(A/N: This chap is where the fic earns its rating. Smut and dub-con and smutty dub-con ahead. Also... smut. Yeah.)

OoOoOoO

"- Two! One! Happy New Year!!"

The sound of the countdown, and the raucous celebration that followed it, drifted up through the floorboards of the room in which she and Draco appeared an instant later. Glancing around, Hermione felt a striking sense of deja vu. Even though she had never been in this particular room before, she was fairly certain she knew where she was.

"Is this - "

"The Leaky Cauldron," Draco said curtly. Disengaging from her, he gestured toward a nearby armchair. "Sit."

"I thought so," Hermione said, sinking into the overstuffed chair as the sounds of merrymaking continued below, "but this room is unusually... er... nice."

"Hah." Draco was across the room, pouring an amber-colored liquid from a bottle into a cut crystal glass. He filled it to the brim, downed it at a swallow, then refilled it and crossed over to her, scrubbing the back of one hand across his mouth as he thrust the glass toward her with the other. "First of all, Granger, it's a suite; I wouldn't be caught dead in a common room. And second of all, it bloody well should be nice; the Ministry keeps it on reserve for political bigwigs three hundred and sixty five days a year. You wouldn't believe the bribes I have to pay that damned, crooked innkeeper every time I want to use it. Highway robbery, when you pause to consider how utterly subpar the insulation is. Sounds like that goddamn party is right in here with us. And for God's sake, Granger," he added a second later, "drink the cognac. It's not poison, I promise you."

She looked down at the glass, now in her hand; up at him; down at the glass again.

"I'm not sure I trust how nice you're being all of a sudden," she said warily.

He barked a brief, staccato laugh. When she looked up again, he was wearing a grin that was nothing short of disturbing, his slate-colored eyes glinting.

"Who in God's name," he asked in a deceptively mild voice, "said that nice had anything to do with it?"

Rattled, she glanced around for a hard, flat surface on which to set the glass down, but there were none within arm's reach. Then Draco was crouching in front of her, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair, his dusky, almost feral eyes mere inches from her own, on exactly the same level.

"Granger," he said, so close she could feel his breath on her face and see the shadows his lashes inked on his cheeks, "let me tell you what is going to happen. You are going to relieve me of this ungodly hangover, since the way I feel at the moment, I would be guaranteed to bollix it up completely. Then, when I can think straight again, I will heal your foot for you. But right now, you're going to take a good, long drink. Because your hands are shaking, you look like hell and I'm beginning to suspect that your evening just might have been almost as atrocious as my own. Drink it, Granger; you need it."

Why did she do it? The way his words washed over her, it almost felt as if he'd hypnotized her somehow; and it would have been easy, later on, to write it off that way. Easy but only marginally true, and Hermione never was one who could ignore truth; even difficult truths.

And the difficult truth here was that she made the decision to drink all on her own. Yes, her defenses were down, but that did not excuse what followed. The fact of the matter was, Draco was right; she'd had an absolute shit night, and in that moment yes, she did feel like she needed that drink.

So she put the glass to her lips, screwed her eyes shut, and tossed the whole thing back, just as she'd seen him do a moment before.

Hermione had very little experience with alcoholic beverages; in fact, in the five years since she'd finished school, she had tasted almost nothing in the way of spirits except for the occasional glass of Champagne while on holiday with her parents; butterbeer, which barely counted at all; and a single intense, and instantly regrettable, shot of firewhiskey at Ron's urging last year.

She now braced herself, therefore, for the eye-watering, mouth-puckering, throat-burning sensation that had accompanied the firewhiskey debacle... but none of that came. The cognac was amazingly smooth; it slid down her throat like liquid satin.

She unscrunched her eyes; opened them slowly. Draco was still there, right in her personal space, watching her with a darkly humorous expression on his face.

"That ... was decent," she managed at length.

"That," Draco said, taking the now-empty glass from her, "is three hundred galleons a bottle. And seeing as we only have thirty seconds or so until you start to feel it, I'd appreciate your assistance with my... condition... before you're hopelessly inebriated yourself." He pulled out his wand and pressed it into her hand, where the glass had been a moment before. "You know what to do?"

She knew what to do. She'd relieved Ron of many an ill-gotten headache over the years. She raised the wand, drew in a breath... and then stopped. Blinked. Tilted her head to the side. Blinked again, more slowly this time. Said, "you look funny, Malfoy."

For a brief moment, before he was able to master himself, his jaw literally dropped.

"Are. You. Fucking. Serious!? Granger! Are you really that much of a lightweight!? For God's sake!"

"You sound funny too," she said with authority, and then, "I'm tingling."

"Unfuckingbelievable." He closed his hand around hers, grinding her fingers into his wand with almost bruising force. Then he raised both their hands until the tip of the wand was pressed to his temple.

"Do it, Granger, before you're completely goddamn useless. Do it NOW!"

She swallowed hard, gave her head a shake, and screwed up as much concentration as she could get hold of. Which wasn't much compared to her norm, but enough to do the job. Just. A few murmured words - she knew them by heart, thank you ever so much Ron Weasley - and it was accomplished.

For a few seconds, he actually sagged against her, his relief was apparently so great; bracing an elbow on the chair's armrest, he dropped his head into it, his eyes falling shut, his breath escaping him in a nearly explosive sigh.

That warm, tingly sense of well-being now spreading steadily through her body, Hermione found herself utterly mesmerized by the way his silver-white hair was spilling over and through his fingers; it looked softer than silk; almost ethereal.

She was ridiculously tempted to touch it; run her own fingers through it. It couldn't possibly be as soft as it looked... could it?

She was actually reaching out when he appeared to come back to himself. Abruptly tensing, he rocked back onto his heels, plucking his wand from her hand with careless ease as he did so. When his fingers brushed hers, she felt a nearly electric jolt that caused her to suck in a startled breath.

If he felt anything of the like, however, he concealed it well. All of his attention now seemed to be focused on her injured ankle. The first thing he did was to rip her stocking, peeling it away from her foot. Then, cupping her heel in one hand, he used the other to make several slow passes with his wand, first to assess the damage - which apparently was somewhat complex considering the amount of time he was devoting to it - and then to reverse it.

There was a quick, hot snap of pain at the end that made her gasp; then he allowed her foot to fall to the floor - and there was not the least bit of discomfort associated with its impact. She was well and truly healed.

"Good as new," he said, looking up at her again - and now his fringe was falling half across those disconcerting silver eyes of his for an effect that Hermione found half scintillating, half frightening. She shook her head, trying to clear it - no use. The fog from the alcohol was descending ever thicker. Not that it was unpleasant - to the contrary, it was the farthest thing from it. But it was definitely making it hard to... think.

Catlike, he was on his feet before she understood that he had moved at all. He stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her critically. "And now, Granger," he said, "I really think it's time you were going."

His tone was so abrupt that it took a moment, particularly in her current warm-and-floaty state, for it to sink in that he was giving her a supremely unsubtle cue to leave.

She blinked again.

Then stood, feeling as though she were moving languidly through some sort of warm, heavy liquid. When had the air become this viscous?

She swayed a little, but managed to keep her feet. Her bare, ripped-stocking feet. Her strong and perfectly sound feet. It occurred to her that she owed Draco a debt of gratitude for healing her ankle.

No sooner had she opened her mouth, however, then he cut her off.

"Out, Granger." He was on the other side of the room again, pouring himself another glass of cognac, but he paused long enough to gesture brusquely toward the door. "My hangover may be gone, but I've still had a rare fucking night. And whoever said that misery loves company? Never met you."

Her jaw actually dropped a little; of all the brazen nerve! As if his company was so eminently pleasant!

"Fine, Malfoy," she retorted, in what she hoped was a suitably clipped tone of voice (the alcohol was making it impossible to tell for sure). "And a happy New Year to you too."

She turned toward the door, then added over her shoulder, in a moment of drunken inspiration, "Why don't you just go bugger yourself, you stupid, arrogant sot!?"

It was an utterly, supremely uncharacteristic thing for her to say - the sort of thing she'd never have said if she'd had full mastery of herself.

It also changed the course, and outcome, of their entire encounter.

OoOoOoO

She heard him slam down the glass; but she never actually heard him move. An instant later he was simply there, snaking his arms around her from behind, yanking her backward against him, hard.

His voice in her ear was half-whisper, half-snarl. "Thanks for the suggestion, Granger," he said, "but I think I just had a better idea. Should've kept your mouth shut - but then that's never been your strong suit, has it?"

"Malfoy," she gasped, stunned, "What - what're -"

Before she could even finish phrasing her question, however, he'd hoisted her bodily off the floor, one arm wrapped round her waist and the other marginally higher, tight around her ribs, and turning with her, crossed the few feet back to the armchair and deposited her none too gently onto it.

This time she found herself backward on the chair, her knees on the seat and elbows on the high cushioned armrests, her cheek pressed hard into the chair's upholstered back. Draco was half behind, half atop her, the hard planes and angles of his body pressing against her, pushing and holding her down. One of his knees was planted firmly between her own, keeping them open despite her best efforts to clamp them shut.

"Malfoy!" She was breathless and shocked. Disoriented too, because things were happening fast - even as the alcohol she had ingested was slowing her thought process nearly to a halt. Under ordinary circumstances, of course she would have grasped exactly what was happening - but compromised as she was, it still hadn't quite hit home. "Let me go!"

"Not a chance, Granger," he whispered, and his voice was right in her ear; his lips moving against it, in fact, sending electric shivers all through her. "I told you, I've just thought of a better use for this evening - thank you for clearing my head, by the way. I almost let a golden opportunity pass me right by. No, you're my guest tonight, Granger. All night. And by Merlin -" he let go her waist, plunging his hand instead into her hair and pulling her head back, causing her to arch her back with a cry - "I'm going to fuck you -" his other hand fisted in the fabric of her gown where it was puddled around her knees on the seat of the chair; then he dragged it up the long contour of her thigh, ruching the shimmery burgundy fabric up as he did so until it was bunched around her waist - "senseless."

One hand still buried in her copious hair, he lowered his mouth to the soft place where her throat met her shoulder and planted a hard, bruising, marking sort of a kiss there. She cried out again as his other hand now darted beneath the fabric of her dress, his arm holding her hips hard against him as his hand slid along warm, bare skin; finding its way quickly and unerringly to that most vulnerable of places, protected now by a mere wisp of silk knickers.

"Malfoy, no! No!" she half gasped, half shrieked. "Stop it, you can't do this!"

He chuckled; she felt it ripple through his body, which was still pressing her into the chair.

"Now what on earth would make you think that, Granger?" he asked almost playfully, nipping at the arch of her neck. "Surely, even as long as it's been since we last saw each other, you remember that in general, I have a habit of doing whatever the hell I want." He dragged his lips up her throat; sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin there until she shuddered all the way down to her toes. "And, surprising as we both may find it, at the moment, Granger, what I want is you. You're not unattractive, you know - especially in evening attire. Not," he added, almost as an afterthought, "that you're likely to be in it very much longer."

"I'll scream," she tried desperately.

He laughed again, this time derisively. "Go ahead. Over the noise of that party down below? The only person who has even the remotest possibility of hearing you is that old bastard Tom... and the only thing he'll do about it is hit me up for an extra bribe tomorrow. So be my guest, Granger - since you are my guest, after all - make all the noise you like."

"But... but..." she was halfway to sobbing now. "I helped you!"

"Shhh." Abruptly, he released his fistful of her hair, allowing her head to clunk forward against the upholstered back of the chair once more. He then reached around her body to brush his hand, lightly but deliberately, across her breasts, causing her nipples to jump to attention - whether she wanted them to or not. She threw her head back again, all on her own this time. "I know it goes against every instinct you have, Granger, but just this once... shhhh."

Nuh... nuh... Malfoy... AHHH - !!"

This last exclamation was the result of his other hand; his finger had just made contact with her through the thin fabric of her knickers. He began to rub her there, lightly at first, applying more and more pressure with every pass. In a moment's time he was literally grinding his fingers against her, though he had yet to push her knickers aside and touch her skin-to skin.

"No, no, no!" she groaned into the cushion. "I can't! I... I... shouldn't... Ron!"

Draco snorted derisively. "I don't see a ring on your finger, Granger. Not to mention the fact that, in case you've forgotten, you chose me over him rather decisively, not fifteen minutes ago. No, it's Weasley who'll be buggering himself tonight, not me. I have better things to do!"

"Please!" She nearly choked on the word, but her body, encouraged by the pleasant warmth of the cognac working its way through her, was responding in spite of her very best efforts. To her deepest chagrin, she found her hips rocking in time to his ministrations. "Malfoy, this is... this... is..."

"This is just what I bloody well needed," he told her hoarsely, "and I'll be perfectly honest with you, Granger; that's the only goddamn thing I care about right now."

With that, he shoved her last thin scrap of protection aside; aligned his finger, and plunged it deeply into her.

"Augh!" Her whole body arched this time, reacting to the invasion, attempting to throw him off. It was futile The alcohol had wreaked havoc on her reflexes; stolen her strength. "Mal... Malfoy... ohhhhhhh - !!"

"Why, Granger, you naughty little girl," he observed quietly, pausing a moment to run his tongue along her jawline, "you're getting all wet."

"I'm not!" she insisted, even as she bucked back against him, deepening the penetration. "I'm not, I'm not!"

Again, that horrible, condescending snort of amusement. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetness," he said, continuing to finger fuck her mercilessly even as she buried her face in the upholstery to hide the deep and altogether mortifying flush that was suffusing her cheeks. "Just say the word and I'll stop."

She was going to - she really was - but then he added a second finger to the first and the only sound she was able to come up with was a thoroughly incoherent, whimpering, sobbing sort of moan.

"Feels good, doesn't it, Granger?" he taunted. "No need to answer - your body's telling me everything I need to know."

"Oh, God -" her voice was muffled by the chair cushions, but the anguish in it was clearly discernible nevertheless - "this is so wrong!"

"What was that?" He had yanked down the neckline of her gown, allowing freer access to her breasts, and was now palming them each in turn; rolling the nipples between his fingers as she shuddered and panted and moaned. "Did you say something? Were you wanting me to stop?"

"Nnooooo..." She was shaking her head back and forth, back and forth, but she was still moving in rhythm with his hands. When he withdrew his fingers from her she actually whimpered at their sudden loss, and when he grasped her thighs in order to shove them further apart, she opened them willingly, and as far as she could.

"No as in stop?" he asked her then, his voice almost as ragged as her own, though still with that taunting edge; "or no as in don't stop? Which is it, Granger? You'd better tell me quick."

"I don't KNOW!" she virtually wailed. "Malfoy... I don't... oh, God... please!"

"Well, I gave you a chance," he told her flatly. "Don't ever say I didn't."

It was when she heard the telltale sound of trousers being undone that the panic returned in a bright, hot wave. She renewed her efforts to twist away from him, to no avail whatsoever.

"Malfoy! Stop! Wait, I'm not - oh! Oh! Oh Nooooo!"

He attempted to drive himself all the way home with that first single, mighty plunge, but was unable to proceed more than halfway. She was simply too tight, particularly since her body had responded to his onslaught by going tauter than a drawn bowstring. She was shaking all over, and hard; fists clenched in the chair's upholstery, breathing in shallow, rapid, panting gasps, each exhalation another tiny, helpless cry of "oh! - oh! - oh!"

"Oh my... fucking... God, Granger, you feel good," he told her, through breaths nearly as harsh and jagged as her own.

"Muh - Malfoy -" she was in the grip of such sensory overload that she could barely form the words - "tuh - too... big!"

"Shhh," he murmured once again, just as he had at the beginning. Just "shhh," and then, moving both his hands to her hips to steady her against him, he pulled out slightly and drove in again.

This time he made it all the way.

She bit a cushion to keep from screaming and then there was nothing to do but hang on.

Nothing in her admittedly limited sexual experience (she'd only ever been with Ron of course, and it had been less than six months since she'd gifted that lying, cheating slimeball with her virginity) had even come close to preparing her for the intensity of... of this. She was being stretched and filled in ways she'd never even imagined were possible. There was pain. But oh, God help her, there was pleasure too. Especially when Draco hissed in her ear, "come on, Granger, I know you're close. You're gonna come for me, and you're gonna tell me when you do."

Letting go her hips - he no longer needed to hold her to him as she was now meeting him thrust for thrust - he returned his hands to their previous locations, teasing the most sensitive parts of her body, urging her toward the climax that was rushing at her like a tidal wave of sensation. And just a few heartbeats' worth of time later, she did come for him; harder than she'd ever come in her life, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing so hard from the intensity of it that her words were barely comprehensible.

But she did come. And she did tell him.

A few seconds later, biting down hard on her shoulder in an unmistakable act of ownership, making her scream all over again, he exploded inside her, flooding her with his seed.

OoOoOoO

Utterly physically and emotionally drained, Hermione slipped into a kind of swoon at that point, collapsing forward, bonelessly, into the chair cushions; her body wracked by lingering shudders, half-conscious at best.

Ragdoll-limp, she offered no resistance whatsoever when he turned her over, his hands now unexpectedly gentle. He held her pressed against his chest with one hand, while the other deftly unzipped the back of her gown; he then pulled it right off, over her head, as if she were a child. Allowing her to sink back against the cushions, he then proceeded to divest her of every other scrap of clothing she had on - right down to the stockings he'd ripped earlier when healing her foot. That done, he gathered her into his arms, pausing just a moment to run his tongue up her jawbone to her ear and to murmur, so quietly that she would later wonder whether he'd actually said it at all, "you're beautiful, Granger."

Then, leaving her clothes strewn over the chair, and the cushions badly askew, he carried her effortlessly across the suite and into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. By the time he'd laid her atop the coverlet of the bed, he already had one of her nipples caught firmly between his teeth and two of his fingers buried inside of her again; leaving her no doubt, as she gasped and whimpered and writhed, that despite all she had just been through, he had barely even begun.