"Testing of Occlumency inhibition potion conducted by Unspeakable Hermione Jean Granger. Date: Thursday, 14th July, 2005. Proband: Draco Lucius Malfoy. Batch: 69." Hermione ended the voice recording the moment unwanted images flashed through her mind.
Although it was very juvenile, the number 69 conjured the image of Malfoy's head buried between her thighs, eating her out, while she sucked on his achingly hard cock. Hermione silently reprimanded herself once more for letting her thoughts stray to such an unprofessional topic while she was at work.
Although she had previously succumbed to the insistent throbbing between her legs far more often than she cared to admit, to do so right before Malfoy's appointment was not the time. The lingering smell of desire would give her away... besides, it would be highly improper. She could revisit that fantasy after working hours, when she had returned to her flat, where she could take all the time she wanted to properly indulge in her little hobby that was masturbating to all kinds of torid thoughts about her most challenging proband.
Ever since she had begun the trials for her Occlumency inhibition potion and visited the Auror office to enlist Malfoy as a proband, she found herself with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts about her former schoolmate.
First, she had noticed what kind of presence he had when he entered a room. Among the other Aurors, he stood out. There was something gruff about many of his colleagues. Even Harry had grown a beard, much to Ginny's dismay, and his hair looked even more unkempt than before. Hermione thought it came with their occupation. From afar, she noticed that somehow Malfoy maintained his refined looks. Impeccable dress robes, not a hair out of place, clean shaven. His form-fitting suits left no doubt that he was still very much in shape.
Up close, Hermione had suffered a minor lapse while her brain had been busy processing how tall, dark and handsome Malfoy had become. She felt like such a cliché. He had stared point-blank at her while she fidgeted with the contract for her experiment. Fortunately, her voice had not wavered and she had been able to convince him to participate in the trial. After all, his participation in her study was very important to her, because he was one of the few known British wizards that had a very high Occlumency level.
During their sessions, Hermione had become captivated by his grey eyes. While eyes were said to be like windows into the soul, Malfoy's never betrayed any emotion, fully occluding everything, like he was meant to do. It unnerved and at the same time intrigued her. It was like staring into a calm winter lake, ice already forming on the surface. His emotions were hidden, deep below the still surface and would only be revealed if one was to harass the peacefulness.
No matter how much she admired his prowess as an Occlumens, during each meeting she hoped to finally tear down the protective walls that he had built around himself, to see him fall apart. Hermione could not put her finger on the day when she started fantasizing about being the drop that rippled the surface of his mercury pools, that broke his emotionless façade. The way in which she wanted to achieve this quickly shifted from purely professional methods to forms of provocation that were completely unsuitable for their relationship which was strictly one of business.
Her fantasies had started off small. The first thing that had popped into her mind after another failed potion trial, was that maybe she could catch him unawares by springing something on him out of the blue, like an explosion, a mild jinx or the sight of her fingers pumping in and out of her dripping wet pussy, presented to him as if on a platter with her legs spread wide. She thought that the latter idea would draw out quite the reaction from Malfoy, it would certainly create a crack in the protective layer of ice upon the waters surface, and would serve to put a ripple on his damned calm lake. But those shallow waves were not enough because they could die down, returning the surface to its mirror form.
A splash would serve Hermione by agitating the water. And how better to splash than by diving straight in. The equivalent to a jump in this scenario would of course be to lock eyes with him while she brought herself to an earth-shattering climax. If that still left Malfoy with any doubts about whose fingers she rather wished would bring her to completion, then Hermione would walk over to his frozen figure - somehow she always pictured him too awestruck to move - to push her arousal coated fingers between his parted lips. It was her taste that would certainly shatter his Occlumency and with it his last resolve. What followed in her mental scenario could definitely not be called love-making but rather fell into the category of heated and frantic fucking.
After the initial surge of embarrassment at the direction her mind had strayed, the intervals between those delicious scenes only became shorter and the frequency steadily increased to multiple times a day. This left Hermione on occasion, no other choice but to lock herself into her office for her lunch break to relieve the tension.
Most of her indulgences began the same way: in her office. Her potion had failed once again. Frustrated with the lack of results, she would let all the pent-up stress out, blaming it on him, causing something in his gaze to shift.
"Careful, Granger." Why she always pictured him warning her before he devoured her with a kiss, was beyond her.
She had imagined him forcing her down to her knees, grabbing her hair while he fucked her throat with his long cock. She had imagined him swiping her desk clean of her paperwork, only to pin her down on it and mercilessly pound into her. She had imagined him pulling her into his lap and commanding her to ride him. Never bothering to cast a silencing charm, the bastard revelled in the fact that the whole department would hear her scream in ecstasy.
In the end, only a decisive shake of her head could free her of the intrusive thoughts about her upcoming meeting with him. With a firm press onto the recording button, Hermione forced herself to continue her preparations.
"Increased the quantity of Jobberknoll Feathers by two. Using fresh Galanthus Nivalis petals instead of dried ones." Putting the recorder aside for when she began the test, Hermione opened her desk drawer with all the proband files stacked neatly inside and pulled out the thick one marked Draco L. Malfoy . Because he was the most skilled Occlumens among her probands, she had conducted many tests with him and so had copious amounts of notes.
Nevertheless, the only real breakthrough she had achieved with him was by pure coincidence, and Hermione was still unsure whether it had not been imagination on her part. During one of their sessions, her fellow Unspeakable Anthony Goldstein had interrupted them to borrow one of her apparatuses. Upon turning back to Malfoy after chatting briefly with Anthony, Hermione had felt a shift in his aura, his eyes boring into Anthony's retreating back. The moment, however, was over so quickly and Malfoy's emotionless mask back in place, that Hermione was unsure whether it had not been an illusion.
Thumbing through Malfoy's file, she sighed. While she had made significant progress with her other subjects, she had yet to see results with Malfoy and something told her that today would not change that, regardless of her adjusted formula.
Punctual as always, Malfoy knocked on her office door at exactly 10.a.m.
"Come in," she called, and walked around her desk to greet him.
Following their usual routine, they shook hands, Hermione craning her neck to look up at him, given that he towered over her. Once seated in their allotted armchairs in front of her bookshelves, the mechanic click of the voice recorder signalled the beginning of the session.
"We are trying a new batch today." She pointed at the vial on the side table next to his seat, a silent request for him to drink the potion.
"Cheers." He gulped it down in one go, not even flinching at the bitter taste.
If Hermione had to guess the taste by the potion's smell, it was vile, even worse than her first attempt at Polyjuice Potion in her second year.
They carried on with the tests and just like she had predicted, there were no new developments. Malfoy remained as unreadable as ever. Her notes on the process were much the same as the others that filled the pages of his file. There was no use in highlighting anything, because nothing was noteworthy. Disappointed, Hermione worried at her bottom lip and refrained from slapping his file closed at yet another failure. She massaged her sore neck with her fingers, stretching it to the side to loosen a knot. Sitting in one position for too long always made her tense.
A glance over her shoulder revealed the clock reading 11 o'clock already. Another of their drawn-out meetings, an hour of work and nothing to show for it.
"Until tomorrow, then. And like always, please keep track of any lapses in your Occlumency or other abnormalities throughout the day, should there be any." Every time the same old tune, but that was part of the procedure.
He nodded in response and left her office.
Draco turned up the collar of his cloak against the abnormal constant breeze on the lowest floor of the Ministry. Its gloomy corridors and strange antiseptic smell caused him to want to leave as quickly as possible. Despite the obvious similarities between the Department of Mysteries and the Slytherin common room, namely both being underground and following a green color scheme, one evoked disgust in him, while the other gave him a comforting feeling of home. Draco had always found the Slytherin common room calming, with its underwater view of the lake, a selkie swimming by every once in a light, which was filtered through the water of the lake, painted everything in a green hue. Every once in a while you could even see a Selkie swimming by. No matter his preference for any other floor of the building, he did not hasten his steps.
Arriving at the lift, Draco was greeted by Anthony Goldstein opening the sliding doors.
"Hello, Draco." Although they had attended Hogwarts together, Draco had never really spoken to him. They were not on first-name terms and the way he good-heartedly clapped Draco on the shoulder while passing by, was entirely too familiar. He hated the former Ravenclaw. Goldstein would not know what personal space was if it hit him in the face, always standing too close, always casually touching.
The memory of that git interrupting one of his sessions with Granger broke free from his mental filing cabinets. The folder came rushing out to mock him with images of how close Goldstein had stood to Granger, how his hand had first touched her elbow, then her shoulder and in the end playfully tucked one of her curls behind her ear. Remembering how she had smiled at the other man, Draco shoved the memory back.
Without his Occlumency, he would have pushed that disruptive prick away from her. It did not serve Draco well to dwell on it, since he was one-hundred percent sure that he would never receive such a warm smile from her. After all, he did very little to deserve one, not to mention everything he had done when they were at school together. The memory of her sparkling and eager brown eyes beaming up at him when he had agreed to take part in her experiments would have to suffice.
When Draco exited the lift on the second floor, he was already dreading the paperwork that would surely be waiting for him. When he was not out in the field, his sessions with Granger were the bright spot in his dull office routine. Being the excellent Occlumens that he was, he could usually be found in the interrogation room. Truthfully, he enjoyed interrogating people, making them trip over their lies. Regrettably, every interrogation had to be documented. Without proper documentation, there could be trouble using the findings in court. Sabotaging a case by not properly documenting his work was not something Draco would be accused of. Being an ex-Death Eater was already bad enough. Recently, the number of interrogations he had conducted was larger than usual, so he would probably spend the next couple of days working through a pile of paperwork. It was tiresome work and the onset of a steady pulsing headache around noon was not making it any more enjoyable. Finally, at 8 p.m. he made his way home. His headache had developed into a pounding migraine that made it impossible to go on.
The Manor was empty and quiet, as the house-elves had already retired for the night, though not before leaving a cold supper on the side table next to his favorite armchair in the library. Since he could barely make sense of the words on the page during his evening read, Draco eventually gave up and took a potion for his migraine, before going to bed.
By Friday morning the migraine had subsided into a manageable headache. The letter he received during breakfast, informing him that his appointment with Granger had been canceled, only served to worsen his already sour mood. He doubted that he would be lucky enough to catch a glance of her in the Atrium, given that he had lingered too long in the comfort of his warm bed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Draco mourned the loss of his morning sighting of the witch.
With both of them being early risers, he would time his arrival by Floo just slightly later than her regular 6.30 a.m. exit from the Ministry fireplaces. The view of her delectable backside in the tight skirts she usually wore while she walked towards the lifts, was a sight he had committed to memory.
After all, not all memories he stored in his filing cabinets were bad ones. And Granger occupied a whole drawer of his files which had steadily built throughout the years, though only in fourth year had his perception of her changed. The awe Granger had inspired in him when he watched as she came down the staircase in that beautiful periwinkle blue dress to the Yule Ball in their fourth year, was right there with the memory of him wanking to the fantasy of putting her in her place, by fucking her senseless. The indoctrination by his parents and fellow purebloods had made him fantasize of pounding the understanding that she was beneath him into her with his cock. Back then, his fantasies were cruel, their frequency higher than the blood-purity would have dictated it to be.
After she had spoken on his behalf at his trial, he had apologized, and her "I forgive you" had haunted him ever since. His twisted mind, though, had seen fit to include it in a fantasy of her riding him, chanting it over and over again, as she sought her pleasure and came on his dick.
In regards to him practically stalking her from afar in the mornings, he sometimes gave in to the urge of getting closer to her. Granger was completely in her own world in the mornings, furiously writing in her notebook, probably planning every second of the upcoming workday, that she had not once noticed him standing behind her. To her, he was probably just another early bird, waiting for the lift.
For work, she tamed her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. Draco hated it. His fingers would itch to free her unruly mane. Regardless of the countless times he had taunted and ridiculed Granger for her wild hair, he loved it. It suited her. And the scent of her wild, brown locks intoxicated him. It took all the strength he had not to bury his nose in her alluring, floral scented hair. After hours of scouring the vast gardens of Malfoy Manor, Draco had finally found the matching flowers but the little something that was inherently Granger was still unobtainable. Nevertheless, a small pouch filled with dried petals resided on his nightstand, they served to keep his nightmares at bay should his Occlumency ever fail him.
The rattling sound of the lift's doors sliding open always helped to ground himself in reality. Since the Ministry lifts did not move about in a given order, everyone would file into the next available one. In the confined space of the lift, he made sure to keep in a corner far away from her. The temptation to brush her hand as if by accident and thereby tear her out of her thoughts, to draw her attention to him, was too great.
Every morning she was so engrossed in her notes that she did not take in anything besides the lift arriving, along with the necessity to get on and the need to press the button for her floor. Draco could have sworn that she never even noticed who was with her on the lift, the way her head was buried in her notebook. In his mind, he liked to play out a scenario where only Granger and he got onto the lift. Aurors, charged not only with security outside the Ministry but also within, had access to functions of the lifts that no-one else knew about. Not only could they force the lift to prioritize a certain level, they could make it stop.
Granger would never notice the lift halting in-between floors. While she would be oblivious to his tampering with the lift, he would stand behind her and free her hair from its knot. A startled little gasp would escape from her lips. When she tried to turn around to see who was with her, he would hold her in place.
"Stay still." He knew she would recognize his voice, given the amount of time they spent together. It was essential for his scenario to play out the way he wanted it to, for he would blindfold her with his tie next. Instead of being scared of a stranger, Draco wanted her to be thrilled of what he would do to her. In his scenario, she was willing. Very willing. She would arch her back, so her breasts could better fill his hands. She would grind her ass into his growing erection. And at last, when he pulled up her skirt and tore open her pantyhose, she would be dripping and ready for him.
Any further thought of his little lift fantasy was banned from his head as the migraine returned with a vengeance. Draco hissed and pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead to try and alleviate the pain. A detour to the apothecary for more pain relief potion on the way to work was unavoidable. Barely having touched his breakfast, he hoisted himself up from the chair and made his way towards the fireplace.
Even with taking one potion right there at the apothecary and another during his lunch break, by four o'clock that afternoon, Draco had finally given up any pretense that he would get anything done and returned home. Hopefully, a good night's sleep would help get rid of the migraine.
He was in the bathroom, washing before bed, when the migraine no longer just felt like a continuous stabbing pain but more specifically like he was being stabbed with hot iron pokers.
White-hot pain-
Then darkness.
The tiles felt cold beneath his body as Draco came around. The migraine was gone. He slowly blinked, his brain still sluggish, trying to make sense of what had happened. Something about his mirror image felt off. It took him several seconds to realize that while he was indeed looking at his exact likeness, the other's eyes were shut. Thus the possibility of what he saw being a reflection, vanished. To make matters worse, both of them were naked. What kind of out-of-body experience was this? Propping himself up onto his elbows, Draco leaned forward and hesitantly touched the other's shoulder. Grey met grey, his likeness opened its eyes and stared at him. Draco swiftly stood up and pointed his wand at his double.
"Who are you?" Draco demanded.
"Draco Malfoy," the other answered and scrambled up off the floor to stand before him, holding his hands up as a sign of compliance.
" I am Draco Malfoy." He scanned the intruder.
Sectumsempra scar, check.
Dark Mark, check.
The wards on the Manor should keep anyone except himself and his mother from entering. After the war, they no longer entertained guests.
A diagnostic charm proved that no Polyjuice Potion was at play. His brain was feverishly trying to remember any other method of impersonation, no matter how obscure.
"A little too good for a glamour, don't you think?" the other interrupted his train of thought.
Was he reading his mind? Impossible. His Occlumency walls were up.
An eye-roll from the other.
"Ask me something only you would know."
So many things one could have found out through his friends and family crossed Draco's mind. He would not make this easy for the stranger.
"Fine, have it your way." The other one huffed in annoyance. "Fourth year. The Yule Ball. Hermione looked so beautiful in that periwinkle blue dress. But my pureblood mind later reminded me that I should not think of her that way, so I came up with a little fantasy about showing her where she belonged: squirming beneath me . Sweet Salazar, I got so worked up over Hermione that I finally gave in to Pansy and fucked her."
Draco's hand tightened around his wand. It was true that he would never have slept with Pansy, had it not been an attempt to rid his thoughts of Granger. A failed attempt, though.
"A little too honest for your liking?" the other one snapped and took a step closer. "Tough luck. I am you and you are me. Now, get that wand out of my face." He grabbed for his pajama bottoms and a green bathrobe that lay on the floor at his feet.
"Those are my clothes!" Draco exclaimed as he lowered his wand.
"As they are mine. We have plenty of clothes. Get your own."
Completely ignoring his glare, the Other Draco strolled past him and poured himself a generous glass of Firewhiskey at his sitting area.
"So, what are we going to do about this ?" his double asked after he had taken a healthy sip of the amber liquid.
Draco was still in the process of dressing. Buckling his belt, he turned back towards the intruder, and found him lounging in an armchair.
" We will do nothing. I will Floo call Granger, so she can come here and undo this. It must have something to do with the experiments she's running."
With only a few steps, he was at his bedroom fireplace, Floo powder in the palm of his hand. A hand on his shoulder roughly turned him around. "You want her to come here ?" the stranger asked, incredulous.
"Why not?" He would not be dissuaded by someone he was not yet sure was himself.
Within the blink of an eye, he was pressed against the wall by a hand digging painfully into his throat.
" 'Why not?' You want to bring Hermione to the Manor? After what happened? I know you haven't shoved that memory deep enough to have forgotten what happened to her here . I will not watch you drag Hermione into this house!"
Draco tried to pry the fingers from around his throat but the other's grip was as tight as a Niffler holding onto a bag of gold.
"Let go of me," he hissed.
"Make me," the double snarled.
Stupefy did the trick and Draco stepped over the unconscious body, back towards the fireplace.
He hesitated.
What his double had said was true: he had not forgotten what had happened in the Manor. How he had stood by while his aunt had tortured Granger right in front of his eyes. It was one of his most frequent nightmares. No amount of Occlumency could keep it locked away. Even knowing she would not step foot into the drawing room, Draco could not bear the thought of her having to come to his home against her will, just to help him fix this dilemma that he had found himself in.
Begrudgingly, he had to admit that this other self was right. They had no choice but to go to Granger. Without further ado, he hoisted the unconscious body over his shoulder and stepped into the grate, calling out the address of Granger's flat.
Granger's fireplace was smaller than his, so he had quite some difficulty getting out with the bulky load on his shoulder.
Finally stepping out of the hearth, he let the body fall to the floor with a resounding thud.
Draco heard quick footsteps followed by a door being flung open to reveal Granger pointing wildly around the room with her wand.
"Malfoy?" Granger stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Her brows were knit in confusion and her mouth was open in a comical 'o' shape. Had it been any other situation, Draco would have laughed.
