Song Suggestion: Emiline– "What It Means to be a Girl" (1st half) The Weeknd- "High for this" (last half)

Trigger Warning: implied/ referenced rape. Dubious consent.

Thank you MyPrivateInsanity for being my ride or die!

Benefits of the Arrangement

A soft beat under her ear. Warmth. These were the first sensations Hermione experienced as she came to consciousness. She blinked a few times, trying to orient herself, finding herself on the couch, face pressed to Draco's chest.

As she woke up, she remembered they'd spent the previous night sitting in heavy silence, only pausing when he'd taken a break for a shower. Sensing he'd needed company, Hermione stayed with him afterward, the two of them passing back and forth a flask of the most disgusting liquor.

It must have knocked her out, because she didn't remember falling asleep.

Hermione planned to extract herself without him noticing, but his fingers dragged down her spine, showing he was awake. She tensed, but when he continued the gentle strokes, she relaxed, until Draco jolted, flinging her to the side with a shout.

"What's going on?" Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes, glancing up from her position on the floor to find Draco struggling with something furry and orange attached to his face.

Hermione couldn't believe what she saw. There was a cat—no, a kneazle!— yowling and digging his claws into Draco's face.

"Crookshanks!" Her cat gave one last swipe to Malfoy before releasing him and jumping into her arms. The orange fur ball began purring, snuggling into her.

"What the fuck is that hideous thing?" Draco pointed his finger at her cat. "And why does it have a name?"

She covered Crook's ears.

"Don't listen to the pointy faced bastard. You're beautiful," she cooed to her cat. "This is the love of my life, Malfoy, so you need to treat him with respect."

"Your cat—" He seemed to connect the dots to her list. "Love of your life? Do I need to be jealous of him?"

"Certainly."

Draco flicked his wand, and a mirror hovered in front of him. With a heavy scowl, he inspected the scratches on his face, weeping tiny dots of crimson.

"How did the beast even find you and get through the wards?"

That was a good question. He must have travelled far. She gathered Crooks up and examined his smooshed face. He didn't seem pleased to see her, despite his purring. She'd stopped trying to figure out how the cat got around a long time ago. A sharp relief washed over her.

"Crooks always finds me."

Draco pointed his finger at her cat again and spoke as if he understood. "Don't eat the fucking peacocks. On second thought, do go after them. Al and Fred will teach you a bloody lesson."

Crookshanks hissed at him.

"Al and Fred?"

"Alfred's progeny." Draco snapped his fingers. "Keep up, Granger."

She'd been so distracted by her cat appearing, she'd looked over something important.

"We slept here." She glanced around at the front sitting room. Hermione felt herself blush at the thought. She'd never slept with many people, so she had a burning question. "Do I snore?"

"I thought you were a mandrake."

"I don't believe you."

"You drool too."

"I do not!" She said in outrage. But then she spotted a slight wet spot on the top of his shirt.

Draco took pity on her embarrassment, changing the subject.

"Do you want to learn how to apparate today?" he asked.

Hermione bolted up in excitement.


They spent their days in a pleasant dance. After breakfast, Draco would brew his potions. The room always smelled of pickled beet and sulphur, and the scent clung to his clothes. On his days off, he researched outdated or obscure potions in the library, keeping a quill tucked behind his ear in concentration. She loved watching his expression as inspiration arrived. His eyes lit up in excitement, and he'd furiously scratch his quill against the parchment, as if the idea would vanish back into the void if he didn't get it out right away.

After finishing his theory, he would show her the idea, asking for her input. They'd hover together over the parchment, getting closer each day, as she tweaked the measurements, advising slicing the ingredients in a different way. Maybe turning the ladle clockwise three times inside of four. When she spoke, he kept his attention on her, though sometimes she found it wandered over her body.

In those moments, her skin ached to be touched, warring with her mental trauma, yet he never attempted to bridge the gap.

In the afternoons, he'd either go on errands, or he'd practise apparition with her, determined for her to master it before moving on to another subject. It was a much harder task without a wand, so she spent most of her free time studying wandless magic to compensate. Her body remembered her old practice, a muscle memory, though atrophied from years of relying on a magical wand core to direct instead of her hands. So far, she could cross the room without splinching, but not much further.

Later in the evening, they'd normally eat dinner together, and then they'd end their night in the movie room. He'd transfigured the chairs into a couch, so she could lay her head on his shoulder with his arm across the back of the couch as they watched a new movie every day.

The muggles fascinated her. Growing up, she'd always felt separate from them, as if they were somehow a different species of human, subpar, a tier below wizards.

But watching them, she found them extraordinary. They made up for their lack of magic with their own clever inventions. Automobiles and telephones. Aeroplanes and boats. Guns and vacuums. It was like meeting her extended family for the first time, a whole host of strange cousins.

Her mind yearned to be reminded of what she'd forgotten, and she discovered a beauty to their struggle. Had her parents used these objects? She remembered the toaster on the counter. If she concentrated, she could envision her mother cleaning her clothes in a machine and then hanging them over a line, pinning them on, using the sun instead of drying charms.

The dance of their routine, though comforting in its solitude, soon approached a change, and her time to finally see her friends was on the horizon.

She had an odd feeling that Draco wished to keep them in their own bubble forever, all to himself.

But all bubbles popped.


At the end of the month, they arrived through the floo into the foyer of a townhome. From the way Draco described it, she thought it would be small, yet calling it a townhome understated its size and elegance. White linen curtains. Silver and crystal accents. A painting of a rose that slowly lost its petals. Of course, it didn't compare to either manor, but everything spoke to old wealth.

"Who does the residence belong to again?"

"The Carrow twins," he said with a slight curl of his lip. Whoever he referenced, he didn't like. He grabbed her arm and leaned down. "Don't allow yourself to be alone with Alecto. She has a habit of overstepping her boundaries, regardless of the consequences."

One night a month, the purebloods got together to have a soirée. Tradition dictated that the muggleborns be allowed to socialise for a luncheon before the party— overseen by monitors.

Besides her friends, she'd never been around any muggleborns, and the thought of meeting so many at once left her equal parts excited and nervous.

An elf popped up and took her winter coat.

Draco gave a glance to her fidgeting fingers as she picked at the edge of her pale pink dress. "There's no need to be anxious."

Easy for him to say.

"Will Katie be here?" she asked.

"She should be," he said. "Not the others though." He meant Dean and Finch, who had separate rules from the women.

"Has Julie—"

"She hasn't gone through it yet, but she should soon. The Goyles have used the money they earned from Flint and have tried to settle a similar arrangement for Julie."

Despite shivering at the idea of Julie entering the Trials, Hermione liked Greg. He had a gentle, old soul. A little stupid, sure, but she suspected he'd give Julie what she wanted out of life.

The elf stopped in front of a set of double doors. She heard a lot of noise behind it, and she came to realise there were more people than she first thought.

"I feel like I'm dropping you off at school," he teased. "Remember to bully them before they can bully you, so you can establish dominance right away."

"Is that what your father told you before dropping you off at Hogwarts?"

"It worked."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Top shelf advice. I'm sure it made you many friends."

The elf opened the doors to reveal a room made larger with obvious extension charms. Ten circular tables stood under giant chandeliers. Muggleborns were sitting at the tables in floor-length dresses. Some stood, others hovered near the refreshment table. Some were visibly pregnant, others clutched young babies.

"We'll need to put on a show to mitigate suspicion," he said

"What do you mean?"

He dipped his head and placed his lips on her cheek, close enough to her mouth it fooled the onlookers. Despite not being a real kiss, the touch seared down her body. When he pulled away, she felt dazed.

"For show," she whispered as if to remind herself.

"Now go in there and show me what a brave little witch you can be." He gave her a playful smack on her bum.

She turned to admonish him for his audacity, but he'd already exited, and by the time she looked again at the room, all eyes were on her.

She watched as a few of them whispered behind their hands.

A glass shattered.

"Hermione?"

Hermione searched the crowd, recognizing the voice, heart hammering in her chest from excitement and nerves.

Finally, she found her. Hermione placed a hand over her chest. The rest of the room faded away, leaving just her and one of her oldest friends. Someone she'd worried over for months.

"Katie," she choked on the name, swallowing the pain.

Her friend looked radiant. Healthy. Whole. She didn't wear a dress, nor trousers, but something in-between. It looked like shorts attached to a shirt, and it made Hermione smile, because Katie hated dresses.

They stared at each other for a few seconds more, before Katie ran toward her. Hermione did too, until they almost collided.

Katie kissed both her cheeks, sobbing in her arms.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione." Her tears wet her dress. "I'm so happy to see you. I can't believe that prat won you against Titus. It just doesn't seem possible."

Hermione pulled back to look at her, brushing away a few of Katie's tears with the pad of her thumb. The rest of the room began to talk, but many of the eyes still stayed on them.

It seemed no one told Katie that Malfoy hadn't really won. They must be keeping it a secret that a muggleborn won her own Trial.

"I have so many questions," Hermione said.

"Me too." Katie glanced around, as if being reminded that they weren't alone. "But we'll keep them for later. Not everyone can be trusted here when it comes to an honest conversation."

At least thirty muggleborns milled around the room at the moment. She assumed there were more in other places.

Being the center of attention gave her heart palpitations. Mustering her courage, she looped her arm in Katie's, letting her friend lead her to a table with three women. Before they got there, Katie whispered in her ear.

"Just to warn you, they like to tease new girls. It's a bit of an initiation. Don't feel like you have to answer any of their questions."

Hermione almost asked to clarify, but a sharp gasp cut her off.

"Bloody hell," someone said. "It's you."

Hermione met the eyes of a woman with dark skin, tiny braids, and eyes that glowed with intelligence. She might be the most stunning woman she'd ever seen.

It was an instant recognition, bringing back memories of a chaotic hospital and a little boy dying in his mother's arms.

Before Hermione could formulate a response, the woman shoved her squirming baby into another mughleborn's arms, stood up, and crushed her in a suffocating hug.

"We searched everywhere for you. I never thought I'd get to thank you," Her voice warbled with emotion. "You saved my son."

"I didn't do much."

She'd only helped tie off the arm, but the healer had arrived moments later.

The woman shook her head and kissed her cheeks.

"You helped me on the worst day of my life. I'll never forget it." She stared at her while Hermione shifted on her feet, and then her eyes softened with understanding. "I can see this is making you uncomfortable, so I won't make it a big deal. However, I make no promises for when you meet Thorfinn tonight." She reached down and gave a single squeeze of her hand. "I'm Zala. Sit down, and I'll introduce you. Katie's talked about you nonstop for months, so we're all curious."

Hermione looked over to Katie who gave a tight smile and took her seat.

Zala retrieved her baby from the pregnant muggleborn and lowered herself into a chair. A boy by the looks of it. He fussed.

"Always hungry." Zala lowered the front of her dress, so the baby could attach to her breast.

"He's cute," Hermione said, watching in fascination, trying to find something to say. She'd never seen many babies in her life. Just in passing. "How many children do you have?"

"This is our third." The baby put a chubby hand on his mother's chin while feeding. He seemed to already be going to sleep. "All of them boys as big as their father."

"Thorfinn barely looks at her and she gets pregnant," Katie teased.

Zala gave a huff but didn't refute it.

"The brute really wants a little girl to spoil, but we keep having boys. I told him he has one more chance after this and then I'm done. We'd have twenty children if it was up to him. Sit down, girl," she admonished. "You're making me nervous."

Hermione hesitated, still feeling out of place, but sat down, attempting not to fidget.

"This is Abigail." Katie motioned to the pregnant girl who had dark blond hair, watery blue eyes, and a gap between her front two teeth. "She's the breeder for the younger Lestrange."

By sheer will, Hermione withheld her grimace of disgust. Rabastan had always given her the creeps, and Titus never let her in his vicinity much. But she must not have done a great job hiding her expression, because the girl barked out a laugh.

"Oh, I see you've met my lovely master." The sarcasm was heavy. "No need to pity me. I'm not his type, so I don't have to withstand his attention very often. Honestly, I've gotten fucked more by Rodolphus." Hermione almost dropped her fork in shock, and Abigail laughed at her reaction. "Oh, she's adorable, Katie. So innocent still."

Was this the teasing Katie warned her about?

"But Bellatrix—"

"Bellatrix doesn't care who her husband fucks. And I can't lie, his cock is much more pleasant than Rabastan's. He beds me so much, I'm fairly sure this is Rodolphous' child. Though it hardly matters, I suppose, especially to them. A Lestrange baby is a Lestrange baby."

"I just didn't realise—" Hermione didn't know how to verbalise it.

"You didn't realise that the men trade sometimes?" Abigail grinned. "You'll soon learn the appetites of men."

"Not just the men," the third woman said. She seemed a little older, maybe in her thirties with lovely brown eyes and deep olive skin. A scar marred her left cheek. "My master's wife always wants me to join them. Has a thing for women. I'll admit it's more pleasant to lick a cunt than to suck a cock."

This time she did drop her fork, and Abigail and the older woman howled with laughter. Zala rolled her eyes.

"They make you do that?" Hermione asked, feeling ill with the thought. "Couldn't you say no?"

"I suppose so, though it's better to please your master if you want to stay in the household. And if they marry, you'll need to earn her favour too, or it's a fast journey to being given up or sold. Right now, your pussy is fresh and new to Malfoy, but give it a few years, and he might find another that's warmer and tighter." Her voice went lower, more serious. "So the biggest rule for our little group is not to judge other muggleborns."

"I'm not—" Maybe she had been. Hermione swallowed. "I just didn't think that—"

"She's been sheltered, Livia," Katie cut in. "Stop trying to scare her. Not all of the men are like that."

"You only say that because Flint would rather be buried deep inside you than anywhere else… for now. And Thorfinn is an alien species. I've never seen a man so in love. But the rest of them? Dogs, all of them."

Katie curled her fingers around a napkin, leaving Hermione with many questions, but she didn't want to ask them in front of the other women.

"It's because Thorfinn is scared of me," Zala added, adjusting the child in her arms. "He knows that if he dares try to get a wife or a mistress, I'll castrate him."

"True," Livia said with a sly grin. "Though the brute would probably be turned on by the violence." Then she turned her grin toward Hermione in a way that made her wary, knowing she was about to be interrogated. "So… how is the younger Malfoy? I'm not going to lie, I've had a few fantasies about his horrid father. He might be one of the worst of them, but there's something about that hair. Or maybe it's the cane."

"It's the cane." Abigail gave a wiggle of her eyebrow.

"Gross," Hermione sneered. "Draco's nothing like him."

"Draco, hmm? So cozy. The son sure looks like his father. So spill the details. Does he have a big cock?"

"Liv, you promised not to tease," Katie warned.

"I'm only curious."

Hermione felt like hiding in a hole somewhere.

"I—don't know."

"Oh, that's right," Abigail said. "You probably haven't seen very many yet. But what about Nott?"

"They're similar, I guess."

Both Katie and Zala gasped in shock, and Hermione realised her error. She'd just admitted to knowing the size of Titus' cock.

At the moment, she'd gladly allow a sinkhole to swallow her.

Katie's eyes stabbed her, as if to peel away the answers. Hermione shook her head, begging her to drop it for now.

"I've heard Nott's a great lover," Livia added, looking at her carefully. "My master's wife had an affair with him a few years ago, and she still talks about him. He may like to butcher, but he seems to also know how to fuck. Though— it makes sense that a person whose expertise is pain would also understand pleasure."

"We didn't do much," Hermione tried to clarify. "Not sex, of course. Just—"

"Of course," Zala interrupted gently, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "He wouldn't have dared, or he'd have been in Azkaban. They'd know you weren't a virgin before the—"

Zala cut herself off.

The energy at the table shifted at the mention of the ritual. No one looked at each other.

"Bloody hell," Abigail interrupted, rubbing at her distended stomach. "That was a hard kick. It feels like a bludger is resting on my bones. The sooner this parasite is out, the better. I don't know how you've done this three times, Zala."

"How far along are you?" Hermione asked, thankful for the change of topic.

"If the gods are good, I'd deliver today, though I'm not technically due for a few weeks."

Hermione resisted the compulsion to glance down at her own flat stomach, wondering what it would look and feel like for another human to grow inside her. It would be her fate one day— a child, half hers and half Malfoy's. It felt surreal to think about.

"Are you hungry or thirsty?" Katie asked, maybe sensing she needed a small break. "I'll go with you."

Her friend stood, and Hermione hopped up, eager to leave, following her as she walked toward a table laden with food and a punch bowl on the opposite side of the room.

When they got halfway, Katie whispered low. "How are you really? And don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm okay, honestly. Draco is—well, he's—"

She didn't know how to explain their complicated relationship.

"When Marcus told me that Nott was competing for you, I thought it might be better for you to go to him. And then when Malfoy won, I was afraid you'd gone to someone cruel."

It was too complicated to explain to Katie that she'd chosen Draco. Not here.

"And you?" Hermione asked carefully. "When the coin—well, it was black, and then blue."

"I fell into a depression for a little while," she admitted. "I missed home. Didn't even eat. But it's gotten better. Marcus isn't so bad. I'm still not very attracted to him, but it could be worse. He lets me fly, and he's gruff and shy still, but not mean. Really, I don't want you to worry about me."

"But it's yellow a lot now," she said. "There must be something wrong. Has he taken you to a healer?"

Katie grabbed her hand while still walking and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm not sick," she said. "I'm pregnant. This is my— second time. The first didn't work out. It's still early, so please don't tell anyone."

Hermione almost fell over. But of course, she was pregnant. A part of Hermione suspected that all along. The average muggleborn got pregnant within the first six months, because they weren't provided with contraceptives. Katie might have even conceived the first time on the ritual night, which made her a little nauseous to think about.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Are you happy about it?" Hermione asked.

Katie frowned, lips thinning.

"Flint is. I'm… coming around to the idea."

Hermione nodded, deciding to drop the subject since it seemed to make Katie upset.

They both loaded up their plates in silence. Even without words, it felt good to be back next to her best friend. Hermione placed several tea cakes on her plate and turned.

"Do you think we—" a body barreled into her. The collision caused two sets of plates to fly and clatter on the ground.

"Watch where you're going," a young woman, probably in her late twenties with slick black hair and striking green eyes, glared at her. Hermione didn't remember the last time she'd been spoken to with so much vitriol.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Spoiled cunt. Stay out of my way."

Angry magic simmered in her fingertips, but she forced it to go dormant again.

The woman shoved past her before she could respond, slammed several biscuits on her plate, and walked away. Hermione watched her as she made her way over to the corner and sat by herself, inhaling the dessert as if it caused her offence.

Katie made a low noise under her breath.

"Ignore her. She's a foul bitch to everyone. Her master forces her to come to these things, but she sits by herself and doesn't socialise."

"Who's her master?"

"Some man with the last name Gilbert. It's her third master. The first two sold her off. Probably because of her unpleasant personality."

Hermione didn't know how to feel.

"What's her name?"

"Carmen." Katie spat it out like a curse. "She tried to come on to Marcus a few months ago, so she's lucky she's still in one piece."

Hermione blinked a few times.

"She must not know how hard you can throw a punch."

They both snorted in amusement, remembering the time she'd punched Dean, after he'd knocked her off her broom. He'd sported a black eye for a week.

Still, seeing the girl sit by herself made her feel pity, even if it was intentional solitude.


When Hermione got back to the table, she found Abigail absent.

"She wasn't feeling her best," Livia explained.

Katie, Zala, and Livia looked at each other, secretly communicating something.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Rabastan yelled at her again," Zala explained. "We heard it from here."

"Rabastan's a wanker," Hermione said.

"Yes, but more so today than usual. He threatened to give her to one of his friends after the birth if she complained again. For good."

"But surely they wouldn't really separate a child from its mother," Hermione said without thinking. But as soon as she said it, she remembered the way Titus tried to buy her from Malfoy, saying he'd let him have an heir and a spare. It was hard to come to terms with her new knowledge, when it conflicted with her old.

Zala reached out with her free hand and clutched her arm. Something about the woman's presence soothed her.

"I can see this is a lot to take in for you. We live at the whims of our Masters, but it doesn't mean they're all cruel."

Livia pursed her lips in disagreement, but didn't say anything.

Hermione viewed Carmen in the corner. What had happened that caused her to be so bitter? She glanced back at Livia.

"Do you have any children?"

The woman nodded.

"Two, and I've been lucky enough to stay with them. I'm fortunate that my master's wife likes me."

Her master's wife liked her tongue. It had been said as a shocking joke earlier, but it now held a darker edge.

"So…" Livia said, noticing the uncomfortable silence as Hermione digested everything. "You never did tell us how the young Malfoy is in bed. I bet he's eager. The younger ones always are. I bet he never leaves you alone."

"Well—" Hermione felt her cheeks heat again. She didn't think she'd ever be comfortable talking about intimate things. "We haven't—what I mean is that it's only been once."

The silence lingered. The women looked at her with wide eyes.

"Are you saying you've only had sex one time since your Trials?" Katie asked.

"Well, not since. Just… at the Trials."

"Is he gay?"

"Liv!" Katie admonished.

"I'm serious. I've never heard of a man waiting a month to shag again. Even Marcus had you on your back within a few weeks."

Katie frowned and bit her lip.

"Draco just wants to give me time." Hermione stopped herself before she continued, realising the implications she admitted. No sex equals no babies. She really should stop talking while nervous.

Zala cocked her head, staring as if suddenly seeing through her while slowly rocking her sleeping child.

"He doesn't want to force you," she whispered. "That's admirable, but you'll need to start again soon. If not, the ministry gets involved, and their tests are— invasive."

"Why are you waiting?" Livia asked.

"I'm— well, the thought of— I'm just not interested anymore."

Livia's expression softened. "If it helps your fear, it doesn't hurt the second time. Actually, depending on the man, it can feel very good. For many of us, it's the only benefit of the arrangement." She sighed. "Alright, no more teasing. I'm finished trying to shock you. It's not fun anymore. Let's talk about something else."

As if prompted, Katie's eyes brightened. "Did you see the Chudley Cannons—"

Zala and Livia groaned with good humour. For the rest of the lunch, the conversation stayed on more pleasant topics.

Yet, for long after, her mind kept replaying Livia's words, wondering about the benefits of entering Draco's bed.


Later that night, Hermione put on the evening dress Malfoy had given her. It had an underskirt of red velvet that came to mid-thigh with an overdress of sheer red netting, floor length, with red lace appliqué in a rose pattern throughout that exposed the skin beneath, strategically placed to cover her breasts.

With it, she wore delicate teardrop ruby earrings, twisting her hair up to show them off. He'd told her they were his mother's earrings. The shoes he gave her had pointed heels, like the muggle woman's had, though Hermione's were a bit shorter. They still gave her a few extra inches in height.

Hermione was shocked by the dress. Titus had never allowed the skirt of her dresses to rise above her knees, except at Goyle's party, and she would never have worn something so revealing of her body.

When she finished dressing, she left her room and walked to the floo, stumbling as she walked in the unfamiliar heels.

Draco froze upon seeing her, straightening against the mantle. His hand went to his throat, as if to loosen the collar of his dress shirt.

Hermioe blushed at the inspection, unused to showing so much skin in public.

"It's not too much, is it? It's not very proper."

"No," Draco agreed. "It's not proper at all." His hand fell away from his collar. "But you'll find that what you're wearing is standard. In fact, the dress I gave you is conservative compared to the others."

Hermione didn't understand how the dress could be defined as conservative. She'd never shown so much skin in her life, except in her bathing costume while swimming.

"We'll apparate instead of floo." He held out his hand for her to take. "I've been to the Carrows' townhome enough, there's no risk of splinching. Are you ready to make everyone jealous?"

"Why would anyone be jealous?"

"Because you're with me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and took his hand.

"I'm not sure how your head stays upright with how big your ego—"

They disappeared with a crack.


They landed in the familiar foyer of the townhome again. The same elf popped up and took their cloaks.

Draco's hand was still in hers. She'd been clutching it so hard in anxiety that her nails indented his skin. She almost apologised, but he slipped the hand behind her back as they followed the elf leading them through the corridors, cutting off her thoughts with the intimate touch.

When they entered the ballroom, she noticed it spanned even larger than before. Probably a hundred people milled around inside. Chairs and tables dotted the room, along with three chandeliers and four fireplaces. People stood with drinks in their hands. Some sat, all dressed in expensive robes. Women draped themselves across the men's laps. One man had his hands on a woman's upper thigh, nibbling on her ear until she squirmed and frowned.

A few of the women were dressed in a deep blood red— the same colour she wore. Some women dressed in blue. The greatest number were in green.

Draco had been correct— her dress practically covered her up compared to the others— racy slits all the way to scandalous places, backs dipped so low it almost revealed their arse, breasts spilling out of the top, dripping in jewels, with pretty makeup, and shoes with dangerous points.

"What do the colours mean?" She asked. They hadn't moved yet, as if he knew how shocking she'd find it.

"Red is for the breeders. Blue for the wives, if they have them, though most wives don't want to attend, if you can imagine. The green are for the mistresses. Some men bring all three."

Hermione crinkled her lip in distaste at the thought.

Her mind flashed to the red cloak Titus had given her the year prior for Christmas. She'd thought nothing of the colour then, but now she sensed it might have been a hint at what he'd wanted from her.

"Just a warning," she hissed. "Get a wife or a mistress, and I'll have fun stringing you up somewhere high that you can't get down."

Draco snorted out a laugh.

"Hermione," someone called so loudly that part of the room quieted down and looked toward the entrance. Draco straightened and kept his hand firmly on her lower back, tugging her closer.

Hermione searched the crowd, recognizing the voice, finding Katie standing and waving at her, next to Zala.

Her friend wore a similar outfit with shorts, though it had been made from expensive material. The red contrasted beautifully with her skin and dark hair. She wore bright red lipstick to match, and it tilted up with her lips.

Flint sat behind her, and the sight of him caused everything inside her to lock up at once, reminding her of his role in her ritual.

Did he drug and rape Katie after her Trials?

Of course, he did.

The black galleon burned in her mind.

Draco pushed on her back, urging her forward. When they got closer, Flint gave a nod of his head toward them, but Hermione only glared back.

To her surprise, Katie sat back down in Flint's lap. The man grinned, showing his jagged teeth, and tugged her close, giving her a kiss on her cheek. Knowing her friend didn't find him attractive, it caused her stomach to sour, though Katie only gave him a playful smile in return.

Next to Zala sat a blond giant with a scruffy beard and long hair to his shoulders. She'd never seen someone so bulky. It looked like he could pick up a tree with ease and replant it elsewhere.

Before they could sit at the table, Zala put a hand on the blond giant's arm. "Thorfinn, it's her. The one I mentioned."

"Who's her?" The giant's attention snapped to Hermione. "Oh, you're the Nott ward aren't you? He keeps a picture of you on his desk in the ministry. I heard you transferred to Malfoy here."

Now that she thought of it, she might have seen a picture of him before too. He worked for the DMLE. Titus was his superior.

"No, you big idiot. She's the girl that helped Zane. Tied off his arm."

An intense emotion crossed Thorfinn's face. It reminded her of grief and hope and gratitude. Without warning, the giant jumped up, and tugged her from Draco, engulfing her in an awkward hug, almost squeezing her to death, lifting her off the ground

"I'm forever in your debt, little muggleborn."

Both he and Zala were very—touchy.

"It's Hermione," she squeaked out, unsure what else to do.

"Put her down, Rowle." Draco didn't seem angry. More amused.

As if reminded, Thorfinn dropped her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder and leaning down to look in her eyes as she tried to find her footing again."I owe you a wizard debt."

She didn't know much about wizarding debts, except they were deathly serious. She gave a single nod. Not sure what else to do. She didn't think she deserved a wizarding debt. She'd just been in the right place and the right time. And of course she'd help a child that was bleeding out. Who wouldn't?

"The healers told me if my boy had lost any more blood, they might not have been able to save him in time." He outstretched his hand, and Hermione took it, giving a ferocious shake. "You think you did a little, but I think you did a lot. Come, sit down. You look like you might fall soon."

She did feel a little wobbly in her heels, unused to wearing them.

Hermione almost complied with the order, but Draco took the empty seat and tugged at her hips, pulling her into his lap before she could. She froze, his leg firm under her arse. He leaned over and whispered into her ear.

"I have to play the part, or they'd be suspicious." He gave a nod upward to indicate the rest of the room. She understood what he meant. They didn't have to touch in private, but it might look odd if he didn't in public. And if suspicion spiked, they might be investigated.

Her eyes roamed the room, recognizing a few people. Some were Titus' colleagues who she'd met on occasion, but most of the room consisted of strangers.

She sat stiffly against Draco, while his fingers drummed against her thighs. The men began talking about quidditch and other boring topics, and her mind stayed on Draco's hand on her legs.

A few minutes later, hors d'oeuvres and cups of punch floated by on trays. She grabbed one as it teetered by, held up by magic.

"That's alcoholic," Draco warned her.

"Good," she answered and downed the whole thing. A fruity flavour burst on her tongue.

"Relax," he whispered. " You're doing great."

Because she was a hopeless swot on the best of days, the praise caused her hair to stand on end, pooling low in her stomach.

Three cups of punch later, and heat bloomed along her cheeks. Her body loosened, along with her anxiety, and she began to lean into Draco's touch. His fingers wandered, tracing patterns along her skin. She knew it was for show, but her mind sensed the caress along her arm, sprouting tingles in its wake as he reached up to play with her loose curls, twirling them around his fingers. He bent forward during a lull in conversation, placing a blistering kiss against her neck below her ear.

After an hour, music began to play, and some of the men tugged up their partners, dancing with them. They rubbed against each other in a way that shocked her. The men's hands grabbed at the women as the chandeliers dimmed. Floating candles lit in the center of the table, but the lack of light made it seem a dream.

Some of the couples began kissing - and off in the corner, Hermione thought she might have seen another couple doing a whole lot more.

Raucous laughter and little squeals and pounding music.

Another floating punch went by, and Hermione tried to grab it, but Draco pushed her hand down before she could.

Hermione pouted while the music throbbed along her body. A part of her wished the hand that held her thigh would wander to the center. It sounded like such a good idea that she wiggled, causing his hand to slip. He tugged it back, placing it on the table.

She moaned in frustration, rocking against him, seeking the friction. His cock stiffened under her arse in response

"What are you doing?" His voice rasped.

"You can touch me." Each second she felt more desperate to press on her clit. It began to hurt.

"You're sloshed," he said after examining her.

"My first time," she slurred. She'd drunk the occasional glass of wine, but she'd never gotten drunk.

Draco laughed, and it rang around her. Everything exploded into happy feelings and bright colours. Why had she been nervous again? She looked over to see Marcus smiling at Katie, telling her something that made her look exasperated. Zala was now in Thorfinn's lap, and it looked as if they might need a private room later.

Everywhere was skin and touching and laughter. It swirled in her mind, infecting her. She knew enough to sense she'd be disturbed by the sight if sober. Off to the side, a man grabbed a woman's dress and shoved the top down, exposing her breasts. She shrieked at first in dismay, but the man gave her another sip of punch while he buried his face against her chest to the chants of others.

"More than sloshed, I think," Draco growled beside her. His deep voice made her groan, and she pressed her thighs together. "Fuck, Montague must have added an aphrodisiac again. I should have tested the punch before giving it to you."

That made sense. She leaned over and kissed the hot skin of his neck, and he groaned.

"I ache," she said.

Draco gave her a pained expression.

"Any other time, love, but you don't mean it right now."

She pouted again and leaned forward, resting her mouth against his neck again, this time lingering. He smelled so good, she could drink him in, consume him. The beat of his pulse flickered under her lips, speeding up as she let her tongue dip out and press against his skin, dragging up to his ear.

"I feel empty," she begged. "I need you to fill me."

He shuddered, hands tightening along her waist, but then he pushed her off him and stood up.

"I think it's time to get you home before things start getting out of control."

Maybe he was right. She pressed a hand to her forehead, wobbling even worse than before. Hermione turned to say goodbye to Katie and Zala, but they were in positions that should make her blush. Flint's hand had pushed up under the thin fabric of Katie's shorts, and she had turned toward him on his lap, moving her hips.

Was she drunk too? No, Katie had only drank water.

Was this what all their parties were like? She'd never seen anything like it. A part of her was intrigued and aroused, the other part repulsed, though the arousal might be winning. It tingled along her body, missing Draco's firm hands exploring her.

She wanted it so bad she might beg soon.

Draco tried to lead her out.

"Enjoy your night," a man told them, stepping in front of their path to exit. "You can thank me later."

"If you don't get out of my presence, Montague, I won't stop my impulse to kill you," Draco snapped.

"Bloody hell, you're ungrateful. What's gotten into you?"

Draco shoved past him, knocking his shoulder hard. Hermione couldn't keep up with the punishing pace as Draco attempted to flee the room, and she tipped forward, tripping on her heels.

Before she could fall, he swooped her up in a tight hold, arms under her back and legs, trying to angle her face to his chest as if to shield her.

Her vision proved fuzzy, but as they passed a table, she saw a man pressing a woman in a red dress stomach down on the table, flipping up her skirt to expose her arse, while his hands undid his belt. Her eyes blinked in drugged acceptance.

"Do you mind if I take a turn after you?" Another man at the table asked. "I'll pay you, of course."

"Not today. She's fertile right now. But you can take her mouth. Half the normal payment. Go on." The man slapped the woman's bare arse. "Show my friend here how well you suck cock."

The second man stood up, looking eager, and unzipped his trousers, tugging the woman's face close. "Open wide, pretty."

Hermione glanced away, not wanting to see any more, feeling sick and disturbed. The alcohol no longer felt pleasant in her stomach. Everything that had seemed colourful and happy turned sinister.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," Draco said as he carried her out of the room.

As they walked, she tried to concentrate. She really did, but she wanted to touch him, lick him, suck him. She imagined bringing his cock into her mouth like the woman did to Titus in the study. Was that desire real or the drug?

"I'll get our cloaks later," he said, as her own hand began to wander along his chest, feeling the firm muscles under his shirt. "We need to get you back to the manor before the potion really starts to affect you."

As they made it to the floo, Draco hurtled to a stop. She twisted her head to find Titus staring at her, having just stepped out of the fireplace in the process of shedding his cloak. Beside him was a beautiful woman she'd never seen in a green dress.

All of them paused and stared at each other, the seconds lasting for eternity. Rage flared in Titus' eyes, viewing her curled in Draco's arms. The woman placed a hand on his arm, but he shoved it off and pointed a finger at Hermione.

"She's drugged," his voice came out raspy.

"It was Montague," Draco explained. "I'm bringing her home to sleep it off."

"The kind Montague uses doesn't sleep off."

"I fucking know that," Draco barked back. "It's my problem to solve. Get out of my way."

A muscle ticked in Titus' jaw as he said nothing else, but he stepped aside, though his hand went to his robes as if he might tug out his wand. Draco walked forward, passing him by to grab the floo powder. As he did, she looked up to see Titus up close for the first time in a month.

Absolute pain. She read it off him easily. Why did it still hurt her to see it? He had dark circles under his eyes, and he was starting to grow a beard.

She still didn't like thinking of Titus. Though she knew leaving him had been for the best, it was like learning to function without a limb.

"Titus?" the woman asked.

"I've lost interest in attending tonight." Titus began to put his cloak on again. "You can stay, if you wish. I don't care."

"Should I come back with–"

"No, I desire to be alone."

"Maybe tomorrow?" She sounded hopeful.

"I told you from the beginning that this was nothing."

The woman seemed hurt by the answer, but Titus didn't pay her any attention. His eyes were on Hermione, but there was nothing soft in his gaze.

Hermione kept Titus' violent stare, curling closer to Draco, the drug pounding through her veins, as they disappeared through the floo.


When they arrived back at the manor, Draco walked toward the couch and placed her on it. He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace.

"It hurts," she groaned. Her clit felt tender, raw.

"I know. Fuck, let me think."

"How do I stop it?"

Without waiting for an answer, her finger went down and brushed her clit. She nearly came off the couch in ecstacy. Fumbling with her knickers, she slid them down her legs while dragging up her dress, and then rubbed at her swollen clit, no longer caring for propriety. Fluid dripped down her hand as she glanced up to see Draco staring at her exposed cunt with a haunted expression.

"You'll need to orgasm," he explained, sounding strangled. "And you'll need my help with it. This potion is made to force… partnership" He walked over to the fireplace mantle and placed a hand on the hard edge. Closing his eyes, he sucked in several deep breaths.

So stimulated, Hermione orgasmed with a shout, attempting to place her fingers deep inside. But it did nothing to slake the lust.

"Please," she groaned.

"Merlin, help me." He let go of the mantle and walked over, sitting beside her. She spread her legs further, seeking release from the terrible tension. It almost didn't feel good, it was so frantic.

His hand almost reached down, but then he retracted it.

"You need skin and my cum for it to go away, but I think we can be creative."

He hesitated, but his fingers went to the belt on his trousers and tugged. She watched through glazed eyes as he lowered his trousers and trunks, shoving them down to his ankles. Her mouth salivated at his exposed cock. It curved beautifully, thick and erect, slightly darker than the rest of his skin. A drop of cum beaded at the tip, and she desired to lick it up, press her tongue to the slit.

But when she reached for him, Draco grabbed her wrists.

"This is only for your pleasure." He seized her hips, pulling her toward him, positioning her so that she straddled one of his firm legs. The gauzy fabric on her dress puddled around her waist, and he rearranged it so most of it trailed behind her.

The pressure against her clit caused her to arch her back. Digging his fingers into her waist, he guided her hips back and forth.

"Ride me like this, as if you're masturbating," he ordered. She didn't need any encouragement. Her hips already moved on instinct, back and forth, rubbing her swollen arousal against his thigh.

"Draco," she lower half of her body felt electrified with each rock of her hips.

"Fuck, you're wet." As if by instinct, he almost reached down to her clit, but he pulled back his hand, curled it into a fist and bit the edge.

His other hand stroked his cock, eyes on her face.

It didn't take long for either of them. She grabbed her breast, playing with her tight nipples through the fabric, riding his thigh until stars burst behind her eyes, and she came with a shout.

The sight of her cumming, thigh wet with her release seemed to be too much for Draco. He gave a low groan and came, coating her dress and his bare skin.

"The desire will come back, unless I put my cum in you," he explained, swiping up some of his release.

"Make it stop," she begged.

He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself, and pressed his hand under her dress, shoving his finger in her dripping cunt.

With his long finger pressed up inside her, she moaned with instant relief and leaned forward, collapsing against his chest. Everything dissipated at once.

Draco withdrew his hand slowly and wrapped his arm around her back.

"This was my fault." His arms tightened when she shivered. She recognized the guilt in his tone, and she didn't want him to revert again to solitude, thinking she hated him. "I'm—"

"I don't blame you."

His body felt like a stone below her, hard and unmoving.

"You should."

Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong. It was all too fucked up to make a judgement. She no longer trusted her moral compass about people or situations.

On one hand, she understood Draco hated touching her without absolute consent. What he had to do tonight would eat at him.

On the other hand, he'd known what the party entailed. He'd seemed surprised by the aphrodisiac, showing it didn't happen all the time, but he'd known the punch had the potential to be laced.

No matter how well he treated her, Draco owned her. Abigail and Livia's warning echoed in her body. At any moment, he could discard her, sell her to someone else.

How could anything true grow from that fear?

A part of her acknowledged she should resent him for that fact and close herself off physically and emotionally, just in case he decided to be capricious and wound her.

But deep down, no matter how much she tried to deny it, she knew that would be hard, if not impossible. The physical and the emotional tangled together. Her walls already crumbled at the edges, chipped further every day she got to know him better.

It made it even more confusing that she'd just had the best orgasm of her life.

The benefits of the arrangement, indeed.