I know there was a Dramione drought. You guys were amazing though, letting me develop the other side of my story, and so, for your reading pleasure, I present…more flowery depictions of a sexual nature between Draco and Hermione. (That's a warning) Plus, he gets her a present! An internet cookie to the first person who can guess how Draco plans on taking Hermione to Bellatrix's party without anyone knowing! (Should be easy, guys!)

LCailan

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hermione heard the door slam shut shortly after she had served the Malfoys their lunch. The house grew silent, and the scent of Astoria's musky perfume faded in the still air. Malfoy was gone, having retreated out of the dining room, his footsteps moving down the stairs and out of earshot.

She began to wipe the table, clearing the dishes in a mechanical sort of way, trying not to think about what she had heard and seen the night before. She tried to erase the image of Lavender Brown, desperate and alone, from her mind. It was the last thing she wanted to think about, for it scared her, made her wonder if she would meet the same fate. But, it wasn't like she had much choice, really.

Lavender had not spoken all that morning, staring off into nothingness as the others around her whispered and shot her looks of pity and disgust. Either she was a good actress, or perhaps, she no longer gave a damn, but she had ignored them completely. In the light of the morning, her bruise had been a horrible purple-black thing that mottled the loveliness hidden beneath it. But still, she was lovely, just as she always had been. Try as they might, neither Ginny, Hermione nor Justin was able to get anything more out of Lavender.

Hermione had wanted to stay behind at the alienage that day, had nearly asked Malfoy if she could, but in the end, she had remained silent. And wondered at the strange, faraway look in his eyes when he had spied Lavender curled up on the cot at the far end of the large room.

Why had he looked at her like that?

Sighing, Hermione's hands disappeared into the soapy, warm water, as she began the wash, closing her eyes against her troublesome barrage of thoughts. She was somehow glad for Malfoy's footsteps, when she heard him behind her in the massive kitchen.

"Granger."

This too, was becoming somewhat of a comfort to Hermione; she liked the way he said her name. She turned slowly, swallowing back a sharp reply, and gazed up at him for a moment. The blue shirt he wore was a welcome change from the blasted uniform she would forever associate with all evil in the world.

He is evil. I must never forget that.

Hermione steeled herself from her own confusing thoughts as she watched him sit down at the large table by the windows facing the garden below them. He didn't look at her as he spoke.

"My aunt and uncle are celebrating their wedding anniversary this evening. There is a party, and I want you to come with me."

She nearly dropped the dish she had been wiping, her heart rattling to a dead stop for a breathless moment. Hermione knew of which couple he spoke; she would never forget Bellatrix Lestrange, after all. Keeping her emotions in check proved much more difficult than she had thought it would, and the cracking of her voice gave it away.

"Oh, is that what you want? Who would you introduce me as? Your Mudblood mistress?"

She realized too late, the tone of her voice, the way she had spoken those words, and they were not lost on Malfoy, for his face took on a strange, twisted look. He snorted, still staring out at the garden, and Hermione turned away, her breath catching.

"You'd be surprised, Granger, how many of your kind will be there."

This, he said in disdain.

"Many of the Ministry officials use Mudbloods in that way, you know. Dressing them up, and showing them off, using them and then casting them aside when they're finished. It's all quite hush. It happens, but no one talks about it."

In his mind's eye he saw Blaise, downcast and terrified, and though of Lavender Brown, and the miserable way she had looked that morning. But he kept that all hidden. His words were casual, with a hint of coolness, and he propped his feet up then on the chair next to him.

Hermione bristled, finding herself grow angry in spite of attempts to not care. After years of such treatment, she thought she should have been used to it, but-

"Seems funny, doesn't it? Why any of your kind would want to sully themselves by even being in the same room with Mudbloods? I'll never figure it out!"

Her strained tone was meant to mock and deride him, and there was nothing Hermione could do to keep the words from escaping, even as he snorted in response.

"Once again, need I remind you that your life would be much easier if you learned to muzzle that nasty trap of yours? And when we get there, you won't say a word, do you understand? No nasty, misplaced comments, no underhanded insults. You'll play the woman I want you to play."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and horror as she spun to look up into his face, seeing his lip curled up in annoyance, his eyes challenging her to respond. Swallowing, she shook her head in confusion.

"Oh, will I? Your family knows who I am," she ground out, her voice tinged with something akin to humiliation. "They'll recognize me, Malfoy. I don't know how you think-"

He cut her off, by pushing her out of the way. She wondered at his mood. Gentle one second, angry the next. It was strange.

"You ask too many bloody questions."

She followed him, her eyes puzzled, as he moved into the hallway and then up the stairs to his room. She nearly blushed at the memories, and stopped in the doorway when he picked up a huge white box, and turned to face her.

"Here."

She took it, her brown eyes gazing up at him instead of his offering.

"Where is this party?"

She found herself curious as to why he even wanted her to go. After all, the arrangement was not required to extend outside of his bedroom, and-

"London," he replied. "We'll stay there overnight."

The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, and she remembered once again why she was with him. What it was he wanted from her, even if he hadn't touched her since…that first time.

It's going to happen.

Her mouth was dry as she spoke.

"How do you know I won't try and escape?"

Hermione found herself surprised that she had even asked such a pointless question; she would never leave knowing that Ginny and Lily weren't safe. But her eyes shone with the challenge she had posed him. It was strange, she realized, to see a near half smile on his face, as he rolled his eyes.

"You, I doubt. Maybe someone else, anyone else, but you? What with your savoir complex? There's still Lily to consider, isn't there?"

Those words were spoken with an infuriating smugness. She wouldn't leave, and he knew it. His eyes had flickered towards the windows, as if to signal that he was bored with her, the expression on his face maddeningly unreadable.

"Aren't you going to have a look?" he questioned tersely.

He glowered at her, his eyes darkening with reproach as he nodded towards the box.

Hermione found herself afraid for a moment, just as she had that night in the flat, when they had first spoken. He was a man who harbored an unspoken darkness, and she didn't want to find out what secrets it hid.

At least, that's what Hermione told herself.

Moving to the vanity, she set the box on top and lifted the lid, staring at what lay within, unable to speak.

Merlin's beard…

Hermione was pretty certain that she had never, in all her life, seen a dress as lovely as the one that lay nestled within the box. Though not one with a key eye for fashion, for there had always been matters of more importance, even she could not help but run her fingers along the crimson fabric. She thought it might be silk or satin – a cool, smooth whisper against her fingers. A rush of emotion pooled behind Hermione's wide eyes, as she realized it had been years since she had worn a dress, and even longer since she had worn a dress this breathtaking.

"Well, it's not like you can bloody see it in the box, can you?"

His impatient grumble startled Hermione out of her daydream, and she watched, a bit distracted, as he removed the dress, and tossed the box aside thoughtlessly.

If she hadn't been certain before, she was indeed convinced now, that Draco Malfoy was holding the most exquisite piece of evening attire she had ever seen. She nearly reached to snatch it from him, for she hadn't seen beauty in a long time, and she was afraid he'd take it from her too soon. It was knee length, and flowing. A simple thing, really, with a plunging neckline, a gathered waist and a dusting of beaded embroidery that seemed to shimmer under the lights in the room. Hermione wasn't even truly aware that her mouth had fallen open as she gazed on the vision of loveliness before her.

"Where…did you get it?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Does it matter, Granger? Are you supposing it's not good enough for a woman in your position?"

She tore her eyes away from the dress to glare at him.

"So then, I imagine you expect a lot from me, giving me a dress like that," she pointed out, feeling suddenly nervous at the thought of what he would…what he already…

His words were rough.

"The expectation was all yours, now wasn't it? I wasn't the one that came up with the arrangement. You threw yourself at me, not the other way around."

Hermione's face flushed with indignation.

"I had no choice!"

She found herself slightly surprised at the almost hurt expression that flickered across his face for only a moment before it was replaced by the more familiar scowl that adorned his face most of the time. Her eyes slid back to the fantastic dress he was still holding, waffling between embarrassment at the fact that he was right, and anger at being given no choice.

Malfoy chose to ignore her outburst, instead offering her the dress.

"Put it on."

"N-now?"

"No, Granger. Tomorrow."

His tone was colored with sarcasm.

"Go on. You said you'd do anything, didn't you? I want you to put it on."

Hermione nearly blushed at the intensity with which he had captured her eyes, and, fingers trembling, she tore the satin from his fingers, and glared at him.

"Well, won't you turn around?"

Her words faded at the sight of something she hadn't seen before; his lips flickered for a moment and then turned up into a smirk.

"It's not like I'm not going to bloody see it all eventually, eh Granger?"

He raised one eyebrow above silver eyes that glimmered with mirth. It seemed surreal to Hermione, this man whom she hated was gazing on her like she was almost….almost what? Frowning and hating herself for even considering him anything but hateful, she quickly shrugged off her clothing in favor of the beautiful dress. In the storybooks she remembered as a child, the heroine of the story always got to wear a beautiful ball gown, and it never failed that it was a perfect fit in every way.

Unfortunately, she was well aware that her life was no storybook, and in the most irritatingly predictable fashion, the dress was too big. Hermione clutched the satiny fabric to her chest, turning around to stare at him, a blush coloring her cheeks. She was unable to look him in the eye, feeling too…exposed for her liking, no matter what he had said, no matter what the situation between them was.

"It's not…quite right, Malfoy."

"No?" he drawled thoughtfully, his eyes moving up and down her body in the too-large dress. "I think it's rather fetching myself."

Hermione heard him mutter something under his breath, and then a flickering motion around her, as the dress changed and shrunk to fit her form.

"There. You can drop your arms now," he commanded in the same, soft tone he had used with her all afternoon.

It was unnerving, Hermione decided, as her eyes slowly met his. She lowered her arms, wondering what he was thinking, what lay beyond those slate-gray eyes that made her feel like he could see inside her, and not just what lay on the outside, now swathed in a glorious dress of crimson satin. She suddenly realized that she had to think about something – anything else.

"How-how did you do that?"

His upper lip twitched, as if he meant to smile but couldn't quite do it.

"Technically, Granger, it's a modification of the knitting charm. You weren't the only one who knew charms in our year, you know. Though I'm certain you thought me daft."

Her eyes widened.

"Of course I didn't!" she exclaimed defensively. "I just…it's just so…perfect."

Indeed, it was, he realized. As was the blush that had so liberally colored her cheeks.

"Fetching," he whispered his agreement, swallowing and then turning away from her, his back stiffening as he uttered that one word.

The woman in the crimson dress stood watching him, her face a mask of confusion, her breathing coming more shallowly.

"Is it not…what-"

Draco had known the dress would be perfect, though he hadn't been quite certain of its size. But with a quick charm, making it fit hadn't been a problem. The problem was that she looked…

She looked a thousand words for beautiful, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he wasn't allowed to want her. It wasn't fair that she was a Mudblood. It wasn't fair that she had to look so damn good, even with her hair all pulled up in a messy ponytail, even though she was plainer than any other girl he had ever known, even though…

There were too many things going on in his mind, and none of them made sense to Draco at all.

"It looks fine, Granger. As I knew it would."

It was a gross understatement, and he tried to hide his reaction with haughtiness, hoping she didn't know how little control he truly had when it came to her.

Fuck. Knock me over with a phoenix feather.

When he turned, she wore a look of bewilderment, with a measure of curiosity. He watched as she worried her lower lip between her teeth, contemplating him with those damned expressive eyes. Sod it all.

"If…if everything is fine, then why haven't you…?"

The words were uncertain, broken by her strangely bashful pauses, and her face bloomed with color. Draco found himself appalled once again by her wanton display of desperation.

"Why haven't I fucked you, you mean?"

She reddened even more furiously at his crass language, averting her eyes, with their glimmer of unshed tears, abruptly.

Draco stared at her then, trying to think of something to say, wondering if desperation made every woman act the way Granger was acting. Truthfully, he was uncertain as to why he wasn't able to use her, the way Flint used women. Surely, it was what Granger expected, for each time he touched her, her body responded by tensing, and her face was a mask of anticipation laced with fear and disgust.

She doesn't want me.

He couldn't lie to himself, and the other hard truth was that he wanted her to want him. Even though it shouldn't have mattered, it was still what he desired.

"You don't think I want you, Granger?"

Draco felt the words bubble up from some obviously mental part of him, because there was no other reason for the way his voice broke, the clear unrest he felt.

"I've stuck my bloody neck out for you more than once, I saved your stupid best friend's children, and I've saved your arse more times than I can count! And you're worried that I don't want you?"

Hermione's head snapped up at the strange tone in his words and was shocked at the pain written in his eyes. She found herself studying him in silence, wishing he was uncomplicated, like other men, those being animals with nothing more on their minds but sex. This was much for difficult for Hermione, for he stirred within her feelings she didn't want to be having, and each time he spoke, each word, each time he did something she didn't expect, she felt herself sitting closer and closer to the edge of a deep crevice. If she fell…

Its madness. I won't.

She found herself wanting to know Malfoy, this man, whom she found so abhorrent and yet so captivating. In spite of herself, and perhaps, to spite all those others who thought she was disgusting and not good enough for him. She wanted to make sense of the darkness within him, those parts of him that she feared. She wanted to make sense of everything in her life that was as hateful as he was.

No. No, I won't.

As she stared at him, his hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the side of her face, touching he with more tenderness than anyone ever had. She let him pull her closer. She let that hand, which stirred rapture within her, run down her arm, let those fingers lace with hers, let his lips brush against hers in a whisper light caress that left her dizzy as her eyes fluttered closed. Her mind told her that it was wrong, but her body was the shadowed traitor, telling her mind that it didn't matter, that it was nothing more than an arrangement…

She felt herself being pulled more tightly against his chest, a wide, firm chest that Hermione hadn't realized felt more like steel than flesh.

In Malfoy's arms, she felt small, helpless. And yet, there was something unquestionably sublime about the way he held her.

"How is it I should show you how much I desire you?"

The whisper sent an explosion of electricity down her spine, rendering her speechless, as his lips pressed against the most intimate hollow of her throat, his tongue forging a hot, wet trail down her neck to her collarbone, gently at first and then with insistence, biting and suckling there, causing Hermione to go weak in the knees. The sensation of pain and pleasure caused her body to melt. Somehow, his hands were around her waist, and she was pressed against the hard planes of his body once more, barely able to breathe.

Now? Now, will it happen?

She was torn between curiosity and dread, as her eyes opened to take in the heated glint of the gray eyes that bore into hers with blatant desire, his lips trembling, and his face beautifully florid.

Beautifully…

She had wondered if he would touch her again, the same way he had touched her the first time, and her body responded by a delicious tightening in her lower half. Her eyes never left his.

"I've thought of nothing but this," he muttered raggedly, groaning when her body wiggled against his in the most innocent way. "Obsessed over nothing but your mouth, the way I had kissed you," he continued his lips against hers, the side of her mouth, his own hot, burning against the skin there. "Fantasies about the way you had reacted, the fact that you make the most bewitching noises I have ever heard a woman make."

The hiss of his words made Hermione groan and cling to him.

"But do you know what I wanted the most?"

Those eyes. Glowing embers of desire that burned like enchanted candles. She couldn't reply, only gazing up at him, dumbfounded.

"I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted you to kiss me the way you would have kissed a man you desired."

Hermione seemed to come out of her passion-laced stupor. At a loss for what to think or do, she took in the angular lines of his darkly handsome face, the careless way his blond hair fell into his granite eyes, now shadowed even more with his need, the tremble of his swollen mouth. He was watching her plaintively, his jaw stiffened, his body hot against hers. And she found herself tentatively leaning in, and pressing her mouth against his.

At her touch, a groan was ripped from his throat, and immediately he took full control of the kiss, forgetting his initial passionate plea. Immediately, his tongue sought hers in an erotic dance that left Hermione breathless. She felt him devouring her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, nipping, biting, caressing, possessing. His mouth was hot, wet and demanding, the kiss a rough violation of everything she had wanted to believe, and yet at the same time, it was the most delicious temptation.

His roughened hands moved up and down along heated satin, his mouth now burning kisses on her bare shoulders, her neck, her chin, her cheeks, and then her wanton mouth once more, groaning as she kissed him deeply and then deeper still. He delighted in the softness of her hair, the way she submitted to him now, willingly. He got lost in her because she made it hard to think, to consider what was truly happening, and in her arms he didn't have to think about who she was. He traced the line of her hip, her rib cage, her breasts, and then back down to the place where satin met thigh, and he pushed without care, like a glutton for more, more than she had given him before, because he wanted to be as close to her as he could be, closer than skin, closer than-

She let out a sound that was in between a cry and a moan and it twisted everything inside of him.

"Gods, the noises you make could drive a man to his insanity."

The words were ragged and breathless as he pressed his forehead against the heat of her cheek, breathing in the musky scent of her. Once more she whimpered, and he moved against her in reply, his muddled brain knowing nothing more than want…want…

He wanted to rip that dress off of her, to take her there, like she was some kind of-

No. No, not like that.

Breathing heavily, and confused at his sudden bout of conscience, Draco moved away from her, working with trembling fingers to re-button the white shirt she had nearly torn apart with her eagerness. His face flushed and his body in agony, he turned away from her to gather the train of thoughts that had violently derailed at the touch of her lips against his.

Bloody arse.

She spoke.

"So that's it?"

Her voice was icy, much like that of the Granger he remembered at Hogwarts, and when he looked up, she was watching him, her face radiantly flushed and her hair a God awful yet glorious mess around her shoulders.

He sneered.

"What, Granger? Do I not perform up to your Weasley standards?"

Her cheeks stained red with indignation.

"I never- you don't- I wouldn't- I just-"

She swallowed hard.

"D-don't men want more?"

He let out a chortle at her obvious display of demureness. As if she was embarrassed at her words.

"Your modesty is quite misplaced in such a situation, is it not, Granger? After all, there you stand, half naked, offering yourself to me. You are mine. Remember? What I do with you is up to me. If I did not want you, you wouldn't be here."

He finished dressing, adjusting the shirt and tucking it into his trousers, and then he reached up to brush a rogue curl out of her face with the gentlest of touches. Hermione's heart lurched, and she wondered once more what he was doing to her. Why he wouldn't just finish what they had started, why he had to act like there was something more between them! It wasn't fair!

His lips were against her forehead in a sweet gesture of-

Sweet? He's not sweet! He's hateful, he's evil, he's…

"Who are you?" she whispered, feeling tears of confusion filling her eyes.

When he gazed on her, his eyes were cold once more.

"I am Draco Malfoy. A servant to our Lord, Voldemort. A Death Eater."

Hermione's heart began to weep at his words, knowing they were true.

"I know."

"Then, you won't forget," he replied. "You must never forget who I am, and who you are. Now…do something about your hair, Granger. We have a party to attend and I don't relish being late."

She closed her eyes against the burning tears, and waited until the door slammed, and she was left alone once more. His words echoed in her mind.

I won't forget who you are, Draco Malfoy. I won't. That's a promise.

But deep down, she knew that his answer had not been enough, and that she did not know anymore who he was.