Harry Potter sat at his desk in the Aurors office at the Ministry of Magic scanning the Quibbler for rumors and gossip that might help them track the next death eater. The years had been less than kind to The Boy Who Lived. The scar on his forehead was only one of several now, he walked with a permanent limp from a tangle with a werewolf, and looked closer to forty than thirty. His storybook romance with Ginny Weasley had not lasted out five years before she left him, taking the children, informing him he was becoming no better than the Death Eaters he hunted anymore. Since she had a black eye from his hand at the time, he had to acknowledge that she was probably right. He hadn't contested the divorce, and when the Marriage Laws were instituted he heard that she remarried to a bloke named Hardison, a Hufflepuff two years ahead of them at Hogwarts. He was a tailor, of all things, and everything practical and kind. She was kind enough to tell him his children had a far better father than he had ever been. He believed her and respected her wishes that he stay away. It had taken a surprisingly short time for him to stop feeling guilty.
Celebrating Freedom! The headline screamed from above the fold, and he frowned down at the photo of a couple in the middle of what looked like a crowded Muggle dance floor dancing so viscerally that it looked like they would start shagging on the floor momentarily. Looking closer at the two he swore and his face paled. He was at Ron's desk so fast that he wasn't sure that he hadn't apparated there, and shoved the paper under Ron's nose with a hand that shook.
"Bloody hell, mate, give a bloke a minute, will you?" Ron turned bleary eyes away from the paper, and downed a sober-up potion. Harry was beginning to think Ron lived on nothing but sober up and pepper up potions, Firewhiskey and crisps. He was, if anything, more rumpled than he had managed to be at school, and Harry was starting to think unless he crawled out of the bottle soon he wouldn't last too many more battles.
"Fucking Malfoy! The bastard! Out dancing to celebrate the fact that his fucking sentence is up. How dare that sadistic fuck show his face where we can find him! Does he really think his money is going to buy his way back….what, Ron!" he jerked his arm away from his friends tapping hand, glaring down at him.
"Harry, look who he's dancing with. It's Hermoine." He froze, looking down at the picture again, and a muscle in his jaw started to tic.
'Former Slytherin Golden Boy, Draco Malfoy was seen celebrating the end of his sentence and the return of his wand in a Muggle nightclub in High Gate last night with none other than Voldemorts Whore herself, Muggleborn witch, Hermoine Granger. While Malfoy seems to have recovered from the pureblood mania that marked his family, this reporter can only question his taste in paramours.
'When approached for comment, Mr. Malfoy's only comment was "it's a party, mate, who cares who anyone is?' and he then offered this reporter a drink.' Bloody hell." Ron sat staring at the paper for several minutes, shaking his head slowly.
"Why on earth would Hermoine have anything to do with bloody Malfoy?" he asked. Harry snorted.
"Christ Ron, have you already forgotten everything? She and Snape and Malfoy were all in Voldemorts bloody inner circle together. Spies, remember. Or so they claimed."
"Hey, Harry, don't forget, the information she got us kept us alive and able to fight for a long time."
"Yeah, maybe, but Snape and Malfoy? I never trusted the two of them and they were all three thick as thieves. And you tell me Ron, how do you lie down with dogs for so long and not get up with fleas? What was there to say that we couldn't have moved far sooner? What did they hold back or even lie about? Maybe she was shagging both of them, not just Snape." The two shuddered in revulsion at the very thought.
"It's too coincidental, that's all I'm saying. It bears checking out. I don't want to believe Hermoine did anything wrong, but if you think for one second that I'm going to let bloody Malfoy just waltz back into society like he has the right to keep company with decent wizards and witches…" Ron sighed, recognizing the look in Harry's eyes. It was the same look that he got right before the Crucio's started to fly in interrogation. Harry wanted information, and what he wanted, he would get, by any means necessary.
"I don't see the point of all this." Hermoine put her makeup on with a final wand flourish, checking her reflection to make sure the backless lame halter top was placed properly to frame the black dragon tattoo across her own back. The black leggings, cinched at the knee and high heeled shoes were the height of muggle fashion, and Draco had her wear her hair partially up, making sure the tattoo was fully exposed. Jewelry that was so expensive she was sure the price could feed a small third world country dangled from her ears, wrists, and fingers and adorned her updo. Draco had insisted on it, and personally chose every piece, including her wardrobe since Hermione had always paid little attention to fashion of any kind. She hadn't seen the point in any of it, and he had scoffed at her naivete.
"First the Muggle world, Granger. Creating an image here is nothing but a matter of being seen in the correct place with the correct people, spending huge amounts of money in the right places and making sure everyone knows about it, and finally, making everyone wish they were you. The pictures and stories will carry over from here to the wizarding world, we both know that. We need to have it out at the start that you will not hide behind frumpy hair and weedy clothes to make people forget who you are. No, we want them to notice both of us. We want our faces and names on every pair of lips we can because eventually when they don't find anything to disapprove of, when we've become commonplace, someone will say out loud that we aren't that bad. Once that starts to happen we can leak some additional tidbits to the press and slowly the tide of popular opinion will turn. People are shallow, Granger, and being young, rich and beautiful counts."
"So you want my tattoo flaunted all over so that people will get so used to it that they won't really associate it with Voldemort anymore?" He trailed his lips down her shoulder, nibbling the back of her neck until she gasped.
"More than that. I want that tattoo to become your trademark, a badge of courage and a sign to everyone who sees you of exactly who you are and what you did to save them."
"No one will ever really believe that." He smiled.
"Want to bet? You asked for my help for a reason, now you need to accept it. I learned how to play the press from my fathers knee, it's almost sadly simple, but it does take some time. And for the final plan I need you with me; this is how we do it."
"By casting me as your ultimate bad girl lover?" he grinned.
"How perfect is it? Between the two of us we have the makings to be every teenagers fantasy. Dangerous, a little dark, and quite likely the two most powerful wizards in the world. And if you'd simply say yes, it would be more than casting you in a part." She snorted softly and moved away.
"Right, Malfoy, so you keep saying, but I still have some standards. I don't want to be a convenient plaything because you can't afford to be seen with someone better." His jaw dropped. Had that been her problem for the past month and a half? He'd never worked so hard in his life to get a woman into his bed with so little success. He'd recently begun to wonder if she was still carrying some sort of misguided torch of grief for his godfather, but that just didn't seem to fit. Now it made far more sense. And it needed to be resolved immediately, before it caused more problems. The rub was that he could completely understand her thoughts. When they were younger he had tormented her unceasingly because he knew that was what his father wanted and he had been determined to do and be exactly what the old bastard wished. Once he changed sides he had ceased to torment her, but he'd been in such a pit of hell himself that he'd been a cold, unfeeling ass to everyone around him, totally emotionless and focused on nothing but getting the war over with as quickly as possible. It was only once she found him again that he allowed himself to realize what an incredible witch she had always been, and to look at her through really open eyes. But he hadn't told her that, at least in so many words, so of course she believed the worst.
They were supposed to go clubbing again tonight, he had made sure the location was leaked to the press again, along with the setup that some of his hangers on would be from various causes that he had been funneling cash to for some time that he knew wouldn't be able to keep their mouths shut to reporters about it. It was the start of showing his philanthropic side, and was an important step in the plan. It was nowhere near as important as she was.
He followed her to the door, and reached over her head, shutting it firmly before she could exit.
"What rot," he drawled, turning her around to face him. She grimaced, and he realized that he had not and would probably never lose his innate snarkiness. Well, it couldn't be helped and she would just have to get over it. He thought that might happen after twenty or thirty years. Maybe. "Why would I ever want any other woman, Muggle or witch, when you're here? Brilliant," he brushed his lips across hers lightly. "Beautiful." He nipped her jaw, making her sigh. "Powerful." He pulled her arms up around his neck, nuzzling into her throat. "And gods, so sexy. I'm not the callow prat I used to be, Hermoine, I know precious when I see it, and I will be gods damned if I let you deride yourself that way."
"Draco, I …" she looked so shocked, flustered, and finally, he knew that look. It was longing. He wanted to shut her up before she could talk herself away from him.
"Don't love, just let me show you what I can give you." His mouth cut off the rest of what she was going to say, and he finally was able to give in to his desires and kiss her.
Hermoine barely had time to suck in a breath before she was engulfed in pure liquid sensation. Draco had been the only man other than Severus who could move her, and the even more incredible thing in his kiss was that she could feel and taste his need and passion. She sank into his arms, opening her mouth to him, and felt him shudder against her, yanking her hips to his. She gasped, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal against her belly as his hands caressed her back and his mouth made love sensuously to hers. It was several minutes before he pulled back, resting their foreheads together as their breathing slowed to normal. After a few minutes he pulled back slightly, his silver eyes completely serious as he took a deep breath.
"You see? We could be good together, very good."
"I know that, but I want to win this new war we're fighting, and if we do then more than likely you're going to need a socially acceptable, political wife. I have to have a life after this, too, and I'm not the type to have an affair then walk away. The press will get what they need from us, I know that's expected, but I just, I can't." He allowed her to pull away, a hard knot forming in his chest. She was the only woman who had ever known him, the whole man, and accepted him, forgiven him without judgement. She had watched him during the worst moments of his life, watched him cast Unforgivable curses, flay the skin from the bodies of other human beings and use his talents for Legilimency to rip into the minds of innocent wizards, driving them to madness so he could lie to the Dark Lord about what he had seen. He was damned if he would let that go for political expediency or any other reason, but he realized she would not accept that, at least not yet. It seemed, he thought with no little irony, the only way to catch a Gryffindor was to use extremely Slytherin tactics. Very well. He would bind her to him slowly, seduce her mind and heart without touching her body until she was in too deep to resist, then he would make her his, and damn the rest of it. She would make a perfectly acceptable political wife if that was what so concerned her, it would take a bit more time, but he could see to that as well.
"I knew you'd have to be difficult one way or the other, Granger, now we know. If you ever get tired of sleeping with your principles, let me know, hmm?" She didn't reply with the acerbic sarcasm he half expected, and he looked down to see just a flicker of regret and something else in her eyes before the mask of neutrality slammed down behind them.
"I'm sure you'll manage without me to keep you company at night." He snorted.
"I suppose I shall have to manage without a great many things. After all, this charade has us as a couple, and since you are dead set on denying us the benefits of it…"
"Don't worry, I won't tease you when I see the shower running longer than your usual hour," she managed to joke, surprising a blush out of him. "Why Malfoy, you can blush, I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." The ruddy color deepened, and he spun on his heel, giving her a glare.
"Don't get used to it, Granger, you simply caught me by surprise. I never thought those over developed Gryffindor morals of yours would allow you to acknowledge that people would do such things. Which begs the question…" She put up a hand and he had the satisfaction of seeing a matching flush hit her cheeks.
"Do not even attempt to continue that train of thought, this subject is closed for discussion. Let's get going, we're going to be late."
"We cannot possibly be late, we are the whole reason the party is occurring. If we decide to arrive later, that just means everyone else arrived too early. They'll wait."