Make It Work
"I love Paris in the springtime. I love Paris in the fall. I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles. I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles. I love Paris every moment. Every moment of the year. I love Paris. Why, oh, why do I love Paris? Because my love is near." Hermione enjoyed singing, even if she knew she was always a bit off-key.
"What nonsense are you singing?" Draco's voice floated from the kitchen to where she stood in the living room.
"It's an old song written by Cole Porter. I love the version that Ella Fitzgerald sings," she answered.
"Who?" Draco asked. He walked into the room carrying a small charcuterie platter, two wine glasses, and an already open bottle of something red. She couldn't see the label, but she assumed it was from the Bordeaux Region.
"I'll add Ella to my list of Muggle music that you need to listen to. You'll like her."
"That's what you said about the Spice Girls," he said dismissively.
"Yeah, well… I wasn't wrong about The Beatles, was I?"
"Haven't you told me more than once that every Muggle in the world likes The Beatles? Not a fair example. Now, you were also wrong about -" Hermione cut Draco off from the list that he was most likely about to launch into.
"You know what, everyone has their own opinion on music, Draco. Let's just agree to disagree on some of them." Hermione turned away and added under her breath, "But not liking Michael Jackson? That is just wrong."
"I heard that."
Hermione snagged a couple of pieces of cheese and a glass of wine, then walked over to the large windows of Draco's penthouse to stare out at the city. Evening was just coming on and there was something magical (no pun intended) about watching Paris light up. Draco came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist and bent his head down to rest his chin on her shoulder.
"So, you love Paris because your love is near?" he breathed, turning his head slightly.
"Mmmmmmm…" Hermione leaned her head back and to the other side, giving him better access to her neck. He began to kiss and nip and lick his way up and down it from her collar bone to behind her ear and back again, stopping in spots to give added attention when she let out little mews. Her hair was up and out of the way, so he took advantage of the opportunity to lick along the top of spine before making his way to the other side.
He took the wine she'd only managed to take two sips of out her hand, and placed it on a nearby table.
Turning back to her, he snuck his hands to the upper edge of her blouse and ran just his fingertips along the tops of her breasts. Her blouse had a plunging neckline and he had been admiring the way her cleavage was pushed up for the past couple of hours. He lightly moved his fingers back and forth a few times, admiring the view over her shoulder as goosebumps broke out. He plunged his hands down into her bra and pulled out both her breasts, the nipples already growing hard. His hands cupped under them while his thumb and forefinger worked the nipples into tight beads.
She let out a loud gasp. "What if someone sees us through the window?"
"I have the windows that look out over Muggle parts of the city charmed to not allow viewing inside. That way, Muggles don't accidentally witness magic or house elves. Which also works perfectly for my plan of taking you against this window," He said as he used his hips to guide her forward the three steps needed to push her up to the glass. His hands now were down on her waist, pulling her blouse up as he ground his burgeoning erection into her arse.
"Keep your hands up over your head after I get this off," he demanded.
Hermione imagined what this would look like to an observer if they could see in and felt her panties get very wet at the idea. Her hands were up high on the window above her head, slightly spread apart and with the palms flat facing out, her face was turned to the side, one cheek pressed to the glass. Her bra was still on, but her breasts were out, nipples crushed to the window. Draco was now hiking her skirt up to her waist and pulling her knickers down to her ankles.
"Don't move," he cautioned, as he took two large steps back to admire the view.
"Beautiful," he whispered.
Hermione was watching him over her shoulder, as he stared at her, reposed against the Paris skyline outside. She watched him unbuckle his belt deliberately, pulling it slowly through the loops to let it drop to the floor. She could see the way he strained against his trousers. He knew that he was creating a small show for her, the way he leisurely moved, leaving her poised like a living sculpture for his viewing pleasure. Draco took his time undoing the button on his trousers and sliding down the zipper.
"Like what you see, pet? Want to see more?" he purred at her.
"Please."
He reached into his pants and pulled out his thick member. Oh, how she loved Draco's cock. And he knew exactly what the sight of him stroking himself did to her. He slowly moved his hand up and down it now, stopping to squeeze when he got to the base and then swiping his thumb over the head when he came to the top. She licked her lips when his thumb caught a drop of pre-cum and moved it around the tip. He groaned and his head tipped back in pleasure.
He snapped his head back down and stared at her with lust filled eyes.
"I can't wait any longer to be inside you. Sorry, love." With that, he stepped forward while simultaneously pushing his pants down to his ankles. He parted her legs enough to find her soaking entrance and lined himself up. "I'll go as slowly as I can for you."
And he did. Long, slow strokes ensued, with him nearly pulling out completely each time. He reached around to rub her swollen nub, bringing her to her first release quickly. Everything about the situation had her worked up before he even touched her below the waist; it was easy to find her peak. She expected him to speed up after she came down, but he didn't. His thrusts became harder, but he wasn't increasing the languid rate of them. He settled both of his hands on her hips now.
"I know the counter-charm to stop the window from being opaque. What would you do if I used it right now? Would you make me stop fucking you against the glass? Or would you come from the excitement?" His dirty talk was such a turn on. His hands gripped her hips tighter, nails digging in a bit.
"Answer me, Hermione. Do you want to take a chance on someone witnessing you in this compromising position? Do you want strangers to watch your orgasm?"
"Yes…" she admitted in a hiss.
His hips didn't even pause in their motions as he murmured, "Accio wand," and then something else that she didn't catch once he was holding his wand.
The glass seemed to shimmer momentarily, but otherwise she couldn't tell the difference. She knew that Draco wouldn't lie to her, so she realized that if anyone in the buildings around them looked this way, they would see her pressed against the window, breasts on display, skirt hiked up, Draco pistoning into her from behind. He increased his speed as his hand once again reached around to pinch her clit.
"Draco!" she screamed as her orgasm tore through her. She was getting off on the idea that someone else could be getting off on watching them. Maybe some anonymous man was stroking himself right now across the way.
Draco pulled out, turned her around, getting her knickers off her ankles as he lifted her up to wrap her legs around his waist and plunged back into her tight canal. Her walls were still fluttering slightly from her last orgasm and he felt his building. He was fucking her furiously now, ready for his release, but wondering if he could get her to come one more time with him.
"Do you think that there is a woman in that office building over there who has locked the door to her office so she can hike up her skirt, slip her hand into her knickers and plunge her fingers into her pussy, all while watching us? She's imaging that her fingers are my cock. Are you close? I'm so close. Please come with me." Draco groaned as he felt his cock swell and his bollocks tighten up just before his release hit him. He was hoping that the additional dirty images he was planting in Hermione's mind would take her over the edge with him, but it was too late for him to stop now if it didn't work.
"Oh Fuck. Oh Merlin. Oh Hermione!" he ground out as he began to release into her. She was whimpering with pleasure, but she wasn't coming. Even through the extreme pleasure he was feeling, he was also feeling disappointment. He thrust until he was spent, but her body kept moving against him, still seeking her release.
He dropped her legs and immediately fell to his knees. He latched onto her clit with his mouth and pushed three fingers into her as far as he could, knowing that she was plenty stretched from his dick and more than wet from their shared juices.
Hermione was feeling frustrated; she knew that Draco was trying his best to get her to a third orgasm as he raced towards his. But, she just couldn't seem to get there with him. And then he was there, pulsing inside of her and she was still just on the edge. The zenith was eluding her even though she was so close. She wanted to nominate Draco for sainthood when he dropped to his knees in front of her. "Oh, thank God!" she yelled as she came.
"No need to call me God," Draco chuckled as he looked up at her after she finished and he sat back on his heels. She slid down the window and leaned in to kiss him, not caring what was on his face. He obviously hadn't cared when he went down on her.
When they broke apart she stood up and said, "That was fabulous, but you should probably put the charm back on the window now. Just make sure no one sees your wand when you do it." With that she walked towards the bathroom to get ready for bed. She knew that the next day would start early and be long with meetings and fittings for both of them.
This week-long date had actually been one of Draco's first ideas when Hermione initially brought up her idea of their "date exchange" almost a year ago. When she explained that she wanted them to take turns taking each other out on dates or excursions that were special to each other's world and meaningful to share, he had thought of Paris Fashion Week. But he couldn't say anything. Imagine telling the women you had only been dating for a few weeks that you had a great plan for a weeklong vacation with her that would take place in 10 months. Even Gryffindors weren't that foolhardy.
And so, he had set the idea aside in his head, almost forgetting about it. Until about 2 months ago. His mother had said something about their annual trip while they were having tea, just the two of them at the Manor. He had pinked with embarrassment. Embarrassed at himself for forgetting that he needed to tell his mother that he wasn't planning to go with her, for the first time since he became a Hogwarts student and couldn't leave school for a week just to jet off to Paris.
This excursion had been an annual thing for Narcissa and Draco up until he began his first year at school and then again after their new life began. They arrived in Paris a few days before the first runway show, lining up the best tickets and after-show parties. They wore the latest fashions together, they had their pictures taken, and they had a party of their own one of the nights at their townhouse.
Daphne begged to join them, Pansy offered sexual favors in return for an invite, Blaise expected to be hooked up with models Draco met, and all through that it was him and his mum. It was the week he was allowed to call her "mum". And this year, he was planning to ditch her.
Well, not entirely. He and Hermione would stay at his flat rather than at the townhouse that dated back to before the French Revolution. But, he still planned to have three seats at each show, sitting between his two best girls. And, he was still planning to co-host the annual party at the townhouse with his mother. He just thought that it was time to start making new traditions.
The first designer arrived at 9:00. Hermione had on nude colored knickers, stretch pants and a camisole. Draco told her that anything else was superfluous, as she may be asked to strip to try on whatever was brought for her to view. She expected the soft cotton camisole to come off no matter what. The stretch pants may survive depending on the outfit. She prayed the knickers would stay in place.
Draco had on the most casual outfit Hermione could ever imagine him in. Tight white boxer-briefs, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. Once again, he reminded her of the expediency needed when trying on couture. Designers didn't want any lines or colors showing, even during fittings.
Draco smirked as he watched Hermione talk to the first women, a witch from Brazil. How his witch had doubted him when he had announced that every designer of every show they planned to attend had begged to meet her and dress her. To this day, Hermione chose to ignore the cache of her celebrity, along with the figure she was able to cut. Was she a waif, walking the runway? No. Was she fit and stunning in her own right? Hell yes! These designers were salivating at the chance to dress the Hermione Granger and, by default, Draco, in their clothes.
And with the designers came the jewelers.
Draco had a vault full of jewelry to offer to Hermione. He had already gifted her with exquisite pieces picked up over the past year. He felt that this week may be an interview of sorts for a jeweler. It was time to start thinking about whether Hermione was getting a thousand year old ring imbued with centuries worth of protective spells that had served various Malfoy wives before her, or if she was getting a new ring that could be worn by a woman a thousand years from now. No doubt a descendant of his who would read about Hermione in Hogwarts: A History (edition who knows what number).
He snapped out of his reprieve as his little vixen pulled her shirt over her head and allowed the designer to mold her breasts with her hands a bit, talking about charms that would be used to hold them "just so", deciding what could work for the tops or dresses she had brought along for Hermione to try on. Draco realized that this was not at all meant to be sexual, but damn if Hermione's quick wink at him didn't make it so.
Draco turned to the assistant assigned to him and the rack of clothes to be chosen from. And so the day progressed, with racks whittled down to final outfits complete with accessories, conveniently labeled with days, times, and even pictures of what the end image should look like.
When tea time rolled around, they were on their fourth designer and they were both exhausted. Luckily, there were only two more scheduled for the next morning and then they were ready for their week to commence. When the final one left for the day, Hermione owled Narcissa to confirm that they would be flooing to the townhouse for dinner that night. Hermione had never been to the townhouse before and she was excited to see it.
For now, she flopped down onto a settee with a glass of champagne in hand and a tired look on her face.
"Why in the world did I ever let you talk me into this? Continuously having my picture taken and ending up in the gossip column every single day. I can see the caption under my picture now: "Hermione Granger is proof that you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear", or something equally ridiculous."
Draco sighed, took the champagne from her and set it down on an end table. He moved her body enough the he could sit with her and then pull her into his lap.
"Of course there will be at least one reporter who will say something nasty. The audience that rubbish panders to isn't anyone we care to know. In all reality, you and I have become hopelessly boring, so they have to make something up. It isn't like we haven't had this conversation before. "Former Death Eater dating War Heroine" ran its course long ago. Speculation on whether I'm dating you so as to improve my image is about 10 years too late. Hearsay regarding the financial status of your company is laughable. So, what's left? Jealousy and daydreams. Wizards are jealous that I have the stunning, powerful, sought-after Hermione Granger on my arm. Witches daydream about being you."
He couldn't keep the smirk off his face, not that he really wanted to.
"Why wouldn't they when you get to have me on your arm? I know that you prefer to be in the papers for quote, unquote real news, but this is part of what fashion week is about. I realize that this really isn't your thing, but it a very big deal for my mother. And therefore, me." He stopped talking and just held her, waiting to see what she would say.
"I know it's a big deal for her. And I feel guilty about stealing you away from her this week. Next year, it can just be the two of you again."
Draco took a moment to collect his thoughts, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "Hermione," he had almost said 'Granger' in exasperation, which would not have gone over well, "mother and I both want you here. She hasn't said as much, but I think that she worries that the only thing you both have in common is the charity work you do. She wants to have something outside of seeing you at obligatory board meetings and galas to share with you. This week is about more than me showing you something important from my world."
If showing true emotions was still difficult for Draco at times, it was near impossible for Narcissa. The pressures of being raised as a Black and married to a Malfoy meant that she had spent the first 45 years of her life hiding any weakness that could be used against her. Draco could only imagine his mother's surprise the day she realized that she wanted a relationship with Hermione Granger.
Had the introspection happened while Narcissa was sitting in the conservatory by herself having tea? Had she even then been frightened to raise an eyebrow at herself? Had she broken her perfected mask and dared to smirk at the irony? Or had she been so uncouth as to gasp aloud? Draco doubted that. Although his mother had never said anything about it to him, he could almost pinpoint exactly when it had happened.
The conversations his mother had with Hermione had shifted ever so slightly. The few meals they shared at the Manor were suddenly served on different china each time, and his mother made sure to tell the stories behind the pieces. A pureblood witch would have known instantly that she was being groomed to take over these family heirlooms, but Hermione just saw it as interesting history.
Draco was instructed to let Hermione borrow certain books from their library. Once Draco had done so, Narcissa was able to casually mention rare books in a conversation during a society event that she knew Hermione would want to take home the next time she visited. Narcissa took delight in the power plays that were evident to Draco. Ok, actually Draco delighted in it too.
Narcissa would wait for the opportunity to arise where she could cross-reference a subject Hermione was talking about with something that his mother had read in a book. A book that may only have two or three copies in existence. And Draco happened to own one of them. Draco then was able to insert himself in the conversation and gallantly tell Hermione that she could peruse the volume the next time she visited the Manor and take it home for further reading if she wished. Other witnesses to the conversation were suitably impressed by the wealth and prestige of being a Malfoy and also left without a doubt that Hermione was accepted by the family. It had only taken three times of this happening for an alteration in the women's relationship to occur. Hermione began to see his mother in a scholarly light and had even once owled her to ask for additional research help.
A few years after the war was over, Narcissa had completed a thorough redecoration of the Manor. About the only room to survive intact was the library. Family portraits remained in place throughout the home, being seen as both historically significant, and a reminder of what had saved Draco – the love of family. But now, suddenly, some were moved to the attic and others unexpectedly found themselves prominent for the first time since before the Statute of Secrecy in 1692. Draco kept his face absolutely stoic the first time Narcissa walked Hermione past the portrait of the first Lucius Malfoy, and in a deceptively offhand manner had regaled her with the tale of how he had unsuccessfully tried to woo Queen Elizabeth I. Of course, his mother had left out the part of the story that said he may have jinxed the queen to never marry when she turned him down. The unspoken point was that there had once been Malfoys willing to marry a Muggle. Never mind that said Muggle was the queen.
That moment was heavy-handed as far as Narcissa Malfoy was concerned, but once again Hermione didn't quite get it. Draco knew that Hermione was capable of being devious, but she hadn't been raised to be as subtle as his mother. Hermione still saw his mother as aloof. Which led to this moment, where Draco had to show his mother's hand to Hermione behind Narcissa's back.
"Don't let on that you know. She would be hopelessly embarrassed. Just relax and go with the flow."
Hermione let out a snort at his last sentence.
"Since when have you, I, or your mother ever "gone with the flow"?" she inquired.
"You know what I mean."
And she did. Draco seemed to be under the impression that Hermione didn't understand his mother. She wouldn't claim to really. On the other hand, she couldn't help but notice what had been happening the past few months. Narcissa was making an effort. The two women had surprisingly many things in common. Both were strong witches, willing to stand up to anyone to get what they wanted. Hermione was the more voracious reader of the two, but Narcissa was ahead of her in some areas only because she had more years to have read more books. Hermione planned to invert the disparity soon. Both were raised to believe in noblesse oblige. What Hermione understood above all of that was the love they both held for Draco and what they would do for him.
Hermione's life had been based upon love, her for her parents and them for her, later came her love for Harry and Ron, and now for this complicated wizard holding her tight. Narcissa may not have found something to love until Draco, but that didn't make her love less.
She hugged Draco back and told him the truth, "Without your mother, I wouldn't have you. There isn't much I wouldn't do for her. I have admired her for years, and now I find myself genuinely liking her. Let's go see this Louis XIV atrocity that you own that is probably all gild and mirrors." She should have added 'and covered in fleurs de lis' to that presumption, because then she would have been spot on.
Hermione had felt everything went off perfectly at the small dinner party, although very few people she knew considered 25 guests to be small. Hermione had met some very distant French Malfoy cousins the prior evening.
The British Malfoys had left France with William the Conqueror, so distant felt like a gross understatement. There had been a few offshoots of Draco's family tree that had chosen to move back to France throughout the centuries, mostly the ones who wanted a little more freedom from the family dogma. But some had also done it for money and power. Hermione had also met one very nice young witch with the last name LeStrange, and it had taken all of her conscious effort not to rub the scar on her arm, in spite of how pleasant their conversation had been.
Draco had made it clear how happy he had been when they returned to his place from the fête. Twice.
Breakfast today was fruit, croissants, and coffee. Hermione was positive that croissants tasted better in France. Now it was time for more designers to appear. Luckily, they planned to be done in time for lunch at their favorite sidewalk café and a few hours spent wandering The Louvre.
When the final person left his flat at 12:30, even Draco was over it. And it took a lot to say that.
The only good thing he could say was that the final jeweler that had appeared with the last designer today was just what he was looking for. Both the designer and the jeweler were American witches. Draco travelled to New York a few times a year for business and had a trip lined up next month. He now had an extra appointment to attend while he was there, with the jeweler. He may also try to see the designer again too and start making more contacts in the American wizarding world.
Right now he only dealt with a few MACUSA officials, his real estate agent, and his exporter. He had dipped his toes into investing in the States, one foot was in properties, the other was in potion ingredients. Draco wasn't one to leave money lying on the table, so maybe it was time to look into the consumer goods and services sectors there. Americans liked to consume.
Their lunch reservation was at 1:00 in a traditional French café on La Rue Magique. Hermione would try to pretend afterwards that they were going straight from there out to Muggle Paris, but Draco knew better. There would be just a quick stop into the bookstore. He rolled his eyes now in anticipation of her denial.
And so it began. While sipping on a superb glass of Pinot Noir, the first photographer found them. Hermione had considered getting a table inside for this very reason, but it was such a beautiful day and when they returned home next week it would not be nearly so nice outdoors in London. Enjoy the weather while you can, right? A second photographer spotted the first taking pictures and came over to discover who they were of. Hermione did her best to ignore them. She kept her sunglasses on and a casted a Muffliato in order to continue her conversation with Draco. The second one tried to ask them questions, but neither even turned their heads to acknowledge him. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when the restaurant manager came to shoo them away.
After lunch, she asked Draco if maybe they could just pop into the bookstore really quickly. She wanted to see if there was anything interesting that hadn't been translated into English.
Hermione was fluent in French thanks to her parents. She had a tutor starting at a young age and then they had visited France together at least once a year while she was growing up. She had added Spanish and Italian to her repertoire as an adult, so she didn't feel as comfortable with them, but she could be considered fluent. Draco let a small smile slip.
"What?" she asked.
"Oh, you know. Just winning a bet with myself."
"If I hadn't asked to go to the bookstore, you would have been checking me for Polyjuice or Body Snatchers."
"Body Snatchers?" the wizard was confused.
"'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' is a movie where humans are slowly being replaced by alien clones," she patiently replied.
"I don't know if that idea is more frightening than the Snatchers I was thinking of or not," Draco said thoughtfully. Wizards didn't study the stars with the hope of finding life on other planets, so Draco was still coming to terms with the idea that Muggles did.
"What is worse, fear of the known, or the unknown?"
"Look, here we are at the bookstore. Deep conversation can be saved for later," he said as he was simultaneously shrugging in answer to her question.
Hermione left the bookstore without buying anything, which meant that Draco had now lost a bet with himself. And she may have known it from the grin on her face as they walked out. That smile which was caught by one of the photographers who had been bothering them at lunch and stood waiting outside of the bookstore for them. The smile turned to a frown and she went to open her mouth to say something. Draco knew it would be something unfortunate, so he grabbed her and apparated them to his penthouse. "Let's just take the lift down and walk from here to The Louvre, yeah?"
The rest of the week passed in a blur for Hermione. She wore the correct clothes with the perfect accessories as outlined in each picture left attached to each rack for her. She did her own make-up and hair, but took the advice each designer had given her on what they thought she should do to best accent their creations. Nothing over the top, but her hair was up or down when it needed to be.
They had planned to attend six shows, each wearing clothing designed by the witch or wizard. Hermione received a last minute surprise invite from an unknown Polish designer who had attended Durmstrang and was present at the TriWizard Tournament in her fourth year. She didn't remember him, but he said that he didn't expect her to. She felt badly about not wearing something of his when they were photographed sitting in the front row (she, Draco, and Narcissa had sat front row at every show they attended that week), but he said that it didn't matter. She made it up to him by giving a quick interview alongside of him backstage afterwards. She liked his style well enough that she asked if he could design something for her to wear for New Year's Eve this year.
There were lunches, there were formal teas, and there were dinners. She felt like she had a smile plastered on her face for days straight. She gaped at herself every morning when the paper was delivered. She would be mortified next week when Witch Weekly did a six page spread on her and the Malfoys. Luckily that would appear after she got home, because she would refuse to go out in public for days afterwards. For now, it was just a picture or two and a short blurb in the regular paper.
And, of course, there were the clothes. Draco tended towards blacks, greys, muted greens and blues in his everyday life. But not here.
There was an ensemble that included Muggle jeans and a fitted pink t-shirt with live butterflies attached to it. Draco's favorite was the golden dragonhide dress robes, matched with a walking cane that had a golden dragon wrapped around it with the head on top breathing a bit of smoke every so often. The smoke smelled faintly of sandalwood, rather than real dragon breath (which would have been disgusting).
Hermione's favorite on him included a jacket that changed color when he walked. Then there was the midnight blue three-piece suit with a motif charmed to look like fireworks continuously exploding over and over in the night sky; it screamed "George Weasley" loud and clear, and Hermione said as much to him. Draco just shrugged and said that he would pass on the designer's name to George at their Quidditch game next week. Everything showed off Draco's physique in a way that should be illegal.
Not that Hermione was going to complain about Draco's body. She had noticed the way some of Draco's friends were getting a little pudgy with age. It was easy to let yourself go when money constantly bought you the best food and booze, and you were out late most nights enjoying both. Hermione was eternally thankful that a few years back George had invited Draco to join his team in the amateur Quidditch league he played with. That was long before she had started dating the Slytherin. Draco worked out during the week and played every Saturday, and it showed. Draco had grown taller and broader-shouldered since their Hogwarts days, and he now found himself more suited for being a Beater rather than a Seeker. He and George were a formidable duo.
Most of the clothing the designers wanted to put Hermione in were colors she naturally gravitated to on a daily basis. She tended towards strong jewel tones – reds, greens, and blues. There was a deep green sleeveless pantsuit with a plunging v-shaped neckline that came with a necklace that had emeralds, sapphires, and purple diamonds cascading down her décolletage, and a fascinator topped with peacock feathers glittering with fairy dust. Hermione's favorite dress was a black bodice top with a bottom made out of varied colors of live Gerber Daisies. It had a slit nearly up to her hipbone, a slim silhouette, and ended in a train. Draco couldn't seem to keep his hand out of the slit. She wore a pair of red stilettos with that dress that were the exact shade of the red daisies within the gown.
Draco's favorite on her during the week also was his least favorite. The dress was in essence completely see-through. It was skin-tight and covered her from wrist to shoulder, had a high neckline, and went all the way down to her ankles. The only thing keeping everyone from seeing the goods were constantly moving and changing black Rorschach inkblots that appeared and disappeared all over it. For the most part they kept her nipples and nether regions covered, but Draco said that he had caught a glimpse of something when he stared long enough.
"Would you say it looked more like a raven or a tree?" she sarcastically quipped.
With the Rorschach dress, she wore her hair up - diamond covered pins holding it in place. Not that anyone was looking at her hair. Hermione found herself the undisputed center of attention the night she wore it out. She almost felt bad for the runway models at the show. She still wore it at the after-party that night, which led to their earliest return home of the entire week.
Hermione couldn't help dissecting the charms placed on some of their clothes. They were good, but she could already see where a tweak or two would make them better. Instead of a witch placing the correct breast-molding charm on herself and maybe getting it wrong, why not build it into the outfit? And a charm for material to change colors in certain lights could be enhanced to have it react to heat as well.
Speaking of heat, why had no one thought to build in cooling charms to dragonhide clothing? That was the first one Hermione planned to work on when she got home. She would patent it and then offer it back to designers. Yes, that was a solid plan for her next few weeks in her office.
Hermione loved seeing the true magic of a runway show. Clothes caught on fire, and when the fire burned away, they had been transfigured to something else. A woman twirled and her dress changed from a slinky number into a frothy dream. That would be fun on a dance floor. There was a dress that Hermione was sure was made of nothing but the same peacock feathers dipped in fairy dust that adorned her fascinator. There was a men's suit that talked, which Draco declared horribly annoying. There was also a set of men's dress robes that could only be described as ephemeral, swirling like smoke around the model.
There were exotic materials, like dragonhide, but also mermaid scales, acromantula silk, moke skin, and pygmy puff fur. Narcissa could see the consternation on Hermione's face as she clearly worried about the ways in which some of these items were procured. The older witch assured the younger one that the mermaids willingly gave their shed scales in return for certain spells or charms to be cast by the wizard collecting them, and the other materials were gotten as humanely as possible.
There was a show by a wizard who designed many of the professional Quidditch teams' uniforms. He also did avant-garde work based upon Quidditch uniforms. His show was interesting… Hermione had been surprised to see Ginny there covering it for The Prophet. Sure, the witch was their main Quidditch correspondent, but covering Quidditch fashion seemed a bit of a stretch.
The two witches only had time for a quick hug and few words. Ginny had to interview the designer and his head stylist, and then still make it to Sussex in time to cover a late-day game.
Narcissa gave a short interview the evening when she hosted her society cocktail event on the second to last night. Neither Hermione nor Draco joined her, Narcissa's chagrin. However, Draco wouldn't allow himself to feel guilty about it. The two of them had been in the papers daily.
The hand-passed hors d'oeuvres that night were to die for. The thought occurred to Hermione that she could understand why the Romans had seen fit to use vomitoriums. Maybe she could fit in just one more of those miso-soaked smoked sable tidbits? Or should it be the rye toast points with sardines and jalapeno cream cheese? Surely she should not leave behind the opportunity to eat a final pancetta-wrapped peach slice – the smoky flavor from the peach being grilled, paired with a basil and balsamic reduction had her moaning.
Draco's cock had twitched when he heard the witch next to him let out a moan that he had only heard in private before. What was that about? Suddenly, she was stuffing something into his mouth. Something fantastic.
"You will get the recipe for these from your mother's people," she told him with a weird hand motion he knew wasn't a spell of any sort.
'Yes ma'am', he thought. He made a mental note to get it before they retired for the evening, to leave with a note for his chef when they got back to his place later that night.
The two mingled, Draco knowing many of the people in attendance, while Hermione found herself being introduced over and over. The crowd was an interesting mix of wealthy Purebloods of Narcissa's generation with just about every level of socio-economic background represented within Hermione and Draco's generation.
Hermione found many of the conversations vapid, no matter who she spoke to. After a couple of hours, she convinced Draco it was time to go.
The final morning of the 'official' week arrived. There would be one last dinner to attend that night and tomorrow they would head home.
Draco was up before Hermione, collecting what his chef had left for him in the kitchen under a stasis charm. He carried it back to their bedroom. It was a savory breakfast that included the moan-inducing peaches, along with the item that had been Draco's favorite the previous night, lemon-parsley gougeres. Chef Luka also included potato pancakes, large purple grapes hollowed out and filled with goat cheese with crushed pistachios dusting the top, cantaloupe with honeyed Greek yogurt, blue crab beignets, and mimosas. Hermione moaned once again in appreciation.
Hermione decided that moans of appreciation were not nearly enough thanks for Draco's surprise breakfast in bed. "I know that we don't usually have dessert after breakfast, but I think that you earned a treat today."
She grabbed her wand and summoned some chocolate sauce from the kitchen and transfigured a bra into a pair of fur-lined handcuffs. The look on Draco's face was positively feral. He had her stripped and bound to the head board so quickly it was almost like magic.
He proceeded to draw all over her body with the chocolate. He drew lines along her pulse points on her arms and neck and slowly licked them up in long sure strokes. He drew runes on her chest and said reverent words over them as he lapped them back off. When that was gone, he put some extra chocolate just on both of her nipples and suckled them clean.
He drew the Draco Constellation on her stomach and sat back on his heels with the sexist smirk in the world, and she looked at him with the heat of stars in her eyes. As he cleaned that up with his mouth, he also used his teeth to nip at her sides and hips. Hermione began to writhe, moving her hips in the hopes that he would soon provide some much needed friction where she wanted it most.
Instead he put a dollop of chocolate atop one big toe and pulled it into his mouth. It felt sinful. Then he did the same with the other foot. He rose up on his knees and put one of her heels on his shoulder. He poured a line of chocolate from her ankle to the top of her thigh. He followed the line with his mouth, getting so close to her core. Until he backed off and did the same with her other leg.
He still had his pajama bottoms on and Hermione knew that he could keep up this type of delicious torture for hours before he decided to take them off. She couldn't wait that long.
"Please…"
"Nuh uh. This is my dessert and I am savoring it." Draco could see her surprise as he divested himself of his pajamas, setting free his swollen member. He crawled up her body and straddled her chest, positioning his cock over her mouth.
"Now you will suck me clean," he said as he drizzled chocolate onto it and then pushed it down into her mouth.
With her hands tied up, he was in complete control of the depth and rhythm. He so badly wanted to buck hard and fast into her warm wet mouth, but held onto some control. He reached down and rolled his bollocks gently and moaned. He squeezed the base of his cock and then moved back down and lightly tugged his sack. He rolled his bollocks again. Draco repeated these actions a few times. He was keeping up a slow thrust, only allowing about half of his length to go into her mouth. He didn't want her to gag.
She had gotten most of the chocolate off, so he pulled out and put on a second helping. "Just use your tongue," he commanded as he allowed her swipe up and down him without taking him into her mouth.
She circled the head with that pink little appendage and the sight was glorious. He stroked the bottom half of himself as her tongue worked the top half. He pushed into her mouth again and started forcing himself in deeper than before. He began to hit the back of her throat as he began to move faster. One hand was holding onto the bed's headboard for balance while the other was splayed on himself in a way that his thumb and pointer finger gripped his base while his other three fingers massaged his bollocks.
He was moaning pretty continuously now without any real words leaving his lips, until he grunted out the warning, "I'm coming!" He was still careful not to go too deep as he emptied into her mouth and she swallowed every drop.
When he had finished, he moved back down her body, pulled her legs wide apart, bending her knees up, and proceeded to drizzle chocolate down her slit. He licked her from top to bottom, over and over. She was bucking up into his face, getting close to where she wanted to be. He wasn't giving her quite the contact she needed to put her over the edge and she was getting frustrated.
"Please, please, please. Oh Merlin, Draco, please!" The power of having her hands held out of the way, of having her not being able to flip him over and take control by straddling him like he knew she wanted to, and her body's reactions to his had him getting hard again already. He planned on keeping that information to himself until the last possible moment. He drew out her pleasure longer, dipping his tongue inside her. He swirled her swollen nub with his tongue and lips. He alternated between these activities, increasing her maddened begging. Finally, he was ready to take her and so he sent her over the edge, screaming his name.
Hermione was already in ecstasy when Draco finally allowed her to orgasm, but then he surprised her by removing his mouth the moment she reached her peak, only to swiftly kneel up and pull her lower body up to meet his. He plunged into her, wrapping her legs around his hips so she could support most of her own weight. He set a brutal pace, putting one hand under her arse to help support her and the other went down to work her clit, keeping the orgasm going that he had started with his mouth. She was sure that that she had died and gone to heaven at this point.
Draco was in heaven. Hermione's tight walls were clenching around him, pulling him in deeper when he pushed in, and trying to keep him there when he pulled back. He thought that the earlier fun with her mouth would have taken the edge off, letting him last longer now, but his witch was just so fucking hot. He was moving ruthlessly, taking his pleasure, watching the way the handcuff chains would slacken slightly and then tighten up as her body was pushed and pulled by his. He looked down to her face, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, and mouth open. The trust this woman had in him that was evident in this moment was it for him.
"Bloody hell, I love you," he whispered as his body strained trying to get as deep into her as possible as he released. He stroked in and out a few more times. Draco found himself buried in one last time, staring deep into Hermione's eyes as he came down. He laid her body back down and undid the handcuffs. He gently massaged her wrists, which had gotten red from his efforts, even with the fur lining. He placed his lips against each wrist in turn, whispering healing spells as he kissed them. Then he balanced himself above her, kissing her sweetly on the lips.
"I think that we got a little bit distracted there, love. Good thing today has a later start than the rest of the week did," he said as he flopped down next to her. She looked at him incredulously.
"A little bit distracted? If that is what you call that, I don't know if I would survive really distracted."
Hermione capitulated and agreed that she would attend again next year with Draco and Narcissa. She did have to admit that she loved every free piece of clothing, every pair of shoes, and every goody bag she had walked away with. The jewelry had all been borrowed and needed to be returned. But, there was one emerald choker that Draco insisted gave him an instant hard-on and it had to be kept. It was from the up and coming artist based in New York City.
The week also had the added benefit of Hermione having obtained personal contacts in the fashion world to create dresses for her for various functions without having to go to Diagon Alley or Harrods to procure something. Now she understood how Draco was always the best dressed wizard in any room. It really was an unfair advantage. One that she was willing to use.
A/N: 89JadedPictures continues to be an extraordinary friend to me. I don't know what I do to deserve her.