Hermione could admit to herself that she was being overly paranoid. She'd been dodging the press all week and now she was on an errand that she definitely wanted to keep private. She wasn't about to be caught by the press picking up a muggle pregnancy test. So she was taking the long way around, paying extra care to her surroundings, noting faces. Which was the only reason she spotted someone following her. Her tail was good, very clever, very good at blending in with the crowd. She might have never noticed him if not for her hyper vigilance. She thought of Moody with a grim smile as she laid a trap to catch a predator.

Follow me will you? To what purpose? For his sake she hoped he was nothing but an ambitious photographer. Anything more nefarious and she would show no mercy. She knew all well just how ugly a moment could turn in a heartbeat. If it was just her, maybe she could afford leniency, give this fool the benefit of the doubt. When you added up her sore breasts, her raised temperature, a period that was missing in action...there was someone else to consider. She would raze this entire city street to the ground if need be.

Pureblood prejudice wasn't dead but she'd be damned if she let it anywhere near her child.

Drifting through shops seemingly at random. Wand clutched in her pocket unobtrusively, eyes peeled for co-conspirators. Out a back door, down an alley. A Quick sticking charm, a lightening charm, up, up to the roof, light as air, taking the high ground and hunkering down. Clearing her trail with a silent spell, disguising her presence with a disillusionment charm, aiming her wand to fire first ask questions later. All he had to do was go on by. Just go home when he realized he lost her. She held her breath, holding onto hope that her follower could be so easily deterred. And then the door to the shop opened, a head popping out to look around. 'Don't be him,' she prayed even as she twisted her wand precisely, shifting her stance. He turned his face to look down the alley, giving her a clear identification, and she let loose her first curse.

Draco was finishing up with his work for the week, sorting his inbox, sending out a few final memo's. His mind was elsewhere and he wanted to finish up quickly so he would have time to go through the reports on his personal project before going home. He was missing something. There had to be some clue, some info, that he just wasn't seeing. He needed to start back at the beginning and go over everything with fresh eyes. The paper with Granger's face glared back at him. It was a perfect likeness. The exact girl he had slept with. It had to be polyjuice, Metamorphmagi never got such precise results. The photo Granger tossed her hair and tilted her face at him with a sly little grin, the exact same grin from his recent memory. Whoever had done this had researched her thoroughly in order to copy her mannerisms perfectly.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing the crick in his neck and wishing for the three thousandth time that Granger had accepted his invitation to lunch. She would probably be able to figure this all out by dinner, with liberal time left over for insulting him and world peace. It didn't help that his dreams were downright plagued with her. He woke over and over with the taste of her in his mouth and the ghost of her skin under his hands and a soul deep wanting that he had no way to satiate. Maybe he just wanted to find her imposter so he could pay her to do it again.

Still, for all his wanting, he was shocked speechless when a very live, very real, very angry Hermione Granger stormed his office.

He gaped at her for a heartbeat, taking in her wild appearance, before he had to duck to avoid the entire fucking person she flung at him with her wand. He watched his private investigator hit his desk with a crash, sliding across, and tumbling to the floor with a pained gasp. Fuck. He knew better than to give the poor man any of his attention. He might be worked over, but Granger wasn't a killer, so odds are the bloke would live until he could diffuse the situation. If he could diffuse the situation.

She was practically hurling herself into his space, her wand held offensively, and he couldn't help the thrill of excitement that coursed through him at seeing her again. She was just as lovely in the daylight as she had been in the evening. He held up his hands, signalling his cooperation, giving her his most soothing smile. She was having none of it.

"This person," she snarled, positively livid, "claims to work for Malfoy Enterprises. You are Malfoy Enterprises."

"I can explain," he started in a calm measured voice meant to bring her volume down but she kept right on yelling, clearly having no need for his input.

"Let's be clear Malfoy," She got right up in his face, kissing distance. He could smell her sweet breath, count her soft little freckles, drown in her big beautiful eyes.

"I don't care why you hired him, or what your excuse is, or what kind of game you are playing. It makes no difference. Spending the night together gives you no right," she jammed her wand between them, jerking it threateningly, "no right in any way whatsoever to keep tabs on me in any way shape or form. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," he agreed, with a touch of breathlessness he couldn't control. Would she hex him if he dipped his head just five inches and kissed her panting lips? Did it matter? It would be worth it. No sooner than he tensed to move, than she was suddenly blushing and stepping away.

Blushing, over him.

"Excellent," she said in a lower tone, with a touch of breathiness of her own. She spared a glance for her captive. "I expect you to clean up this mess."

He barely had time to nod before she was exciting his office as quickly as she had entered.

He righted his chair and sank into it, completely floored. For once in his life he was totally shocked and flabbergasted. It was going to take a moment to process. He used his wand to summon a mediwitch and leaned back in the chair with a satisfied smirk. He didn't know what was going on, how he managed to get so fucking lucky, what the hell was going on in the girls head. All he knew was that she had apparently gone willingly to his bed and enjoyed every sweat soaked, grinding, lusty moment of it. Hermione Granger apparently desired him, whether she liked him or not, and he wouldn't be a Slytherin if he didn't plan to fully take advantage.