Disclaimer: This is a transformative work using intellectual property and characters belonging but not limited to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera. No money is being made from this work.

CHAPTER 1

Astoria opened her book and settled more comfortably in her chair. It was rare that she had the house to herself and she intended making the most of it. Her mother was out for tea with Narcissa, Daphne was away on her holiday, and she had the unusual luxury of having nothing to do. She wore one of her old dress robes and had tied back her wavy blonde hair in a ponytail, making her look about sixteen instead of almost twenty-one. But before she had even read the first page the doorbell rang. Astoria groaned. She might have known it was too good to be true!

It rang a second impatient time as she moved into the hall. Daphne had taken their only house-elf with her France, leaving them without help. Through the patterned glass, she saw the blurred outline of a man, tall and broad, his hand poised to press the button yet again. She swung the door wide wand in hand, intending to ask what the urgency was. But a glimpse of a strong, grim face was all she was allowed before she found herself pushed roughly back into the house. The door closed firmly and she was alone with none other than Draco Malfoy himself.

Astoria knew of his power and his potential for cruelty. Raw terror ran through her as a pair of menacing dark eyes fixed firmly upon her, pinning her to the wall as effectively as if he had used a sticking charm. Powerless to move, she held his gaze, her fingers seeking the coolness of the wall behind her. There was a determined toughness about him, gained from the years of terror under Voldemort. She had never been so frightened in her life. He was extraordinarily good-looking, with a physique that would be the envy of many a wizard. No way would she be a match for him if he chose to assault her. Being born frail of body and magical power it's best to humour him. Try and find out exactly what it was that he wanted.

"Are Narcissa and my mother ok?" It was difficult to speak with her throat so dry. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes, my money!" he grated. "Ten thousand, three hundred and twenty-one galleons, to be exact!" His short silky white-blond hair seemed to bristle with anger, his mouth was tight, eyes accusing. He didn't sound like an insane wizard. He was still Draco Malfoy pureblood English aristocracy. His robes shrieked Parisian made, silk undershirt, Italian leather shoes—nothing about him was cheap. Why then was he demanding money? And why such a precise amount? Had the Malfoy's gone bankrupt? Impossible! Something was very wrong with him.

He took a step forward Astoria flattened herself against the wall, her green eyes enormous. "You know we haven't that sort of money."

"Oh, no? Then where is it, frittered away on a good time?" His hands were on her shoulders, long, lean, powerful hands. Hard thumbs found her throat, pressing her windpipe, causing her to cough and choke and struggle to get free. "I want those galleons and I want them now—and consider yourself lucky that it's me who's here and not the Aurors!"

Aurors? What was he talking about? He has gone insane? His compelling grey eyes were a mere couple of inches from her own. Flecked with a darker colour, the whites a startling white, thick lashes framing them. They were eyes Astoria would remember for the rest of her life. When all this was over they would haunt her dreams—if she lived. The pressure of his thumbs increased; she felt herself going light-headed. Unable to speak, but it made no difference Draco was unrelenting. He was taking a malicious delight in hurting her, a peculiar gleam lightening his eyes. He was a sadist, she decided, getting his kicks from inflicting muggle violence. His grip loosened; she pushed him from her, twisting sharply and running for the stairs. The bathroom was the only place with a lock—if she could reach it!

In her haste, she tripped, sprawling up the steps. She screamed and threw a curse in Draco's direction only to miss completely; in her panic. Then he was on top of her, one strong hand clamping her mouth, the other holding her hands above her head, the weight of his body pegging her down. He was incredibly fit for a wizard. She could feel his muscular power, his hard bones and taut thighs, and above all, a dangerous sexual magnetism that asserted itself even in this unlikely situation.

Sex was the last thing on his mind, though. With incredible ease he yanked her to her feet, propelling her into the kitchen and pushing her unceremoniously onto a chair. She moistened her lips, her pretty green eyes wide and terrified, her hands clasped beneath her chin, knuckles gleaming. Her whole body trembled and she looked young and defenceless. Draco picked up her wand from the bottom of the stairs, but instead of handing it back to her, he pocketed it for himself.

Draco snarled, "don't give me the wide-eyed innocent look, Miss Greengrass—you know exactly why I'm here. Did you really think you could get away with it?"

"Get away with what?" Her voice was a husky whisper and she was afraid to look up at him.

His menacing power filled the kitchen; the air felt thick, she was aware of her heart thumping irregularly. He did not need a wand; the power and anger of his aura seemed almost physical. She concentrated her attention on the buckle of his belt, noting how it moved as he breathed, and he seemed to be breathing extraordinarily deeply!

She chanced a glance up and drew in her breath at the cold hostility in those eyes. His brows were drawn over them, shadowing his eyes. The nostrils of his autocratic nose; were dilated, and the downward curve of his lips turned his handsome face into a mask of hatred.

His hands, with those long well-shaped fingers, were resting on his narrow hips, his whole stance that of a jailor over his captive.

"I never thought appearances could be so deceptive. No wonder Baddock was taken in by you!"

"Baddock?" The mystery deepened. "You must be mistaken," she whispered. "I don't know—"

"Anyone by that name," he finished for her. "What a ridiculous statement! What I can't understand, though, is why you suddenly decided to leave. You got away with it for this length of time. What made you think you couldn't get away with it any longer?"

He paused, obviously expecting an answer, but what could she say?

He was speaking in riddles. None of it made any sense. He must be insane! Those eyes, those wide grey eyes; now she came to think of it they did look a little wild, half-crazy perhaps.

They were fixed on her intently, piercing her, hypnotising her—and she could not look away. His lips curled back in a sneer. "You knew I was going through the books with a fine tooth comb and you got cold feet. Is that it? Baddock might have accepted it as one of those things, might have turned a blind eye, but not me. When my company has gradually been milked of thousands of galleons I want to get to the bottom of it. And you, Miss Greengrass, can, I believe, can give me the answer!"

Astoria suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Something that had puzzled her greatly over the last few weeks suddenly became startlingly clear. "Mr Malfoy?"

It was a question, but he did not see it as such, merely the prelude to something more, and he waited with an expectant lift of his brows.

"Go on," he said impatiently, his whole body taut as a bowstring.

The facts were too horrible to contemplate. She dropped her head in her hands. "Oh, no! Oh, God, no!" Surely Daphne wouldn't have—stolen?'

"So at last we're getting to the truth!"

There was triumph in his voice, but Astoria did not hear him. She was going over in her mind her conversation with Daphne a couple of months ago.

"A holiday? You must be mad! Where did you get the galleons?" She had faced her sister in disbelief. Life under Voldemort was hellish. Life after the war was difficult in new ways. Most of the wizarding population had become poor. The Malfoys were doing better for themselves than most, with a knack for money making, and now manipulating muggle markets.

Daphne shrugged. "I've been saving."

"And you've been spending. I know you have a good job—but this is ridiculous! No way could you save that amount. How much is it costing?"

Eyes an identical green to her own stared belligerently back. "I don't see that it's any business of yours."

Now she knew why!

"When my sister suddenly announces that she's going on a holiday, I think it's very much my business. What did Mother say?"

"She's pleased," said Daphne defiantly. "She said she wished she'd had the chance when she was my age."

"I wish I had the chance now. I don't know how you've done it, I really don't."

Her sister smiled mysteriously. "Good management."

"I'd say it's magic! You go out every night, you buy new clothes every week. How can you save?"

She ought to have known then that something was very wrong."Rich muggle boy-friends," came the reply as Daphne sauntered away. "You should try it sometime. They're so easy to dupe."

Not rich boyfriends, but an unsuspecting employer. Until Draco Malfoy had taken charge!

Daphne had told her about him. The old Managing Director had died of a sudden heart attack and Draco had replaced him. "He's a bachelor, in his mid-twenties, and like a handsome prince," she had enthused.

"Flashing white teeth, shiny white blond hair, and those eyes—wow, I feel faint just thinking of his eyes!"

She ought to have figured Daphne's scheme sooner. And now he thought she was Daphne! He was slamming into her while her dear sister was living it up on some luxurious resort—spending his galleons!

Astoria's first thought was to save her own face. "You're mistaken." She looked at him through her fingers. "I'm not who you think I am."

"I might have known you'd say that!" The disgust in his voice whipped her and she flinched, her hands sliding down to her lap, eyes wide, enormous pools of green.

"But it's no use you putting on an act for my benefit, it won't work. I've seen you, don't forget, in your fancy clothes, with your expensive perfume and bold eyes. Don't think I haven't recognised the signals you've sent me. It was a mighty dangerous game to play, though, wasn't it? Or would that have been the ultimate? Becoming my girlfriend you would have had no further need to dip your smutty little hands into the company's coffers. Was that it?"

Had Daphne really been like that? Astoria was appalled to think that her own sister had behaved in such a manner. She found it difficult to accept. But they were different. Sisters only a few years apart almost like identical twins. From the top of their wavy pale hair to the tip of their elegant toes, but a physical likeness was all they shared these days.

When they were young they had done everything together. Their mother had dressed them alike, treated them alike, and it had been fun. But once Daphne had gone away to Hogwarts they had developed their own individual personalities.

Daphne was more like her father, enjoying a good time, spending money like water, and saying to hell with tomorrow. He had died after Voldemort's return, we were never truly certain how he met his end, it may have been Voldemort himself.

Astoria took after her mother. She was a born homemaker, content to sit at home and help, doing her share of the housework, making her own clothes, never hankering after anything new or exciting.

They had both trained as secretaries and Daphne had gone to work for the Ministery, for the chief accountant of a company rebuilding Diagon Alley, always bragging about her high salary, scoffing at her sister for being content to accept a lower wage in the local solicitor's office.

"I see you're at a loss for words, Miss Greengrass." The cold eyes flicked her hatefully.

"Please listen," she implored. "You've made a mistake. It wasn't me. I don't work for you. I—"

But he shut her up with a swift, angry silencio. "Be quiet, damn you! You're not going to get out of it like that. You've not exactly got the sort of face that a man easily forgets. Perhaps you can answer this one. Do I call in the law, or are you prepared to pay back what you owe right now?"

What was the use of trying to convince him? He had made up his mind and that was that. "I can't," she managed to whisper. Nor could her sister! It had all been spent, the last of it was going right now on this extravagant holiday.

"And there's no need to tell me why," he snapped. "So what do you propose doing about it?"

With an abruptness that startled her his hands shot out and he hauled her to her feet, gripping the soft flesh of her upper arms, each finger making its own painful imprint.

Astoria could not speak even if she wanted to. It would break her mother's heart if she found out what Daphne had done. She would think that somewhere she had failed. She had failed to bring up her daughter properly. Draco released her from his spell.

"What can I do?" There was pure terror in her eyes as she looked into his face. He was all sharp edges. With those cheekbones and strong jaw, and despite his hostility he was quite easily the most attractive man she had seen in a long time.

She could imagine what he looked like when relaxed when he smiled. It could tear a girl to pieces. But at this moment he was destroying her for an entirely different reason and she could not stop herself shaking.

"What can you do?" he mocked. "Don't you think you should have thought of that a long time ago? Did you really think you'd get away scot free? That when you left the company it would be an end? Did it not occur to your pathetic little mind that once the pilfering stopped—and it coincided with you leaving—we wouldn't come up with the right answer?"

Never had Astoria thought a man's face could look as though it was carved from stone. This man's did. Cold and hard, his cheeks chiselled, jaw square and firm, eyes, those eyes, like marble, searing into her, withering her, a ruthless Dragon protecting his hoard.

She went limp and had he not held her would have slid to the floor. "It won't work," he snarled, holding her against his hard muscular body.

"The days of fainting witches are long since gone! The war is over."

His aftershave, a clean tangy individual smell, seemed to revive her.

She regained her strength and pushed away from his total maleness. It was crazy, but just for a second she had actually enjoyed being next to him!

He allowed a few inches to separate them, but still his bony claws bit into her. "How does a few months in Azkaban sound?"

She gasped. "You wouldn't?"

"Try me," he rasped through gritted teeth. "I don't take kindly to cunning witches like you!"

This Astoria could well believe. He looked as though he could cheerfully have Avada'd her. Oh, Daphne, how could you? Her plea had to remain silent. Somehow she could not see this man believing the truth. He would think it an excuse, a way out. Perhaps there was some spell to verify who she was... Did Daphne use polyjuice to make the ruse more believable?

But, what good would it do if she convinced him? Daphne couldn't possibly repay the money, and it would destroy her mother if Daphne went to Azkaban.

"What alternative is there?" she managed weakly.

The dragon's eyes narrowed until they were scarcely visible through the thick lashes, glittering slits, but still potently dangerous. "I have a plan."

"What plan?" Her head shot back and she eyed him warily. It couldn't be anything pleasant if it was devised by this man. He was mean, with a cruel, merciless streak running through him. It was apparent in the aggressive thrust of his jaw, the taut skin across high cheekbones. A pulse jerked. He was only just in control.

On the other hand, she supposed he was justified. In his position, she would hardly have felt inclined to be lenient. But would she have inflicted the stark terror he made her feel now?

"Your wings need clipping, I think." A derisory smile curved the thin lips. "Your good life has come to an end. No more new clothes, no nights out, no galleons in your purse. How does that sound?"

To Daphne, it would be purgatory. So far as she was concerned it didn't sound too bad—so far! Indeed, a small price to pay for the crime that had been committed. "How do you propose going about that?" The unusual pale catkin green of her eyes was revealed as she stared him full in the face.

He let her go, turning his back, to look through the net-curtained window. His casualness did not deceive her. He was planning his words carefully. They had to hurt, they had to cut her to the ground.

The broad back told her nothing, except that he was vitally male and incredibly strong. His pale hair followed the shape of his head, stopping just short of his shirt collar. His shoulders sloped slightly and he looked tough and aggressive and exceptionally tall.

"You're taking a trip to the coast."

And this was supposed to be penance? "I don't understand."

He swung round. "You're not supposed to. It will be no holiday. We leave tomorrow. See that you're ready."

He strode to the door. Astoria called after him. "But my mother! I can't leave the country without telling her where I'm going!"

He stopped and looked at her, mockery winging his brows. "You are a poor example of a daughter she will do better without you."

"You bastard!" The words were out before she could stop them.

He drew a sharp breath and took a step back into the room. "If you were a wizard I'd curse you!"

"And because I'm a woman?" The knowledge that he was not going to sexually assault her or beat her senseless, the relief of it, made her feel brave. Her chin jutted; she faced him defiantly.

"Because you're a woman, I'll let you get away with it—this time."

Nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. "But try it again; I won't be responsible for my actions. You cannot afford to anger me. In my opinion, you're getting away lightly, and if I were you I'd be very, very careful what you say or do."

"In other words, you're blackmailing me. Toe the line or else?" Astoria was unused to dealing with wizards such as Draco Malfoy. Her solicitor boss was polite and courteous—a gentleman! Draco Malfoy was—a former death eater, and she wondered for how long she could put up with his totalitarian behaviour.

"That's right. See that you remember it." Insolently he looked her up and down. "I sure as hell hope Narcissa will be convinced."

She lifted her finely arched brows, feeling herself grow warm beneath his regard, but said nothing. He would tell her in his own good time exactly what it was that he had in mind.

"Do you know how to handle children?"

A frown marred the smooth perfection of her brow. He asked the most unlikely questions.

"You're going to have to learn, my pretty little thief. In the next few months, you're going to be doing a lot of things that you've never done before."

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked around her, assessing, studying, as one would a horse at a sale. Was she a jewel worthy of being added to the dragon's treasure?

She half expected him to touch her, to feel her arms and legs, make sure they were strong, push back her lips to see her teeth were good and white.

For as long as she could she suffered in silence, but enough was enough. Her eyes flashed angrily. "Have you quite finished—or would you like me to strip, make sure I haven't got a wooden leg or something?"

Amazingly he grinned, and she saw for herself the flashing white teeth Daphne had described. They were even, and perfect, like everything else about this damnable wizard—except his nature! "I've seen your legs, and they're quite—something. No, I was picturing you in a uniform, something prim and neat, something that will hide your—dare I say—enticing figure."

She blinked, and swallowed, and wondered what was coming next.

"Do go on." Her tone was acid.

"And your hair." He took a step closer so that again she was aware of his distinctive scent. "I think it might be better short." With a quick movement, he freed it from its band.

Astoria's hair was her crowning glory. It was thick and luxuriant with a silky texture, and she took great care over it.

He stood before her, running his fingers through its weight, feeling the shape of her head, accidentally brushing her cheeks with his thumbs. If it was accidental! There was an expression on his face she could not fathom. As if he was testing her! Seeing what sort of a reaction he would get.

No doubt he was recalling the invitation her sister, Daphne, had given him. He was wondering whether she still felt the same now that the circumstances had changed. Perhaps he was not unaware of his own sexual advantage?

It was easy to understand why Daphne with her more highly developed sexuality had found him attractive. Astoria was even aware of it herself, but at this moment it was outweighed by her indignation over his behaviour.

Nevertheless, she allowed him to continue his exploration, standing resolutely stiff, determined not by so much as the flicker of an eyelash to let him know that he affected her.

With a sudden angry gesture, he gathered up her hair, pulling it in a tight knot on top of her head, hurting, ruthless, an inexplicable gleam in his eyes which looked almost silver at that moment. "Yes," he grated tersely. "Very short, I think. If I had my way I'd have it shaved, but that wouldn't do—my mother would throw a fit if I turned up with a nanny with a bald head."

"Nanny?" she echoed, knowing she sounded dumb and stupid. But a nanny?

"That's right." He let her go abruptly. "Surprises you, does it? Horrifies you? You can't see yourself tied down by a young child; washing, ironing, cooking. Never a minute to call your own. Just like a house-elf! Oh, yes, it will curb you all right. And I'm going to enjoy watching it!"

He took his wand and pointed it towards her.

"Sit down."

Astoria gazed at him, horrified, clapping her hands to her head, trying desperately to cover her hair. "You're not going to cut it. I won't let you. No! You can't!"

But he ignored her protests, pushing her down, lifting a handful and savagely waving his wand. It made no difference when she struggled, all she succeeded in doing was hurting herself. She felt as though he was pulling the very scalp from her head. He did bother to spell her in place.

In fascinated horror, she saw one length of hair follow another until her vision blurred, and hot tears fell down her cheeks.

When he had finished he smiled grimly. "I think that should do it. I don't think many wizards will find you attractive for quite some time. Maybe you'll even be quite relieved to have a job which keeps you tied very much to the house."

He walked to the door. "Oh, by the way, you can tell your mother it's Alderney you're going to. My daughter is—to put it mildly—very difficult. Much like her mother Pansy. No one can do anything with her."