Her hand drifted over the neatly folded line of underwear. She stopped at a pair of deep plum silk panties, small, silk on front, chantilly lace at the back and lace fringe at the edges. Her eyes moved to a similar line of bras to the left and spotted the matching plum silk and lace demi bra with cups that almost exposed her nipples if she breathed deep.
Yes, these would be perfect for tonight, she thought, as she finished smoothing her apple and mint lotion over her legs.
“Hermione? How much longer?” Ron shouted over the sound of a muggle reality show he was watching on a muggle TV set.
“Almost done.” She called out, carefully modulating her response to sound equal parts tired, exasperated and guilty.
Hermione donned her selection and covered the exquisite lingerie up with a dull brown and white striped button down shirt and comfortable well worn black pants.
“Are you working tonight?” Ron scrunched his nose when he saw her walk to the living area with her enchanted beaded bag in one hand and a pair of sensible black flats in the other.
“Yes I am. I told you over breakfast.” Hermione answered while putting on her shoes.
“No you didn’t.”
She heard the pout before she saw it and suppressed a sigh.
“Oh I apologize. It must have skipped my mind.”
Ron huffed and turned back to the tele.
“You are always forgetting things these days. You need to keep your mind sharp ‘Mione. Where did the brightest witch of our age go?”
The taunt bothered her at some level. But not as much as it used to, say two months back. Two months back, she would’ve flown into a righteous rage and argued and justified and finagled a retraction of the slight to her worth. Now, Hermione swallowed a snort at the naked attempt to start a fight and make her late, straightened her face and looked at Ron with her best conciliatory smile in place.
“I am just tired with all these extra hours Mcgonaggal has been making me work on pattern analysis. When I aced Arithmancy, I didn’t know my fate got tied to a wooden chair and desk groaning under the weight of stats for days on end. You know how it is.”
Ron huffed and brought his bottle of fire whiskey up for a swig. He didn’t reply or apologize.
Hermione turned and walked out the door. She didn’t slam the door or curse her so called boyfriend.
He lounged in a bed among rich black sheets, leaning on an elbow, a leg bent and the other straight out. Clad as he was only in dark green silk pajamas, no doubt monogrammed somewhere she couldn’t see, Hermione fought the urge to feast her eyes on the expanse of broad muscled male chest and abs on blatant display. But she kept her gaze on his quicksilver eyes. Just as he did. His posture might scream lazy and relaxed, but she knew better than to assume that his guard was down.
“You look especially drab.” he smirked, “The brown hair match the cheap brown shirt.”
The things that cruel smirk made her want to inflict on his stupid face…
“You’ve learnt your colors!” Hermione did a slow clap, “Your mum and dad must be so happy.”
His left eye twitched.
“They are ecstatic.” he ground out.
“A big word too.” Hermione gasped for good effect, “My my are we learning. Must be the exemplary company you’ve been keeping.”
“Is a shoddy hook up with some broad a couple times a month called keeping exemplary company in your shoddy neck of the woods?”
He made air quotes. The nerve.
She popped a few buttons on her shirt and toed off her sensible shoes.
“Shoddy hook up, shoddy neck of woods… All those sexy books in your manor library and not one thesaurus to your exalted name…” Hermione rolled her eyes, finished unbuttoning her shirt and shrugged it off.
The plum bra finally drew his eyes off hers and he clenched his jaw to keep his face blank as always. But he could no longer hide his body’s obvious reaction to her creamy breasts showcased so provocatively in the dark seductive color of ripe berries. He silently cursed women’s lingerie and her power over his body.
“Sexy books? Do I need to put wards around my library? Keep your grubby hands off my books Granger!”
“What else is worth grabbing in this drafty old mansion?” Hermione cocked an eyebrow and pushed down her pants, revealing the plum silk barely there pair of knickers.
“Remove one more article of your accursed clothing and I will give you something to grab.” He growled as he straightened and ran his eyes over her delectable body.
“We down to threats now? One wrong move and I’m going to hex your sorry arse straight to Azkaban.” She climbed the high four poster bed on all fours and crawled to him.
He grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her roughly onto his lap, grinding himself on her flimsy knickers, as his shaking hands loosened the drawstring on his pajamas.
“I dare you to try hexing me, you filthy little mudblood!” He bit her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.
Hermione pushed her fingers in the silk of his platinum blond hair and did some hair pulling herself to dislodge his mouth from hers. She saw her blood on his lips and leaned in to lick it.
“Damned death-eater scum.” she taunted on his lips.
He freed himself from his constricting pajamas and slapped the crotch of her knickers with his cock.
“This improper little piece of silk is soaked.” He hissed. “Does mouthing off turn you on? Or was it humiliation of being called a mudblood?”
Hermione could hardly tell him that hearing him call her mudblood to her face took her back to school. Back to her taboo fantasies of one day getting roughly used up by her arrogant bully. Fantasy and reality were already dangerously mixed up in her twisted life. Thinking of him made her wet. His insults made her wet. Fighting with him made her wet. His smirk made her gush. Her body had become a deviant, depraved beast that demanded him with an intensity reserved for the truly insane.
She rubbed her barely covered nipples on his warm chest. Her pussy was dripping from the friction of his rock hard cock. Her brain was getting muddled from gazing into his scorching eyes and listening to his dirty demeaning words. She was on the cusp of forgetting that this was all supposed to be a game to her.
“Please.” she whispered.
He pulled her panty crotch to the side and touched her bare cunt.
“Please what you hussy?” he whispered back, barely grazing her begging lips.
“Draco…” Hermione groaned in desperation.
He sighed at the sound of his name on her lips and kissed her once, twice, then he lifted her arse on one arm. Hermione grabbed his cock and lined him up. Draco started lowering her and she moaned in relief as he entered half an inch of her body. He ran his lips up and down her flushed throat, stopped to suck on the spot that would make her writhe and accept more of him.
But all the restless unwanted waiting of the past week, the inconvenient jealousy of watching her with the sniveling Weasel, the helpless frustration of not ever getting to talk to her like he really wanted to in public and the urgent frenzy of the coupling she had bullied him into broke his patience and he suddenly forced her all the way down to his lap in a single thrust.
Hermione cried out as his thick length breached her, the sensation a tangled mix of pleasure and pain.
“This is what you need Miss Granger! A life of vanilla with the halfwit Weasly is never going to be enough for you.” He growled and pushed her back on the bed as he got on his knees above her and pulled out.
No. No. No. She wanted him back in her. Back where she could feel all of him.
“And you suppose I am better off being with a disgraced ex-death-eater who is only tolerated in circles that positively celebrate Ron?” Hermione taunted, immediately gratified by the rage she saw in Draco’s eyes. Good. She had hit right where it hurt. He would hit back.
Draco did not disappoint. He never did.
He gripped her jaw, the pressure painful, and captured her lips in a bruising, punishing kiss. Hermione wrapped her legs around him and pulled Draco down till their bodies were flush together again. Draco thrust into the witch and watched her pretty but vindictive mouth open in silent pleasure.
“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” He fumed, barely able to keep his bitterness in check. “Why the fuck do you keep coming back?”
“Why the fuck do you keep letting me in? I am making a fool of you!” spat Hermione, fanning the flames of his already incendiary temper.
“Get over your over inflated self witch or you’re never getting my cock again.” Draco ordered viciously and started on a punishing pace, fucking her soundly into the mattress till Hermione lost all her cutting words and reason.
There were a few seconds after a man had an explosive orgasm, when his defenses were down, when the woman in his arms looked deliciously rumpled and sated, when he just wanted to close his eyes and comfortably bask in the self satisfaction of his manly prowess. There were only a handful of legilimens in the wizarding world who could silently, wandlessly open the mind of such a man at a time like this. A fewer who could pull out exact thoughts and memories from this sublimely floating mind. Only two, alive and able, who could do it without the man knowing about the unwitting but useful set of memories he was sharing with his dozing partner.
For a man like Draco Malfoy, there was just Hermione Granger.
Hermione coaxed entry into Draco’s mind, did her requisite sweep, added the nudge of sleep and withdrew. He would think that the events that just ran through his head were errant thoughts at the cusp of becoming dreams and then fall asleep. He would not know about the trespass. He would keep thinking Hermione was a vixen with a fetish for cheating and sleeping with the enemy.
Draco would keep wanting her, despising her for wanting her so much and push her away. Hermione would keep pulling him back for one more act of desperate sin.
Hermione summoned her clothes and dressed. For two seconds she debated whether it would be appropriate to leave a goodbye note or not. Then she decided against leaving anything of the sort and silently left the bedroom. Once she was out of the range of his wards, she summoned an owl and sent a message to her boss Mcgonaggal. With a fleeting glance at the dark and silent abode of the bane of her existence, Hermione raised her wand and vanished into the night.
Minerva Mcgonaggal read Hermione’s message and frowned. This was getting out of hand. First the young witch stopped reporting the minute by minute details of her encounters with Malfoy. As long as Mcgonaggal had detailed information gained from his memories, she could somewhat ignore minor lapses in standard procedure. But then the details started shrinking. And so did older witch’s patience. But tonight was the last straw. There was no data, no list of persons of interest, no dates, no nothing. Just a line that said –
Malfoy still in the clear.
It was as if Hermione had started seeing herself the judge, jury and executioner for this particular person of interest.
And Draco Malfoy was attracting a lot of the Ministry’s interest. He’d recently been seen with a number of ex death-eaters, multiple times now. He’d started two business ventures with children of known inner circle Ministry of Magic was paranoid about any reemergence of Voldemort’s propaganda. Death-eaters, ex or not, meeting frequently could not bode well. Sizable resources were allocated to Mcgonaggal and her secret network of intelligence operatives to gain intrusive intelligence about the rising Malfoy heir. Intrusive intelligence, this abysmal five word report was not. Mcgonaggal sighed and started dry runs on alternatives.
Draco felt it when she crossed the wards of the manor and finally allowed himself a smile.
Ten years. Countless foiled attempts at conversation that turned into insult slinging free-for-alls. Innumerable misconceptions and prejudices that blocked his every attempt to gain any kind of footing with the infuriating witch. Lost chances and vagaries of fate that did not slow him down, just showed him how better to twist things to advantage. Plotting and maneuvering his every move to set the stage for her and only her to come and put her claim on him. And now at last he had control of the board. The pieces were finally moving as directed. He was closer to his queen than he had ever been. Twice she lost her rigid control tonight. If things kept on track, soon that control would be distant memory. Her lies and attempts at non-consensual mind violation would cease because the ingrained morals of his illustrious sleuth would not let her take advantage of him. Not for long at least.
Then Hermione Granger would loose the chains that bound her to mediocrity and get brave enough to choose bigger and better. She would choose him. Draco Malfoy.
The Dragon always got his treasure, by hook or by crook…