Chapter Ten

Hermione refused to be drawn in by his all-encompassing intensity. She wanted to jump him, yes, but with the near-animosity that rolled off of him, she doubted he wanted to do the same thing. Or if he did, he might want to venture into his world of pleasure-pain. She wasn't sure she was entirely comfortable being 'punished' again, especially since her backside was still sore

He gazed down at her, as though daring her to challenge him again. Well dammit, she would accept that challenge.

"Malfoy, I have to go." She said as sternly as she could. She had to be at St. Mungos in less than an hour. She couldn't waste any of that time if she wanted to go home and change. On the bright side, she wouldn't have to deal with Ginny the Inquisitor until later tonight. She would be able to prepare what she wanted to say to the questions she was bound to hear.

Malfoy glared at her, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"That fireplace isn't connected to the floo." He said after a beat. Instead of berating her like she thought he would, he let go of her wrists, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

"Hold on." He growled. She wrapped her hands around his neck, preparing herself for the international travel. With a snap, they disapperated.

They appeared in her living room, Ginny was nowhere to be found. Thank Merlin for small miracles. Malfoy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. He was still angry, but a flash of that ever-present heat burned through.

"I'll owl you later. When are you off of work?" He asked, one of his arms wrapping protectively around her waist, pulling her body closer to his. She kept her hands behind his neck, playing with the soft strands. She would never tire of looking at him or feeling his body against hers.

"I get off at nine." She said, her voice nearly cracking. Gods she couldn't focus around him when he was looking at her like that. He drew her in, kissing her. She adored the soft feeling of his pouty lips against her own, and the taste of him drove her mad. He was a heady cocktail full of mint and pure testosterone. His cologne had the same effect on her; its musky mixture of exotic notes and his own unique smell was enough to make her beg for more of him.

The clearing of a throat made Hermione jump. Her cheeks flushed, mortification flooding throughout her body. She hadn't heard Ginny come in, and looking at the redheads frown she had been there for a while. It was odd though. While a frown drew her lips down, excitement danced in her eyes. Oh no, she'd never make it to work on time with that look. She'd be lucky enough to escape Malfoy, let alone Ginny in her interrogation mode. She was thoroughly fucked

"I'll owl you around nine. Have a good day at work, Hermione." Malfoy kissed her on the forehead before disapparating.

She closed her eyes wishing she could disappear into the closest object.

"Hermione Jean Granger." Ginny said venomously. Hermione flinched. She did not have the energy for this.

"Ginny, I know you want nothing more than to avada me right now, but I have to go to work in half an hour, and I really don't want to be late." Hermione hastened to her room, leaving Ginny a sputtering mess behind her.

"We are so talking as soon as you get home!" Ginny yelled, her anger hardly contained. Honestly, after twenty years of celibacy, you'd think her best friend would be happy. Apparently that was too much to ask for.

Hermione sighed, dreading that conversation. She quickly changed into her hospital robes, pinning her 'apprentice' badge onto the light material. She threw her hair atop her head haphazardly. She scourigified herself, disappointed that she didn't have enough time to take a proper shower.

She doubted she could take one without blushing anyway. Malfoy thought it would be a good idea to take a shower together. All Hermione knew was that she would never look at such a menial thing the same way ever again.

Hermione's apparation point was an unconventional way to get into the hospital. She arrived at the abandoned department store, the red brick fading in London's dreary weather. The words 'Purge and Dowse, Ltd.' were swirled in inky black letters upon a weathered sign. She knew it to be distraction though. There was no such store in existence. She stepped up to the door, promptly ignoring the 'closed for refurbishment' sign. At first it made the witch wary, but now she hardly glanced twice at the warning signs. Most wizarding stores imbedded within the muggle world held such warnings anyway.

"Hello Alfred. I'm here for my shift." She said to the dummy sitting beside the collapsing doorframe. It was a horrific thing, with cracked porcelain skin and fading painted features. Even coming here everyday, the dummy managed to always instill a slight feeling of unease. If Hermione hadn't been so unsettled by the inanimate object, she would have laughed at her idiocy.

"Good Day Miss Granger." Alfred replied, his features twisting into a malicious smile. She shuddered, but felt the wards lift as she stepped onto the threshold. Alfred had been created by Mungo Bunham himself, however he was bred for his infamous practical jokes. The more elderly witches and wizards wanted to keep Alfred as guard to 'be reminded of Mungo's spirit'. The newer generations wanted him out though. Hermione agreed with the latter argument.

She raced up to the sign in desk, where she quickly scrawled her name upon the waiting parchment. Her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the various injuries. One wizard had multiple hands sprouting from his chest, while another witch had steam pouring from her mouth. She sighed. Most of the time, the injuries were backfiring wands, and she had no doubts this was the case for the two. Thirty other people were scattered about the waiting room, but Hermione didn't have the time nor inclination to assess their injuries just then. She was nearly late, after all.

She was an apprentice to the head healer, and it was an honor Hermione was reminded of every time she came into the hospital. While she respected the wizard immensely, she couldn't help but be put-off by his holier-than-thou approach to life. He constantly made more sexist comments in Hermione's direction, enraging her inner feminist. If you wanted to piss off Hermione Granger, all you had to do was mumble about inequality in the world; muggle or wizarding.

"Miss Granger." He glared at her near-tardiness. His voice was cold and held a slight nasally quality.

"Sir, I apologize for being late." Hermione replied automatically. Technically, she was still five minutes early, not that he was likely to acknowledge it. The old healer promptly spun on his heel, walking along the hall to the next patient. The first floor, held Artifact Accidents, and each injury was relatively simple to fix. It was always a matter of not knowing the right spell to fix the damage inflicted, which strengthened Hermione's desire to read more medical journals. She would be nothing short of mortified to have to come to St. Mungos with a mundane accident.

Healer Smethwyck, however, was not headed towards any of the rooms on this floor. He stepped into the elevator bank, impatiently tapping his foot upon the ground. The incessant tapping was grating on her nerves.

She watched him press the correct floor, her eyes taking in the other floors.

0 - Artifact Accident

1 - Creature Induced Injuries

2 - Magical Bugs

3 - Potion and Plant Poisoning

4 - Spell Damage

5 - Visitor's Tearoom and Hospital Shop

Hermione was rarely assigned to assist on floor two, and for that she was grateful. War or not, she still had a habit of being squeemish around insects, particularly magical ones.

The elevators stopped, and the two left the tiny elevator. Hermione trailed on the wizard's heels, still feeling as though she'd lose him in the crowd. St. Mungos was always filled to capacity with witches and wizards. Her eyes danced from patient to patient assessing the injuries. Most of the patients had their own rooms, however some were sitting in chairs around the halls as they waited for a room of their own. Those were always the less severe cases of course, but Hermione's heart went out to them. Whether it was less of a concern or not, they were injured or ill in someway, and Hermione wanted to help every witch and wizard she came across. She knew that was a problem though. Healers weren't supposed to go beyond a professional level to the point of actually caring about the person's wellbeing, but Hermione couldn't help it. She wanted to save the world in anyway she could, one wizard at a time.

Draco's POV

Draco scowled, looking down at the letter before him. His old schoolfriend, Pansy Parkinson, was arranged to be married to some French pure-blood this summer. The blond wanted nothing more than to rip the letter and watch as the parchment blackened to ash beneath the flames erupting from the tip of his wand. He resisted the urge however, instead allowing a deep frown to settle upon his features.

If there was one thing that Draco hated about the mindset of aristocratic pure-bloods, it was the concept of an arranged marriage.

Pansy had made it sound as though her beau was actually a decent man, with looks to match his reasonable income, however Draco still couldn't help but feel the strangest twinge of pity within his chest for his old friend. She had been his first after all. First real girlfriend, first lover. Pansy had been the woman to really show Draco the world, and he couldn't help but love her for that. He had long ago established however, that his love for her was nothing beyond friendship, and while they had been romantic in the past, he could never see himself with her now. It was for that reason that Parkinson went to France, to 'clear her head' and 'take a break'. He had only seen his friend once in the past three years, and while he wrote to her often, she never informed him of much that went on in her life anymore. He couldn't help but yearn for their relationship to return to where it was before, to where they shared every thought and secret without so much as a second thought.

As Draco looked down upon the damn letter that sat upon the great oak desk, he knew that there was no hope for that to ever come true.

He didn't know if he really wanted to go to the wedding. Sure she would be disappointed, but it would be expected. While Draco loved France, he didn't want to be reminded of his dear friend selling her life away every time he visited the country. He knew that from the moment the ring was placed upon those delicate fingers of hers, he would never hear from her again. He resented that with every fibre of his being.

Dragging his thoughts away from Pansy, he folded the letter, putting it in his pocket to worry about later. He tucked away her memory, not even bothering to reminisce the old days. Thinking about her would only instill the saddest twinges of nostalgia. Instead he preoccupied himself with his work.

His business was growing larger and larger by the minute. While his father ran it, the Malfoy family gained an average of 500,000 galleons a day. Now that same number was his hourly pay. It was ludicrous to think of how much money his family had, which was why he donated so much of it. Hogwarts was another place he was recognized as benefactor. He had donated nearly ten million galleons to the school in the past year alone. St. Mungos was his first priority donation wise. He had donated nearly sixty million galleons to the hospital. His reasoning was because the wizard ing population was so small, he wanted to keep it healthy as much as possible. He donated to other wizarding hospitals throughout Europe and the Americas as well, but he felt that it would mean more to donate close to home.

Draco also wasn't as ignorant to muggle items as one would assume for a pure-blood like him. He actually had taken quite a liking to automobiles, and purchased an Audi R8 Spyder upon seeing it for the first time. He got his license, after much hassling, and proudly drove it around from time to time. His collection has grown since that first drive, and now he owned upwards of a hundred cars, ranging from the first ever made to concepts to be released in the next few years. He couldn't wait to tell Granger that.

As soon as his mind turned to Granger, a stirring of want tingled beneath his belly. His prick twitched as the phantom feeling of her body writhing against his flittered across his senses. Originally he had planned on just a one night stand to rid himself of this strange sexual tension he had with her. It seemed as though it would take multiple more shags for that to happen any time soon.

He wanted her. Plain and simple.

He had no intentions of dating her. He asked for a casual relationship because he wanted to shag on the side line just to remind himself that he could still feel the same passion with another woman. He normally would never do such a thing, and hated the entire prospect of being with more than one person, especially considering what his father did to his mother, but he still clung to the idea in hopes of regaining his sanity.

Granger had changed. They both had. She was a beautiful, intelligent witch who agreed to his preferences. While he was giving her a few days to consider, he had planned a date with one of the women in the office. She had been pining after him since landing the job, and he merely gave in to see what being with someone would be like after a passionate encounter with Granger.

Virgin or not, that was the best sex Draco had ever had, and that scared him.

He would tell Granger of this arrangement, but only at the right time. Merlin knew she'd probably hex him if he told her right now.

He rose from the leather chair and strode towards the expansive bookshelf opposite him. He pulled a large tome from one of the shelves, retrieving the packet inside. The book was a decoy, and held a few copies of his requirements inside the sunken pages. Draco had charmed it so everyone who gazed at the shelf would skip that particular volume, making it so they couldn't look at the book for more than three seconds. And all who neared it were overwhelmed with a desire to pick up all other books but that one. It was a complicated charm, but nothing that Draco couldn't handle.

Looking at the document in his hands, his libido roared to life. He was looking forward to her agreement. He rolled up the agreement, muttering a spell so only her eyes could read it, and tied it to the leg of his awaiting owl. The regal bird was perfectly obedient, and flew away from the sill. Draco sighed, purposefully ignoring his rising arousal. Images of last night had haunted him all day.

He yearned to apparate to the hospital, drag her home, and shag her for hours, no, days on end. And the depth of that yearning scared him.