Note: Another short one, but I think the appearance of a certain Slytherin makes up for it.

Chapter Five

Hermione squeezed herself into the Ministry lift, hit the button for her department, and immediately shuffled the notes in her arms. She'd intended to spend the weekend brainstorming on a new peace treaty with the centaurs, who'd rejected the last one based on the fact that it wasn't "pleasing enough," after which, they warned her to not return until she had something "acceptable." Translation: they wanted to continue their witch-abducting custom, and Hermione had to figure out a scenario in which the Ministry would ever allow it.

But the weekend had brought some particularly pleasing and acceptable distractions, and now she had little more ideas on the treaty terms than what she'd started with. Hermione highlighted some of her scribbles as witches and wizards left the lift, until she was certain she was alone. Then she leaned against the wall and let out a long, constrained sigh.

"Now, that sort of frustration is reserved for midweek, Granger." She could practically hear the smirk form behind her. "Not first thing on a Monday."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Good morning to you, too, Malfoy."

"Heard about your upcoming proposal."

Hermione wasn't surprised. He tended to know numerous things that weren't any of his business. She turned and reminded herself to aim for the general direction of cordiality. "Well, that's nice, I suppose."

He shook his head . "It's never going to happen, you know. You oughtn't be wasting your time and skills."

"No offense, Malfoy, but I do not give a bleeding wrackspurt regarding your opinions on my work."

He laughed and took a sip of his coffee. "Such language, Granger."

She glared. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

He held up his dragonhide briefcase. "Paperwork. For the Apothecary. Speaking of which," he took a step towards her and leaned, not six inches away from her neck, and inhaled.

Hermione's face paled. She'd positively globbed on 'Bed of Roses,' hoping the scent would remind her of Charlie and help her get through the day. The lift opened and she made for the exit, but Malfoy had pressed the 'pass' button before she could take a step forward and they were off again. "That was my stop," she hissed. It wasn't, but she was willing to change lifts anywhere if it would mean an end to this conversation.

"The question is," Malfoy said, completely ignoring her, "who might you wear such a concoction for?"

"That's none of your bloody business, Malfoy."

"Ah, so there is someone, then, yes? And I take it from your defensiveness, that he, like your proposal, is a hopeless cause."

Hermione scowled at his nerve, but suddenly remembered how Charlie had slid her body towards his mouth the night before. Well, if Malfoy could behave inappropriately, then so could she.

She regarded Malfoy with a smirk and tossed her hair. "On the contrary," she said. "The man in question practically forced me to ride his face just last evening."

Malfoy had been taking a long sip of coffee but he lowered his cup fast with widened eyes, not even noticing as a few drops sloshed onto his briefcase.

"It was brilliant," Hermione added casually. "I came over a dozen times. I should be thanking you, really." She stepped out of the opening doors, turned and said. "But I won't. Good day, Malfoy." The doors shut over his still-gaping mouth.

Hermione burst into giggles and practically skipped down the hall. She'd finally figured out how to shut up Draco Malfoy! Of course, it came down to lowering her dignity quite a lot, but it was worth it all the same.

She wondered if Malfoy had ever let a woman do what Charlie had, indeed, practically forced upon her and, aside from wrinkling her nose at the visual, came to the conclusion that Malfoy would find such an act beneath him. Still, she thought. Everyone had their kinks. And some were probably quite unexpected.

"Kinks," Hermione said aloud.

A wizard walking past her stopped. "Come again, Miss?"

"Kinks!" she repeated to the stranger. "That's it!" Then, though subtly, she actually did skip into her office.

XXX

"So, Hermione, let's see if I have this right. You're suggesting that we open up a registry of sorts. For witches to—"

"Experience an erotic getaway with a colony of centaurs," Hermione finished. Kingsley had pulled a chair for her, but she was much too excited to sit down. "We'll make it sound like a holiday. But also keep it clear that there will, indeed, be intercourse. We'll write up consent and liability forms. Get the centaurs to agree only pleasure and not pain may be had by the witches. And—"

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Well, how can we know that there are interested witches? It's somewhat of a, ahem, taboo activity."

"Everyone has their kinks, Kingsley. If you'd like, I can set up a discreet, anonymous poll for an informal number count, if you're concerned."

"Please do. And get back to me."

Hermione crafted an ad for Magical Mingles, a type of classifieds for those looking for companionship of the more carnal sort. She paid extra for the text to be published immediately, and by the end of the day, she'd had nearly three hundred responses and the awkward-yet-bemused approval of Kingsley.