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***** DRACO *****

I stood staring out at the sea as the rain hammered against the window. The storm was doing nothing to ease the pounding in my head. Neither was the scotch that had been my companion for most of the afternoon and evening.

My day had turned to shit. And owing to my barely controlled temper, and under the orders of my assistant, I had left work just after lunch and had been drowning myself in my father's 30 year-old Balvenie, a bottle for which I assumed he had been waiting for the perfect occasion to open.

It was ironic really, that my father and his absolute detest of anything muggle, preferred ridiculously expensive muggle scotch over anything else. This bottle had cost him a not so small fortune, but I could have cared less. It was now mine to drink when I pleased.

And it pleased me to do so right then.

What hadn't pleased me was the arrival of someone at the cottage I owned at the bottom of the cliff.

I had watched out my kitchen window as Frank's car pulled into the driveway of the small cottage and I scowled as he and another figure emerged from the car and made a mad dash for the door. It had amused me to no end, however, when the smaller figure slipped on the stones and would have fallen on their arse if not for Frank. He had righted them, and they had both disappeared into the house.

I owned all three houses along the cliff and had refused to allow anyone to stay in the one closest to mine. It was far enough away that if someone was staying it, I wouldn't have to deal with them, but I didn't want anyone in it. In fact, I would have had it demolished if not for some inane muggle law that disallowed me to.

And I cursed myself for not taking the smaller house off the rental market as well. I could have spent the weekend up here alone, not having to worry if my new neighbour would want to make nice and become my new best friend. I would ensure that didn't happen. I had no desire to make nice with the people around me, especially not ones who arrived for the weekend and then headed back to the city to brag to their friends how they 'found themselves' in the fresh air of the coast.

I was raw and anxious after my day, and the arrival of someone in the lower cottage had put me even more on edge. There was no reason to think that this person would even leave the house, considering the storm and the fact I was sure it had set in for the entire weekend, and I hoped that it was true.

My mind was a chaotic jumble of thoughts, despite the half drunk bottle on the table. I thought back to my breakfast meeting that morning and my temper flared again. I had been eagerly anticipating the meeting with Myles Prescott, but things had taken an unexpected turn. The promise of a new partnership was already sunk before we had even gotten started.

My name apparently didn't sit well, nor did my image. I may have carried my father's name, but I had turned myself inside out in an attempt to distance myself as far from him as possible. However, it seemed that the events of the war had done irreparable damage amongst some.

"You're drinking without me?"

I didn't even turn at the sound of the voice behind me.

"And it's Lucius' most protected bottle." Blaise sniggered, "The man will have your balls for this."

"He'll be dead and buried before he can even think about coming near me again." I snapped.

Blaise chuckled again and I heard the clink of glass against glass as he helped himself to my father's finest. He said nothing as he stood beside me, but I noted the sharp intake of breath as he took his first sip.

I grinned from beside him; my father's finest indeed.

"You want to tell me about this morning?" he asked, a note of caution in his voice.

"Prescott has decided not to deal with us." I said, "My image is not the one he wished to be associated with."

Blaise hummed from beside me. We had both known Myles Prescott for years, his family had been sitting on the on the fringe of the pureblood believers, torn between loyalty to my father and the Death Eaters, and distancing themselves from pureblood beliefs. But, despite the fence-sitting, I had assumed that he would take into account that fact that Lucius – in his one and only redeeming act - had insisted that his family not be harmed in any way. (I have no idea why, and with the dealings that Lucius had, I truly did not want to know.)

But Lucius was long gone, and I truly could not understand the sudden turnaround from Myles. Business had been good, I had worked hard and over the course of time, my name had come to mean little to most people. The gossip and the looks and the questions had all but died down, and people were happy to deal with us.

It was why I lived up here on this secluded cliff. I had figured if I stayed low and kept my face out of the public's eyes, my name would slowly disappear and I could step out of the shadow it had created. I had built the house and purchased the other two, in an attempt to keep my privacy and so far it had worked.

I used the floo network to get to and from my office, and Frank and Harriet ensured that no one knew the name of the man who lived on the hill. My face was hardly seen in London, and only Blaise, Pansy and my mother knew where I lived. My face had become all but forgotten, and I had become simply just another businessman in wizarding society.

But the turn of events that morning had thrown me. If Myles didn't want to associate with me, who else wouldn't?

Blaise took a sip of his drink and let out another nod of approval, "We've done well so far. If one or two suppliers fall away, so be it. They'll realise what they've missed out on in due course."

"That's what I told Myles. But the board has apparently made their decision." I let out a long sigh, "And you know damned well, it's not been just one or two, Blaise. We've lost four in as many weeks."

"So show them that they're wrong." He said with a shrug, "Show them that Draco Malfoy is nothing like the name that precedes him."

I shook my head, "But this is what I don't understand. It's been a year and no one has had any problems with me, or my name. And suddenly, we have suppliers deserting us for no apparent reason." I paused. "No mention of the image that Zabini or Parkinson project, just Malfoy. I guess my name does precede me. Everyone hears my name and instantly thinks Lucius. And Death Eater. Nothing's changed at all."

He looked at me for several seconds and then nodded slowly, "Then we have to change their minds."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"We stick with our original plan." Blaise said. "I imagine that she's probably in need of a job. I can't see her staying at The Ministry if that fucker is still there."

"That's impossible now." I said resolutely. I took a step back and retrieved The Daily Prophet from the table and handed it to him, "You haven't seen this yet?"

He took the newspaper from me, and I could tell from the look on his face that he hadn't yet seen it. The headline had shocked me. She was missing. Disappeared into thin air and no one knew where she was. It was a far cry from the sordid details that had been a constant the past few weeks.

I looked at Blaise and he was staring back at me, eyes wide. "Shit. This makes sense as to why Pans left without a word this morning."

I nodded in agreement. Pansy had left in a hurry mid-morning without a word. I had assumed it was important and she would let us know as soon as she could. I hadn't given her absence too much thought; I was far too lost in my own head.

"I doubt that they'll find her. This is Granger after all." I was right. If she didn't want to be found, there was no way in hell that she would be.

I hated to admit it, but I had followed the story since it broke a just over two weeks ago. I rarely looked at the Daily Prophet, hating the gossip rag it had turned into. But when Pansy and Blaise shocked me to my core with what had happened, I had read every word that had been printed, and had cursed that fuckers name every day since.

The story was that she had walked into his office and found the red-headed weasel with his pants around his ankles, buried balls deep in some skanky, fame hungry groupie. And the story also was that this wasn't the first time he had done it. Apparently this was just one in a string of women he had been seen entering his office with. There hadn't been any proof, of course, entering an office with a woman hadn't necessarily meant anything untoward was going on, but when those meetings took place late at night, or when the woman you were supposed to be madly in love with was travelling on Ministry business, suspicions were raised.

Granger had been completely unaware of the infidelities of her childhood sweetheart; the imbecile had been just cagey enough to hide it from her and everyone else he knew. But he was obviously not cagey enough. Granger had apparently returned early from a Ministry meeting, and that's when all hell broke loose. The image of Ginny Weasley – or should I say Potter – punching her brother's face was one I took great pleasure in seeing.

And what a fucking imbecile he was. He had scored the perfect woman; talented, smart, gorgeous, and way out of his league. Every man I knew had looked at the idiot with a twinge of jealously for his being with her; every Ministry Ball, every public celebration, every gossip column picture; there he was clutching her to him like he owned her. He didn't deserve her. And to prove my point, the brainless idiot simply threw her away. He should have been grateful, should have worshipped at her feet, but instead the stupid prat went looking for pussy that was more suited to his over-inflated ego and his tiny little dick.

It had not been a surprise to my closest friends that I had fallen for her. It had, in fact, been more of a surprise to me that they were aware of my feelings. Pansy had laughed at my stupidity, telling me that she had known for years that Hermione Granger was the one person who had gotten under my skin; she was smarter than me, and more talented, and that despite my pure-blood upbringing, way beyond my reach. And Pansy had delighted in reminding me as often as she could.

However, the friendship that had cropped up between Granger and Pansy had been a complete shock, considering the hatred and loathing that was shared between them at school.

Granger's job at The Ministry, where she had worked alongside Longbottom in their Magical Plants and Herbs department, had put her in direct contact with us at our newly established, MZP Potions. The Ministry (which I assumed out of suspicion at first, I was sure that they wanted to keep a close eye on everything we were doing) had requested that she be the liaison with us, and she had become the direct contact between The Ministry and our company.

Blaise had laughingly explained that after several awkward and somewhat stilted meetings, Granger had finally insisted that Pansy get over her ridiculous pure-blood beliefs and deal with her as an equal, that she should pull her head out of her arse and realise that Hermione Granger was actually quite interesting if she would just give her the chance.

And it was through that friendship their Blaise and I had hatched our plan to invite her on board with us. As well as being the most highly talented Herbologist around, she was exactly what we needed to improve our image, but the timing of the Weasel's wandering dick had made it impossible to approach her. Pansy wouldn't allow it, and Potter – both Harry and Ginny - would have killed us had we gone near her.

And now she had vanished. And with Pansy leaving the office early, I was sure that the panic amongst them all had set in. But this was Granger. I knew she was capable of looking out for herself, and if she thought hiding was her best option, then all the panicked friends in the world wouldn't find her.

Blaise let out a long breath, "That fucker. He screwed her over royally and us too."

"I'm not sure we should really put ourselves in the same boat as her." I said dryly.

Blaise pointed his finger at me and conceded the point. He looked at the paper again, "I'm surprised she hasn't killed him by now. She could do it. No one would care." He shrugged, "Maybe his mother, but who knows when it comes to Molly Weasley?"

I moved from the window when I saw the lights flick on in the cottage below. I was sure that whoever it was that was down there couldn't see me, but I didn't want to take the chance. Blaise frowned at me, and then followed my eyes to the cliff below.

"Someone staying down there?"

I nodded, "Frank dropped her...him off today."

He leaned against the glass, looking down towards the house, "You don't know?"

I shook my head, "And I don't care to know. I'm hoping that they stay for the weekend and then head back to wherever it they came from."

He turned back to me, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Maybe she's some hot piece and you can get your rocks off. How long's it been?"

Rolled up the paper and threw it at him. He ducked, laughing and sat opposite me.

"Our plan can still work," He said, "She'll come back when she's ready and we can pounce. Offer her refuge in our greenhouse where no one will see her and she won't say no."

I slumped against the back of the couch and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Blaise was right. Our plan was perfect, but we would have to wait. And for how long, I had no idea.

I looked at him and nodded, "Yeah, we'll wait it out. Offer her an obscene amount of money so she can't refuse."

He rubbed his hands together before refilling both our glasses. I should have refused; my afternoon of scotch was clouding my brain. "Excellent.' He said, "And you will wander down the hill tomorrow and say hello to your neighbour. You need to get laid."

"And if it's a guy?"

He shrugged, "Does it matter when it's been a while?"

I rolled my eyes, "You're lucky I'm already half drunk, or I'd kick your arse."

He slid the glass across the table and put his feet up. He winked at me, "She'll be back. And if she accepts your offer, who knows? Maybe you'll get your wish and she'll accept more."

"Are you going to dance with me?" She asked in a low voice that caused my breath to catch. She was pressed up against me, her hands griping my shirt.

"I don't dance," I murmured against the shell of her ear.

She kissed the side of my throat and I let out quiet groan, "Liar," she told me and ran her hand over my arse, "Yes you do." She took my hand and led me to the dance floor, smiling seductively over her shoulder at me.

I pulled her against me, her back pressed firmly against my chest. I slid my hands down her body, moving slowly over every curve, coming to rest on her waist as she rolled her hips against my pelvis, smirking over her shoulder at me when she brushed against my growing arousal. The music was pumping through us, the bass lines pulsing in time with our swaying movements. She turned in my arms, and smiled up at me. She pressed her hand to my chest and slowly dragged it down my torso, going lower and lower, until-

I shot bolt upright, breathing hard, a pool of sweat had made my sheets damp and I was as hard as a rock. I looked around wildly, actually feeling the other side of the bed just to make sure it was a dream; that she wasn't in the bed beside me.

I flopped back down and groaned. The headache that was threatening the previous day had turned into a full-blown marching band stomping through my head. And of course, the copious amounts of scotch hadn't helped.

I threw my arm across my eyes to shield them from the morning light flooding into my room. The rain was still pouring down, but the light was a little too much for my hangover to contend with. My throat was dry and my mouth full of cotton. I should have known better than to open that bottle with Blaise. My only hope was that he was feeling the same. But since I already had half the bottle drunk by the time he had arrived, I highly doubted it.

It wasn't the first time I had dreamed about her. Not even close. And since the story broke, she had been a constant player when I closed my eyes at the end of the day.

She was everything, so close to perfection, and the intense longing I felt for her was made more so with everything that had happened. Anger flared in me every time I thought about what he'd done to her, and the hatred I had had for him increased tenfold.

But I knew that I was torturing myself with a fantasy that would never be anything more than that; a fantasy. She wasn't interested in me. How could she be? I hadn't actually spoken directly to her for months. And before that, it had only been on Ministry visits and we had shared no more than a few words. And besides all of that, I was sure that she hated me.

And she had every right to hate me. I'd given her every reason to. I'd treated her with such distain and disrespect, I was surprised that the punch that she had landed on my face all those years ago was the worst I had received from her. It was the only time I had ever elicited a response from her. She had spent most of our years at school ignoring me, or showing me up in class. And it should have burned me, but it didn't. It had actually had the opposite effect on me. I had fallen for her, and fallen hard.

And I was now lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my cock hard and unsatisfied. I grabbed my wand from the nightstand and aimed it towards the curtains, shutting them, and the light out.

It was Saturday morning and I had nowhere to be. I would usually run out and back along the mile-long stretch of beach, but with the rain still teeming, my head pounding, and my lack of want to make my presence known to whoever it was in the cottage, I saw no reason to get out of bed.

So I pulled the covers back over my head, blocking out the light entirely and lamented the fact that the one person who I truly wanted in my life had up and disappeared and I had no idea of just how to find her.

A/N:

So, I thought I'd give you this one as well, I figured it was a little cruel to leave Chapter 1 just hanging. I promise that the Ron bashing will be kept to a minimum - it's not that I don't like the character, but there's a reason I'm in this fandom and why I write the stuff I do.

Anyway, I ask you to be patient with this one, I'm trying out a new writing style and it's taking time to adjust.

And thank you to those of you who expressed how happy you are that I'm writing again. It doesn't actually stop...I just have to filter the crap before I can happily share my work with you :)