The newspapers were in love with them, and Hermoine couldn't believe how simple it really was turning out to be. Draco took them everywhere stylish, to every party, gallery opening, and sporting event. They yachted in the Mediterranean, met movie stars and politicians. They were, without a doubt the most famous wizards to ever hit the muggle press, and no muggle suspected that they were anything other than what they claimed.
Their twin tattoos caused an entire fashion trend, and couples with matching tattoos became all the fashion after photos of them on holiday at a beach were published. They were, as he had promised, the ultimate power couple, rich, beautiful, philanthropic for the oddest of causes, spending money like it was water.
They collected the headlines and traced the carryover to the wizarding world. They both found it amusing that the articles that had at first completely vilified them both had begun to slowly change. There were rumors now in the Quibbler that Draco's sentence had been for show and he was working on some secret project for the Ministry to collect intelligence on the Muggle world. Hermoine would have happily kissed Luna for the story, mentions of using Snorkacks for messenger animals aside if she'd seen her, but that was the one thing Draco refused to allow. He would not enter or be seen in any wizarding city, sector or town. It wasn't time yet. Let them think they didn't care to be part of that society, and soon enough jealousy of the muggles would set in, and the world would come to them. She wanted to believe he was crazy, that people were not seriously so easy to manipulate, but the proof had so far been on his side so she curbed the natural desire to argue and let him have his way.
She had learned quite a lot about the enigmatic wizard in the few months that they had been playing this game, the foremost being that quite possibly no one had ever really known him to start with.
Draco was old pureblood, old money, old title, and as such had been taught from the time he could walk and talk that there were responsibilities that came with that legacy. Never show weakness, never forget who and what he was, never forget that everyone is subordinate in either wealth, power or status to him, and make sure they remember it too. Never show fear or doubt, never appear less than perfect at any time. They were lessons Lucius Malfoy never allowed his son to forget, and lapses were punished with a variety of hexes that ranged from unpleasant to vicious. She had seen a glimpse of him, she thought, when she first found him in that bike shop, living like a muggle and almost content. It was something she found that she gravely missed.
He wore his public façade now, even in the London penthouse he had relocated them to when they embarked upon this plan. She wasn't quite sure why it was this way, maybe it was habit, maybe design. But on this rare night in when they had nothing to do but sip firewhiskey and talk she missed the man she'd so briefly seen.
Old habits really do die hard, I suppose. Ten years, ten bloody years and I thought I had changed so much, but all she had to do was walk back into my life and suddenly I was the same person I was all those years ago. Well, that isn't precisely true, I suppose. If I were really the same I wouldn't be gnashing my teeth every night over the fact that she's a room away and won't let me touch her. No, I would be too busy vociferously insisting that she repulses me with her filthy muggle blood. Merlin help me if that wouldn't almost be a relief at this point. But no. She didn't know what she was asking for when she dragged me back in to this new cause, I know that. I knew. It's a life I've lived before, a screen of smoke and mirrors that becomes such second nature that the line between who you are and who you pretend to be begins to blur.
It's already happening to her. The sweet bookworm has learned to differentiate between Gucci and Prada and knows when to wear one over the other. She can make both significant and insignifcant conversation and know which to make with what group of people. She smiles when it's expected and frowns when it's expected too, and only I can see that what she thinks is practice becoming perfect is actually little pieces of herself being chipped away.
I want to get drunk and forget about it for a while, but even that is getting harder now. I don't want to lose the control, even in my own house. But I'm going to, and so is she and hopefully it will bring a little of ourselves back before it's too late.
"You do realize that's half the bottle gone, yeah?" he looked at it and shrugged.
"Actually I think we still have half left. We should remedy that." His next swig was straight from the bottle, and he handed it to her, motioning for her to drink when she paused. "Afraid to get drunk with me, Granger?"
"Remind me again why it is we're getting drunk in the first place." She took a hefty swig, then another to one-up him and he grinned.
"We are doing it because we can, what better reason is there? There is no press, no cameras, no one listening or watching. It's a night to do as we please." She shook her head, suddenly serious, at least as serious as she could be in her inebriated state.
"I never do what I want, why change now? And of all the things I could do, why get drunk?" He chose to ignore the logical parts of her question.
"What do you mean you never do what you want?" He yanked the bottle back and drank deep. She scowled.
"Exactly that. I always do what's expected of me, it doesn't matter what I want to do. I never wanted to be a soldier or a spy, but I was needed, so I performed. I never wanted to be a know-it-all bookworm, but it was all I knew how to be, and I had to be the brainy one, there was no one else, so I was that, too. Did you know, other than the Yule Ball and the Ministry parties that we were required to go to at first, the only times I've ever had a chance to dress up and go out have been with you." She yanked the bottle back, noted that it was getting quite close to empty now, and emptied it with three long swallows.
"Hey, bloody hell." He scowled, but she only giggled at him. He supposed it probably did look a bit petulant, and flopped back into the sofa. Then he grimaced. "Did you ever notice that this couch is bloody uncomfortable?"
"Only every time I sat on it. All the furniture in here is uncomfortable, Draco, its only here because it looks good. You know, like us." He realized that she was right, and stood, dragging her upright with him. Before she could protest he had apparated them into his old flat, approximately six feet off the floor. They landed in a graceless heap, Draco getting by far the worst of it as she landed atop him, an elbow barely missing his windpipe and instead thunking into his sternum, and one knee ramming into his thigh. He groaned, and rolled her off him, trying to be at least somewhat gentle. She looked up at him, then frowned.
"I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't splinch us, but this isn't much more comfortable. I do like it here much better, though," she observed with a sigh. "It feels like home." She dragged herself up and sank into the comfortable depths of the bed. Magical stasis was a wonderful thing and it felt as delicious as the first time she had been placed in it. He tried very hard to avoid looking at her there, it seemed regardless of how much he had to drink there were certain reactions that did not slow in the least. Grimacing, he pulled himself up and walked unsteadily over to the piano, flopping down on the bench and running his hands over the keys. This he could deal with. This he could touch, when he couldn't touch anything else he wanted.
The first few bars were tentative, waking her from the half doze she had fallen into, but they soon grew into a poignant melody that she did not recognize. He was quite good, better than good, really, she thought, beginning to sway to the music. She stood, making her way slowly to the piano, drawn like a moth to a flame. He glanced up at her, and moved over just a bit to allow her to sink down beside him. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder and allowed the music to wash over her. It must have been most of an hour before the music began to wind down and he finally met her eyes.
"That was beautiful," she said honestly. He smiled, and for the first time probably since they had left the cozy flat it was a true and honest smile, full of warmth, and she caught her breath. His eyes dropped to her lips, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean towards him.
It was a sweet kiss, gentle to start with, but heating quickly. It was Draco that pulled away with a shake of his head.
"You're drunk, Moine," he said quietly. "If I let this go where I wanted you would be furious with me in the morning, and you would have every reason to be." She shook her head, and smiled.
"I told you before, I've never done anything in my life simply because I wanted to. Tomorrow we'll have to start this charade all over again and put on the public masks, but tonight I don't care about what's expected. I just want you."
He didn't reply, he simply scooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing and carried her to the bed, coming over her to take her mouth in a kiss that curled her toes.
He was heat and muscle and smooth skin, and Hermoine couldn't touch him enough. His mouth owned hers, his tongue twining and seducing her until she was whimpering. A quick Divesto had them naked and she cried out softly as he pulled her back against him, his erection pressing into her thigh.
"Draco, please," he resisted her tugging, and pushed her hands to her sides, leaning down to swirl his tongue around a taut nipple. She bowed off the bed, pressing up towards him, rubbing herself against him. He wanted to make it last, wanted to take his time enjoying the witch beneath him but she was having nothing of it. She wrapped her legs around him when she felt him mover to settle himself between her thighs. He thrust into her with a groan, and her eyes flew wide, breath coming in short pants.
"Ah, wait, please, I didn't expect, give me a minute," she choked, trying to relax her body enough to accommodate far more than she had expected to receive. It wasn't pain, precisely, but she felt so incredibly full and stretched. He dropped his head to her shoulder, nipping lightly and his hand went down to stroke the little knot of nerves at the center of her body. She shuddered and suddenly she didn't care if she was ready, all she wanted was more. He pulled back and thrust again, and she keened in pleasure. She wouldn't let him be gentle and honestly he didn't want to be. He wanted to slam into her over and over, to mark that she was his, only his. She seemed to sense it and arched up to him begging him for more with her body. "Harder, please, I want everything," she gasped, and it was too much. He groaned and pulled back, slamming into her over and over, feeling her walls pulse and clench around him, helpless cries of pleasure ripped from her throat. She was peaking in bare minutes, and he felt her body gather in on itself in preparation.
"Gods, yes, sweetheart, come for me," he moaned, and she screamed, chanting his name, her body convulsing around him as he rode her through her climax, his own blasting deep into her as the last shudders wracked her. They collapsed together in exhaustion, sleep taking them in minutes.
She had likely never felt as good or as bad simultaneously in her life. Hermoine cracked one eye open reluctantly, moaning as horrible light accosted her. She heard a chuckle, and a bottle was tilted to her lips. She drank obediently and sighed as the worst of the hangover was immediately alleviated.
"Better?" she nodded, carefully opening both eyes to see Draco leaned over her, shirtless and looking decidedly too chipper for the amount of alcohol he had imbibed the night before. He was also incredibly sexy, which excused his good mood. Giving in to impulse, and figuring after what she had enthusiastically done with him not once, not twice but at least three times the previous night, she ran a hand into his blond hair, then down his chest. His open smile was her reward for letting him know she had no regrets.
"You look far better than you have a right to," she said huskily, wincing at a rawness in her throat. He held up a purple potion and swung it in front of her eyes.
"One of these and two hangover potions, it's damn near miraculous. You want one?"
"Healing potion?" he shrugged.
"Of a sort. It's my own creation, has a lot of the same properties, but has an added kick. You would probably do well to try it." She attempted to sit up and winced.
"Yeah, I think you're right, Merlin, I feel like I've been run over by a truck." She swigged the potion down and shuddered at the strange crawling sensation though her body. Then her eyes widened.
"That's amazing! I feel, well, fabulous." He winked.
"Now you know my secret. Hungry?" She smiled and his eyes went from open and amused to predatory in a few seconds. She caught her breath, thoughts going from breakfast to something else in seconds flat. He pulled away with a chuckle.
"Oh no, woman, you get no more of that until I get fed. I have to keep my strength up if I'm to be mauled by a witch with the drive of an overstimulated veela." He laughed at her outraged gasp and turned to saunter into the kitchen. "Now, after breakfast on the other hand…" By the time she exited the shower he had a breakfast ready that would easily feed a small army, and was savoring a cup of coffee.
"You are very fortunate that I am so ingrained in manners that I waited for you, or you might not get a bite," he said, handing her a cup and starting to pile his plate. "I thought I might pass into the hereafter waiting for you." He waited until they were both partway through the loaded plates before speaking again.
"You do realize there is no going back after this." It was a statement. He seemed to enjoy doing that to her, making pronouncements, not allowing her an opening to argue. It was the only tack to forestall an argument, and he used it shamelessly. "And I don't want to. I've made no secret of the fact that I want you, and now I've had you it's going to become an addiction."
"This is not conducive to our plans. I'm not sorry, far from it." Her smile was smug, and he couldn't restrain a smirk. "But we're going to have to rethink our plans."
"Not substantially. Your entire objection to our becoming intimate, if I recall correctly, was that you thought I would, at some point, need to acquire a suitable wife to advance our political agenda. Odd how I wasn't given much of a choice in that particular matter." She had the grace to be somewhat chagrined. "But it will work out for the best. Now that we have seen how compatible we are in many significant ways, and many more thoroughly pleasurable ones, it seems only logical that you become that ever so suitable wife." He watched, keeping his amusement in check as her face paled.
"You have to be joking." He bent back to his food with gusto, ignoring her tone.
"Not at all. You knew at the outset that this hairbrained scheme of yours was going to require years of careful handling. I think you believed that you would effectively aim me like a missile at the political arena and after you made sure the trajectory was correct, you would simply fade out into happy obscurity, secure in the knowledge that I would be addicted enough to the power and influence that I would have no objection to having my life so thoroughly, managed."
"I didn't think of it that way." He chuckled.
"Gods, Moine, you really would have made a fine Slytherin. No, I dare say you thought it would work out fabulously well for all concerned, but that was still the essence of the concept behind the actions. Your devious mind is delightful, and will make you a perfect politicians wife, especially once I teach you a bit about the art of influence. No, you're not getting out of this plot as unscathed as you think, but I believe we will deal incredibly well. I find myself quite pleased with this outcome."
"A bit cold blooded, don't you think?" she was pushing her food around her plate now, and he was glad he had waited to make certain that she had some food in her before informing her of the change in plans. He might have felt guilty at turning the tables on her so effectively if he was not who and what he was, but he had never been too concerned at manipulating people, especially when he was right. They would deal incredibly well together; he knew that. He had decided months ago that she belonged to him, but bided his time until he could begin to bind her to him, now there was plenty of time for her to realize it as well. He decided to address her question after another moment.
"I don't think that there is much of anything between the two of us that could be termed cold blooded in the least," he said simply. "Will it be more difficult? Yes. Will it take more time than you first thought? Likely. But," he caught her eyes, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made her insides shiver. "I have no intention of letting you run from me, Hermoine. And if you're honest, I don't think you want to."
"Damn your arrogance." She picked up her fork again, and managed another bite of eggs. He decided that was the only sort of acknowledgement he was likely to get this soon, and was willing to accept it, at least for now. He saluted her with his coffee cup, already wondering how to spin the story when it came out that the newest Mrs. Malfoy was going to be not only a mudblood, but also one of the most infamous in the last century. He wished for a moment that his father was still alive simply so he could rub the bastards nose in it.