadn't intervened? The answer scared her. She'd never been as pure as Harry. In some ways, she was more like Dumbledore—capable of evil in the name of good.
"You're wrong," Hermione said. "It's not power that corrupts. It's fear. Great men are terrified of losing power, and they'll destroy the world to keep it."
Dumbledore considered what she said and then gave a nod.
"Astute, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore said, letting the sly grin upturn his lips again. "The only person safe from power's snare is someone willing to release it."
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm never going to activate the talent anyway."
He shook his head.
"Possibly… possibly not. The future is not set in stone and sometimes things careen out of our control." His eyes narrowed. "Do you have the cloak?"
Hermione blinked in surprise. Harry's cloak, she surmised. She gave a slow nod.
"Keep the hallows together. They may be needed. The ghosts have been whispering more than usual. As you know, they rest in an uncomfortable spot, straddling time and space. There's a disturbance."
A Catalyst, Bane told her. The hair on her arm stood up. A cold feeling entered her, and it didn't come from the stone walls surrounding her. She'd kept the hallows at the bottom of her bag, taking them as mementos. Besides the cloak, they remained useless.
"But the wand won't work for me. Even if I have all three, it won't matter."
"No, the wand won't work for you. Keep it on you, regardless. Time will tell if my predictions come true."
"I'm guessing you won't tell me your predictions, just like you never told us anything important before it was too late."
Dumbledore looked sad.
"Much like before, silence is imperative. My guess is only a hypothesis. I risk upsetting the thin line of fate and choice."
Again, it made no sense. Why would she need the hallows to win against Rosewood?
All Hermione could do was glare while Dumbledore shut his eyes and promptly went to sleep, dismissing her.
Hermione
Three days later, Draco's giant owl swooped down while she sat outside with Scorpius, dropping a letter in her lap. It waited after for a treat, but she didn't have any on her. When he realized he wouldn't get anything, he tried to peck her fingers.
"Draco needs to teach you better manners." She shooed him with her hand. "Begone, you beast."
It gave a human-like glare, telling her exactly what he thought about her and took off, wings beating toward the sky.
Hermione's attention went to the expensive cream envelope held together with a wax seal of the Malfoy crest. Hermione almost rolled her eyes at the pretentiousness, but she humored him and snapped the wax seal.
The invitation he promised her was to his manor. They were hosting one of their bi-annual pureblood formals the upcoming Saturday. Out of all the places to be on Earth, a pureblood formal was near the bottom of the list.
She found a little personal note written in Draco's familiar slanted scrawl.
Will you be my date?
Hermione sighed.
No, she wouldn't.
For two days, he'd tugged her along without warning. It felt like whiplash, filtering her emotions too fast to observe objectively: wariness, old anger, desire, and love. When his fingers crept up her skirt, she almost let him do what he wanted. Almost let him fuck her in a dusty broom closet, against the door.
Draco was an intense person. He'd never not be. When he wanted something, he went after it like going to war, strategizing and attacking. His clever brain created schemes to trap prey where he wanted them.
That essential part of his nature didn't change, but his motivation altered, and she needed to analyze it before she went much further. The dates made him more dangerous to her heart than before. How could she stand against the onslaught, thinking logically about the situation? He made her lose all reason.
No, she couldn't go with Draco. If she did, she'd end the night in his bed. She'd let him unzip her dress, let his fingers trail down her spine, let his mouth caress where it wanted.
What she needed from him was more than the freedom of centaurs and giving Charlie a reserve. In the end, money solved all those issues. What she needed was more intrinsic, and before he showed her that, she'd stay wary.
However, if she didn't go with him, she still needed a date.
She pulled out her phone and dialed the number.
"Charlie," she said. "I need a favor."
Hermione
Charlie traded in his dragon training leathers for formal dress robes. Even scrubbed, with a haircut, the sharp edges peeked through.
"I look ridiculous," he said.
"You look devastatingly handsome. The men won't be able to keep their eyes off you. Blaise might actually have a seizure."
Charlie gave a hard laugh.
"I'm not attracted to that weak Slytherin. He'd probably cry if he got dirty—"
"But he's pretty." Hermione said, unable to keep a smile off her face.
Charlie paused his fidgeting, just enough to show he considered what she said.
"He's lucky his pretty face didn't melt away."
"I think he just wanted you to tackle him."
"You think he did that on purpose?"
"Oh, I know so. It's a classic Slytherin move."
Charlie kept his frown, but something glittered in his eyes.
Hermione almost reminded him to be careful playing with Slytherins. They spun sticky webs, but with one look at Charlie, it would be no use. Blaise Zabini already sparked Charlie's Weasley's interest. In this case, Blaise might be the one in over his head.
Right before they left, Marcus entered the room with his own dress robes on, and his hair slicked back. As always, he looked uncomfortable in his skin, walking with an odd swagger, as if the floor would give out any moment.
Katie trailed behind him in a gorgeous red dress that made Hermione's jaw drop. Charlie gave a whistle of appreciation. Hermione stood there in stunned silence.
"What…" she stuttered. "I'm so confused. You didn't tell me you were coming, or that you were bringing Katie as a date. I thought you two hated each other."
"It was a last-minute decision," Marcus said, holding out his arm, and Katie placed hers gently on top. "There's no way I'm sending you to Malfoy manor for a pureblood formal without me, and no, we don't hate each other."
"It's just a dance," Hermione said, still trying to wrap her brain around the sudden turn of events. She wondered what was going on between him and Katie. She doubted she'd get information from Marcus, so she'd have to corner Katie later.
Marcus shook his head.
"It's not just a dance. If you're not careful, you'll be married by the end of the night."
"Married! Who would want to marry me?"
"Every eligible bachelor in the pureblood world. I've already had to turn down several marriage offers. They will be there tonight like sharks."
"But I'm just a halfblood."
"A legitimized halfblood with a fortune," her brother reminded her. "A war hero who fought with Harry Potter… do I need to continue?"
"No," she said, curling her hand around Charlie's wrist. "I just didn't expect to be fielding off any marriage offers except from Draco."
Marcus narrowed her eyes. He didn't like Draco. "For many reasons," he'd once told her. Looking at Katie, she was starting to understand one of the reasons might be the enchanted necklace he'd given the girl intended for Dumbledore.
"Just don't accept any form of jewelry," he said. "It's probably attached with binding contracts, and right now, they think they can take advantage with your ignorance of our culture. I'd rather not kill a man tonight. It would be messy."
The ruby ring popped up into her memories.
"No worries about that. I'm opposed to most forms of enchanted jewelry."
Marcus grinned, straightening his bowtie.
"If any of those entitled fucks even look at you in a way you don't like, I'll remind them why they should still be afraid of me."
Hermione
They arrived by apparition, right outside the gates. Marcus and Charlie raised their invitations, and they fluttered toward the iron gate. When it touched the crest, the gate lit up and creaked open.
She'd never entered in this way, welcomed and led down the gravel path. The sides were lined with beautiful landscaping, stone magical creatures, and hovering orbs of light. Sprites zoomed in and out of the bushes.
The gravel crackled under their shoes as they walked in silence. Other people walked in front, and more couples entered behind them. Hermione ignored them all, her nerves jumping.
Draco greeted them at the door. His clothes blended into the night, a shocking suit so dark it contrasted against his colorless skin, hair, and eyes, in a striking way that made her suck in a quick gasp.
"You're wearing muggle clothes," she said.
"I've grown to appreciate their high-end designers."
He gave a little bow in front of Hermione, eyeing her up and down with a gleam in his eyes.
"Beautiful, as always." He grabbed her hand and gave the top a little kiss. "Follow me."
Draco
Not for the first time did Draco second-guess his decision inviting Hermione. Men from across the continent showed up in the hopes of courting her. There weren't many eligible witches like Hermione. Not only did she boast an impressive resume, but she already produced an heir. To the old families, a fertile witch with a pureblood last name was worth whatever fortune required.
Today he'd have to deal with a horde of worthless wizards slavering over his witch, as if he hadn't already claimed her. As if he hadn't placed his son in her belly. He wanted to give Hermione the space to choose him again, but he didn't think he had it in him to stand back and watch another wizard woo her away. Just the thought made the blood rush harder through his veins, made his hands twitch with violence.
But she needed to be here. For every wizard that wanted to win her favor, there would be another gleeful to tear her down. Hermione wasn't a neutral character. People either found her an ally or a threat, and she needed to be one step ahead of the schemes.
He glanced back. She wore a black muggle dress that glittered under the lights as she moved, reminding him of the night sky, the endless stars. Blood red lips pursed when she glanced back at him without smiling, as if picking a part his intentions. She wore her muggle towering heels, the tip so sharp he suspected it could kill a man. He liked her best like this—with the potential to murder him on a whim. As if she could read his wicked thoughts, her cheeks flushed, and she turned away.
Both Marcus and Charlie kept scowls on their faces, noticing his stares. He admired Charlie, but Marcus put him on edge. He'd always been a little off-balance, quick to violence, cruel, and merciless when he desired. In his time at Hogwarts, he ruled Slytherin with an iron fist. And the bloke never made it a secret he never liked him. That he was Hermione's brother now was an unfortunate turn of events, besides the protection it provided from his father.
Beside Marcus stood Katie Bell, and it didn't surprise him. The brute never hid his attraction to her from the Slytherins during Hogwarts. After he caught some sixth year harassing her, he yanked the boy aside and punished him in the dungeons so everyone could see.
"She's mine!" He had held the boy by his hair, face outward so everyone in the dorm could see his battered face. "Mine to torment or pursue as I please. As long as I'm king here, the lot of you will avoid her as if she carries dragon pox. Consider this my last warning, or you'll wish I went as easy on you as I did to Blakely here."
Draco wondered if Katie knew how unhinged he'd always been about her. If she did, she probably wouldn't be walking so close to him.
They reached the ballroom before he could think much more about it.
Hermione wandered close to him, and he pushed the door open. A giant chandelier hung in the center, dripping with goblin-made crystals. Dozens of couples twirled in circles on the Italian marble floor, dressed in the latest fashions from Paris. The room hosted floor to ceiling windows that curved toward the ceiling. It was a perfect blend of midnight and decadence.
Taking advantage of Hermione's proximity, he grabbed her wrist and tucked it over his arm. Before she could protest, he walked in, Hermione gliding next to him. Charlie grunted in annoyance behind him, knowing he planned the takeover.
The entire room paused their dancing to look at them as they entered. The men curled their lips in disdain at their proximity, which was his intent. Hermione insisted on keeping up barriers between them. He wished to grant her the time to slowly break them down, but tonight a statement needed to be made for the present elite. Hermione was his, and if they dared poach in his territory, they'd need to contend with him. Just by looking, a few of the men still looked determined, despite his claim.
Draco didn't smile as he brought her through the dance floor to the refreshment table. Blaise stood next to the punch bowl. Judging by his mischievous grin, it was probably spiked with alcohol. It was a tradition they began when they were ten, and his friend refused to end it, despite them being adults now.
"Hermione," Blaise greeted, tipping his delicate glass toward her. "You look bewitching." His eyes didn't stay on Hermione but drifted toward the giant redheaded dragon tamer stalking behind them.
"Weasley," Blaise said, slightly less confidently. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I'd rather not be," Charlie answered. "Next time I'm arriving in my normal attire, fresh from the training fields. I'll leave dirt and blood all over this pristine floor."
Blaise only blinked in response, as if that fulfilled every one of his fantasies. Draco wanted to roll his eyes.
"Where's Marcus?" Hermione asked.
They both turned to find her brother leading Katie in one of the pureblood dances. He assumed Marcus knew the dances—all pureblood children did—but he'd never seen the brute participate. Draco kept close to Hermione.
"They make an odd couple… they are a couple, right?"
Hermione shrugged and then she tensed, picking someone out of the crowd that glowered at them.
"What is your father doing here?" She whispered furiously.
"I couldn't bar him legally. Attending these events was the only thing he insisted on in the divorce settlement."
His father stood next to one of his distant French cousins. But he only had eyes for them, keeping a tight scowl.
"I assume you invited me to help me network, and I assume he's here for the same reason."
"Of course," he said. "Which is why we need to get to them first."
"Well, how do we do that?"
Before the formal, he'd slipped the stacks of papers he'd stolen from his father's office to Blaise. His friend handled them with glee, as if they were the sweetest candy. Now it was time for the magic to happen, the subtle sleight of hand. He'd watched his father closely since he arrived and doubted he knew he took his most prized possession—secrets.
"Everyone is led by motivation." Blaise took a sip of the spiked punch. "You need to discover what makes them tick. Some people respond to moral integrity—very rare but important. The largest group responds to bribery. They want something only you can give them. This is tricky, because desire is fickle, though it can be a powerful motivator, depending on the intensity. The next is subdued by threats, but fear has a limit, and it can be turned against you if they decide to be brave."
"And the last?" Hermione eyes flicked over the crowd, as if seeing them all in different light.
"The last group needs to be eliminated. They are too much of a threat to remain on the board. We'll worry about that group another day."
Hermione
Draco and Blaise led her around the room, introducing her to the power players in their society, the last of which was a Russian woman named Feodora Petrov, one of the wealthiest witches in the world.
"Charmed," Feodora said after Draco introduced her, with wrists dripping with jewels, and hands covered in delicate gloves. The old woman raised a grey eyebrow. "The little witch who put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. Quite a coup. I've heard many rumors about you, and I hope some of them are true."
"Some of them, perhaps."
The old lady eyed her up and down with an inspection more intense than any she'd ever experienced, as if she could see into her soul.
"Which ones though," she said, as if knowing all her secrets. "Some are nearly fantastical. Others… inspiring."
Hermione couldn't read her, face blank, body still. It caused the hairs on the back of her neck to raise, and Hermione understood the woman, despite her fragile appearance, was dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous than Lucius. Hermione refused to lower her gaze or fidget.
"It's been a long time," Draco said, interrupting the stare down.
"It has," the lady said. "You've turned as handsome as your father, though you know that. We can only hope you didn't inherit anything else from him."
"I think you'll find we are different creatures."
The old woman looked at him and then Hermione.
"Possibly." She took a sip of champagne. "It was good to meet you Hermione Granger. I'm eager to see what you'll do next."
After Draco dragged her away, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.
"She loved you."
"I'm pretty sure she frowned at me the whole time."
"If she hated you, you'd know. Ask my father. He's attempted to court her good favor for years, but she's a tough witch to bribe or threaten."
"Why bother?" Hermione asked.
"Her influence is unmatched, and her donations sway world leaders." Draco looked hesitant. "My father has read her wrong the whole time, which is rare for him."
"I doubt anyone could read her. She'd be great at poker."
"If you know a person's history, it becomes much easier to decode them." He gave a glance back at the formidable woman. "Scandals are frequent in our society, but they are hushed over. I recently discovered Mrs. Petrov's." He dropped his voice to a whisper, so Hermione leaned in. "When she was a teenager, Feodora fell in love with a muggleborn. It turned to tragedy when her intended killed him in a duel. Feodora did her duty and entered an arranged marriage with her lover's killer. Three years into the marriage, and her husband mysteriously passed away, leaving her an obscenely wealthy widow."
Draco raised an eyebrow, telling her what he thought really happened.
"My father's bigotry blinds him to the fact not everyone views the world like he does. He assumes everyone in a position of power, with a famous family lineage, hates the idea of muggleborns infiltrating society."
"Your father loved a muggleborn," she reminded.
Draco shook his head.
"My father loves only power. I traced Feodora's money for several years, following her investments." He stopped and turned to her. "I've discovered she's been fighting her whole life for the man she loved. I believe she'll see you as a solid investment."
Hermione nodded, knowing he just handed her a powerful key to use when she needed it.
"Who do we talk to next?"
Draco grimaced.
"The next person I need to do alone. I need a little confession, and I'd rather the anger be on me instead of you."
He winked at her and walked away. Feeling a little out of element, Hermione hid next to the punch bowl, drinking small sips of the pink liquid. It burned a little down her throat, exposing the alcohol spiking the drink. It soothed Hermione's nerves.
A body appeared at her side, and Hermione turned to find Viktor Krum grinning at her. He'd grown taller and bulkier than the last time she'd seen him, but still as handsome as ever, maybe more so. She'd followed his quidditch career. He'd recently retired, but not before winning the world cup again.
"Viktor," she said in surprise. She gave him a tight hug.
"Hermy-own," he said, struggling with her name like he always did. "It is good to see you." Viktor looked oddly nervous, glancing around the dance floor, landing on Draco. "I heard Malfoy fathered your son."
Hermione nodded.
"Are you together?"
Hermione hesitated, not knowing what to call her and Draco.
"Not at the moment," she finally answered.
"Then ve can dance?"
Again, she paused, but she nodded. Draco didn't own her. If she wished to dance with other men, she could, and it had been a long time since she'd seen him.
Viktor let a handsome smile tug up to show all his teeth. He reached out a hand and Hermione grabbed it, letting him lead her to the dance floor.
Draco
Draco waked away from Leo Blithe, withholding a shiver of hatred, as if even the proximity left a trail of slime. He got all he needed from the man to put him in Azkaban, since it was only a suggestion in the files. It helped he slipped Veritaserum in his drink. It took a lot to disgust Draco. Afterall, he grew up with Lucius Malfoy, shared a home with Voldemort. He'd seen a snake eat his professor at his dining table, unable to scream as he watched her swallowed whole, but his father's file twisted his world in a way he didn't expect. He thought it would be normal secrets: illicit relationships, bastard children, squibs. Not rape, murder, torture, and child abuse.
Draco turned back to the ballroom floor and then wished he hadn't. There, in the center, Viktor Krum twirled Hermione in a practiced circle, pressing much closer than he should, reminding him of the Yule Ball. The jealousy came instant: a dark fury that crashed through him with a roar.
He rarely felt threatened from other men, but Krum was an impressive person, and Hermione and him shared a history—a history he always suspected was sexual. Did they ever do anything? The thought made him ill, the old feeling of heartbreak surfacing.
Draco stood there, unsure what to do. He clenched his hands and then made his way over to the punch bowl. He grabbed a glass and downed it, grabbed another and downed it too. The alcohol left a pleasant burn that centered him.
He tamed the beast inside him, the one that wanted to grab Hermione, put her over his shoulder, march her up to his room, and then fuck her until she agreed to stay.
Instead, he took gulping breaths. It would do him no favors to rip her from Krum's arms. He kept his eyes averted until the dance ended. Hermione smiled at Krum, but in a polite way that made relief rush though his veins. The look of disappointment on Krum's face was delicious to behold. Hermione must have turned him down in some way, because he eventually gave a polite bow and walked away. Draco took a stilted breath, about to walk over and ask her to dance. But before he could, another fucking wizard swooped in and asked her—Pietro Gallows, a rather famous Italian wizard.
To her credit, Hermione looked hesitant, but again she accepted, and when the music started up, she once again began twirling around in the arms of another man.
A sudden fear invaded him, one he never let himself consider before—what if he lost her?
He spent five years without her by his side. He tried to date other women, but it never progressed beyond the dinner. She ruined him for all others. If she decided at the end to leave him, to take off the link...
He shook his head to dislodge the negative thoughts before it allowed desperation to darken his mind.
"Your plan to woo her seems to be working well," a low voice said beside him. His whole body tensed up.
"Fuck off," he told his father.
"If you let me do what needs to be done—"
"If she doesn't choose me, then it's not real. What I want from her is something I don't even think you understand."
Draco finally looked at his father. He'd aged, wrinkles lining the sides of his eyes, his hair more white than blond. As a child, he'd always seemed superhuman, a man of legend, fearing nothing, controlling everything. To see him so human almost made him look fragile.
A part of him would always love his father in the way a boy did, hopeful for the scraps of affection, always hungry for more.
His father glanced back at him. There might have been a sliver of affection behind his eyes.
"Hermione managed a surprising victory against me once, broke free a second time, but she's going to soon experience a brutal loss."
"Stay away from her," Draco warned.
"It's Hermione who needs to stay away from me."
"If your foolish enough to still stand in her way, then your doom is sealed."
Lucius tensed beside him. His father always disparaged prophecy. He claimed it only became fate when you believed it. It was one of the bigger reasons he'd lost respect for Voldemort, throwing so much power away over a vision. But Luna's foretelling disturbed him.
A chill ran up Draco's spine. Something was off. His father showed more fear than normal, and Draco suspected he knew something he shouldn't. It must be dire to scare his father.
"What's going to happen? Is it something you're planning, because—"
"This is bigger than the mudbloods. There's… plans for her. I don't know them all. It's whispers, but you can't be involved when the time comes."
"If you think I'd—"
"Arrangements have already been made. "
The chill increased in his blood, until he felt sluggish, frozen. In all his life, he'd never heard his father so serious, except in the final days with Voldemort living with them.
"What the fuck kind of arrangements have you made regarding Hermione? I'm not promising you anything." He clenched his wand in his pocket.
"I made the decision for our house, for our family name."
"Are you telling me Hermione is in imminent danger?"
His father clenched his jaw, looking frustrated, as if he was asking all the wrong questions.
"I'm not allowed to speak anymore on it. They'd know. But… trust no one."
On that ominous note, Lucius walked away before anything more could be said. Draco didn't know what to do, wishing to run after him and demand all the information. His father was warning him of something coming, something more dangerous than him. The urge to curse him was strong, but he needed to deny it until he had all the facts of the situation laid bare. He suspected the warnings involved Rosewood and the cult.
The was one indisputable fact: he wouldn't sit on the sidelines like his father wanted.
Hermione
The man's hands were sticky with sweat. He was a handsome gentleman from Spain with dark hair and deep olive skin, but he stepped on her foot a few times already, and he breathed too heavy. It was a relief to end the dance, tired of the routine. The only reason she allowed so many dances was she didn't know who she could offend.
"Would you like to accompany me to the gardens?"
Hermione withheld a groan of annoyance. The wizards were relentless in their pursuit. Each one offered gifts or requested to go somewhere more intimate. Her brother kept close by during the dances, giving her looks, saying he'd intervene if necessary.
"I'm sorry, but I already—"
The man reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"It would only take a moment of your time."
She tried to tug out of his grasp, but it tightened enough she raised her hand in warning, though the man didn't seem to see the threat right in front of his face.
"Hermione already declined, Romero. If you value your hand, you will take it off my witch."
Hermione twisted to find Draco standing there with one hand placed behind his back in a formal pose.
The man let go, but he stepped forward with a sneer.
"Are you threatening me, Malfoy? Last I heard she wasn't your witch. Not for a long time."
Draco gave a sharp laugh, looking down on the man.
"Why would I need to threaten you? Hermione is more than capable of that herself. You don't look half as scared as you should be. I've seen her boil a man alive, so I'd advise obeying her every command."
Romero looked at Hermione again as if reassessing the situation. He seemed to decide Draco told the truth. He gave a small bow and a frown.
"If you'd like better company than an-ex Death Eater, you know where you can find me."
The man stalked away, trying to regain his dignity from the rejection of his suit.
"Romero's of no significance, though he's always thought himself important." Draco extended his hand to take. "On the contrary, a dance with me wouldn't disappoint."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, but she took his hand just as the next song started—a slow waltz. She didn't know all the steps, but it didn't matter. Draco was a beautiful dancer, pushing and pulling her to where she needed to be. When she stepped wrong, he compensated. His strong hands curled around her hip in a confident way that caused a flutter low in her belly.
"Would you obey my every command, like you told Romero?" She teased
Draco searched her face in that piercing way of his, peeling layers off her.
"I'd do anything you asked of me."
"How about if I asked you to kill that man over there?"
Hermione pointed her chin to an old man, getting another cup of punch, obviously drunk.
"Childress?" Draco asked with a little smirk. "Killing him would be a delight."
"What if I told you to strip out of your clothes right here?"
"If voyeurism is one of your kinks, just give me the word and we'll shag under the chandelier. Among other things, it would send a clear message to the other men that you're mine."
Hermione's heart sped up.
"You sound jealous."
"Of course, I am." His eyes darkened. "Let's just say if you dance with one more worthless wizard, I won't be able to control myself. I'll bend you over my knee and spank your pretty little arse like I've wanted to for weeks."
Draco tugged her close, so their bodies pressed together. They no longer followed the formal steps. In fact, they weren't dancing at all, just held in a tight hold, link thrumming with the shared lust. Her body ached with the thought of his strong, calloused fingers tailing up her thighs. She wanted nothing more than the feel of them inside her, pressing on all the spots that could make her whole body weak.
That was what Draco was to her—a weakness. Her hard shell always cracked around him, her fortress left defenseless. He didn't even need to lay siege, just sauntered in with his weapons ready to conquer her.
Wasn't this the reason she brought Charlie? He vanished long ago, along with Blaise. It didn't take much to deduce her traitor friend went to have his own fling somewhere on the property. She'd normally be happy for him, but right now she feared the man in front of her. Because the longer she was around him, the more she knew for certain he held her damaged little heart in his hands, and she wasn't certain yet if he'd crush it or not.
Draco released her and stepped away. He reached out and ran his hand down her cheek in an affectionate gesture.
"You need to leave. Because if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to start stripping that dress from your body before we even make it to my room. I only have so much willpower."
She almost groaned with disappointment. A dark part of her wished he'd take advantage of her brief weakness. An even darker part wanted to test his theory. If she danced with another wizard, would he spank her like he promised? Her body felt feverish with arousal. She almost wanted the pain he offered, knowing he'd soothe her with pleasure after.
Draco went to his pocket and extracted a shrunken stack of papers. He reached forward and placed them in the palm of her hand.
"What are these?"
"My father's downfall."
