Chapter Four -- A Better Fuck

When they arrived home, Draco stormed into the house, locking himself promptly into his study. She could hear him uncorking more wine. He hadn't bothered with a glass this time. She smiled faintly. How'd it come to be that she'd know Malfoy so well, of all people? He'd treated her well, she knew that. She wasn't denying it. There were many other men who could've had her who wouldn't have been so kind.

She took her time undressing and changing. For some reason, tonight, she felt like she owed Malfoy something. Blaise had told her exactly what it was he wanted. He had confirmed it. She slipped into one of the slinkier gowns, one that she couldn't imagine wearing out of the house. She left the collar on. It contrasted well with the deep red of the dress. She let her hair down. She knew he liked it better down. He always frowned oh so slightly when he saw her putting it up in the morning after a shower. Hermione traced the bracelet that lay on the dresser. Quietly, she put it on, looking in the mirror once more. "Harry, forgive me."

After all the months she was stuck with him, she couldn't help it. The feelings of subtle want and need had grown beneath hatred, where she hadn't been aware of them. She was going to do something she wanted, had wanted, but hadn't cared to acknowledge it. Blaise had tore down that wall and now she was facing it head on. So be it.

Silent and regal, she went to the study. She cleared her throat. "Malfoy?" She couldn't help the name thing. He was Malfoy to her. It barely registered to her that he even had a different name, one which most other people addressed him by.

"Go away, Granger." She could hear him pacing. He was always pacing.

"Malfoy, let me in there this instant!" Hermione hadn't raised her voice to anyone recently, unless she was screaming. It felt strange and foreign to her. When he opened the door, it surprised her. He looked haggard. His tuxedo had been taken off in haste, his pale hair splayed loosely around his face, instead of being so artfully kept back. His stormy eyes looked like a real storm -- the wine increasing the emotions that swelled around in them.

"What do you want?" Draco had noticed the clothing change the minute he'd opened the door -- who couldn't? The red colour just screamed 'notice me!'

Slowly, Hermione laid her palm flat against his chest, looking up at him. "You… Malfoy."

He squinted at her for a moment, laying his hand over hers, staring at her with some untold emotion. "I told you sex wasn't required."

Hermione laughed at that, pulling his head down and kissing him, feeling a shiver course up her spine as he wrapped his free arm around her waist. "Malfoy, playing hard to get isn't required."

At that, Draco took a moment to pull his hand free, twining it in her hair. "What did Blaise say." It wasn't a question. It was a command.

Hermione swallowed, staring up at him, feeling his hand trailing down her back, over her butt, out to her hip, gripping her tightly. "He said that I was Michez's line, Malfoy." She still had little to no idea of what Michez was. She'd heard the name briefly in history. She was the daughter of someone important, but beyond that, she wasn't sure what that had to do with her.

"Michez…" He said the name slowly, looking at her. "Do you know? What Michez stands for? What she was?" He knew she didn't, but he asked anyhow. Just to have her admit she didn't know. He leaned down, nibbling at her neck and ear lobe softly.

"No." She felt almost as bad as she had when Blaise had been attacking her. But she expected this, she craved it. Blaise had surprised her.

"She was the first woman to make money off being hurt, way back when. To her, bleeding was the sweetest pleasure in the world. Men would pay, to have a night with her, to have their way with her. Michez's line is used in reference to people who like pain just as much as pleasure." He paused, squeezing her side and moving his hand up, biting at her neck harder. "Do you like to hurt?"

Hermione moaned. She'd wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself against him. "Yes," it was such a pathetic whisper. But she didn't care. Draco's hands were searing across her, heat following where ever they traced. She whimpered a bit, pulling herself against him tighter. "Please." She wasn't sure what she was asking for, but Draco seemed to know as he pried her arms from him, pulling her towards the bedroom.

He didn't know what to think of this. When he'd seen Blaise doing what he was… an anger had boiled up in him, a protectiveness for Granger that he'd never felt. It had been like a blade, twisting in his stomach until he couldn't take it any longer. And now here she was, offering herself up. He should've known she was of Michez's line. It would make sense. She'd always been fascinated by blood. The thing was, that in this day and age, Michez's line wasn't really all that big of a deal. Before the war, there'd been a group of men and women who followed Michez's path, but they'd long ago disappeared into hiding. Blaise had always mingled with them, which would explain his knowledge in spotting Granger as one. Still, he didn't like it. Draco didn't like things working into his plans that he didn't expect. This was one of those things.

Draco stopped thinking that night. He was tired of thinking. Instead, he enjoyed what he'd been longing for, what he'd wanted for a while now. What he'd been too pompous to admit he wanted.

It was two am when he noticed the clock, laying half on Granger, who was dozing lightly. Gently he traced a fingernail down one of the scars. It was the deep one on her side, the one that had been so fresh when he'd first gotten her. She stirred, squirming away from his nail, muttering something in her sleep. He'd never been with a woman like her, who wanted so desperately to hurt. He wondered idly if that was the only thing she could enjoy. He hoped not. Causing pain was only occasionally something that he was interested in. Maybe after all the pain she'd suffered from Voldemort… maybe that's the only thing she could feel? Now that was a scary thought. Draco pushed it aside. He absently cleaned from under his nails with his teeth, tasting the faint trace of her blood that remained under them. He hadn't honestly meant to hurt her. He knew she'd liked it, but he felt slightly bad. He'd hurt enough people in his life. He didn't want to hurt someone he didn't have to hurt.

Still, the way she'd moaned had made him shiver. Goosebumps chased up his legs as the sweat dried on him in the cold room. He hadn't built a fire, or turned on the furnace. Deciding against getting up, Draco rolled over, cuddling into Hermione.

Hermione was happier than she'd been in a long time. She felt safe. She knew she'd seen something in those cool eyes when they'd been having sex. There was something about moving with someone so intimately that brought those feelings up into the light for all to see. She'd seen something, and she was happy with that. She knew well enough that there was something in her that felt similar. Though she'd never admit it to the bastard.

"Granger?" Draco's voice was so quiet and gentle.

"Mm?" Her reply was muttered into the pillow slightly. Slowly, languid and relaxed, she rearranged the pillows, adjusting them to prop herself up on her elbow.

"Do you love me?" His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes blank, the corners of his lips turned down slightly.

Hermione laughed, a quiet, tired laugh. Her hand moved out to trace his jaw line faintly, as she shook her head, still smiling a small smile. "No, Malfoy. But you'll do." Love, no. She cared about him, but love was something she didn't even know if she was capable of. She hadn't thought care was even possible after all the betrayals and hurt he caused. But she knew he regretted it. She was convinced of his humanity.

Draco's hand moved up to catch hers as he stared so intently into her lazy, half-asleep face. He kissed her palm gently, nodding. He hadn't expected it, but a fellow can hope. He didn't know where he stood with Granger. She was so… complex. First, she was an unwilling captive. Then a semi-willing cook and housekeeper. Next, the household whore? No. He didn't know. She was everything, she was nothing.

Everything in him said that he was stupid. Plans he made when drinking wine, locked in his study… those type of plans got people killed. He could get her killed, and then where would he be? He brushed back hair from her face, cuddling into her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, feeling her warmth.

The blankets were pulled up, the dim lamps turned off, bodies snuggled together. It wasn't perfect.

But it was damn good.

A/N: So here's chapter four. Chapters five, six, and seven are written and ready. I wrote about 3,000 words last night, you should all be proud. Five will be loaded tomorrow afternoon if I find the time, which I hopefully should. Sorry for being so shy about my writing, and the reviews are really lovely all. 3