Okay, so... I didn't mean to, but, I LIED! There will be FIVE parts, not four, to Bond! So yay!? There was just too much to fit in to a final chapter. But next one, alas, is the last. XD Hope everyone likes this. Chapter is broken up into 3 parts.

Thank you Waymay for not making fun of me, even when I make obvious mistakes. XD Empire, chapter 3 is up! Go check it out! Waymay is creating a great story with this one, folks! Also, I've written a cute oneshot dramione titled: Pitch! Please check it out when you get a chance.
~A.


The Studio


"Carousel" by Melanie Martinez

The Studio Room: if the name wasn't enough of a dead giveaway for Hermione, maybe it would be the tarps draping all around the gallery-like setup, paint canisters and brushes placed, seemingly random, at different stations. Draco walked the room, eyeing over each and every tool at his disposal, a smirk perched across his mouth.

"Remind me again how this is supposed to be sexually appealing?" asked Hermione as she slipped off her light jacket (it was rather chilly outside this evening) and placed it on a coat rack nearby, revealing her simple white t-shirt and black shorts, as per Draco's request for tonight to wear something 'she didn't mind getting messy in'. Down below she felt rather out of place amongst the partier goers. It was rave night, thankfully, so the lights had been turned down extra low so everyone could see the glow of their magical glow sticks that changed colors every few seconds. Hermione was given one at the door, and still wore it around her wrist now, matching Draco.

"How is this not?" he replied.

"Paint is hardly something I think of when I imagine 'kink'."

"Why don't you take a closer look?"

Draco waited patiently as Hermione approached a nearby table, examining the different paint canisters there. Each of them were labeled, not with a color, but with a flavor. Strawberry. Treacle Tart. Dreamsicle. Chocolate. Vanilla Bean. Seaweed.

"They're edible."

He nodded.

"What about the canvas?"

"We're the canvas.- It's body paint."

"Oh." Her eyes went wide and a blush crept up her neck. "Oh!" Hermione giggled nervously. "I understand now." Wow, she felt embarrassed. Putting two and two together shouldn't have been difficult for her. She walked to another station, where different bins of marble-painted water rested. Some were mixes of reds, blues, and yellows while others held softer, more earthy shades. "What's this?"

Draco walked up next to her, arms tucked behind his back. "Marbling, I believe."

"Marbling?"

"It's a paint technique, procured from muggles, but perfected by wizards." He smirked. "Want to give it a go?"

"What does it do?"

"Look at that. You don't know everything, do you?" Draco untucked his wand from a holster he fashioned around his belt and scourgified one of the basins, leaving the water clear. Next, he reached behind the basins, revealing several colored dropper bottles. As if he'd done this a thousand times, he picked up a green one and a silver, placing a drop each in the basin. The water began to swirl and dance on it's own, making an intricate marble design with the two colors. He, then, hovered a hand over the water before dipping his hand in. When he brought it back out, it was stained just like the water, swirled in emerald and grey.

"Oh! Like a temporary tattoo!" Hermione exclaimed, excited. "That's very interesting." She reached out to Draco's hand -it was dry to the touch, and the paint did not come off as she rubbed her fingers over his palm. "What's your favorite color?" she asked him.

Draco let her trace her fingers all about his hand as he replied, "You'll laugh if I tell you."

"Let me guess. Green?" She shot him a snarky smile, and he shrugged. "How very Slytherin."

"I've always liked the color, even before I knew what house I'd be in." He guided her hand over to the different basins. "Your favorite color?"

"I rather like blue."

"Blue it is." He stopped her hand above a blue and black design and, holding her by the forearm, delicately pushing her fingers, then her palm, then the rest of her all the way to just above the wrist. Hermione realized, though, that he wasn't done when he did not remove her hand from the water but reached over and fished out another dropper bottle. He cradled it in his palm, so she couldn't see which color he'd chosen. "Close your eyes."

"You're not going to make the marbling look like a penis, are you?"

"Do you think I'd be so childish?"

"Yes."

"I guarantee you, I wouldn't. -Close your eyes."

She did, and the water tingled as he added the next drop of paint. After a moment, he removed her hand and bade her to look. When she did, her heart stopped.

There, painted amongst the swirling blue and black marbling on the back of her hand, was a silver dragon that beat its wings up and down, mid flight. It gracefully moved amongst her hand, weaving between the paint swirls..

"See? Far less childish than you imagined," he winked at her, jumpstarting her heart in her chest again.

"It's… beautiful," she stared at the dragon in awe. "And so detailed. How did you do it?"

"I'll tell you later." He reached up with his painted and and glided it gracefully down the side of her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He was so affectionate, Hermione began to wonder if this was really him at all, or some elaborate prankster with Polyjuice potion. Because… this… this was nice. The way he stared into her eyes. The calm way in which he drank her in like a tall glass of lemonade. The careful consideration he took as he slipped her hand in his and brought it up to his cheek. The dragon danced along her hand, nearly distracting her from Draco's eyes, which had faded into a dark charcoal. "I'm so very conflicted right now."

"Are you?" Hermione smiled, coy. "Why is that?" She watched as her hand stroked up to his hairline, and, on its own, raked through his pale blonde tresses. Draco's eyelids fluttered shut for half a moment before he inhaled deeply and brought them back open again.

"See, half of me wants to ravish you right here and now," he smirked, "But the other half…"

"The other half?" she asked.

Draco's smirk turned into a dangerously entertained grin. "Wants to do this." And with that, he released her at once and dashed past her to the table. Hermione, realizing what he planned, laughed and ran after him.

"Don't you dare-!" But Draco had already grabbed up the nearest canister of edible paint, pried open the top, and splashed directly into her chest. "OH!" Hermione squealed. It was so cold! Cold and wet and messy! She could feel where the splatter effect splashed the paint up her neck and over her arms. Tiny specks of yellow landed on her chin and lips. Lemon flavored, she noted. She stared, wide eyed and dumbfounded for half a moment before shouting, "You git!" Like a vengeful toddler, she dashed to the table and attempted to pry off a lid, but Draco's arms darted around her and tried to pull her hands off, both of them laughing and shouting at one another to let go. Hermione found the upper hand when she elbowed him in the ribs and removed the lid. Draco, in retaliation, wrapped his arms around her stomach and pulled her flesh against him, chuckling.

"Uh oh." He teased. "Now you're stuck."

"Hardly." Hermione took the collateral damage and dumped the canister over both of their heads, spilling red paint down into their hair and faces.

"You little sneak!" Draco laughed as he tugged her away from the tables, released her, and pulled out his wand. With a flick, he opened each and every canister of paint.

"That's cheating!"

"That's magic."

"We can stop right now," she offered, her heart beating away in her chest. This childish act -it was thrilling. And even though they were most certainly not using the paints for their intended purposes, it was oddly… stimulating. Being able to release -to laugh -to let go. Not even control this time. Just let go of her strifes… Being able to enjoy the little, playful flirtations without judgement. To her, this was what she had missed with Ron. It was what she craved since their separation. And here it was, in Bond, with Draco Malfoy of all people. For the first time since their night in the Sensory Room, she saw the real him peek through. Inside, he was gentle, kind, playful even. She could see it in his eyes as he hovered a canister of paint above them -he was letting go, too.

"You think I'd concede to a truce?" he chided. "How very Gryffindor."

But Hermione wasn't one to give up either. Instead of drawing her wand, she did the one thing she knew would distract him. She reached down to the bottom of her shirt and peeled the soppy material up and over her head. As she tossed it aside and smirked, Draco raised an eyebrow, leveling his wand to his side. The canister floated down to the ground.

"And that… that is very Slytherin…" he whispered, licking his paint covered lips.

Hermione shrugged. "I learned from the best."

"Indeed you did." And like a child tiring of one toy when given something shiny and new, he tossed his wand away and beckoned her with a curl of his finger. In an instant, his boyish demeanor was replaced with that authoritarian essence that was his Dom personality. It was all in the eyes - and it made Hermione's insides turn to mush. "Come here, pet."

Hermione did as was told of her, walking in slow, gentle strides until she stood before him. It was so easy to switch the deviant on inside of her. All he had to do was look at her that very way, as if she were the only thing on Earth he craved, and she melted into a ready-to-please Sub. She didn't reckon she'd ever be able to tell Ginny about this -she'd never believe that Hermione could give up control so easily.

Draco extended his marbled hand, covered in edible paint, and traced it down her side, resting it on her hip. "My, my… what a dirty girl you've become, Hermione. -How did you manage that?"

Hermione grinned playfully back at him. "You."

"I did do this, didn't I?" The Slytherin looked pleased with his work. "But you're not dirty enough." He leaned down and licked her painted ear along its shell. "Do you think my cock inside you would remedy that?"

And just like that, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, lost in his trance. "Mmm… yes, Master."

"Say it."

"Your cock inside me would make me a very dirty girl."

"Merlin, I love it when you talk like that." The hand on her hip slipped behind, grabbing her ass cheek and giving it a firm squeeze. "Remove your clothes, pet." Hermione anxiously tugged down her shorts and underwear, not caring if she looked desperate in the process. She turned around so Draco could unclasp her bra, and with her now standing full in the nude, he said, "Go stand and face the wall."

A chill of excitement ran down Hermione's spine, and like the good girl she wanted to be for him, she (very nearly skipped) over to the wall. She only waited a moment before his hands wrapped around her wrists and brought them up above her head.

"If I let you turn around, will you stay this way? With your hands above your head? No matter what I do to you?"

"Yes," she whispered, the tension building between her thighs.

"And why is that?"

"Because I'd do anything to please you."

He released one of her wrists to smack her on the ass, making Hermione yip. "Damn right you would. And I'd do anything to please you, so long as you obey... That's how this relationship works, doesn't it, pet?"

The atmosphere thickened, and both held perfectly still, feeling the moment out. His words echoed in Hermione's mind, over and over -one word in particular. How did he mean that? Did he mean… well, surely he didn't mean… because… well, did he? She realized that he wanted an answer, but she was fearful of reading into it the wrong way. What were they doing? Wasn't this just all some fun and games? Some way to relieve the sexual frustrations built inside of them? But was it? Or was it…

She would need more evidence, she concluded, before she knew how to assess something as heavy as that word. Because, should she look at it the wrong way, her heart might get smashed. Even though… deep inside… she desperately wanted it to mean something. To know what they were doing wasn't just physical. That he felt it too -this connection. And he said as much before, hadn't he? So why was it she was so afraid to admit to it, too?

The silence between them built until Draco, as if sensing her apprehension, alleviated it by kissing down her paint covered cheek and licking it gingerly with his tongue. "Think about it," he told her. Hermione blushed as red as the paint in her hair.

"Alright…" she whispered back.

"Good girl."Draco released her other hand and guided her around to face him. Splattered in bits of red and yellow, he looked like a poster child for Gryffindor. He still commanded his dominance over her, but his eyes were soft as they stared into hers. The satisfied smile he wore was difficult to miss. "Hands above your head, now." And, without pressing the subject further, he backed away from her, switching the softness back to firm. He walked over to the tables across the room, picked out a deep green labeled 'mint' and a cup of paintbrushes, and strolled back to her. After he sat his tools at his feet, he removed his button down shirt and used it to wipe a bit off paint off her face.

"Thanks," she whispered.

He smirked, tossing the shirt aside. And then, like a man at confession, he kneeled before her, purposefully ghosting his breath across her stomach. His eyes glanced up at her as he pushed her legs further apart and traced his tongue along the dip in her belly button. Hermione inhaled sharply as her arms twitched above her. She willed herself to be strong, even when Draco trailed his tongue down her lower abdomen and then over to her left pelvic bone before giving it a gentle nibble. His hand, meanwhile, reached down to a paintbrush and, as he pulled away, he painted something along her stomach with slow, careful strokes. It tickled against Hermione's skin, but she dared not move until he finished.

"What does it say?" she asked, though she thought she might be able to tell as she glanced down.

Draco confirmed her suspicions. "Draco Malfoy."

Hermione laughed. "How conceited."

"I'm just claiming what's mine," he shrugged, tossing the paintbrush over his shoulder. His hand went into the paint, then, and then rested against her thigh, leaving a distinctive print. It dried almost instantly. "Mine." It curled around to her bum. "And this." Up to her side. "Mine." Smirking he dipped both hands into the paint, stood, and cupped her breasts. Hermione, desperate for the touch, groaned in pleasure as he tweaked her nipples. "These." One hand still on a breast, he took his other and trailed his painted fingers over her lips. "Mine."

She darted her tongue out and tasted the mint as she licked at his fingers. Draco's eyes danced with lustful entertainment as he watched her lap at them hungrily. "Yours," she whispered. Her arms began to ache, but she didn't want to disappoint him. Instead, she licked his fingers clean and begged him with her eyes. Draco groaned as she deep throated his fingers with ease. Slowly, he took those fingers, brought them up to his own lips, sucked on the first two, and slipped them between her legs.

He drew gentle circles along her clit as he whispered, "Mine."

"All yours," she moaned, throwing her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. The tension built before this moment had Hermione ravenous for his touch, and it didn't take her long to be sent into her first orgasm with Draco's fingers sliding into her to stretch her as her muscles constricted in wave after wave of bliss. It only added to the already euphoric feeling, so much so that Hermione forgot herself and dropped her arms to wrap them around his neck and pull him in for a fierce, electrified kiss. His fingers still inside of her, he began to pump her into a steady rhythm as their tongues slid against each other and lips crashed hungrily again and again. He soon forgot himself as well, slamming his chest against hers as he drove them into the wall, fucking her with his fingers and earning the sexiest sounds from her throat as she moaned in pleasure. Hermione kissed under his jaw, just the way he liked, and Draco's knees nearly buckled. She took the opportunity for control, concentrating with everything she had as she reached down and unbuckled his pants. Draco removed his hand from between her legs to help her, and within moments they freed his cock from the confines of his boxers. Hermione stood on her tiptoes to angle them, and Draco kissed her passionately as he steadied her hips and drove home, slamming himself inside of her.

The sex that followed was rough, dominating. Draco's hands searched every bit of Hermione's body while she took every inch of his cock over and over again. The paint smeared as they grabbed and ground and bit and licked. Soon, Draco's signature was nothing more than a faded, smudged version of itself. Not that he cared. He was too busy whispering filthy things in Hermione's ear to take notice that his penmanship had been permanently ruined.

"Filthy little Granger, taking my cock like a hungry little slut. Who does that pussy belong to, Hermione?"

"Ohmm… mmy.. G-god… you, Draco. You."

"Yeah, that's right. And you'll take every inch of my cock, because you love it. You love it shoved deep inside of your warm, wet cunt, don't you? I bet you're so hungry to taste my cum down your throat. Bet you'd take it all with a smile on your face."

"Fuck!" She bit down on her lower lip to keep from screaming. "Don't stop, Draco. Don't stop."

"You like it when I talk dirty to you, pet? Does it get you off?"

"Yes!"

"I bet I could call you anything right now, and you'd let me, wouldn't you? So long as I was fucking you. Just. Like. This."

"Mmfmm… yes…"

"Tell me what you are. You're my litle slave, aren't you?"

"God, yes! Whatever you want, Draco!" she scrambled out, loving the degradation. Not because she actually believed it, but because he was using words like 'my' in front of them. She knew, somehow, that Draco didn't mean a word of his slander except for that one word. It was all a part of the show, and she reveled in it.

A hand rested against her throat, firm but careful. There was just enough pressure to feel the possession, but not enough to hurt her. Draco's eyes found hers, and he whispered, "My beautiful little muggleborn." And with that, he kissed her, dipping his tongue into her mouth as he slowed down his thrusting to a mild jog. His touches softened. The hand around her throat relaxed, and his other hand came up to her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. He let her set the pace, let her guide him down to the floor where she crawled on top of him and slipped down onto his hard shaft and possessed him like a siren. He let her command him, telling him where to put his hands and how to caress her skin. He let her come at her leisure, one, two, three times. Each time, he would feed her lines of praise of how well she's done. And when she came a fourth time, she was the one to tell him to come right along with her, rocking their bodies into a symphony of pants and ecstasy.

Hermione didn't care she was covered head to toe in paint, not having bothered to clean herself as she threw herself into bed that night. She wanted the memories there for the morning. She wanted to smell him on her skin when she woke up. Wanted to see the dragon still dancing on the back of her hand.

She wanted to remember this night, always.


A Secret Well Kept


"Sit Still, Look Pretty" by Daya

"Have a drink with us, Granger."

As Hermione approached the back corner lounge that Draco, Pansy, and Blaise made their permanent hide-away on Tier One, she noticed tonight's festivities before her arrival included shots of swirling green alcohol bewitched to spin like a twister in its shot glass. Six empty glasses sat beside two untouched ones, and when Draco gestured to them, she could only infer they were ordered for her.

She stared uneasily at the shots and up to the bar, checking to see if a certain bartender was on duty when Pansy stepped beside her and whispered in her ear, "Oh, don't you worry about that. We poured the shots ourselves."

"We're celebrating!" Blaise toasted as he tilted a large bottle of fire whiskey to his lips. He looked as lit as a bonfire.

"Blaise's sister just gave birth to a baby girl," Draco explained, leaning up on the lounge sofa to place one of the shots in her hand. The smirk resting on his lips gave Hermione's a jolt as she knocked back the first shot. The liquor was sour, like green apples, but far less sweet. Still, it felt good crawling down her throat and left a tingle against her tongue.

"Wow." She scrunched her eyes up at the taste and slammed her shot glass down on the table. "Oh. Congratulations, Zabini."

"You can call me Blaise," he cooed.

"He's only saying that so he can call you Hermione," Draco shot back, shutting down Blaise's advances almost immediately. His hand extended out, and she didn't need prompting this time. Falling into his lap was as simple as falling into bed after a long day at the office. She allowed her legs to drape over the sofa as Draco wrapped his arm around her stomach and tugged her to his chest. A kiss on the cheek was her reward, and it tingled like fire licking at her skin. It was amazing how comfortable they were with each other this time. Pretenses aside, they both now fully understood their attraction for one another, and neither one seemed to want to let it go so easily.

"What's her name?" Hermione asked Blaise.

"Angelique." Blaise replied. "Beautiful little thing, too."

"He's such a proud uncle," Pansy patted her husband on the cheek. "Even if he weren't three sheets to the wind, he'd still wear that shite eating grin."

"Ah, bugger off, Pans." Blaise turned on his wife and pinched her in the side. She gasped, smacking him in the arm, and suddenly they were ravenous wolves attacking each other's faces with their lips.

"You know, they're starting to grow on me," Hermione whispered, turning her face into Draco's neck to allow her breath to ghost his skin. She made the bold choice of taking the reins this evening, despite her knowledge of Draco enjoying his role as a dominant personality. After her discussion with Luna, and last week's amazing sexual experience( still the highlight of her week), Hermione concluded she couldn't take the question of his secret any longer, and she would get it out of him tonight, one way or another. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she grazed her teeth along the shell of his ear.

"Speaking of things that are growing," Draco muttered, slipping his hand around her wrist like the assertive male he was to keep her from running her fingers through his hair. To prove his point, he adjusted his position on the lounge, pressing his erect prick against her bum. It further cradled her in his lap, knocking her dominance down a few pegs. Damn. He was good. Too good.

"Dance with me," Hermione suggested, trailing her nose along his cheek until the tip pressed against his own, pointed nose.

"Mmm… but pet, there's so many other things we could be doing with our bodies," he said through hooded, lust-filled lids.

"I want a dance," she said again. It was her plan to get him out to that dance floor, one way or another, where he couldn't try his way with her in a dark corner. There would be people around. Lots of people. It would knock his assertion down a few pegs, and give Hermione the control she needed to ask her questions. "Please?" she coaxed his ear with a soft whimper. "For me?" She was getting better at this, she realized. Taking control of Draco Malfoy was just a matter of knowing his weaknesses.

Merlin, she got braver every day with him, didn't she? His admittance to being a single man lifted a huge weight off her shoulders, and now, she found herself fantasizing not only about him dominating her in the corners of public settings, but also kissing her, whispering in her ear, and feeding her blueberries while they laid in bed. Not like she knew what lying in a bed with him felt like. Their times at Bond were intimate, yes, but clinically so. Still, he'd admitted to feeling something more than lust for her in their last encounter, hadn't he? She wondered if she could trust it. Trusting Draco Malfoy was like taking a chance with a snake in the grass. It was no wonder he was sorted into Slytherin. Still, she was a Gryffindor; a lion. She wouldn't back down from a challenge, even if it meant a snake bite to her metaphorical paw.

Draco growled low in his throat, enticed by the way she begged him. After a moment to clear his senses, she heard him mutter out (almost annoyed), "Yeah, alright. One dance."

"Mmm… thank you, Draco." She bit on his name like it was a candy cane being snapped in half. His resolve quickly followed that candy cane and snapped as well.

"Anything for you," he murmured, strained. Hermione leaned back, smirked, and climbed off his lap before grabbing his hand and yanking him off his seat. Draco's eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he allowed her to lead him into the throng of partiers and into the center of the storm. Loud bass vibrated against their bodies as the lights danced above their heads. Hermione grinned at the deplorable expression Draco's face as some frat-boy looking wizard bumped shoulders with him.

"You alright?" she teased as she began to rock her hips to the guitar chords umping through the speakers. 'Club' was never Hermione's first choice of music, but here at Bond, the music seemed a mix of rock with hints of remixed electro. It made it easy to find a sway with her hips. Draco nodded, allowing himself to relax. His shoulders, legs, and hips began to move along with the beats, and, very slowly, a smile appeared on his face.

"I hate people," he admitted with a laugh, having to nearly shout to be heard over the roar of the music and the 'woo' girls around the floor.

"What?" Hermione could hear him just fine, but she was surprised by his confession. "Why do you hate people?"

He wrapped an arm around her back and tugged her to him, smirking as he forced her to dance in his personal bubble. "Have you met people? They're the worst."

"That's not true. I'm part of the congregation of people."

"You're a person." He motioned around the dancefloor. "People are something else entirely." Suddenly, he put his other hand around her hip and spun her around, grinding into her as she was forced up against him, back to front. She felt his hands rest there, then, on her pelvic bones while he swayed them into a commanding rhythm with their hips. "You look gorgeous in that dress, pet."

Hermione blushed, glancing down at her strapless pouf dress made of silky satin. Maroon. Ginny's favorite on her. This dress had been hanging in her closet for years, because Ron always hated maroon, saying it reminded him of his mother's sweaters she'd send at Christmas. It was nice to see it appreciated.

"Thank you," she replied over her shoulder. She felt the urge to slap his hand away as it trailed up the side of her stomach, just under the curve of her breast -but she caught herself at the last moment. She needed him in a good mood if she wanted answers. "Draco?"

"Mmm… yes, pet?" He slowed their grinding down, guiding her hips with a dip of his hand to her lower stomach. Pressed against him like this, Hermione could feel his want for her, yet again.

"When are you going to take me to Tier Three?"

The hand on her stomach tightened, and his movements stopped, momentarily, before building back up again. "Never."

"What?" She narrowed her eyes and attempted to turn around, but Draco kept her in place, commandingly dipping his face into her neck to leave kiss after soft kiss along her skin. His distraction worked for half a moment, until Hermione came to her senses and turned her head towards his, blocking his access off of her throat. "What do you mean 'never'? What's on the Third Tier?"

"It's not for us," he tells her, movements slowing, yet again. "Trust me."

"So, tell me what it is, then. Sate my curiosity."

Draco chuckled. "I don't think that would ever be possible, Hermione."

"You know what I mean."

His hand moved down, grazing between her legs tauntingly before moving back up to rest against her lower abdomen. "I'm bored of dancing. Pick a room."

"You can't just change the-" She was cut off by his lips as they pressed against hers. He tasted of alcohol, and spearmint, and seduction. Whatever Hermione was going to say was instantly forgotten. Draco had a way of doing that to her -of short circuiting her brain even when she knew damn well she was right. She leaned back against him, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek as he kissed her, slow and sensual. Hermione, lost in his embrace, moved her lips with his, tongues finally touching lightly between breaths of air. Maybe, she thought, questions could wait. Distractions were too much to deal with, like the sudden heat that flushed over her skin, or the dampness in her knickers.

Draco broke the kiss to whisper, "I can't just what, pet? Weren't you about to say something?"

"I've forgotten," she muttered, closing her eyes and chewing on her bottom lip. Draco took the opportunity to grab her hand and tug her away from the dancefloor. His eyes were two grey pools of entrancement that hypnotized her to follow him. They never left her face as he backed his way through the crowd until they made it to the bar, where he ordered them two more shots.

"And don't sully it up, Jezabelle," he told the bartender who they all presumed spiked Hermione's drink her first night here. "Don't think for a second your little stunt went unnoticed." Jez rolled her eyes, but put her hands where they could watch as she poured them both a shot each of some Russian vodka. "To you." Draco smirked, clinking his glass with hers.

It was, then, that Hermione remembered, "The Third Tier. What's on it?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and tossed back the shot. "Damn. And here I thought we could have some fun."

"We can, once you tell me."

"You're testing my patience."

"And you're testing mine. Tell me, or I swear, I'll leave right now."

"Would you?"

"Yes."

He called her bluff. "Go on, then."

Hermione blinked back at him. "You'd really let me walk out that door?"

"I wouldn't particularly like to see you go, no."

A slender, good looking wizard popped up behind Hermione, startling her as leaned in and said, "Bet he'd love to watch you leave, though." The man thrust out his hand to Hermione. "Name's Gregory."

"Oh. Um. Hello." Hermione, politely, took his hand and shook it. Draco's cheeks tinted red in agitation at the sight. "Hermione."

"Hermione. What a fetching name -well, fetching name for a fetching witch, no?"

"She's taken," Draco grumbled, tapping his fingers along the bar top. He made no motion to move, however, statuesque in his stance.

"Is she?" Gregory turned his attention on Draco, noticing the mask. "Looks like you are too, mate. If I'm not mistaken, isn't that what that mask means?" His face spun back around to Hermione, green eyes glistening. "Care to dance?"

Hermione looked over Greg's shoulder, to Draco, who appeared tempted to chuck his empty shot glass into the back of Gregory's head. He gave Hermione a look of 'what will you do now?' and pursed his lips. It was tempting (boy, was it ever) to say yes to Greg. But Hermione was no child, and games were not her specialty. She felt something for Draco, be it lust or something deeper (she wasn't entirely sure), and she didn't want to pretend to be interested in someone else.

"I'm sorry, Gregory. I'd like to politely decline. As it happens, I am taken."

Gregory raised a curious eyebrow, gesturing behind him, to Draco. "This prick?"

"Yes." Hermione smirked, meeting eyes with the jealous blonde leaned against the bar top. "That prick."

Gregory, knowing when he'd been defeated, nodded and said, "Well, if you change your mind…" He blew Hermione a kiss before walking far down to the other end of the bar and chatting up some redheaded witch instead.

"Prick?" Draco beckoned her attention back around at him.

"Taken?" she mused, smirking.

Draco rolled his shot glass around on the table and sat it upright again. "Finish the final room with me, and I'll tell you what's on Tier Three."

"That's cheating."

"That's a power play," he grinned.

"I could just get Gregory to escort me to Tier Three," she challenged.

Draco came prepared. "VIP's only, pet."

Her lips turned down. "Let me guess. You're a VIP."

"Of course. I'm a Malfoy."

"What about Pansy and Blaise? Are they VIP's?" Hermione turned her direction towards the lounges in the back corner, but found them occupied by a new set of wizards and witches. Damn. They'd already gone up to Tier Two.

"Looks like I'm your only bet," Draco teased, stepping up behind her.

"What is it with you and standing behind me?"

"It makes you wet."

"Does not."

"Bet on it?"

Hermione spun around to face him, and, even though he was a head taller, she still commanded authority. "I'm willing to bet there's something you're keen on not telling me."

"There's plenty I'm not keen on telling you. You'll have to be more specific."

"Luna told me you have a secret," Hermione blurted out.

"Did she now?" He chuckled, leaning his face forward. "Did she happen to mention what my secret was?"

"If I knew, it wouldn't be a secret."

"I've always adored your intellectuality." His fingers stroked down her cheek.

"Did you sleep with Luna?"

Draco snorted a laugh, shaking his head. "Are we playing trivia, now? Well, I adore bursting your bubble -so no. I've never slept with Loony Lovegood."

Hermione grasped at straws. "You're still married."

"You test my patience," Draco growled under his breath. "I wouldn't lie to you about something like that."

"Then what is it?" Hermione glanced up towards the ceiling. "It has to do with Tier Three, doesn't it? Your secret?" He pulled away from her then, trying his best to appear unbothered, but Hermione saw his tell immediately. "It is, isn't it?"

"Let it go, pet." His voice was daunting.

Hermione's red X lit up on the back of her hand, and they both stared down at it in surprise.

"I should go," she muttered, turning her eyes to the floor.

Draco sighed. "Hermione, wait. -I didn't mean to upset you."

"But you have." She swallowed hard. "And… and I suddenly want to go."

He didn't try to stop her, still staring at the glowing, red X. "I… al-alright. Will you come again?" He nowhere near resembled the confident man he was moments ago. He looked small and… innocent, somehow. Hermione didn't know that was even remotely possible for the ex-Slytherin.

"Will you be honest with me?"

He sighed again. "Eventually…"

"Not good enough."

"I can't tell you right now."

"Oh, but you'll tell me if I finish the rooms? Do you know what that makes this," she motioned between them, "sound like? I think I've misunderstood the situation."

"What did you think it was?" he asked gently.

"I… I'm not sure."

"That X says you're unhappy with me."

"You think? I'm …going to go."

"Hermione-"

"-I'm not some piece of meat. This has been… educational. Thank you." She threw back her shot and slammed the glass down on the table. "And thank you for the drink." She turned to walk away, and that's when Draco said it.

"I've already admitted to caring about you. I don't know how much clearer I can make it."

It stopped her dead in her tracks. The X faded almost immediately, and she looked back over her shoulder at him. "So make it clearer, then."

"I can't. -Just… come up to the room with me."

It hurt Hermione to do it, but she lost all want to go to Tier Two. "Some other time," she said quietly, but loud enough so that he could hear. "I… um… I have to go."

"Why?" he sounded pained.

"If you don't know that by now, you really don't care about me at all." With that, she turned away from him and made her way to the front door, leaving for the first time without having made it to Tier Two. But she refused to be a pawn in some sexual game. He could either comeclean, or… or he could lose her completely. It was his choice.


The Elevator


"Migraine" by Twenty One Pilots

Surprised, Hermione stared down at the envelope that arrived in her work post this morning. Scarlet had made some teasing remark that it smelled like cologne, and that it must be from some wizard Hermione was courting in secret. Hermione didn't have the gall to tell Scarlet she wasn't far off. Though she hadn't seen it (right side up) in years, she recognized Draco Malfoy's elegant script any day. Her name glimmered in green ink on the front, and on the back was a black seal, two serpents coiling around each other pressed in the wax. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind who sent her this; the only question that weighed on her tongue was why. Why would he send her anything at all? They hadn't spoken in over two weeks.

They had been some of the most miserable two weeks of her adult life.

She picked up the envelope around lunch time, finally gathering the courage to open it (but not before taking a nice whiff of rosewood and parchment.) Carefully, she peeled off the wax stamp and removed a thick cardstock with words written in the same, meticulous script. It read as followed:

'Draco Malfoy cordially invites Hermione Granger to Bond's masquerade ball this Friday evening, beginning promptly at 9PM. Reservations at Madam Mystique's for drinks prior to the evening's events, should Miss Granger accept the invitation. He would like to share his secret, and feels terrible about his transgressions. Draco Malfoy also requests that Hermione Granger, should she agree to accompany him as his date this evening, must not, under any circumstances, wear undergarments. Please reply promptly. -D.M.'

Hermione's eyes went wide in the bold choice of his invitation, and she read over it three more times to make sure she didn't miss a word. Draco Malfoy, in third person, had asked her to drinks and dancing at a masquerade event at Bond? Could this be real? Her heart fluttered. Yes, this was most definitely real. The paper in her hand confirmed it.

But… why? Why would he? After their falling out, she'd spent most of her weekend tucked away in her flat, shutting off her floo and eating ice cream in bed. Everything had been so up in the air after she walked away, because he couldn't tell her his secret. And now… now he wanted to come clean? Could she trust it?

She pondered over her response, and her feelings, for nearly an hour before coming to a conclusion. Even before she replied, she knew what her answer would be; she could already feel the forgiveness in her heart. Reaching for her own stationery, she plucked up her quill out of the ink bottle she'd left it dipped in and wrote,

'Hermione Granger politely accepts Draco Malfoy's invitation. She would like to inquire as to a time to meet for drinks, and regretfully declines Draco Malfoy's request in her undergarment choices. -Sincerely, H.G.'

On her lunch break, she floo'd to Diagon Alley and used a community post owl (for a small fee) to reply to him. She didn't own an owl of her own, and discretion with a community owl might make be more prudent, what with his under wraps failed marriage. She wondered when he'd come clean to the world about it, or if he ever would. Surely he didn't mean to keep a front for the wizarding community forever?

She received a reply five minutes till clock-out at the end of a lengthy stretch of work. Scarlet knocked on her door to hand her a new envelope addressed to her in the same green ink, though this time there was a small snitch sketched next to her name.

'Greetings, Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy sends his regards and anticipates a frivolous night of mischievousness and foolish merriment. He would like to, also, thank you for giving him one more chance. However, he wishes to inform you that should you not comply to his demand (not request) on your lack of undergarments, he will be forced to, quote, 'punish you.' It's your call, pet. Anticipate a package in your personal post by tomorrow afternoon, at which time, more details will be given. –Sincerely, D.M.'

One more chance… yes. She could do that. After all, drinks… now that was something out in the open. Hermione smiled, pulling out a piece of chocolate from her desk drawer and unwrapping it. As she popped it in her mouth, she wondered whether or not to reply. A package? She'd already been dealt his package… blush crept along her face as she tucked away the thought. She wasn't some silly school girl, but she sure felt like one. Especially since this -tryst? Friendship with benefits? What to label it as? Relationship reverberated in her mind, but she pushed it aside – was a secret. But drinks, outside of Bond… perhaps he really meant what he said.

To be safe, she tucked away both of his notes into her work robes to take home. The elevator ride up to the atrium had her bouncing on her heels. That was, until the elevator doors opened and she came face to face with the object of her desire – and his wife.

Ex-wife, she reminded herself, but it didn't stop the sinking feeling in her gut as her eyes connected with his. They stared at once another, Draco and Hermione, both like trees rooted to their spots. As wizards and witches filed off of the elevator, Hermione stayed put, trying very hard not to scream. The witch that stood next to him – Circe, was she ever beautiful. Long, flowing chestnut hair that fell well past her shoulders matched prettily with her hazel colored eyes. Her skin was nearly as pale as Draco's, making her resemble a beautiful china doll. Even her figure was cinched in just the right ways to give off the appeal of a sexual vixen. And her lips… how were her lips so full? So naturally pink? How was there not a blemish on her face?

The glistening diamond ring on her left finger confirmed it -this was, most certainly, Astoria Malfoy. Not that she would admit it out loud, but after his confession to being recently divorced, she'd gone archive diving in the Ministry Records Department to figure out just who managed to put a ring on Slytherin's, once, most eligible bachelor.

Unfortunately, Hermione hesitated just a moment too long to step off of the elevator, and much to her horror, Astoria stepped inside, beckoning Draco with an extended hand in his direction. "Draco, what's wrong with you? You're letting the lacewing flies into your mouth, dear. Get on the elevator, and let's go."

Draco's attention snapped after a few more seconds, and he closed his jaw, pairing apologetic eyes to Hermione as he squared his shoulders and stepped on to the elevator. And, even more awkwardly, Astoria had taken to one side of it, and, seeing as how Hermione was on the other, he was forced to stand between the two woman as the door shut. Astoria pushed the floor 5 button -The Department of International Magical Cooperation. Only one floor lower than her own, The Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. What on Earth business could the two of them have at the D.O.I.M.C.?

"What floor, dear?" Astoria asked, turning her eyes on the brunette. Hermione's eyes widened, and she jerked her head forward as she muttered, "Floor four, please." The letters tucked in her robes burned against her -or, maybe, that was just the crippling guilt.

She didn't know why she felt that way, but she did. And, even though she was assured it was an act, it made her stomach turn in knots when Astoria reached over and brushed a fallen piece of hair out of Draco's eyes. "There. Now you look handsome."

"And I didn't before?" Draco rolled his eyes, turning them down to the floor. It was a mistake, because the floor was so polished that their reflections glimmered back at them, and he caught Hermione staring. She, immediately, turned her head away from the pair and tried to count how long she could hold her breath.

One… two… three… four…

It didn't do anything but remind her of being bent over a chair and forced to count each smack on her ass that Draco bestowed to her. Her cheeks flushing with pink, she closed her eyes and swallowed. Merlin, no. That didn't help either. Because she could imagine the taste of his prick on her tongue as she'd gone down on him. Everything she did to forget about him only made his image that much stronger in her mind. She willed her eyes back open as the elevator came to a stop -to the fourth floor. Relieved, Hermione tore out of the elevator before the doors had swung all the way open. She didn't dare turn around to watch as the doors closed behind her. She waited until she heard them definitively shut before she turned back around, counted to one hundred, and climbed on board a new elevator, tempted to scream.

When she arrived out of the floo into her quaint, one-bedroom loft, she threw herself down onto her bed and hugged her pillow tight. Her arms, her legs, her heart -everything ached. It didn't matter if it was a ruse -seeing him with her… it was painful. More painful than she'd ever anticipated.


The next day, like clockwork, a package was delivered via a large barn owl through her window. Since she lived on the fifth floor, she left it open most days when was sure it wouldn't rain, just in case the post came. Thanks to a cloaking charm, the muggles in her neighborhood never noticed when owls would come and go. Just like this time, when she arrived home from a terribly boring day of work to find the package, and the owl, in the middle of her living room. That was odd. Usually, owls just dropped and left without a thought. Perhaps this one was tired from a long trip? She approached it, and immediately, the owl hooted with glee.

"Hello," she told it, "Erm… are you hungry?"

The owl hooted again, and she ignored the package for the time being to pull out some raspberries from her fridge and place them in a bowl on her kitchen counter. The owl followed her, landing gracefully next to the bowl before chowing down.

Unfortunately, that left Hermione alone with her thoughts- and the package that beckoned across the way. Even if it weren't adorned in a silver bow, she'd still know who it was from. And she wasn't sure she wanted to open it.

Given the time to think it over, she'd noticed the way Draco hadn't greeted her once in the presence of his ex-wife -which probably meant she had no clue about his sexual encounters with Hermione. Not that she expected him to share all the details -Merlin knows she didn't tell Ron about seeing Draco these last few weeks. But then, she didn't still live with Ron, did she? Everyone knew about her divorce. She'd gone through the sneers, the whispers, the disapproving scowls. Draco Malfoy had yet to endure it. It hurt her feelings, deep down, to know he hadn't let Astoria in on at least the thought of another woman (namely Hermione) in his life.

But then a nagging conscience ate at her, whispering, 'He's not yours, Hermione. You chickened out and couldn't label it.'

Carefully, she approached the package like it were a bomb she would need to diffuse and unraveled the bow on top before prying open the top. What gleamed back at her made her mouth fall open and her breathing hitch.

Inside the box, on a bed of green silk, sat a masquerade mask that appeared to be made of colored glass. Or, perhaps, it was magic'd that way. It was simple, cut similar to Draco's Bond domino mask, but with flared, upward edges. And every few moments or so, the hue of the mask would change. Red. Green. Silver. Gold. It felt feather-light as Hermione cradled it in her fingers and withdrew it, but also sturdy, as if it wouldn't break easily. A black satin band connected the mask in the back, and, despite her bewildered feelings about Draco, she walked to the mirror near the door and slipped the mask on. She watched, entertained, as the mask magically conformed to fit her face, right down to the dip in her cheekbones. She gasped, thrown by how stunning her image reflected back at her. She looked like an entirely different being -something beautiful and vexing all at once. She tapped her fingers along the mask, and with each touch, the colors changed.

"Who are you?" she asked the mirror quietly, reaching out and placing a hand over her reflection. It wasn't just the way she looked in the mask -it was the overall aura of confidence that radiated off of her like a shimmering heat wave which had her questioning what Draco Malfoy had done to her. In her five years of marriage to Ron Weasley, she'd never seen this woman. So poised. So self-assured. So sexually enticing. Was this what Draco saw when he looked at her? Or was this some trick of the mask? Or, the most likely explanation; Hermione Granger had a devilish side to her that was enticed to come out and play the moment she slipped the mask on her face. It gave her a reason to let go -a reason to give in. The mask, in essence, represented Draco Malfoy. Changing colors as well as his changing moods. Translucent, but not transparent, only giving a peek as to what was behind the man -or mask. Delicate and yet strong. Everything about the mask was a metaphor. Or was that just her brain overanalyzing yet again?

"Should I do it?" She turned her face to theowl. "Should I go?" He didn't answer back, too enticed by the raspberries as he pecked at in his bowl. She turned her face back around to the mirror and tapped the mask again, sparking the color change before its time. It glimmered red. "Gryffindor courage." She tapped it again. "Slytherin cunning." They really were a pair, weren't they?


Please leave a review! One more chapter to go!
~A.