A/N: Wow, has it really been 4 months since chapter 1 posted? Sorry about the wait.

I've struggled with my muse for this one, but I'm determined to finish it no matter how long it takes.

I can't promise a consistent update schedule, but I can promise that it won't be another 4 months before chapter 3 posts! I'll do my best to get those words out as fast as my muses can sing.

Thanks for your patience. I hope you enjoy this one.

Big thanks as always to BiscuitsForPotter for always being the best cheerleader, alpha, and beta.

"Granger? You're joking!"

Draco shook his head as Blaise handed him his coffee. They made their way away from the coffee kiosk, through the Atrium and towards the lifts. "I swear, mate. And she was wild, I'm telling you." The memory of the previous evening drifted through his mind — Granger's thighs straddling him, her nipples taught under her silky dress, her hips canting forward to grind against him.

"Did you shag her?" Blaise asked.

"Shag who?" came an eager voice from behind them.

Draco and Blaise turned to see Theo hurrying to catch up.

"Granger," Blaise supplied.

Theo's eyebrows jumped as his head swivelled to Draco. "You shagged Granger?"

Draco rushed to quell this misunderstanding, lest someone overhear and begin to spread gossip. "No. I absolutely did not shag her." He gave them both a hard look. The lift doors opened and the three of them stepped in. Mercifully, they were alone. "I took her to dinner and then we snogged a bit. But that's all."

"How did this even happen? I thought you two hated each other."

Draco filled them in about the opportunity to go undercover and the resulting wager with Pansy and Warren.

As they stepped off the lift at the DMLE, Blaise took a sip of his coffee. "Well it sounds like it's backfiring on Pansy a bit. It seems to me that she suggested Granger because she thought it would be impossible for you to woo her."

Draco smirked as he steered them towards the Auror Department. "I have no doubt that I'll be winning easily. And if last night was any indication on how the next ten days will go, it'll be a real pleasure to hang around with Granger for a while."

Blaise and Theo followed Draco to his desk. Draco shot them both a look over his shoulder as he set down his coffee. "Don't you two have jobs of your own to attend to?"

"The archives can wait," said Theo.

Blaise nodded eagerly. "Yeah. You can't just tell us that you snogged Granger and expect me to piss off to my office. We didn't think that swot had an ounce of sexuality and now you're telling us that she's wild?"

Draco just chuckled as he shed his cloak, stopping to pull out Granger's beaded bag from his pocket. It was heavy, much too heavy for a bag of this size. He plopped it onto his desk with a low thunk.

"Mate," Theo began, his tone mocking, "we could have helped you find a manlier bag."

With a scowl, Draco dropped into his chair. "It's Granger's. She left it at mine last night."

Blaise eyed the bag with interest. "I bet she did it on purpose. She's trying to be sure that you contact her."

"What's in it?" Theo asked.

"I haven't looked. But it's heavy. I'm guessing she's got an undetectable extension charm on it."

Blaise's eyes flickered from the bag to Draco. "She left it at your place and you haven't looked inside?"

"Gentlemen," Draco began, shooting pointed looks at his friends as he propped his feet up on his desk and clasped his hands behind his head, "a witch's bag is a very personal thing. How could I betray the trust of the woman who must fall in love with me by rifling through her belongings?"

The two wizards stared at the bag for a moment in silence. Then, quick as a Snitch, Theo flicked his wand at it. It's drawn top opened wide and it lifted off of Draco's desk and tipped upside down, it's contents tumbling out like a small avalanche before falling itself.

"Oops," Theo chirped with a shrug as he pocketed his wand.

"Theo," Draco tutted with mock reproach. "You clumsy man."

All three men were still for a moment. Then they all simultaneously lunged for the pile of Granger's belongings.

The heap was mostly books. Ancient-looking tomes of various sizes that seemed to be right up Granger's alley. Draco pushed most of them aside, but one caught his eye. The cover sported a picture of a woman in a Victorian bodice and a man in a billowy shirt which was open to reveal the smooth expanse of his chest. They were wrapped in a passionate embrace. The book appeared to have been read several times. The paper cover was worn and the edges of the pages slightly curled.

His eyebrows lifted as he picked up the book and showed the cover to Blaise and Theo. Blaise smirked and then reached back towards the pile.

There were a few makeup items that Draco examined — lipstick, mascara, and a pocket-size mirror. A small crystal bottle of perfume.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Blaise pulled his wand and used it to lift up a lacy pair of emerald green knickers. A jolt of desire shot through Draco at the thought of Hermione Granger wearing Slytherin green knickers. Honestly, just the idea that Granger kept spare knickers in her bag was enough to have him imagining a dozen scenarios in which she might need them.

Going red, he snatched them off the end of Blaise's wand and stuffed them back into the bag. "Don't get any ideas, gents. She's mine. I need her to win the bet."

Blaise chuckled. "Only for the next ten days."

"Yes." Draco rolled his eyes. "After that, you have my permission to throw your hat in the ring." He shot Blaise a smirk. "As long as you don't mind my sloppy seconds."

Blaise leaned back, crossing his arms. "Not at all. I'm sure after ten days with you she'll be dying for a real man to offer her some pleasure."

Draco just rolled his eyes and began shoving Granger's books back into her bag.

Theo leaned forward and picked up a small, bright yellow vial. "Finley's Every-Flavour Lube?"

Draco and Blaise's heads shot up.

"No fucking way." Blaise lunged for Theo's hands to snatch up the vial.

"She told me she had to write a piece on it for work," Draco said dismissively, returning his attention to the dwindling pile of items before him. He picked up Granger's makeup and returned it to the bag and then held out his hand expectantly to Blaise.

His friend's eyes were twinkling with intrigue as he placed the vial of lube in Draco's hands.

As Draco returned the rest of Granger's things to the bag — a sealed jar of ink and an old quill, a few clipped articles of her own as well as some from The Daily Prophet that he guessed she'd found interesting — his eyes fell upon something unexpected. Far more unexpected than lube or a dirty book or even green knickers.

Tickets. A pair of them.

He picked them up, his heart beating quickly, not daring to hope that they were what he thought they were.

Sure enough, there they were. Two tickets to the Quidditch World Cup qualifying game between England and France. A game scheduled for that very evening. "Oh, Merlin."

"What is it?" Theo leaned forward to get a better look.

"Do you have any idea how hard I tried to get tickets to this match?" Draco held out the tickets for Blaise and Theo to see.

"You have to Floo her," Blaise insisted, sitting up very quickly, his face suddenly very serious. "Even ignoring the fact that you have her bag, which she'll definitely be wanting back, there's a chance she'll invite you to the game. And you absolutely have to go."

Draco checked his watch. It was after nine now. Surely Granger had arrived at work by now. He could probably reach her there. He quickly shoveled the rest of Granger's things into the bag, setting the tickets reverently on top of the pile before cinching the drawstring closed. "Okay. I have a plan." He stood up and hurried from his desk, Blaise and Theo hot on his heels.

"I hate to disappoint you, Ginny, but Malfoy was a perfect gentleman. It was even his suggestion that we take things slow."

Ginny folded her arms petulantly and leaned against the partition between their cubicles. "So, nothing happened?"

Hermione smirked and sat back in her chair, twirling her wand in her fingers. "Well, I didn't say that, did I?"

A slow grin took over Ginny's face. "So did you make plans to see him again?"

"No, but I'm not worried. He'll Floo soon."

"You should have made plans. You only have nine days, you know."

"I'm aware, Ginny."

"And you're absolutely sure he'll reach out?"

Hermione grinned. "Definitely. He'll need to return my bag."

Ginny's eyebrows skyrocketed. "You left your bag there? Your special bag containing all of your secrets?"

Hermione just shrugged, smirking at her friend.

"You know, you'd make a great villain if you wanted to."

"I've considered that for a career option if this doesn't work out," Hermione quipped.

"Hermione Granger?" A high-pitched voice rang across the sea of cubicles.

She rose to her feet and raised her hand. "Right here," she called. Turning her head, she saw several delivery elves weaving their way through the cubicles, vases of roses held high over their heads. Her mouth fell open as the first one approached her.

"Delivery for Miss Hermione Granger," the elf squeaked.

Stunned, Hermione thanked the elf and took the first vase and placed it on her desk. Nine others soon joined it, each containing ten roses of various colours. The elves filed out, and Hermione plucked the small card tucked into the first bouquet. Before she could open it, Ginny snatched it from her grasp.

She pulled the card from the tiny envelope. "One hundred times more beautiful than one hundred roses."

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh, Merlin. Seriously? It doesn't say that."

Ginny nodded and held out the card so that Hermione could see for herself.

"I think this means you successfully hooked him," Ginny said, arching an eyebrow.

Hermione grinned at the card. "This means he found the Quidditch tickets."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "You left them in the bag? Hermione! How could you? What if he hadn't contacted you? I've been looking forward to that game for weeks."

"Well, you might still miss it. I bet you anything he's going to want to go."

Ginny shook her head. "No, Hermione. No. I worked so hard to get those tickets."

"You can still go. Just use your press pass."

Ginny stomped her foot petulantly. "But I'll have to sit in the press box if I do that! I wanted to sit in that booth, Hermione."

Hermione gave Ginny her best puppy dog eyes. "Please, Gin? This would be the perfect chance to flip the switch with Malfoy."

After frowning for several seconds, Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you owe me."

Hermione grinned. "Thanks."

"Hermione." The new voice rang across the sea of cubicles.

Turning, Hermione saw Parvati approaching quickly.

"You have a Floo call," Parvati announced.

"Oh?"

Parvati's eyes twinkled as she nodded.

Hermione grinned as she exited her cubicle to head for the correspondence room. Ginny was hot on her heels, practically bouncing with excitement as they walked.

When Hermione opened the door, Malfoy's head was immediately visible amongst the flames in the Floo. After sending Ginny a pointed look, the girl lingered by the doorway out of sight as Hermione walked inside.

"Guess what," she said with a smirk as she moved to stand in front of the fireplace. "I've got a really embarrassing display of roses on my desk."

Malfoy grinned. "You're welcome. Listen, I called to negotiate the return of your bag."

Hermione feigned embarrassment. "Oh, I know. I can't believe I left it there." From the corner of her eye, she could see Ginny's shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Well, I'm sure you want it back, especially with all those books and makeup and Quidditch tickets."

Ah! He'd taken the bait afterall. Hermione grinned. "Draco Malfoy," she said, placing her hand over her heart as if appalled by his actions. "Have you been peeking through my bag?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Absolutely not. I would never do such a terrible thing. You remember Theo, right? Well, he came by my desk this morning and knocked it over. He's a clumsy man."

"You know," Hermione began, crossing her arms over her chest, "you could just give me the bag now."

Draco sighed as if he hadn't thought of such a possibility. "Damn. I've left it at my desk. I guess I'll just have to give it back to you tonight at the Quidditch match."

"Oh, are you going too?"

"I am if you invite me."

Hermione chuckled, holding back a scoff. "Well, I'd love to, but I promised Ginny I'd go with her."

"I'm sure she gets to go to all the matches. It won't kill her to miss just one. And besides, I think you left your bag here because subconsciously you are dying to go to the match with me. It would be very harmful to your mental health to deny yourself of your deepest desires."

Hermione laughed, unable to stop herself from thinking about how charming he was in that moment. "Alright, fine. I'll meet you at the pitch at seven. Entrance three."

"Sounds perfect. See you."

With a smile that could have made any woman go weak at the knees, his head disappeared.

Hermione turned back to the door to see Ginny grinning at her. She shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. "And that's how it's done."

Entrance three at the Quidditch World Cup qualifying match was bustling with chaotic activity when Hermione stepped through the Floo at seven o'clock on the dot. As it was the last match that England had to win in order to qualify for the World Cup, fans had come out in the thousands to show their support.

Dozens of drunk and rowdy people were milling around, some making their way into the stadium and others chatting and laughing loudly with friends. Hermione craned her neck over the sea of red-clad England fans and blue-clad France fans to see Malfoy smile at her from the entrance.

Brushing off her red dress, she pushed her way through the crowd to approach him. He looked sinfully fit in his black tailored robes. He straightened the cuffs of his shirt as she approached.

Hermione smiled as she came to stand before him, looking up at him. "You're here early."

Malfoy leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "And you're right on time." He held out his hand, producing her beaded bag from his pocket. "I believe this is yours."

Hermione smiled and took the bag, allowing herself to blush demurely. "Thank you."

"You know," Malfoy began, leaning back against a large wooden pillar and crossing his arms, "you don't seem like the type who would want to go to the qualifying rounds for the Quidditch World Cup."

She wasn't. In honesty, she'd only had the tickets because she'd picked them up for Ginny to have. But a Quidditch match was the perfect date to entice Malfoy into spending more time with her. Instead of sharing this information with him, she just shrugged and offered him a coy smile. "I think I watched my friends play enough over the years to develop an appreciation for the game. Shall we go in?"

Malfoy nodded, and they entered the stadium together. He showed the tickets to the attendant, who then escorted them inside and up the narrow, winding staircases. Hermione looked at the raucous crowd of England fans in the stands as they passed. Some were talking excitedly with their neighbors, some were drinking from giant mugs of butterbeer, and some were already shouting at the pitch where several players were flying drills to warm up, barely visible from the corridors which led to the boxes.

They climbed higher, and Hermione could tell by the way he was eyeing the passing stands that Malfoy was wondering exactly where their seats were. When the attendant opened the door to their box, Malfoy's eyes went as wide as Quaffles.

"Nice," he hummed appreciatively as he took in their incredible view of the pitch and the lush chairs provided. "Very nice. How did you manage to get these tickets?"

Hermione took off her cardigan and draped it over the back of her chair. "Ginny got them, actually. I think she may have used Harry's name. She can be rather shameless when it comes to getting good Quidditch seats. Hates sitting in the press box."

Malfoy smirked as he sank into one of the chairs and propped his feet up on the railing. "How did you manage to convince her to let you have the tickets instead?"

Hermione smoothed out her dress and sat down next to him, offering him a flirtatious glance. "It's part of the woman's code. I had an opportunity to spend time with a fit man and she had to let me take it. I'll make it up to her another time."

Malfoy's lips twitched. "Fit man, huh?"

Hermione just smirked and lifted one eyebrow at him before turning her attention to the pitch. "Why aren't you wearing red for England?"

He chuckled. "Even England can't get me to wear red. But I must admit that you're a vision tonight, Granger." His eyes raked over her, lingering on her legs and chest before settling on her face.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. He was clearly just hoping for a shag. As if she would ever be stupid enough to allow herself to fall into bed with Draco Malfoy. She held back the impulse to begin pushing him away too early. It had to be done delicately.

When the match began, Hermione did her best to seem invested in the game. She didn't dislike watching Quidditch. It's true that she didn't find the sport as exhilarating as many of her friends did, and she enjoyed it most when she knew someone on the team that she could watch and cheer for. Still, it was an exciting game, and she knew enough about it to follow it well and appreciate the skill these professional players had.

Knowing that it would only help her ensnare Malfoy, she cheered when England scored. She gasped when the Bludgers came close to their targets. She lunged forward in her seat with rapt interest when the French Seeker dove suddenly for the Snitch, but it slipped through his fingers.

Over the course of the game, France took a massive lead in points, ahead of England by 170 points. Hermione noticed that the English Seeker spent most of her time looking, not for the Snitch, but at the French Seeker. It wouldn't do her any good to catch the Snitch now, so Hermione knew she would do what she could to keep her opponent from catching it.

The English Beaters seemed to be of the same mind. They spent a great deal of time sending Bludgers towards the wiry French man to keep him distracted from glimmering glimpses of tiny Snitches.

Knowing that there likely wouldn't be any game-ending plays until the points were closer, Hermione occupied herself with sending flirtatious glances in Malfoy's direction. He was focused on the game for the most part, but when she crossed her legs, intentionally letting the hem of her skirt ride up her thigh, his eyes flickered to her.

She grinned and leaned towards him suggestively, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Reaching across the armrest, she placed her hand on his forearm, angling her body towards him.

Malfoy's eyebrows raised in surprise. He glanced at the pitch, where the Chasers were darting back and forth, before leaning in.

Their lips met lightly at first, as Hermione could tell his attention was still split between her and the pitch. Slanting her lips against his, she ran her hand up his chest to draw him closer by the back of his neck. Her tongue darted forward, teasing as his lips parted to let her in.

She leaned closer, letting her hand slide up his leg to his thigh. With a sharp intake of air, Malfoy deepened the kiss, delving his fingers into her curls at the nape of her neck and drawing her in. As she let out a moan, his grip tightened.

Though she reminded herself that it was all pretend, she couldn't help the quickening of her heartbeat or the thrill that ran through her when he swept his tongue past her lips.

A sudden roar from the crowd granted her an opportunity to break away. She turned from Malfoy quickly, rising from her seat in feigned excitement. The French Seeker had made a spectacular dive causing the English Seeker to follow suit. But it turned out to be Wronski Feint, and both Seekers pulled up at the last moment to the roar of a collective gasp from 100,000 spectators.

Beaming, Hermione turned back to Malfoy. He sat stiffly in his chair, looking like he didn't fully understand what had just occurred. His eyes flickered between her and the pitch.

Malfoy's focus didn't fully settle on the game until England's Chaser managed to get the Quaffle past the French Keeper. Like waking from a deep sleep, he blinked and shook his head, rising to his feet to stand beside her as the English fans cheered.

Though his eyes didn't wander from the rapid movements of the Chasers again, his hand settled on her waist, sending shivers up her spine as his fingers danced up and down her spine.

The smooth git certainly knew what he was doing. Loathe as she was to admit it, Malfoy had her blood thrumming in her veins, her heart pounding in her chest. Even as England scored twice more and Malfoy cheered beside her, it was all Hermione could do to plaster on a smile to pretend she'd even noticed.

With the difference in scores less than 150, the English Seeker began to circle in earnest, keeping one eye on her opponent and one eye out for the Snitch. Suddenly, an idea sprang to Hermione's mind — a way to take charge of the situation for the sake of her career.

"Draco," she simpered, placing her hand on his forearm and looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Malfoy's eyes widened as he turned to her, as if he expected to suddenly see someone else standing next to him.

She smiled and leaned into him as she bit her lip. "I'm thirsty. Could you get me a butterbeer?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, his eyes darting back to the game quickly before he nodded. "Sure. I'll just call an elf."

"No!" Hermione whimpered, tightening her grip on his forearm. "Draco, please. It's slave labour!" She pouted dramatically. "Please, I'm so thirsty."

A flash of irritation crossed Malfoy's features as he glanced at the pitch again. England scored again to thunderous applause from the stands. "Yes. Fine," he clipped. "I'll be right back."

Keeping his eyes on the game, Malfoy sidled towards the exit of the box and then sprinted through the door.

Hermione grinned and turned her attention back to the pitch. Quidditch games were hard to predict, but there was a definite buzz in the air that signalled an exciting finish may soon be approaching. She only hoped she'd timed it all out well enough.

Draco raced down the winding stairs beneath the stands. Every chance he got, he peeked between the legs of the fans to check in on the game, but there were simply too many people to get a clear look at the action.

He did seriously consider finding a clear place to watch and summoning an elf. Would Granger really know the difference? But he thought better of it. If she was to fall in love with him, he needed to care about her causes — or at least pretend to.

The crowd roared again, and he dove into a nearby overlook to see what had happened. France had scored. The commentator recapped the goal. "Martin scores ten on Haverford. France now leads England 260-120. A difference of 140."

Draco quickly eyed the Seekers to make sure that they were still circling slowly before darting back to the stairs.

The concessions were at the bottom, near the entrance. Normally, Draco didn't mind being so far away in the booths. It was easy enough to call an elf if one needed anything in the middle of the game. But no. Granger and her bleeding heart…

The crowd gasped, and Draco's heart seized in his chest. He listened closely for the commentator's voice.

"What's this? Oh yes! Garnier's seen the Snitch! But Jones is hot on his tail."

The Seekers!

Draco frantically looked for a place to see the pitch, but he was under the stands and couldn't get a clear view. He was going to miss it!

"They're diving! The Snitch is within Garnier's reach. And…"

A groan from the stands, and Draco's heart unclenched.

"Garnier was nearly hit by Walsh's Bludger there. Good defense from the English Beaters. And it looks like the Snitch has gotten away for the time being."

Draco ran. If he could just get Granger's bloody Butterbeer and make it back to the box before the game ended, it would be fine. He could stand missing a couple of goals and a near miss. But he didn't want to miss the catch.

The bloke at the concessions box must have been ninety if he was a day. He puttered to the tap to pour Granger's Butterbeer with the speed of a geriatric Flobberworm. By the time he approached the counter with it, Draco snatched it from his hands and tossed far too many galleons onto the counter before tearing off back up towards the box.

As he took the stairs two at a time, sloshing Butterbeer with each step, he heard the commentator's voice rise with excitement.

"Jones has spotted the Snitch!"

Draco's heart jumped and he ran faster, desperately looking for anywhere he could watch from. An overlook, another box, anything. But there was nothing.

"Jones dives!"

Nearly there.

"Garnier pursues!"

His heart was pounding.

"They're neck and neck!"

The crowd was on its feet now. The wooden stands creaked over Draco's head as he sprinted towards the door to the box. He could see it. He could make it!

"And Jones has it! She's caught the Snitch! England wins by only ten points!"

With a groan, Draco reached the door to the box as the crowd erupted in deafening cheers. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the wood, clenching his jaw to keep himself from hexing the next person he saw, which was likely to be the witch he was trying to make fall in love with him.

With a deep breath, Draco closed his fingers around the door knob and opened the door to see Granger screaming and jumping up and down. She turned to him, apparently oblivious that he had missed it all. She threw her arms around his neck, her earlier thirst forgotten.

"Wasn't that incredible?" Granger beamed at him, her voice barely audible over the sound of the thousands of cheering fans.

Gnashing his teeth, he forced a smile and held out the Butterbeer for her.

She looked surprised to see it, as if she'd forgotten she even sent him on such an unnecessary errand. Then she smiled and took it from him before taking the tiniest sip he'd ever seen. "Thanks."

Draco seethed. He could have throttled her where she stood. Surely no jury would convict him once he explained. "Your honour, she made me miss the end of the game, you see." "Justified murder then. We can all agree."

Then again, she was Hermione Granger. War heroine, golden girl, Potter's best friend. Perhaps they'd convict him after all, even despite how much she deserved it.

He took a few calming breaths as he looked out over the pitch. The English team had all gathered together, cheering and hugging the Seeker as they celebrated their qualification for the World Cup final for the first time in nearly a century. Draco should have been cheering right along with them and the thousands of fans. He should have taken Granger back to his place for a celebratory shag to cap off the night in the best possible way.

But now he doubted a good shag would sweeten his soured mood now. Even as Granger bent over to pick up her bag and cardigan, waggling her tight little arse in his direction, he couldn't help the irritation he still felt for her.

He pushed his ire aside, reminding himself to be charming. And saint that he was, he didn't even sneer at her when she left the nearly-full Butterbeer sitting next to her seat as they made their way out of the box together.

As they descended the stairs surrounded by excited fans, Granger wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned into his side. "That was one of the most exciting games of Quidditch I've ever seen," she gushed, smiling up at him.

Draco forced a grin back and draped his arm around her shoulders.

"I mean, that last dive was incredible! I think Jones might just give Viktor Krum a run for his money. Don't tell him I said so though." She sent him a cheeky smirk at the mention of her old flame.

"Your secret's safe with me, Granger," he droned, focusing his attention on getting out of the stadium as quickly as possible.

"It's too bad you missed it."

Something about her tone made Draco think that she didn't see how it was her fault at all. Again, he reminded himself of the probable repercussions of snapping her neck and focused instead on the low dip of her dress. Perhaps if she agreed to go home with him, it would lessen the sting of the evening's disappointing end.

He opened his mouth to invite her over, but before he could speak, she was stepping away from his grasp.

"Well, this was fun," she said in a voice very much unlike the one he was used to. "Will you Floo? Or owl?" Her eyes were so wide and hopeful.

Draco's heart sank as he realised that the evening was over. She wouldn't be going back to his place tonight. He wouldn't be allowed to peel her pretty red dress off after all. "Of course I will."

Granger beamed and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, her arms circling his neck. He drew her in by her waist, letting his tongue trail along her bottom lip.

She pulled away with a demure smile and then headed towards the Floo, casting a wink over her shoulder. "See you later." Then she disappeared into the flames.

Irritated, and without the titillating promise of Granger's lithe body beneath him, Draco went home. Perhaps getting Granger to fall in love with him wouldn't be as much fun as he'd initially thought. He shed his clothes and climbed into bed, still seething over the amazing game-ending catch he'd missed my mere seconds.

He shook his head. He could still do this and get some enjoyment out of it. They just wouldn't go to any more Quidditch games. It wasn't like she could ruin his evening if they just went out to dinner. She was still a brilliant, sexy witch. He would just have to do better about controlling the situation from now on. He couldn't allow his temper to rear its ugly head when he had such limited time to get her to fall for him.

He tossed and turned, unable to quiet his mind. He couldn't clear his mind of the image of Granger glancing sideways at him, crossing her legs as her skirt rode up her smooth thighs. The feel of her hand sliding up his leg as she leaned into him and swept her tongue through his mouth.

With a groan, he rolled onto his back. He was rock hard. Cursing, he reached into his boxers and gripped his cock, thinking of the way her fingers had drawn absent-minded patterns on his inner thigh. He thought of how she'd felt beneath him yesterday, arching her back and pressing her breasts into his chests.

With a groan, he stroked himself, imagining what would have happened if he hadn't been so adamant that they should take things slowly yesterday. He would have brought her to bed, peeled off her dress and filled his hands with her perky tits.

He wondered if she would have put her smart mouth to good use, and he groaned at the thought. Suddenly, his mind was filled with images of Granger's pink lips closing around his cock, her tongue sliding against him, working him with the same concentration and determination she'd had in school when faced with a challenging subject.

"Fuck."

Then he was imagining bending her over the side of his bed and pulling her head back roughly with a fistful of her unruly curls as he fucked her quickly from behind. He stroked himself harder and faster at the thought, imagining the way she would cry out as her tight cunt quivered around him.

With a grunt, he came hard, painting Granger's arse with his come in his mind's eye. Chest heaving, he grabbed his wand and cleaned himself up.

Already, he felt much more relaxed. So what if Granger had made him miss the end of the game? Maybe if she fell in love with him she could use her press pass to get two tickets to the World Cup final match. He could pretend to date her for another couple of weeks until the final. He fell asleep resolved to make the best of the next eight days.

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