Author's Note: All disclaimers apply. I do not own the characters contained in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling, her publishers, and Warner Bros. Inc. Also thanks for all of the reviews. They are very inspirational and appreciated! Edited to add credit to Kathleen E. Woodiwiss and her plot from Shanna. This entire disclaimer applies to her work as well.

Chapter 7

Secret Intentions

Hermione woke earlier the next morning and did not eat much breakfast. There was only one day left until she opened, and there was still so much to do. Of course, if Malfoy left her alone again everything would get done, she was sure of it.

As the day before he was quiet and did not acknowledge her, which was a mixed blessing. He was angry, that was apparent, but he had no reason to be. She was seeing to it that Neville extricated him from their farce of a marriage, and he would be free in time to seek a suitable life for himself as he saw fit.

Diligently, he worked offering her no indication that he even knew she was about. Just as attentively she straightened shelves, washed front windows, and labeled items well through the morning. When it was getting close to noon she took a break, leafing through the case concerning the little elf from Fred and George's shop earlier in the week. Finding one of the papers missing she frowned and realized it must be upstairs on her desk as she was skimming through the same folders the night before. Stepping from behind the counter she ran up to grab the paper in question.

When she came downstairs she stopped at the base of the staircase, a thought suddenly occurring to her. She hadn't checked to see how he had managed with the cellar or if he'd satisfactorily seen the job through. Listening, she could still hear him off in the back of the storeroom, so he was in no position to discover her if she inspected his progress below. Curious, and assuming that in the daylight it was surely safe without thinking he could corner her again, she crept down bringing to life several candles on her way.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs she saw it was as filthy as it was the day before, save for the cot in the corner where he had at least had the good grace to neatly fold the sheets down and fluff the pillow. Rolling her eyes with extreme annoyance she glanced to the side to see the same pile of empty boxes that had not been disposed of, and the same grimy streaks on the small rectangular windows at the top of the ceiling. This arrangement was not boding well in the least.

She spun about to leave and rant at him for his disregard of her orders, nearly tripping over the very person she was determined to lecture soundly. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't prowl around like that. It's considered rude to walk up on people without their knowing."

"Yes, that's much better," he ignored her completely, taking in her nice long robes that covered what he was sure to be casual and modest attire.

"You didn't clean a thing down here, but that's your choice if you want to live like a pig. Percy will be inspecting your work performance, and I suggest you try and make an effort today to finish the storeroom and organize it." Thoroughly frustrated and growing uneasy seeing that he was blocking her exit she pretended not to be affected in the least. Determinedly, she proceeded to make her way up the stairs again.

He leaned his arm out placing a palm on the other side of the wall, successfully preventing her from passing. "You won't open the door to Weasley or anyone else wearing what you were yesterday morning. Is that clear?"

Her first instinct was to be angry that he still was not listening. Then she realized what he had said, no ordered rather. "Excuse me, but I don't think you have any right to tell me what I will and won't do. Now, you are in my way, please move."

"According to a certain certificate I'm in possession of I have every right, like any husband would, to want his wife to be modest in the presence of other men." On this subject she was going to relent. Percy had been far too appraising and though it appeared Hermione had not noticed, Malfoy was not pleased. Also, there was Neville's assertion that Percy was thinking of Hermione in terms that were more than friendly.

"Well, as I'm a widow and don't have a husband then I suppose what I choose to do is my own business," she snapped backed trying again to push her way past him. "And I disagree, I'm always very modest, as though it should matter to you one way or the other."

"You persist in this delusion that you were ever a widow," he said shaking his head staring down at her wearing a maddening smirk.

"My husband is dead, the agreement that helped me obtain my inheritance was fulfilled adequately, and there's nothing further to discuss. Let me by." She stepped up again attempting to shove him from her path.

Any appearance of humor disappeared as he stepped down and began advancing on her. "This isn't amusing any more. You're a married woman, and whether you want to admit it to the world yet or not you won't keep up this pretense with me."

She kept backing away not surprised, but uneasy nonetheless when her back hit the wall behind her. Bracing both hands on either side of her shoulders Malfoy leaned in until his lips were almost pressed to her ear. "Don't think that at any time I won't hesitate to hand over the certificate to Weasley and make it perfectly clear that your husband is very much alive. What's to say I shouldn't go to the Ministry this minute and do just that? After all my freedom is at stake."

"Go ahead," she dared, standing extremely still to avoid inciting him in any way. She didn't know what he was about suddenly acting as though it bothered him in the least that Percy should see her in a nightgown, or that she wished to keep their marriage a secret. Why did he seem so eager to make the knowledge public?

"Don't tempt me," he warned through clenched teeth. "Still, I can't imagine that you're really ready to accept the consequences of your actions. You're trying to be brave and that's impressive, but you know in the end you aren't going to win this battle.

"Why won't you just agree to be reasonable, and we can obtain a secret divorce? In a couple of years when I've managed to save enough money you're welcome to it, it's yours, and you can buy your freedom then." This was getting more impossible by the second. She knew he'd love to see Neville punished, and herself as well, but she sensed something else behind his attitude toward their bargain.

"We're not going to talk about divorce anymore. Some choices you have to live with for the rest of your life," he murmured before crudely flicking his tongue over the outline of her ear. "Fate cheated you not me, and I'm grateful for it."

"You're doing this as some sort of twisted revenge for something that I haven't figured out yet, and I won't let you," she hissed twisting from his reach as much as she was able. Unsuccessfully she put her fists up to his chest to keep him from edging closer. He only moved to catch her wrists with one hand and pin her arms behind her.

"I'm not going to play any games. Now this would obviously not have been the first choice for either of us, but what's done is done." Slowly he moved until his lips just hovered above her own. "You're not getting rid of me. I thought I made that obvious the other night."

Hermione's gasp was silenced when he brought his mouth firmly down on hers. This wasn't possible. He was surely just testing her to see how far she would let him humiliate her. She struggled to free her hands but only succeeded in having him tighten his grip and press himself closer into her body.

He was almost impatient she thought as she felt fingers twining in her hair, pulling her head back and tilting her face upward. This obviously gave him better access, and she did not have a moment to object before he deepened the kiss thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. He was tasting, and devouring, as he had done that night in the carriage. Again, the violent assault on her inexperienced body caught her off guard, as she was amazed someone so cool and reserved was capable of such a display.

Without warning, and against her own better judgment, she became aware of she was responding on some distant level. Locked somewhere inside of her, or any woman, there was a hidden desire to be kissed so passionately as to almost be consumed. Tentatively she relaxed, until she was leaning into him as well, finding her balance affected as her mind could only focus on the unexpected warmth and yearning spreading steadily throughout her body.

He felt her yielding but did not slacken his hold just yet, discovering that dominating her in this manner was stimulating. Pressing more firmly against her he found the robes he had wished for her to be wearing just moments ago to be a hindrance. Deciding she wasn't likely to resist he reluctantly released her wrists to reach up and unclasp the heavy garment sending it cascading to the floor. She gasped into his mouth and stiffened slightly, but he was not discouraged. Deliberately he stroked her tongue with his own, urging her to react in kind.

Hesitantly at first she brought her arms from behind her with her thoughts wavering between using her freedom to push him away or pull him closer. She was beginning to doubt he was only seeking to frighten her or shame her, which alarmed her all the more. If that was not his plan then she did not understand his goal.

Still, the contrast of his hard body against hers, and his lips slanting roughly and repeatedly over her own, kept her from more rational thoughts. Astonishing even herself she slowly began to wrap her arms about him, unaware for a time that she was now returning the kiss with as much eagerness as she possessed. Giving in to her more frivolous emotions was wrong, and she realized her error when her surrender became evident to him as well.

Warm fingers were stealing beneath her cotton shirt causing her skin to tingle wherever they traced patterns over her stomach. Inching up further those same fingers began brushing the underside of one breast through the thin fabric of her bra. She sucked in a shallow breath when he abruptly tore his lips from hers to nip the tender skin on the side of her neck. Then, he soothed the bite with a gentle swirl of his tongue.

A loud rapping on the door above caught her attention. The sound came again, more insistently the next time, and in a daze she tried to disengage herself from him, reality returning to her some degree. "There's someone at the door," she whispered raggedly, attempting to pull away.

An arm encircled her waist and held her tightly in place. "Make them wait," Malfoy growled against her throat, determined not to allow another intrusion as had occurred that night in the carriage when Longbottom spoiled the evening. He'd waited for a year or more, and whoever was so impatient upstairs could go to hell and back as long as they left them in peace.

"Mione'? You here? The door's unlocked, that's not exactly safe without the shop officially opened yet," Ron's voice drifted down the stairs causing Hermione to become conscious of her actions.

Growing panicked she struggled, now with greater strength. "It's Ron, let me go," she whispered frantically, fighting a losing battle as he refused to release her.

Gods damn that prick Weasel. He'd hex his balls off for this the next chance he got. Slowly, and still not loosening his grip he stepped back staring down at her purposefully. "We'll finish this later," he promised raking her with a blatantly heated gaze.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, and denying his statement, she jerked back with as much force as possible, finally freeing herself. Not giving him any time to consider overtaking her again she rushed past him, taking the stairs as quickly as possible.

Pausing at the top she realized she had left her robes behind, but did not consider it wise to go and retrieve them. Straightening her clothing again she pulled the cotton t-shirt down smoothing it out and glanced down, now sorry that she had chosen to wear cropped shorts. At the time she had thought to keep herself from getting too hot in her long robes, now it exposed her more than she wished.

As she pushed the curtain aside that hid the back of the shop, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and checked to make sure her hair was not in too much disarray. "Ron, you shouldn't just walk in you know. It's bloody rude really," she chided, trying to appear as her usually poised self.

"Sorry, but with Malfoy creeping around I was worried when you didn't answer the door right away," he defended himself, peering at her strangely. "You look a little flushed are you all right?"

"Just fine, it's hot in here though don't you think?" she commented casually, busying herself with searching through her research papers.

Coming around behind the counter she grabbed a file that contained her current research on spells for younger students. "What brings you by this afternoon?" she asked as though nothing at all was out of sorts.

"Checking up on you actually. You plan to send Malfoy back with Percy don't you?" Ron was glancing around as though expecting the subject of the conversation to appear out of thin air.

"No, I'm going to try and make the situation work, and if it becomes too difficult I'll think of something else. Who knows, he might be able to come up with the money to reimburse me for my payment to the Ministry and gain his freedom early," she explained, somehow worried that Malfoy's intentions were anything but seeking his freedom just yet.

"You what!" Ron shouted in outrage and disbelief. "You're going to keep that bloody prick under foot? Hermione you know what he's capable of, and he can't think to help you at all. He'll only cause trouble if you ask me."

"My mind is made up Ron so let's not argue about it. I need the help and…" she paused a brilliant idea coming to her all at once. "Say, do you think Fred and George could use an extra hand at times?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Ron only momentarily relented on the subject of her daft decision to give Malfoy an opportunity to prove himself worthy of a second chance. "Possibly, I could ask them if you want. Why?"

"Percy never said anything about Malfoy only being strictly bound to help me. What if, to give myself some peace, I send him over to their shop sometimes," she smiled, finding a tiny solution to her problem. It did not solve things by any means, but if she could be free of him for any small amount of time it would help her devise a way to reason with him.

"I doubt they'd be overly anxious to deal with him either, but if it would help you out then I don't see why they wouldn't take him off your hands now and then," Ron decided, liking the idea very much as it would keep the devious git away from his friend, if for only an afternoon.

Feeling triumphant that she had managed to free herself in a small capacity she smiled hopefully. Malfoy didn't appear during Ron's entire visit, making her friend suspicious, but she explained he was organizing the storeroom in back. She was considerably suspicious herself as she was certain he was listening to every word she and Ron spoke, but he never revealed himself whatsoever.

Ron stayed going over some of her incantations with her and discussing some of her elf clients until late afternoon. "That one the other day at Fred and George's, his family the Du Mariers, have been asking questions and I think we'd best get him out of the city as soon as possible."

"Where though? I've already used my parents estate near Neath far too many times. Though it's fairly isolated people will start asking questions about little elves hopping around the place eventually," she frowned in earnest. "Do you think your brother in Romania might be able to help? The mountains can be peaceful and sparsely populated."

Ron grew thoughtful chewing on his bottom lip. "Probably, but just this once mind you. Mum, still doesn't think you're taking these threats seriously enough you know. One of these days these notes will stop coming, and they very well could simply try and carry out their warnings."

Hermione looked away then, not wanting to relate the tale of the poison candy just now. Ron wouldn't help her any longer if he knew there had been an actual attempt made just the morning prior. "I'm taking them seriously, but if Prinny can't get a chance to earn his freedom then everything I've worked for is worthless. I'll meet you at Fred and George's at the end of the week. We'll make sure to get the elf safely to Romania, and then we'll take things from there."

"All right, but I'm starting to wonder if you shouldn't just let the Ministry handle something like this."

"Because the Ministry has never handled it before, and I don't think with their new rehabilitation plan they'd be inclined to start taking an interest in it now," she sighed, growing annoyed that Ron was thinking to discourage her.

When Ron realized the time he reluctantly made his excuses to leave. "Percy's got me coming in tomorrow early. Don't know what he thinks really, but maybe this will work out. I'd still feel better helping you here at the shop with Malfoy around."

"There's nothing to worry about. He's behaving himself," she lied easily, hoping Ron, who knew her so well, could not discern how troubled she truly was.

"If you say so, but when Harry gets back from Paris with Ginny I'm going to make sure one or both of them checks in on you like I said before."

On his way out the door Ron turned to her one last time. "I probably won't see you until the end of the week. Don't hesitate to owl Percy or me if Malfoy tries to intimidate you or refuses to uphold his part of the agreement."

Nodding through a forced smile Hermione promised, her heart pounding furiously as the door closed and Ron disappeared from sight. She was alone with Malfoy again, and her fears were compounded when she turned after locking the door to find him leaning against the wall. Even across the room she could see he was visibly annoyed, and that was what confused her the most. She thought he would be relieved when he had time to himself.

Straightening her shoulders she frowned, and a mask of authority fell over her face. "Did you finish the storeroom or clean the cellar for that matter? I can't help you if Percy discovers on his own how useless you are."

"Sending me to the Weasleys' shop won't change anything," he said evenly, but his low tone was more unsettling than if he had simply shouted at her in his obvious anger.

"My shop is much smaller and won't have as much business. It'd be selfish not to share some help with my friends," she replied stiffly, and intending to march past him without a second glance.

"Did you forget something?" he asked pointedly, pulling her crumpled robes from his side, dangling them before her.

Spitefully she grabbed for the garment, but he held it back. Deliberately he draped the robes about her shoulders from behind her, clasping them together. Slowly, and far from innocently, he smoothed the front of the material out gliding leisurely over her breasts before settling his hands on her waist. "No, I don't plan on cleaning that drafty cellar of yours."

"As I said, live like an animal and see if I care," she spat back.

"I don't plan on spending much time down there at all, so whether or not it's livable doesn't concern me really." He felt her muscles going rigid and decided she was nervous. Whatever progress had been made before Weasley's arrival was for nothing.

"That's your choice if you decide to escape and ruin whatever chance you have at redeeming yourself," she replied with some strain as he began to idly run a finger over the nape of her neck. She hated herself for feeling so weak at such a meaningless gesture.

"Oh, I'm not talking about escaping, but it would get lonely down there, and I've been alone for too long don't you agree?" He waited for her reaction to the meaningful comment, actually smiling when she shivered slightly.

It amazed him how easily she could react to mere words or the simplest touch. As if to gauge her vulnerability yet more he slid her hair aside and drop a soft kiss just below her hairline. She inhaled sharply and trembled again, making him marvel at such an innocent reaction.

Most women would have leaned into him moaning and making themselves wanton and eager. Hermione tried to fight every feeling he exacted from her and still failed, making him aware of how much control he could exert over her in this manner. The thought of having that power intrigued him and thrilled him as much as the knowledge that she had been a virgin that night in the carriage.

His veiled statement finally penetrated her mind, and she sighed with fury, jerking away from his loose grip. Not uttering another word or daring to glance behind her she climbed the stairs up to her apartment, feeling his eyes following her until she was out of sight. Recalling how easily she had lost her self-control, and finding no reason for it that convinced her she could stop him from overwhelming her again, she decided that she would be locking the cellar door at night from the outside.

After her door slammed upstairs he furiously stalked down into the cellar hating himself for weakening. His wife, the woman who in the eyes of the law belonged to him, was barely a few rooms away, no longer out of his reach, and he had let her walk away again. After months of waiting and preparing when the moment had come to confront her he faltered at every opportunity.

Standing in the center of the musty cellar only made Malfoy more enraged. This is what he had been reduced to, considering a drafty basement home. True, it was an improvement to a prison cell, but it was the lower level of a second hand shop owned by a smug little witch without any status in society. Well, no status that she would admit to freely, and she had not been so very smug lately it seemed.

That was why he hadn't been able to completely humble her as he had wished. She had always fought back, but when he approached her in any way she was visibly afraid, shaking so violently he was surprised she had managed to stand without her knees giving way. Ultimately she would come to accept that he was well within his rights to dominate her, but it wouldn't be as satisfying if she was constantly terrified of him.

He no longer questioned his decision as he had done in the beginning. What little he knew of the outside world was changing now, and if he expected to survive he would have to change as well. Still, things had not been altered so much that the most honor bound traditions did not stand and hold true. In that respect it was the basis for his choice.

After his reprieve the initial relief disappeared when he remembered that he had foolishly made the agreement with Granger. For a time he wondered if death would have been a blessing rather than to be forced to admit that he had married beneath him. Then, it did not seem to matter as much, any more than it had that night in the carriage. Thinking on it further purebloods, half-bloods, mudbloods, what did it mean in the end anyhow? His pureblood hadn't saved him from garnering an order of execution. For all of his father's numerous lectures and long speeches about the advantages of being a pureblooded family where had his father been when he had needed him the most? Dead, and at the hands of an Auror from the Ministry, while trying to prove his worth to Voldemort once again.

Yes, the Wizarding world was changing and the idea of separating wizards and witches by their heritage was becoming archaic. Besides, his father's ideals had died with him. There was no reason to outwardly carry on with such prejudices when the majority of the world did not share the same views. Though he would never be able to look on every mudblood as an equal, Granger's intelligence and cleverness made her unique, and her somewhat tainted heritage could be overlooked he supposed.

There was however strict family customs that he refused to ignore, and neither would his wife. Malfoys did not divorce, nor did they publicly separate or appear anything other than respectable loving couples. If they lived in constant misery behind closed doors then so be it, but to society they exuded the utmost decorum and refinement.

Draco, nevertheless, did not wish to repeat the mistakes of his parents and did not mean to be remotely miserable. Neither did he intend to allow Hermione to think she would ever control him. As far as he was concerned they were intellectual, attractive, and equally matched, save for their positions in society, and he had no intention of allowing her to forsake her vows. It was not the first match he would have chosen for himself, far from it, but she had come to him, she had offered herself, and she was his. Having lost everything in the war to the Ministry he did not plan to let anything he possessed slip away again.

There was still the matter of her obvious denial, and her determination to keep their marriage a secret, but in time she would decide there was no point. Then there was also Percy to deal with, as he would probably feel obligated to try and accuse her of treason or aiding and abetting a criminal. That could be handled as well.

He would persuade her to admit freely that he was her husband, and she would most definitely be the richer for realizing her good luck. Though the family fortune was liquidated his inheritance that had been withheld until after he had served his sentence would be more than enough. Moreover, the Malfoy name was still quite impressive, and even Hermione would be forced to admit it could allow her access to parts of society denied her. She was virtuously ambitious, and connected to a well-known family would aid whatever cause she chose to fight for at the time. It would be mutually beneficial for them both.

It could have been beneficial this very second, if he didn't retreat each time she was on the verge of surrender. That night in the carriage even when she had been afraid of him, for a time if just briefly, she hadn't hated him, hadn't drawn back in fear or revulsion. She enjoyed being touched. There was no mistaking her reactions, and if he had held firm, right now he could be upstairs showing her just how much she liked being touched, everywhere.

He consoled himself that the reason it was her body that he brought to mind at night, when the darkness and loneliness were overwhelming, was for the sheer reason she was the last woman he had known intimately in any way. Usually that reason satisfied him until the frustration of knowing how truly far from reach his dreams were brought him to the conclusion that he was merely making excuses. So, now he settled on a new explanation. Having a naturally possessive nature, knowing that the woman he was lusting after was his wife, and accustomed to getting his own way whenever he wished, it was the waiting that had made her so appealing. What one couldn't have at the time made them want it more, or so the saying went.

Glaring up at the cobwebs he'd stubbornly refused to clean earlier he hoped she could sense his frustration, and appreciate his restraint. Trying to get on amicably with his wife was a new concept, and one that would take time, but he was usually a patient person and patience was well rewarded. His patience, however, was wearing thin and he decided he wasn't going to be sleeping in a basement for much longer. By the end of the month he'd have her wanting him as much as he did her, if not more. Women naturally wanted him, so he felt secure that his plan would work flawlessly.

Feeling in brighter spirits he dusted off the old and possibly rusty cot, testing it with some of his weight before lying down altogether. It was more comfortable than the floor of a cold, wet cell, but upstairs warm in bed with his wife lying naked next to him would have been more satisfying. He was sorry for bringing another image of her to mind, again knowing she was untouchable if for but a little longer. Gods, but he was being too lenient. The moment he had seen her begin to undress the first night upstairs he should have simply approached her, and he most definitely would not be spending the night alone in the cellar.

Decidedly uncomfortable in many ways beyond that of simply not wanting to sleep in a corner of a cellar, Malfoy stretched out on his back and decided to occupy himself with recalling the precise moment she had slipped free of her undergarments. It still surprised him how much difference a few simple years could make, and in Granger's case, as far as he was concerned, it was a welcome improvement.

Closing his eyes he drifted to sleep for the first time not worried if he would wake the next morning, eat, or survive among the Dementors that hovered ominously over him. He was confident where his life was headed now and didn't concern himself with anything else beyond subduing his wife, and reacquiring his family's rightful place in society. Strangely, even the mustiness of the cellar didn't bother him as he could only remember the smell of gardenias and lemons.