December 12th

Draco was reading in the family library. Lounging on a chaise by the window, his attention wandered between the Daily Prophet in his hands, the snow falling outside, and to thoughts of a certain brown eyed nuisance.

His mother's grey furred, green eyed cat, Eleanor, rested curled up on his stomach. She rose and fell with each of his breaths. Narcissa had adopted her after the war, around the time his father brought Alaric home and Draco himself had found companionship in his owl, Valerius. She had reasoned that the family needed to heal from their war trauma, and learn to take care of each other again. She suggested adopting animal companions for the interim learning period. Eleanor, while fiercely protective of Narcissa, had also taken to Draco. She was possessive and could often be found near (or on) him when he was home at the manor.

This latest edition of the Prophet, incidentally, was unremarkable. Draco would not have bothered wasting a knut on the subscription, but he had become, in essence, the Malfoy family public relations consultant.

It wasn't fair. His family had paid their dues for their part in Voldemort's uprising. Ministry trials, house arrest, seizures of many of their family heirlooms. Alright, so most of those were imbued with dark magic. But still. Why did they have to constantly face public scrutiny? His father donated great portions of their fortune to St. Mungo's, war relief efforts, and more. His mother had even opened her own dress boutique in the Alley (with Madame Malkin's blessing). She felt it was good to be seen out in the community instead of "enigmas of the manor house." To her credit, hardly any bad press had befallen her. It was because of Narcissa that their family had escaped cells in Azkaban.

During the trials, Harry Potter had testified on her and Draco's behalf. He recounted to the court how Draco was being manipulated and threatened by Voldemort, and how he did not identify Harry to Bellatrix when the Snatchers had caught them. He also detailed how Narcissa helped him survive when Voldemort tried to kill him in the forest (it was still unclear to Draco how Potter had survived the killing curse for a second time). They owed their freedom to St. Potter.

Draco sighed and sat up. He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fireplace. Eleanor, disturbed by the sudden movement, jumped down, stretched, swished her tail and settled herself on the emerald rug at his feet. Her rear was facing him, which was usually a sign that she was displeased with him.

Draco glanced out the window at the falling snow. It had been several days since his first meeting of the minds with Granger. He recalled how the lavender robes suited her, how nicely the loose tendrils of chestnut hair framed her face, and how a blush crept down her neck and chest when she was very clearly feeling embarrassed. He had not had a proper conversation with Hermione Granger in years. He had no intention of taunting her, but something in her presence provoked him.

He leaned back on the chaise and rested his head against the window pain, staring up at the stone ceiling. Of course, he knew exactly what it was. She was a reminder of who he was . A living monument to Draco Malfoy, the prejudiced Death Eater of a pre war era. Well, he liked to think he had changed. He certainly had not called anyone the 'M' word in years. He joined the Wizengamot- the very same court that almost sent him to prison- to finally do something uninfluenced by toxic authority figures. He stifled a dry laugh at the irony of working collaboratively with his father.

He had goals, of course. When possible, he planned to grow aid programs for disenfranchised wizards. Many of the Dark Lord's followers, who were not locked away in Azkaban or dead, were left penniless and without aid. He supposed if their side had won, it would have been a worse fate for the losers. But the side of good, of righteousness, of Harry Potter, had let their fellows rot in poverty, given no chance to redeem or rebuild their lives. They had paid the price of backing the wrong side. Now it was time to lend them support.

But then, Hermione Granger took the court by storm with her magical equality bill. The damned girl. Did she not see how much work they still had to do to rebuild their own community?

Draco found, after that first meeting, that she must be living unaware in hero land. People like Granger had no idea what other darkness lurked in the shadows and lured in the vulnerable. Voldemort was and is still not the only threat to wizardkind.

And she came in looking so damn pretty, with her neat little stack of papers and self righteous attitude. He could not help but slip into the old ways. What he didn't expect was her hair to smell like gardenia, or her skin to feel so soft. He'd been thinking about her on her knees picking up those papers, but in his mind she was doing something quite different. Something he had never pictured Hermione Granger doing.

Draco started to feel hot, despite the chilly air and snow falling outside his open window. He rubbed a hand over his face and got up. That wretched girl. First she expected him to spend half his time working on that damned bill. Then the other half of his time thinking about if she was still a virgin.

Well, that was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't. She had been engaged to Weasley, after all. He shook his head in disgust thinking about it. He imagined the experience of copulating with Weasley to be… disappointing.

He needed to stop this; it was madness.

Making up his mind, Draco strode out of the library and back to his room. He needed a shower. He disrobed and turned the faucet on. When steam began filling the room, he stepped in.

Draco leaned back against the stone shower wall and closed his eyes. Hermione was in the boardroom. He was sitting at the head of the table. She was wearing the lilac robes, which swished around her hips as she walked toward him, swaying from side to side. She stood in front of him and got onto her knees. Draco reached around her head and undid her hair. It fell in curly tresses around her shoulders. He curled a strand around his finger before moving his hand to her cheek, then down her neck. He pictured her rosy lips parting slightly as he drummed his finger over her pulse point.

He envisioned pushing the robes down her shoulders. She made to undo them at the waist but he growled, "Don't. Keep them on," sinking his nails into the soft flesh of her shoulders. She let out a little gasp, but obeyed. Instead, he pushed the robes further down her arms until the swell of her breasts was visible.

Draco groaned as he began slowly pumping his member in the shower. He was throbbing. Hermione in his vision then undid his belt buckle and pulled his pants down. His member sprang to life. When she wrapped her warm hand around him, he squeezed himself a little harder. Vision Hermione stroked him up and down a few times. He moaned in satisfaction before commanding her. "More."

She obeyed and lowered her head to his lap. When her tongue darted out to taste him, Draco in the shower moaned and pumped himself faster. Dream Hermione licked his shaft from base to tip before engulfing him whole. He moaned in satisfaction and she began bobbing her head up and down.

After a few blissful moments, Draco pictured himself wrapping his hair in her curls and grabbed her head, forcing her down to take in more of him. She let out a little whimper but continued sucking his shaft.

"Faster," he growled in a gravelly voice. She obeyed once again. Her lips on his cock felt like heaven, even in a daydream.

"Ahh, Hermione!" He moaned. He pumped hard and fast until he was spent, finally reaching his climax. He regained his breathing and opened his eyes. Draco became aware of the hot water showering onto him and the hard stone wall upon which he was leaning for support. Draco felt dazed and in disbelief of what he had just achieved.

Feeling like he had gotten his frustrations out of his system, Draco finished his shower and returned to the bedroom. As he slipped into silky sheets for the night, he reflected that things should go much smoother now that he was rid of those devious thoughts.

He hoped.