Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My, my those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Come now, bite through these wires

I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired.

Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher

Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason

Take me back to Eden.

The rational part of him knew he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be following her, or listening in on her conversations in the Ministry with Saint Potter when he went to check in for his parole every week, or taking notes of the foods she eats. When she eats. Blimey, she really should eat more, should take better care of herself. He could help her. He could take care of her, if only she would let him.

That's why he was doing this, though. He could get to know her from afar, secretly watching her, so that when he did finally approach her, she wouldn't be able to refuse him. He was a patient man, and he hadn't minded playing the long game. After all, he had nothing but time now, since he had been released from Azkaban. He didn't have a job, his vast fortune having barely taken a dent even after all the costs of reparations. Millions had been claimed to restore Hogwarts, and a few millions more to several charities, rebuilding homes that had been destroyed in the war, and a few hundred thousand more for medical supplies and equipment. And yet, it still hadn't dented his Gringotts vault. Not even by a fraction.

On top of not having a job, he also didn't really have many real friends to spend his time with. Pansy was a headache and a half to talk -or mostly listen- to, and he usually couldn't stand her company longer than an hour at most, even having been raised as a gentleman. But, he supposed, those rules had really only applied to ladies, and Pansy Parkinson was not a lady in any phrasing of the word. Blaise was on holiday with his fiance. A seemingly never ending holiday. Not that he could blame them. They had only just announced their engagement and Blaise finally felt like he had something to look forward to beyond the war, reporting to the Ministry, and trying to make amends with a society that couldn't understand that they just didn't fucking have a choice. In fact, if anything, Draco was jealous of Blaise for a while. Until he ran into Granger for the first time since his release. She and Pothead had actually helped him get his freedom. They had testified on his behalf, and with two thirds of the Golden Trio defending him, well, there was no denying that it was an immediate win for him. For the most part, he had his freedom. Thanks to her. He would have to thank her in person for that soon.

Theo would come by pretty often, whenever he wasn't caught up chasing some tail. But Draco didn't have a girlfriend to spend his time with. Not that there hadn't been plenty of women who threw themselves at him, desperate to get just a taste of his darkness. Oh, but if they only knew. They would never be enough for him. They weren't strong enough to handle him. They weren't Hermione Granger, and so they simply would not do. He'd dismissed most of them for months, but there had been the occasional brunette that had nice brown eyes and cheeks dotted with freckles, or long silky curls that he hadn't been able to turn away. It was a close enough resemblance for him, in his near desperation, that he could look at them through squinted eyes and imagine, just for a few moments, that it was her. He'd groan his release and whisper her name so low, he knew he wouldn't be heard, and then his eyes would open, and she would be gone. Draco, of course, still gave the poor girl her release. He was a gentleman, after all. And it was usually enough to tide him over. Until now.

Now, it seemed that the more he watched her, the less the rational part of his brain could contain him, hold him in his place at a distance from her. His patience was beginning to wear thin. He needed to get closer to her. Just a little closer, he told himself. He wouldn't reveal himself yet, but he had to get closer.

That was what had brought him here, to her home hidden away in the farthest corner of Godric's Hollow. It was shielded by a magical bubble and had several muggle repelling charms added to it. It was located on the outside of the forest, about a quarter of a mile away from the treeline. The house stood alone except for a few trees scattered here and there, and a few bushes on either side of the porch. It was getting dark out, and through the windows, Draco could tell that Hermione was in the kitchen pouring a large glass of wine. He watched her from his spot behind a tree just across from the center window. Merlin, there were so many windows on this house, you'd think it were made of glass. He never understood the whole concept of having so many damned windows that anyone could see everything inside what was supposed to be your own, private space. Like everything was purposefully on display. Not that he minded, of course. It made it all the more easy for him to track her every movement.

Maybe she likes to be watched.

The thought crossed his mind, and it sent a delicious tingle down to his groin.

Does she know she's being watched? Does she like it? Oh, you naughty witch. I bet you do. Imagine that. Gryffindor's sweet, innocent, little princess gets off on the thought of being watched when she's supposed to be all alone.

He watched as she gathered her glass in her hand and took a large gulp. She quickly replaced the liquid she drank down and then retreated to her bedroom. Draco followed, of course. He did his best to remain hidden, but for extra measure, had also worn his Death Eater mask and robes. At least, the only set that the Ministry hadn't confiscated. Not that he was purposefully trying to scare her with his attire, it was simply the only mask he owned. He didn't want her to be afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt her. He would hurt someone else for her. But not her. Never her. No, she didn't need to be afraid of him. He would protect her and keep her safe and learn how to take care of her. She just didn't know it yet. But she would.

He was waiting for the perfect moment, now that that pathetic excuse for a man named Ron Weasley had finally used up his last straw with her. He had cheated on her, and Draco was there the day it happened. They were in what they thought was an empty corridor in the Ministry, and Draco had hidden behind a tapestry that draped from the high ceiling to the floor and spanned across by at least half of the hall, displaying the face of the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

He had told her that her busy schedule had torn their relationship apart, that she was “too ambitious”, and that she had remained so hell bent on saving the rest of the world that she didn't even bother to save herself, much less their relationship. He told her she let herself almost disappear. That she should have paid him more attention, settled down with him, had some children, moved on with her life. But she couldn't just do that. Did he even know who he was dealing with? What he had signed up for when he decided to date Hermione Granger? The Weasel was pathetic. Never deserved her anyway.

She would be much better off with me, anyway. I could help her get to the top. Support everything she does, take down her enemies, ensure she got everything she was working for. It would be so good for her. I could be so good for her.

When she made it to her room, Draco dared to move closer to one of the windows directly in front of where she was standing now. If she saw him, she made no indication of it. She was standing in front of a full body mirror, watching as she undressed herself. She slid her skirt down to the floor and stepped out of it gracefully, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. When she had finally removed all of her articles of clothing, she stood in front of the mirror with her hands to her side, a blush creeping up her chest and cheeks, turning her skin a pale pink color.

Draco's mouth watered at the sight of her. He could feel his groin twitch in response, and a low growl vibrated through his throat. He tried to swallow it down, hoping she didn't hear him. Still, she didn't acknowledge him. He was still hidden, for now. She took another long drink from her cup. When she looked at herself again, she sort of frowned. She ran her hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Then up to her neck, down her chest and abdomen, and brought her hands to rest on her hips. She lifted her chin and turned her head side to side, and even twisted her hips a little as she went. She took another drink, and this time when she stepped forward to set it back down on her dresser, her footsteps wobbled a little.

As Hermione's hands wound their way over her body again, gently brushing against what Draco imagined to be very soft, delicate skin, he imagined they were his hands. He sighed and palmed himself over his pants. He stroked himself a few times as she explored her curves. Occasionally, he would see her quirk her eyebrow at herself in the mirror, as though she disapproved of what she saw. She pursed her mouth in a thin line. He could see the frustration in her eyes.

If only she knew what just the sight of her did to him. Maybe she would change her mind if she knew what she had reduced him to in the small amount of time he had spent watching and following her since his release. How could she think she were anything less than stunning, when he was already a panting mess inside his Death Eater mask? He hadn't even touched her yet.

Oh but when I do, little witch. When I finally get my hands on you, I'll make you regret ever doing this to me.

Chapter Text

The drink was starting to make her nerve endings tingle. She wasn't sure what number drink she had started but she knew it was at least her fourth refill of the night.

Her brain felt fuzzy, and for a while, she had been enjoying herself. But then she looked at herself for too long in the mirror and started to remember the things Ron had said. She started to think maybe they were true. She had let herself go, really. She stopped taking care of herself, stopped eating, stopped trying to manage her wild curls. She'd spell them into submission usually just before she set off to the Ministry, smoothing them out. They would shine and catch the light at the right angles. But slowly, throughout the day as her mind attached itself to a never ending task list to preoccupy her attention, her focus on her spell would wear down, and her hair would be a frizzy mess again long before she left the office. Now, she was also thin. Maybe a little too thin. She had definitely lost weight. Her ribs protruded a little more than she remembered. Her high cheekbones and jawline looked a little sharper. Her breasts were still full and perky, but had gotten smaller. You could even almost see the sharp edges of her hips just below the surface of her skin. And Ron had never liked sharp edges. Hence, Lavender Brown, back at Hogwarts, and Susan Bones now.

She sighed. Unexpectedly, a flash of lightning snapped through the sky, illuminating the grass behind her. Her chest contracted and her stomach jolted. Goosebumps covered her skin. Her eyes widened in fear, but it wasn't just because of the sudden storm. It was because the flash of light had reflected off of a silver mask with intricate lines weaving all over it. It had slits on the lower part, the mouth, so the wearer could breathe and speak. A Death Eater mask. She spun around to face the man, and when her eyes met his, her heart stopped momentarily. She was frozen in place. Her eyes trailed down to take in the full size of the man.

They settled on his very large, very pale hand working his groin. How long had he been standing there, watching her? And not just watching, she realized. She gasped. He didn't even move, he just stood there, his hand still moving slowly. She could feel his eyes bearing into her, and she had an odd feeling that if she could see his face, he would be smirking at her. A spark of want shot through her and settled in her core. Her lip quivered. The air felt as though the temperature had risen by several degrees, despite her nakedness, and she felt her nipples harden and tingle.

The man took a step towards her, and her heart began to hammer behind her chest. Her breath came in short, shaky pants now. She worked hard to keep her mouth closed and breathe slowly through her nose, but the fear and.. something else.. What was it? A shiver ran down her back and she could feel her temperature increasing again. Heat scorched through her, and she felt her fingers twitch at her sides, as if she were in anticipation of something and she was ready to pounce. Was she excited? She was, she decided. The fear and excitement she felt coursing through her veins was almost too intense to contain.

Excitement? What in Godric's name was wrong with her? There was a strange, masked man, standing outside the window of her bedroom, in her home that was supposed to be safeguarded and warded against trespassers. How in the hell had he gotten past her wards? And he was watching her! Touching himself, too.

The thought of it probably should have disgusted her, frightened her, and forced her to turn on her heels and run screaming. Yet, here she was, not only keeping herself on display for him, but she was excited about it. Merlin’s beard. There was definitely something wrong with her if she liked this. More than liked, from the way her center was starting to throb.

Before she could register more of these thoughts, the man lunged at her. Or rather, her window. He surged forward and slammed his hands against the panes on either side of his face. The sudden movement and loud noise caused her to take a quick step back, but she tripped over herself and tumbled backward to the floor. Her knees were up, but her legs were spread wide, giving him a particularly delicious view of her cunt. She leaned forward on her elbows to stare back at him. She was curious to see what he would do now.

The man leaned down, bending his knees, and dragging his fingers down the glass, until he was almost eye level with her bare center. The thought of this death eater crawling on top of her from between her legs flitted through her mind for a second, and it caused her core to clench again. Could she handle the weight of him against her? A familiar empty, throbbing sensation formed, almost painfully. She tried to close her legs, but an unseen force seemed to keep her legs pried open. Wandless magic, she knew. The magic seemed to attempt to spread her even further for him, and the sensation of her thighs being stretched too far apart made her cunt clench again, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her throat. She only hoped he wouldn't hear her. Or maybe she did want him to hear it. She wasn't so sure anymore. Her body acted separately from her brilliant brain now.

The rational part of her knew she should be terrified. Another, deeper, darker part of her was taking hold of her, and that part liked this attention. It liked how vulnerable she was, splayed out naked in front of this unknown man as he felt himself up for her. Perhaps it was because she hadn't felt desirable in such a long time. Not by Ron. Not by her own standards. Not by anyone, not really. Feeling wanted had left her desperate and wanton. She wondered what, exactly, would he do to her if he were to come inside her home. She shivered again.

When she looked into the black eyes of the Death Eater mask, she could swear she saw a hint of dark silver twinkle at her, but she wasn't sure. He was too far away to really tell. Her eyes flicked to his hand, as he had started to curve his index finger. Sudden, soft, warm pressure pressed into her clit, and she gasped. More wandless magic. Whoever this was, he was talented, and definitely powerful. The pressure mimicked his finger, and trailed in circles around her clit before sliding down between her folds. She moaned and bucked her hips. For a few seconds, the pressure lingered there, just outside her entrance, teasing her. The heat from it threatened to seep into her core. Instead, it slid back up and down her folds two more times before finally dipping inside her, causing her to tilt her head back in pleasure. Her knees tried to close again as her muscles clenched and fluttered against the contact, but once again, she was unsuccessful.

She looked to the man again, shooting him a hard glare. She felt him smirking at him again through his mask, and he suddenly rose back up. He towered over her now. He stared down at her for a few moments, watching her pant and squirm. She saw his head shake and his hand went back to his crotch. He readjusted himself, and she could see quite well how this encounter had affected him. The fabric of his pants were pulled tight against his erection, but he tucked it away before stepping back a few steps.

Hermione leaned forward a little more, what little she was able to now, to look at him. With a pop, he vanished into thin air. She felt the pressure release her as soon as he was gone. Only, she didn't want to get up now. She wanted to be held down and ravaged again. She groaned in frustration and threw herself back against the floor. Not a murderer, but definitely a bastard nonetheless.

Chapter Text

The next day, Hermione had met with Ginny and Luna in Diagon Alley for some shopping, and Draco made sure he was there with her every step of the way. From a safe, unsuspecting distance, of course. He noticed that she glanced over her shoulder occasionally, probably suspecting she was being followed. Today, he was out in public, with his real face on show. Even if she saw him right now, it wouldn't matter. It could have been anyone behind that mask.

He wondered if that was why she seemed to enjoy the attention, rather than letting it scare her away. Her reaction to seeing him had had the exact opposite of the effect he anticipated, but it was much to his delight. He wanted her to embrace it. He hadn't expected her to, though. He expected her to hex him into oblivion and send him back to Azkaban permanently.

Imagining her still laying there with her knees spread so wide for him that they nearly touched the floor underneath her, and the sight of her pretty little pink pussy glistening for him had him in a frenzy today. His clothing, particularly on the lower half of his body, seemed a little too tight, a little too scratchy. He was uncomfortable, despite his well tailored clothing. His senses were overflowing with Hermione Granger. The scent of vanilla enveloped him. Her voice echoed in his ears as he greedily listened in on her conversations. She hadn't mentioned him to her friends yet. Would she? What would she say? Would she admit how she had offered her body up on display for him? Or would she tell them that she had been terrified beyond comprehension?

“So, Hermione,” the red head, Weaselette, says to her, “Since you and Ron aren't together anymore, I wanted to tell you that I was talking to Viktor the other day before one of our matches, and he really wants to see you.”

Viktor? As in Viktor Krum, from Durmstrang? Seeker for the Bulgarians Quidditch Team? Draco remembered that he and Hermione had attended the Yule Ball together in fourth year. He also remembered how cozy Krum had tried to get with her when they were having drinks, and later on when they left together. Did they-?

Anger flared up, and Draco would swear that steam would come shooting out of his nostrils any second now, from all of the heat radiating off of him. The Weasel had finally gotten out of his way. He wasn't about to stand by and let another undeserving wizard come along and snatch up his witch. Because she was his. She just didn't know it yet.

“I don't know, Gin. We did just break up. I think I'm gonna need some time. You know, to process things, before I go jumping into another relationship.” Hermione finally responded.

In his opinion, it had taken her entirely too long to say no. Draco would bet the entire contents of his Gringotts vault that Viktor fucking Krum would never make her feel the way he had made her feel last night. He'd make sure no one could ever make her feel that way or touch her that way. He would ruin her for any other man.

Ginny laughed.

“Who said anything about a relationship? You could just… have some fun?” She smiled at her, gently nudging her with her elbow.

Fun? Draco thought. I'll show her fun, if that's what she wants.

Hermione raised her eyebrow at Ginny.

“You know things really don't work that way for me, Gin.”

Ginny groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Merlin’s saggy balls. Okay, I'll let him down gently. You could at least do a double date with me and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Viktor could be your plus one. Come on, Mione, you know I've been in love with him since fifth year.”

Draco glared at Ginny. Not that she could see him. The three women had made their way to Florean Fortescue’s, standing just outside, and he was hiding in plain sight amongst the crowd. Ginny was now standing in front of Hermione, her hands clasped together as if she were in prayer, in front of her chin. Her bottom lip was stuck out, and her eyes seemed to have grown two whole sizes. Draco scoffed silently.

She is not a cute beggar.

Hermione sighed, offering her friend a half smile.

“Alright, fine. Fine, but only if Harry and Luna come.” Her head snapped around to look into the blonde girl's eyes.

Luna shrugged. “He hasn't taken me on a proper date since last week, anyway. We're overdue.”

Hermione giggled. “He really has you spoiled, Lu.”

“I wouldn't say I'm spoiled. I'd say he's taking proper care of me. He doesn't everything and more for me. Buys me beautiful jewelry and clothes, takes me to dinner, makes me breakfast, rubs my legs, and kisses my feet.” Luna sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He also lets me take care of him. He lets me suck his-”

“Alright!” Hermione shouted, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender. “So glad you'll be there, then!”

I'll be there, too, witch.

As the three women got closer to the entrance of the ice cream parlor, Draco moved, seemingly not of his own accord, to open the door for them.

“Ladies.” He greeted them. “After you.”

He bristled when Granger finally made eye contact with him. She was at least a whole head and a half shorter than him, and she seemed acutely aware of it. He smirked at her. He watched her eyes as they slowly moved up and down the length of him once. When her warm, honey brown eyes collided with the steely grey of his, he felt like everything clicked together. It felt just right. He could swear he actually heard a clicking noise distantly.

“Thanks, ferret.” Ginny nodded to him as she stepped into the building.

Luna followed close on her heels, and then it was just the two of them. Gods, how he wanted to pull her to him right here and now and claim her in this doorway. With everyone watching them, knowing she was his. Knowing she was absolutely not available for a double date with that wanker Viktor Krum. He, however, wouldn't mind attending. He'd be a good chaperone, knowing that his place when she was with her girlfriends, was right behind them, watching them, guarding them, escorting them. He would happily play his part, because when they got home, she would belong to him.

“Granger,” he stared straight into her eyes.

She cleared her throat and swallowed before finally stepping toward the door.

“Malfoy.”

Before she could pass him, however, he extended his arm across the way and slapped his hand on the opposite frame. Slowly, he moved to stand in front of her. He risked a peek over his shoulder to see that Ginny and Luna had already made their way to the counter. They stood off to the side, waiting on her, but looking behind the counter to the sweet treats on display.

“My, my, Granger. Where are your manners? A proper witch would have said thank you.” He looked down his nose at her, but his body was leaning closer and closer to her with every word.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You mean a pureblood witch?”

Draco let out a chuckle. Hermione stepped to his side, preparing to move around him, but he shoved in front of her again.

“Let me through, Malfoy.” She craned her head to look up at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“Just be a good little witch and say thank you, Granger, and I'll gladly move.”

Their bodies were so close, only a breath away from touching. The fire in her eyes when she looked at him was positively exhilarating. Even more so now that he had seen them darken with desire, much like they were starting to now. He leaned forward, bringing his forearm up to rest above her head on the door frame she stood against. His eyes remained locked on hers. He relished in her scent as it crowded him. He felt his cock twitch and he wrangled all of his self control to keep this distance between them. He wanted to close it, thrust his hips up into her, rock his aching cock against her center, grab a handful of her round arse, tangle his other hand in her curls, and drink in every sigh and whimper she would give him. But he stayed exactly where he was, waiting for her response.

A blush was spreading across her cheeks now. She tried to take a step back, but there was nowhere for her to go. All she could do was press herself harder into the doorframe. He had her trapped. He watched her run her tongue across her lips, wetting them, before tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hands formed fists at her sides.

“I'll say it once and then you'll never hear it from me again.” She told him. She tried to lift her chin at him in defiance, but he just found it endearing on her.

He quirked his eyebrow at her.

“I doubt that, Granger.”

“Go fuck yourself.” She actually smirked at him now.

“Why? Do you want to watch, you minx?”

She scoffed at him. “You wish, Malfoy.”

“Maybe I do. Then again, maybe I would just prefer to watch you.”

Draco brings his other hand, the one not currently above her head, up to caress her side. She jumps slightly at the unexpected contact and her eyes flick down to stare at his offending hand. She doesn't make any move to remove it from her, however.

“Would you let me watch you, Granger?” He asks her, his voice was a low whisper. The words were only hers to hear.

Hermione clears her throat and shoots a glance over her shoulder. She can see Ginny and Luna at the counter. They still haven't even noticed she's not joined them yet.

I don't understand how anyone couldn't notice your absence in their company.

He wants to tell her but chooses to swallow it back down.

“Or you could just say thank you, and I'll let you move on along.”

"Thank you.” She tells him through gritted teeth.

Before he can move out of her way completely, she uses her elbow to shove her way past him. She's joined with her friends in moments, and Draco just watches as they select their flavors and head to a nearby table. Not even a glance in his direction. Draco decided it might be nice to have some ice cream himself, given the very recently steamy encounter with Granger. He needed to cool himself off. He could think of several things he could do to help with that, but the one he settled on was a double scoop of earl grey and lavender flavored ice cream. He sat at a table across the room from his object of affections, making sure he could still keep an eye on her. He'd let her have some space, for now.

After ice cream, the three women decided to split for an hour and meet back up at the Wesley's Wizard Wheezes shop. Hermione wanted to go to the bookshop while Ginny wanted to check out Quidditch gear, and Luna had her eye on a curious necklace at Borgin and Burkes. With so many conflicting interests, it made sense for the three of them to branch out and go it alone. Only Granger, well, she wouldn't be alone. He made sure to maintain a safe distance from her as she made her way down the cobbled streets.

She walked up and down the rows of books, slowly. Occasionally, she would pick up a book, examine the cover, read through a few pages, and then put it back on the shelf. She was in the romance section, and Draco could only imagine the types of books she liked to read. Probably tacky muggle princess stories like Cinderella or Snow White. Or soppy love stories that made you cringe just a little when you read it, something with a cliche plot line. Innocent. Sweet. Draco snorted at the thought.

She had finally found something that piqued her interest, he noticed. She had been reading this one for awhile now, her arse now firmly planted into a plush armchair. Every so often, he could see her squirm or wiggle her feet, even a blush poured into her cheeks. She glanced up once to see if anyone was looking, flicking her eyes from side to side slowly. She seemed satisfied that no one was, but she couldn't see him from where he was standing. Now, he was on the second floor, hiding behind a wooden post that stretched to the ceiling, his knuckles white from his tight grip on the railing. She went back to her reading, and he could see a small smile working its way across her face. She turned her legs sideways in the chair to let them dangle over the side, and crossed her ankles. He watched her as she read, and made note of the way she would squeeze her thighs tight together when another pink blush splashed across her chest and cheeks.

This held Draco's attention. He had dismissed her books before, thinking that they had probably been silly true love's kiss type books that a teenager would read. Now, seeing her reactions, he was starting to wonder otherwise. It occurred to him to go down and pick the book up after she walked off, and he decided he would do so. However, she stayed in that same position, reading that same bloody book, biting her lip and grinning for the whole fucking hour. Clenching her thighs, rubbing her ankles together, and gasping. And driving him mad. He needed to know what in the bloody hell was causing such reactions from her. He had found amusement in it at first, but now? Now it was torture for him because his groin twitched painfully every time he saw her perfect little body tightening up. Hermione Granger was most certainly, he decided, reading something naughty. Clearly something she liked, and now he needed to know just what it was.

After an age, Granger finally glanced up at the time. She groaned. She was five minutes late, so she had to scramble to get herself together and make her way from the book shop. Draco snapped closed the book he had been scanning through to pass the time, and looked over the balcony just to make sure she was gone. He watched her curls bounce as she ran down the sidewalk in the direction of the Weasleys shop. He made his way down the staircase and over to the chair Granger had been sitting in.

The book was laying on the end table right beside it. It was called The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice. He chuckled, starting to wonder if he had been wrong again about the contents of it. Perhaps it was just another silly little princess book. He sighed, and briefly considered just putting it back on the shelf and leaving the library, chasing her over to the Weasleys, and listening in for anymore talk of Viktor. But he hesitated. Whatever was in this book, it had affected her intensely. He decided that no matter how childish or silly, he wanted to know every part of her. Especially the parts that made her squirm. So, he picked it up and scanned the table of contents, browsing through the chapters. Curious, he flipped to the chapter labeled “Beauty.”

He began to read through a few lines, and then his eyebrow quirked up. His eyes widened. And a smirk etched itself across his face.

Oh. My, my, my. What a naughty girl you are, Granger.

He wondered what it would be like to have Hermione Granger tied up to his bed posts, naked, as he slept, with her begging and wanting and crying for more. Leave her hanging there, greedy, unable to squeeze her thighs together and find friction. He'd wake up to find her wound up, frustrated, and possibly ready to hex his face off. And he'd leave her there while he licked her juices off her thighs. Then, of course, he'd find some terrible excuse to dismiss himself and let her sit there and writhe until he came back. He liked the thought of her stripped and ready for him to do with as he pleases, whether it be to take her or to tease her.

Maybe there was something to these silly little princess books, after all. He chuckled again, and then took the book to the front to pay for it before leaving. He already knew where he would find his witch.

So he made his way to the Weasley's, and lingered just outside the windows before he decided to walk in. She was standing right there in front of him, completely oblivious of him. She was reading the contents on the back of the love potion bottles. Not that she'd need a love potion. He was already obsessed with her. Knowing Granger, though, she wasn't simply browsing for love potions with intentions of anything other than ensuring the elves and other magical creatures weren't being tested on. She was so good. So holy. So golden. Her nickname definitely suited her.

Smiling, he opened the door and walked in. He took a lap around the store on his own. He hadn't ever actually been there before. He'd seen the products, of course, but his busy schedule had always kept him preoccupied elsewhere. On his second lap, he overheard the Weasley twins talking amongst one another, and he couldn't help but notice the words “expand” and “investment” and that they may “need some help getting the funds”. Now those were some words his pure blood had bristled at. He had been raised on money, by money, for money. If there were talk of investing, especially in one of Grangers special places of interest, then Malfoy was certainly one to poke his nose in. And if he had the means to help a fellow wizard -or set of wizards- who Granger happens to be, by the sounds of it, quite fond of, then all the better for him in the long run. He pinched his mouth in a thin line with determination, and made his way over to the twins.

“Did I hear talk of a potential expansion for Wizard Wheezes?” He raised his eyebrow at the twin closest to him.

“Maybe.” Fred Weasley shrugged. “What's it to you, Malfoy?”

“Gentlemen, let's move past our childhood grudges and agree I was on the wrong side of a terrible war in which I had no choice, the same as you lot I might add, for just a moment. Money talks, and everyone here knows I'm practically made of it. I would have to be a fool not to make an investment.”

“And just who says we need your money?” George crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, no one, really. Perhaps I'm just an intrigued customer with plenty of money.”

“So you're saying we should give up some of our precious time to talk to you, why, because you’re rich?” Fred asked.

“Wow, you really are a spoiled prat.” Fred and George both chime together in sync.

“A spoiled prat with a Gringotts vault more than four times the size of this little place.” Draco smiled at them, flashing his teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see George elbow his twin and shrug.

“What's in it for you, then?” George asked.

“As I've said, I'd have to be a fool not to throw some chips in. For a multitude of reasons, I'm in this for long term investment. I'd like to be officially named partner, for the second branch. Of course, I'll want my cut, and I'm aware that means I'll have to take care of some of the physical work. I do have plenty of time on my hands. A job could do me some good, probably.” Draco held his chin between his thumb and index finger as he feigned his reasoning. There was only one reason he really wanted to do this. For her. He had to show her he was good. Good enough to invest in her friend's business, good enough to do real work. Good enough for her.

“So you want…a..job?” Fred asked him, his eyebrow raised in question.

“Something along those lines, sure.” He agreed. “I don't expect us to come to a full agreement today, however. I'll head to my lawyer's office Monday and have him draw up my terms and what I'm offering, make the whole thing legal and official. We can discuss it further from there. I'd so love to make this deal. Expect an owl from either myself, my lawyer, or both next week with all the details.”

“Alright then. And what if we have terms and conditions?” George asked.

“I'm a patient man, Mr. Weasley. And a businessman. I'm sure we can find the means for us all to get what we want.”

He didn't miss the look the twins shared. He had them, and he knew it. They probably already knew it too. He nodded to them as he dismissed himself and drew back into the shop. His little witch was still in here somewhere, and he missed the sight of her.

On his third lap around, he found Granger again, eyeballing the pumpkin pasties, chocolate wands, sugar quills, and other various sweet treats the Weasleys offered.

“Sweet tooth, Granger?” He asked, coming up behind her. She gasped as her body involuntarily jolted backward. She was pressed against him now.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?” She shouted.

“Me? What's wrong with you, Granger? You seem a bit put off today. Bit jumpy. Are you alright?” His voice was low and teasing, but he had an air of severity about him.

She shifted and turned to face him.

“Are you following me, Malfoy? Or is it just a coincidence I've had the displeasure of running into you twice today? And I've never actually seen you come in here. Borgin and Burkes seems more your style.”

“Trust me, Granger, if I were following you, you'd have no idea.”

Unless I wanted you to.

“As it so happens, I was here on business.”

“Business? What business would you have with Fred and George?” She asked.

“Does it hurt, Granger?” He baited her.

“Does what hurt, Malfoy?” She put her hand on her hip, and Draco's eyes slid down her body, appreciating her lovely curves.

“Not knowing everything.”

He couldn't help the feeling of satisfaction that poured into him when she glared at him. She was even more stunning when she looked at him this way, with hate in her heart and fire in her eyes. It was his second favorite look on her face. The first was the way she looked when she was overcome with pure, unadulterated pleasure, need, desperation, like she had been last night.

Chapter Text

I'll tear the fibre from the filament

I'll be the limit of your light again

I want to taste you better

I want to taste you better.

I will be watching for your enemies,

To let them know that they contend with me.

I want to know you're out there

I want to know you're out there.

Over the next few weeks, Draco found himself standing outside of Granger's home, watching her as she went through her evening routine. He wouldn't leave until well after she had fallen asleep. It was an almost nightly event by now. Rain or shine, he was there any time. He just couldn't stay away from her. He had to see her, had to know what she was doing, had to make sure she was safe. He had to make sure she was taking care of herself. There had been several mornings in which she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast, so he made sure to send a coffee and bacon, egg, and cheese croissant to her office.

Now, it was a dark and rainy night. He was hiding in his usual spot, behind a large willow tree in front of one of the dining room windows. His death eater mask was resting on top of his head, confident enough that he didn't need to be covered at this moment, but wise enough to know that anything could happen. So he had dressed in his death eater robes and brought his mask. Granger was seated on the couch, her feet propped on the ottoman with a blanket thrown over them, and a mug in her hand. A snack bag was at her side, and a large, orange fur ball she called Crookshanks sat on her other side. She was watching a Muggle film on her telly, without a clue in the world that he was there. It was the second time she'd watched the movie this week. Scream, it was called. She seemed to like it, and Draco decided he liked it also.

It surprised him, finding that not only did he not think it was ridiculous, but that he had started to actually enjoy it. Something Muggle. Imagine that. His fourteen year old self would have sneered and pointed his nose up at him, and he found joy in that knowledge. He really had changed. Perhaps it had something to do with a pretty little brunette that had shown up in a periwinkle dress at the Yule Ball that same year. Perhaps that was when he had started to think that maybe not all things muggle were so terrible.

His thoughts were broken up by a sharp snap somewhere far to his right.

That wasn't right. Her home was warded off, protected from passersby or any curious muggle, even most wizards wouldn't be able to make it through her wards. Technically even he shouldn't be this close to her. Animals would steer clear of this place, unless it were a magical one. Which was also unlikely, given they were in Muggle London.

He squinted his eyes, straining to see better in the vast darkness in front of him. Once his eyes adjusted, he muffled his footsteps and made his way through the treeline, scanning the entire property. With the rain now pouring down heavily around him, it was hard to tell what was the reflection of the light and if he had actually seen something. He thought he saw… But that should be impossible, shouldn't it? No one else should be able to get in here. Still, he wasn't supposed to be in here either. Yet, here he was. So maybe if someone else had really wanted to, just like he had, they could. Well, he couldn't have that, could he? He was the only person allowed to stalk Granger. She was his witch.

The lights in the living room suddenly turned off, and he looked up through the windows to see Granger making her way back towards the bedroom. Looking back across the yard, Draco noticed a darker figure, the shape of a tall, lean man, heading towards the house. Clearly, he had no clue Malfoy was here. But who the bloody hell is this?

He followed several paces behind the person. He needed to know who they were before he made any sort of moves. For all he knew, it could be one of Granger's silly little friends playing some fucked up joke on her. It wouldn't look very good for him if she somehow managed to find out that he had -albeit accidentally- killed one of her friends. On the other hand, he could cover it up so easily. He knew he could probably get away with it, realistically. And if one of her friends were to come to an unfortunate, untimely demise, well then that would leave her vulnerable. He could swoop in so easily if she were more vulnerable. He could be her knight in shining armor, come to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and put her back together. It would be so easy.

But I want to be good. For her.

He sighed. He stopped for a moment, contemplating. A “good” man wouldn't kill whoever this was, even if they were a threat. A good man would probably bind them, report them to the Ministry, and leave it to the hands of the aurors. He so desperately wanted to be good for her.

But, more than anything, he also wanted her to be safe. If he let them live, she would never be safe. Some things, he thought, were worth the sacrifice that came with them. If her life was on the line, he was not a good man. Would never be a good man if it meant losing her. Maybe she could understand that he was going to do bad things if he had to, but with good intentions. She could see the grey area, he was sure. He realized now that he never knew if she killed during the war. He could imagine any number of circumstances in which she would probably have to, or die, or let someone else die. Would she? He itched to find out.

Regrettably, Draco stayed his distance, waiting for whoever this was to reveal themselves and their intentions. He only hoped that this person didn't know about the automatic lights that Granger had installed on her front porch. Or maybe, if they're friendly, they would know. He just had the sinking feeling that they weren't friendly, but kept on biting his tongue. Adrenaline had started to course through his veins with his anticipation. His magic bristled, shooting out in small, invisible sparks around him. The atmosphere crackled around him in response. His fingers twitched, ready to snatch his wand into action.

Finally, after too many moments of waiting, the automatic lights snapped on, revealing a large cone of light spreading across the yard. And there was the man. And Draco recognized him. He was a Death Eater. A real one, one that had chosen that life. One who had willingly followed Voldemort and did his bidding. Amycus Carrow. Which also meant that his sister, Alecto, had to be here too. The pair rarely went anywhere without each other, preferring to hunt and torture their victims as a team. When one went in one direction, the other went the opposite, trapping their prey into a corner. The two of them were highly skilled in torture, as Draco had seen for himself once, on a pair of first years back when Voldemort was still in power. It was gruesome, and a miracle the poor child had even managed to survive. It had taken extensive care in the hospital wing, and even then, the poor sod had to be sent off to St. Mungo's.

Before he could make a move, however, Amycus vanished into thin air. A simple enough spell to do, and only temporary, but he knew all too well the damage that could be done in only a blink of an eye. He needed to get to Hermione, fast.

He watched as a gust of black smoke poured underneath and in between the cracks where the door met the frame. Despite his frustration that now Amycus was in the house with Granger, he had to take a second to appreciate the way he had broken in. All Death Eaters were taught how to collapse into a thick plume of smoke and fly, by Voldemort himself. Why hadn't he thought to do that? Maybe because he hadn't actually done it, not in a long time. But he'd never be able to forget how to do it. The Dark Lord was not a patient or merciful teacher, nor would he settle for less than perfect.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on his physical body and his dark magic, fusing them together in his mind. It burned like fiendfyre, spreading over his body as he felt himself becoming the smoke, slowly his body seemed to dissolve from the blistering heat within him and turning him into a large, dark, billowing cloud.

He remained there for a second, allowing himself a moment to adjust to this new state of being. The next second, he shot himself through the door, seeping through all the cracks. When he came through the other side, he felt himself already transforming back to normal even as pieces of himself in smoke form were still coming through the door to join with the rest of him. It was an almost automatic movement, like his body and his magic had never forgotten how to do it. Once again, he muffled his footsteps. He pulled his mask down over his face and then cautiously made his way from the kitchen.

It opened up into a cozy living room. The kind of comfort he hadn't really known at home in the Manor. The Malfoys were rich, but not so much in material items like trinkets and collectibles or souvenirs. His parents were strict minimalists. They wanted their home to look classy, but vacant. Like no one really even lived there. Not a book off the shelf or a stray piece of clothing tossed over the side of the couch, or a comfortable blanket on the ottoman. The mug Hermione had been drinking from earlier was sat on the end table next to where she had been sitting. No, that would not have been allowed in his home. On the walls, she had framed pictures of her family and friends. She had shelves with books and random souvenirs from places she traveled, merchandise from her muggle movies and TV shows that Draco had only recently started to recognize. She had things from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, like a mug from the Three Broomsticks, a collectible from Honeydukes, and some cards from chocolate frogs. Her Gryffindor scarf was hung from the hooks near the entryway, where he had kept his Slytherin attire tucked away neatly in his closet. Her home felt like Granger. It smelled like Granger, and the hot chocolate she had brewed earlier. Comfortable. Delectable. The Manor, quite the opposite, with all of the blacks and whites and greys. The only portraits on those walls were of his ancestors. None of his friends or family holiday pictures. The Manor somehow always smelled of fresh parchment and whatever flowers were in bloom that year. Mostly the elves had seen to that. Here, it was warm and inviting and lively. The Manor was cold and dark. Beautiful, but dull. It dawned on him that this home, and his life if he were being honest, would feel quite a lot like that without Granger here, and that was just one more reason he had to keep her safe.

These thoughts propelled him forward with more purpose. A scream came from the bedroom. He could hear muffled voices and thumping footsteps, as though someone were storming across the room. Then he heard a loud smacking sound, and a thud.

“What do you want from me?” He could hear Hermione's shaky voice. His heart dropped, but he rushed to the door.

The handle on the door wouldn't turn. It was locked from the inside. He tried a quick “Alohamora” but it didn't work either. He took a few steps back, sighed, and raised his shoulder towards the door, occluding to separate his mind from his body so that he could brace himself for the pain that was inevitably coming. One more deep breath, and then he ran and lunged at the door. It still didn't budge.

“What was that?” He heard a screechy woman's voice from the other side of the door. It was Alecto's voice.

“Help! Please, somebody help!” Granged screamed.

As soon as the words left her, Draco heard a smacking noise followed by a soft thud. His mind reeled with all of the possibilities of what could have happened. He occluded even further. He couldn't allow himself to panic. He had to be composed, or he would fail.

He took a few steps back again. He ran towards the door, faster this time, putting all of his body and all of his force behind the door. When he connected this time, the door still didn't open, but it had split straight down the middle. Draco wasn't sure if the cracking sound he'd heard came from the door, or from his hip and shoulder, but he didn't have time to care. The pain started to shoot through his arm and hips, but he pushed further into his mind. Further and further until he couldn't feel or see anything at all. It was all black and numb. He reared back again, and with a fierce cry and a hard shove, he finally exploded through the door. When he did, his consciousness came back just enough that he could see his witch, laying on the floor between the wall and her bed.

His head snapped to Amycus, who stood across the room, his wand aimed at Draco. Of course, he didn't know who he was behind his mask. For a moment, his wand lowered.

“Oi, Alec, it's one of ours. Carry on!” He shouted at his sister, then turned his head back to Draco. “Come to watch the show? Everyone's going to be so jealous when we're the ones to bring the little mudblood back. Reckon we can fetch a hefty price for-”

His words were cut off as Draco flicked his wrist and sliced his wand through the air in a swift, horizontal motion. Amycus’ head slowly slid clean off his neck, squelching as it moved. Blood spurted out from his wound in small fountains, pouring down his body, drenching his clothes in crimson. The adrenaline left his body quickly, and when it faded out, the headless corpse dropped to its knees, then fell over on the floor. Alecto let out a loud, screeching scream.

“You! You killed my brother! Traitor! Filth!” She screamed at him. Her wand was aimed at him now.

Granger whimpered, using the nightstand to help pull herself up to a sitting position. Alecto's attention snapped back to her. She taunted her, tilting her head to the left and smiling. Her smile was chilling and creepy and her eyes looked purely psychopathic. Granger's eyes widened and flicked between the three of the two of them, watching, readying herself to pounce over the bed if she needed to. It would be easier with Amycus now being dead.

“What's wrong, little muddy blood? Are you scared?” Alecto asked her in a low and shaky voice. She even giggled. She raised a crooked finger to point at her. “You should be. Because I'm going to cut out your nasty little heart and spill your disgusting blood all over this hideous fucking muggle floor.”

Then she turned to Draco.

“Right after I take care of you. Diffindo!”

Draco threw up a shield just in time, right before her slicing spell could reach him.

“Crucio!” He screamed back. And he meant it. Gods, he fucking meant it.

But she blocked it, and had taken another couple steps forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger move to pull herself onto the bed. He shot another stunner at the offending witch, and sent her flying back into the wall. Draco quickly scanned the room for Granger's wand and found it in the corner of the room. He ran for it, dodging Alecto's spells as she cast them from her position on the ground. Instead of hitting him, she shot large, gaping holes into Hermione's walls and exploded her dresser. When he wrapped his fingers around her wand, he turned to throw it to her. She reached, almost catching it before Alecto shot a spell at her.

“Petrificus totalus!”

“Expelliarmus!” Draco tried to counter, but she was too fast. His spell missed, and hers hit Granger before her hand could close around her wand.

Flying into a mad rage as he watched his witch get paralyzed, he flicked his wand side to side, up and down, in circles, flinging curses at Alecto. She was now barely managing to hold her shield. Draco could see little cracks forming all over it. His magic sparked around him, shooting into the air and through his fingertips. His vision started to cloud and his mouth etched into a snarl. With his wand hand, he pointed directly at Alecto and pulled his hand back. He imagined a strong, raging fire, ripping through the air with the force of twenty bludgers and twice the speed and thrust his wand forward. A beacon of flames shot from the tip of his wand, searing into Alecto's shield. She was screaming from the pressure, trying to hold back his spell. He pushed his wand forward a little more, increasing the pressure. He could see her shield blistering and bubbling from the heat. He willed his fire to get stronger and hotter, and the flames slowly turned into a radiant sapphire blue color, then finally pierced through the border of the shield.

The flames engulfed Alecto immediately, and they were so hot, he could tell she didn't feel the pain. Not yet. Her skin bubbled and began to melt off of her, falling to the floor in pieces. That was when she began to scream. A blood curdling, ear piercing, shattering scream that sounded to Draco like a sweet melody. Lovely music to his ears. A soothing melody for his soul. The smell of scorched flesh wafted into his nose, and he relished in it, taking the scent in deep. Because he knew what it meant. That Alecto was done for, and he had protected what was his. He let himself feel his pride settle deep in his core.

He used an Ebublio to confine Alecto's burning body to a small bubble and watched with sheer delight as she melted in front of him. He didn't release the spell until the only thing that remained of her was smoke and a puddle of blood.

Chapter Text

I have waited

Paralyzed by my own will,

Viciously reminding me still.

I'm born to believe

And I'm certain, no

That you and I are crashing course

Driven by a holy force

I know you can see

That you will be mine.

When the spell finally wore off, Hermione relaxed, falling back onto the bed on her stomach. The man who saved her had stayed with her the whole time, never leaving her side. When her fingers twitched for the first time, though, he collapsed by her side. She guessed that the adrenaline had finally worn off and all of the pain from his injuries he acquired while trying to break down the door had caught up with him. The parts of his clothing that had been ripped during the whole thing revealed his alabaster skin, stained with dried blood. The back of his arm, his shoulder, his left shoulder blade, and his hip had all been cut pretty roughly as he tore through the fractured wood. He hadn't even noticed. He had just stood there, looking at the Carrow brother with blood oozing out of him. And then all hell broke loose.

He saved her, protected her, and stayed with her until the petrification spell wore off. It was… actually sort of sweet, she thought.

But he's wearing a death eater mask. Curious. Why would a death eater protect her? Maybe even more important, why would a death eater kill one of their own for her? Who was this person behind that terrible, horrible mask that symbolizes hatred for people like her? And shouldn't she be afraid?

Perhaps what was more terrifying was that she didn't feel afraid of him. He saved her and then guarded her for hours. She was left alone and vulnerable to him. He could have done anything to her. Killed her, taken her somewhere, given her to the others that Amycus had referenced. He could have raped her, mutilated her, and tortured her. She was at his mercy, for the second time now. She remembered him from that night, weeks ago. How could she not, when he had been so cruel to her? Torturing her with his magic in her sensitive places after absolutely terrifying her. And didn't even let her cum. How awfully rude.

She leaned forward and trailed her finger along the intricate lines on his mask, studying them. She had her wand now. He was injured and possibly had passed out. Now he was the vulnerable one, to her.

He is a Death Eater. There was no telling how many people he had slaughtered during the war. No telling how many horrible things he did, how many of her friends and classmates and muggles he had tortured. For all she knew, he could have been the worst of the worst.

So, what to do with him, then? She wondered. She looked over his wounds and decided that she could at least return the favor. She may not know who this man is, but she trusted him, at least to a certain degree. She still wasn't sure what, exactly, he wanted from her. Or who he was. She couldn't decide which was more important ultimately and decided just to try to put it to the side for now. He certainly didn't seem like he was in any predicament to talk. If he was awake, there were no indicators. And she really, really didn't want to let those wounds sit any longer for risk of infection.

So she started to work on healing his wounds with the best spells she knew. Slowly, the deep gashes in his shoulder and his shoulder blade -which had taken the brunt of the damage- began to stitch itself back together, threading carefully, attempting not to scar his pale skin as it went. It was delicate, slow spell work that required keen focus and a strong cast. Despite having been frozen in one position for several hours, she actually felt quite alright. A little stiff and her lip was sore from being hit. The evidence of that being the blood that dropped from her lip and the taste of iron on her tongue. She was still a little shaken up from everything that had happened, but she would be able to compose herself enough to do this for him.

It's the right thing to do, she told herself. Add to that the fact that she really, really didn't want to think about the fact that she almost died because the bloody Carrows had found her, broken past her wards, and snuck into her home! The thought alone was enough to make her heart hammer behind her chest so quickly, she thought at any second, it might burst out of her. Her throat felt tight and she found it hard to breathe if she let herself think too deeply about it. She trained herself to take long, deep, slow breaths in through her nose, and exhale through her mouth. She had to keep steady. She had to think about anything else, so she thought about saving the mystery masked man. For now, it soothed her. It was like a second nature to her, because now she wasn't helpless like she had been before. Now she could fight back. Only, her enemies were gone. Her fight for now would be to make sure he didn't die from, she didn't know, sepsis or something.

Once his shoulder was stitched up, she summoned a jar of Dittany, along with some clean hand towels and a basin of warm water. She charmed the water to keep warm, and then set everything to the side. The rest of his sleeve had remained intact, but she wanted to make sure she was completely thorough. Using her wand, she made a straight cut up the length of his sleeve and pulled the two pieces apart. She made her way down his arm to his elbow, down to his wrist and hand, healing all of the smaller cuts as she went. She was holding his left arm, and before she could really stop herself, she found herself slowly turning his arm, searching.

There it was. His dark mark. It was faded, but still very much there. Her heart sank for a moment. It should have been silly to her, for a tattoo to instill even a sliver of terror in her, yet it did anyway. She knew it would be there, but still it taunted her, and she felt her own scar throb seemingly in response. She ignored it.

A protruding vein ran through the length of his mark, drawing her attention. She didn't know what had come over her, but she gently swiped her thumb along the length of it. His skin was soft and warm to the touch, and she could feel his pulse thrumming through the vein. His fingers twitched in response to her touches, drawing her attention to them. He had quite nice hands. They were large with protruding veins on the top of his hand, and he had very long, very pale, well kept fingers. She stared at them, slowly tracing the length of his middle finger with hers. She felt a low pulse begin deep in her core and cleared her throat. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the haze that started to form in her head and made her do things she wouldn't normally do, and willed herself to move along.

She gasped softly when she saw the gash in his hip. He'd scraped against a sharp piece of wood on his way through, and it dug in deep. Gently, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up to his chest, revealing the expanse of his torso. He was lean, but muscular. His abs were carved out perfectly, defined and tight. For a moment, she watched as his muscles flexed with the rise and fall of his breaths. Then she trailed her eyes down the thin golden patch of hair that started under his belly button and disappeared just below the waistband of his trousers. She swallowed, her mouth having suddenly run dry. When she moved her eyes back up towards his chest, she noticed several small, deep, almost pearlescent white scars scattered across his chest and torso. They looked like they were quite old by now, probably from before the war somehow or very early on when it started. She hummed to herself, and then finally averted her gaze to his fresh cuts on his hip and side. She braced herself for another round of intense spells and headache inducing focus, and set to healing and sewing up the damage there too.

When she was finally finished patching him up, she set to work cleaning the blood off of him. She took the towel into her hand and soaked it in the warm water, squeezing it out just so it wasn't dripping with water, and gently pressed it into his skin. She waited, watching him for a response. When she got nothing, she continued, trying to be as delicate as possible so she didn't reopen any of his wounds.

It took her a few minutes to get him all cleaned up, at least as good as she could manage. Then she dipped her hand into the dittany, gathering a large scoop into her fingers. She took her time to make sure it was completely worked into each gash and cut marring his skin. When she was finished, she used a towel and water to clean her hands off, and sat back on her heels to examine him once more.

He should heal perfectly.

But now that she didn't have anything else to preoccupy her hands with, her thoughts started to come back to her. The curiosity about who he was, specifically. For all she knew, Voldemort could have had any number of tall, pale, scarred men among his ranks. But something about him felt familiar. She couldn't place why, or what it was. She just sensed it was there. Quite possibly because she had had a run in with far too many from the dark side of the war. In all of that time, though, she had never come across a defective one. Never one who would save her life. Never one who would protect her and guard her, even with the life slowly draining out of him with every fresh drop of blood.

After seeing how deep some of his wounds were, it seemed as though wearing his mask had given him a lucky break. It protected him from taking any damage to his face, but there was a long, dented scratch straight across it now. It was a miracle it hadn't actually broken.

Part of her wished it had, though. A part of her that was becoming larger and larger the more she had to stare at it and not know.

Fuck it, she thought. Off with that god fucking awful mask.

Her hands reached forward, slowly moving towards the mask. She ran her finger against the scratch until it reached the bottom. Then she followed the piece of black fabric that connected to it and went underneath his shirt. She started to lift it, revealing more of his pale skin underneath. She pulled it up further and further, finally exposing his chin. She could see the shadow of golden blonde stubble starting to poke through his skin.

It matches his happy trail, she thought.

Before she could lift the fabric any further, his hand suddenly snapped up and his fingers wrapped firmly around her small wrist. He applied just enough pressure to keep her still, but not enough to hurt her. For a moment, all she could do was stare into the eye holes of the mask, fear stricken. Her eyes widened and she stayed completely still.

“If you wanted to see me naked, Granger, all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to shred up my clothes over it.”

She couldn't recognize his voice. It was muffled through his mask, and possibly also altered specifically so she couldn't pick it out. She had spent so much time just trying to place his voice that she hadn't fully registered what he had said, but when she did, she scoffed at him. She couldn't deny the shiver that ran up her spine at the thought of seeing him fully nude. It was already almost enough seeing this mystery man so close to her with his mask, practically no shirt on, and his trousers and boots. If the rest of his body was as promising as the parts she could already see, she might find herself in some trouble.

“Reparo.” She waved her wand in a circular motion over him and his shirt and robes started to stitch themselves back together, returning to their former glory. The same couldn't be said for his mask, however. It stayed the same.

“You're welcome, by the way.” She told him, her eyebrow raised.

“What is it I'll be thanking you for?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Saving your life, of course.” She stated matter-of-factly.

The man chuckled. “The pleasure is actually all mine, Granger, as I'm pretty sure I saved yours first. And you're welcome.”

Her cheeks burned suddenly.

“Why did you save me, anyway? I thought you were a death eater.”

“Well, I guess I'm just not a very good one, then.”

“Right.”

She realized how close they were suddenly, and felt as though a bubble of heat was forming between them. A heat burning so hot, she felt like she could suffocate, in a good way. A heat she wanted to lean in and lose herself to. The blush on her face creeped further down to her chest, blossoming until she was painfully aware of it. She also had just now noticed that he still held her wrist in a firm grip. She quickly glanced at his hand and then looked into the dark eye holes of his mask, hoping she was meeting his eyes.

She felt his grip on her loosen ever so slightly and then his hand smoothed up to her elbow. His fingers gently massaged her flesh just above the bone on the back of her arm, and a shiver ran up her spine. Her arm broke out in goosebumps and her stomach flipped. Her body reacted to his touch in so many ways that she never would have expected. Instead of pulling back, disgusted and angry and feeling violated, she stayed still, waiting to see what his next move would be.

“Thank you for saving me, Granger.” He said to her, his voice like a deep whisper through his mask.

Combined with the sensations he was causing in her arm, her heart fluttered for him. She could feel a fog forming over her brain again, clouding her judgment. Hadn't he been stalking her, not too long ago, also? And- thinking about what he had been doing, at the sight of her no less, sent a burst of confidence through her. And excitement, again. Because the last time she had seen him, she had been wondering just what he would do to her, if he were to be on the other side of the glass, in the house with her. Now, here he was. Closer than he had ever been. Only she was wrong, the last time. He was a murderer, he just didn't want his victim to be her.

Her heartbeat quickened behind her chest, and she found it was getting harder to breathe. The heat between them, because she just knew she couldn't be imagining it all on her own, had grown hotter. Was he going to engulf her this time, or leave her to fizzle out again?

Chapter Text

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now.

“Did you hear me, silly little witch? I said thank you.” He whispered his last words, his face getting even closer to hers.

“You're welcome.” Hermione responded, but her voice was shaky, her lip quivered. She was nervous. So, so nervous.

“It's so much more proper to say it's my pleasure. And you're a proper witch, aren't you, Granger?” He asked her.

She nodded. His voice and the way he addressed her, as though he knew her, had her at full attention.

“So say it, then. Say ‘it's my pleasure’ because you're such a good, proper little witch. And it has been your pleasure, hasn't it? Touching me with your soft hands and lingering contact, licking your lips at the sight of my bare skin.”

He watched as her jaw slackened, her lips parting just so, just for him. But she didn't - no, she couldn't- say a word. For once in her life, Hermione Granger was speechless. He hadn't been able to pay much attention to her sleeping attire earlier, and he was actually thankful for it because he was ten thousand percent positive that he would have gotten killed.

All she wore was a thin, satin dress with a deep v line down the neck, lace trim, and thin straps. No bra, no socks. He wondered if she was wearing underwear. Through the very thin fabric of her nightgown, he saw her nipples harden.

He let his hand trail down her side and sweep across her back, hovering just below her hip. Her breathing hitched in response.

“I may not have been as unconscious as you may have thought.” His fingers traced lazy circles on her hip. “Which is why I know that you seem to quite enjoy my hands. Particularly my fingers. What were you thinking, I wonder, when you were stroking up and down my middle finger? Were you thinking about how it would feel buried inside you, curving, pressing into that sweet spot? Were you thinking about riding my fingers to fuck your sweet pussy?"

His hand lowered, caressing her round arse as he slid it down, down over the fabric of her panties as he slid his fingers through the crack between her cheeks. He stopped just as he reached her entrance. He could feel her clench in response. He knew she wanted him. He continued, in slow strokes, rubbing up between her cheeks, and back down. Occasionally, he'd bring his fingers up over the fabric covering her slit, and trace it. Then move back up again.

“Is that what you were thinking about?” He asked again. On this stroke, he brought his fingers all the way up to her sensitive nub and pressed into it. She shuddered and he felt her as she clenched again. A moan was on the tip of her tongue but she bit it back down.

“Y-yes.” She admitted. Her hips bucked into him, despite her obvious fight to sit still as he kept up his ministrations.

He whispered to her now."Then tell me what I want to hear, witch."

"It-its my pleasure."

"Oh no, Granger. The pleasure is all mine.”

She looked at him, half in confusion, half with such wanton need that he had half a mind to grab her under her knees and snatch her down until he was settled between her legs, rip her underwear off, and sink himself into her right that second. He fought the urge, though. Here she was. He finally had her right where he wanted her. He had to take his time with this one. Had to leave her wanting more. He had to ruin her for anyone else. He wanted her to need him with reckless abandon. Nothing would make him come undone more than knowing he made her beg for him.

He continued rubbing his fingers up and down from her tight little arsehole to her wet little cunt, pressing on her swollen clit and massaging it in circles until her hips moved entirely on their own. Her mind was a jumbled mess. She didn't even dare having a single coherent thought. All she knew was the feeling he was giving her right this moment. And that was exactly how he wanted to keep her.

His other hand ran up the length of her body until he found her breast. He cupped it in his hand and massaged up, pinching her nipple between his fingers as he went. He kept working her with both of his hands until she was mindlessly panting and bucking against him. The sight of it had him rock hard.

“More. I need more.” She told him. She sounded desperate, she really did. He looked into her eyes, half lidded, with her thick, curled lashes. She looked like she was ready to melt. And she felt it too. The heat from her center was starting to leak onto his hand now.

“What more could I give you, Granger?” He asked her. He was smirking, but she didn't know. “Your tiny little cunt is already dripping for me. I'd say you've definitely had your pleasure now.”

He pulled his hand away from her, teasing her, and kept his other hand on her breast, pinching her tight nipples. A sob broke from her throat, a pained noise, followed by a groan. She tried to clench her thighs together but found that, once again, she couldn't.

“Oh, no, little witch. The only relief you'll be getting will be from me.” He told her, pulling himself upright into a sitting position. “I've been watching you give yourself pleasure for way too long. Tonight, I'm going to take your pleasure.”

It was true. He had seen her, quite a few times, masturbating in her bed. Often, he would rub himself as he watched and come undone with her. There had been a few times, however, when she seemed unable to finish. Like she needed something more, something she didn't have. But Draco had it, and he couldn't wait until he could give her what she'd been missing for so long.

“Be my good little witch and lie back.” He told her, his hand pressed gently to her chest.

Slowly, she did as she was told, until she was flat on her back, her legs were still spread open for him.

He took in the sight of her again and his groin twitched painfully. His mouth watered and his eyes darkened with need. He chuckled.

“God, you're so good.” He leaned down, his masked face hovering just above hers, and slid one of his hands over her calf, under her knee, up the side of her thigh and ribs. He swiped his thumb up the side of her neck as he moved. His hand finally settled when he reached the roots at the base of her neck, and he scraped his fingernails against her skin as his hand tightened into a fist, gripping her hair tightly.

She gasped and arched her back into him. He grabbed the chin of his mask between his thumb and forefinger of his free hand and paused, considering whether he was ready to take it off or not. Part of him wasn't ready to reveal himself, half in fear that she would kick him off of her and hex him to death. The other part of him wanted so desperately to kiss her. He needed to know if her lips were as soft and sweet as he imagined them to be, or if the real thing was even better.

She noticed his contemplation and raised her hand to settle over his. “Don't. Don't make this too real. Not yet.” She told him. Her voice was pleading, but outwardly, she acted calm. She used her index finger to softly trace the intricate linework on his mask as she spoke. If she were completely honest, him wearing a mask, especially this mask, was part of what made this so enticing for her.

Deep within, he was thankful, but still decided to do something else instead. He grabbed his wand and raised it to his face, slowly slicing sideways across it. Suddenly a small crack stretched its way across the death eater mask, until it severed the bottom half, and it fell to the floor. Only his mouth and chin were revealed. She smiled at him and ran her thumb along his jawline.

“Perfect. I think the mask is starting to grow on me anyway.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Draco's lips were crashing down onto hers, and a soft moan escaped him at the feeling of finally being able to claim her. Her lips were soft and supple, just as he imagined they would be. She welcomed him deeper into her mouth and swiped her tongue across his. The unfamiliar feeling sent a jolt down to his cock. His hands gripped her hips and hauled her against him. Instinctively, she raised her leg and wrapped it around his hip, allowing him to get even closer to her, giving him access to her core, where she so desperately wanted him to be.

He let himself rock his hips into her, creating friction for both of them, and she could feel his long, hard, thick length pressing into her. Each thrust against her sensitive clit left her throbbing and shuddering against him. Her fingers dug into his arms. She clung to him, pulling him closer and matching his rhythm with her own hips. He started grinding harder and faster against her. He could almost see stars behind his eyes, and he knew he was going to have to slow himself down before he ended up coming without even being inside her. And that just wouldn't do. Not now, probably not ever. He was certain, he never wanted to cum again unless it was deep inside this witch of his. He wanted to fill her up and keep her full for the rest of her life. If he had it his way, he'd keep her so full, she'd walk around with his cum constantly dripping down her lovely thighs, the evidence of his claim on display for the world to see.

He pulled his lips from hers and began placing soft kisses across her jaw and down the length of her neck. He used his free hand to vanish her underwear and she shivered at the sudden coolness on her slick slit. His fingers found her wet cunt again and traced up and down her clit, dipping just the tip of two digits into her.

She used the leverage from having her leg around his waist to sink his fingers all the way into her when he teased her again. A moan erupted from her at the sudden fullness. She started to rock into him again, bracing herself on his shoulders.

“You're so wet.” He whispered. “Is this wet little pussy for me, Granger?”

He pressed his thumb into her sensitive bud as she continued to ride his fingers and rotated it in small circles. The pressure started to build in her, and he could feel her muscles clamping around his digits as she thrust harder and harder.

“Yes, Gods, yes! It's all for you!” She moaned.

She was desperate for a release. His tongue flicked against the sensitive flesh just above her collarbone and she moaned again, louder this time. He felt her flutter around him and knew she was close. So he teased her again, this time nipping at her skin and flicking his tongue.

“Please don't stop,” the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his life. She was breathless and begging, clinging to him for dear life as she fucked his fingers.

“Cum for me, Granger.” His voice was just barely above a whisper.

He pressed an open mouth kiss into her skin there and then sucked hard. So hard, he knew it was going to leave a mark. He alternated between sucking and biting at her skin. He curled his fingers inside her, and pushed them deeper, his thumb pressing harder on her clit and swiping it up and down, and then finally, finally, she came with a loud cry, her juices coating his fingers. She lazily rode out the waves of her pleasure until she stopped fluttering.

She relaxed, letting herself fall back on the floor.

“Oh, I'm not done with you yet, princess.” He told her. He brought his two slick fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, sucking all of her slickness from them.

She shuddered against him at the sight, her cheeks turning a rosy pink color now.

“Gods, I don't know if I can take it again.” She told him, but her body thought otherwise.

“You can, and you will. I want you to ride my face now.” He smiled at her.

He had already started to lean back and pull her to straddle him, not giving her even a second to deny him or think twice about it. Her body was shaking with exhaustion and a new bout of arousal. When she had one knee planted on either side of his face, she leaned forward, bracing her hand on the wall behind him. She looked down at him, and her breath caught when she saw how dark his grey eyes had grown at the sight of her. Add to that the fact that he was smirking at her.

He dipped one digit all the way into her, slicking it with her juices, and then gently, he pushed it into her tight arsehole. She shivered and let a whimper escape her lips. She squirmed, trying to adjust to this new sensation. No one had ever been inside her there, but she didn't try to fight or resist it. It made her cunt quiver.

She hissed when she finally lowered herself down onto his warm tongue.

“So good. Oh, it's so good.” She moaned. Without taking any time to think, her hips started moving all on their own, knowing what she needed.

She started slow, taking her time, letting her orgasm build at a punishing rate. He kept his finger in her arse, and slid his tongue up and down through her silky folds. He would stop just before she could make him swipe over the bud she needed him to touch, teasing her. Her thighs shook violently and her hips started to jerk harder into his tongue as she started to reach her climax. He teased her with a hard press of his tongue into her clit. She groaned, needing more.

“Please. Please, fucking please, give me more!” She said to him, panting hard and almost whining as the last word left her lips.

He increased the pace of his tongue to match the jerking of her hips and quickly pushed two of his fingers all the way into her aching cunt, curling them. Another loud moan elicited from her. Draco's cock ached and throbbed. He knew his boxers were probably soaked with his precum, but he still didn’t make a move to start taking his own pleasure yet. The taste of hers was too sweet, he couldn't seem to get enough of it no matter how badly his cock throbbed for her.

He took her clit into his mouth and sucked and flicked it. He opened and then curled his fingers in her again, applying just enough pressure to that sweet spot deep inside her, and then a sudden rush of her liquids splashed out through his fingers, onto his face, and into his mouth. He pulled his fingers from inside her, released her clit and covered her entrance with his open mouth and flicked her swollen clit with his thumb, causing her to cum again, screaming, and her juices squirting into his eager mouth. He greedily swallowed it down and lapped her up like a man starved until she started squirming desperately, trying to pry her hips away from his arms. And he was a man starved. He had been hungry for her for entirely too long, pushed to the brink of insanity with need for her, is what it had felt like sometimes. She was so sensitive, every breath he took ghosted across her center and sent a wave of pleasure through her so strong, it nearly pained her. She really, really wasn't sure how much more of this she could take, but he was relentless. He refused to let her go. She was helpless and desperate and felt like she might turn to molten lava soon, her core was so hot. Her thighs twitched involuntarily and her cunt kept clenching with want. Merlin, how could she possibly need more? He wasn't even touching her there anymore and she felt like a gentle breeze might make her come undone again.

He finally allowed her to lie back down, but he followed her as she moved, and positioned himself between her thighs. He leaned down to kiss her, burying one hand into her curls to angle her the way he wanted so he could take her deeper. He kissed her slow and deep, caressing her tongue with his, gently massaging and just feeling her. His kisses felt so soft and sweet, and it made an almost unbearable heat build between her folds again. God help her, but she needed to feel him inside of her, just as badly as he needed to be inside her. She moaned, and he captured it into his mouth and kissed her with the slightest bit more pressure. He ran his free hand up her calf, to the crook of her knee, up the back of her thigh, all the way to the back of her neck, just savoring the feeling of her. But he still couldn't get close enough. He wanted to mold their bodies together until you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began. He would let her consume him, if she would have him. And if she wouldn't, then he would just have to possess her.

He sat up for a moment to take in the sight of her. He couldn't help himself. Part of him was afraid that if he gave her even a moment to herself that she would come to her senses, shove him off of her, and probably cast half a dozen nasty curses at him. But the other part of him wanted to remember this forever. The way she looked with his bruises on her neck, the flush in her cheeks, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her hazel eyes darkened with lust, and her hair slightly frizzed and tousled from sex. He positioned both of his hands on the back sides of her thighs and pushed them up towards her head, bracing himself and effectively pinning her down in the perfect angle to take him nice and deep. He admired the sight of her sex, swollen and dripping wet just for him. Her want was obvious with every contraction, and he found himself transfixed with watching her cunt flex.

“Why are you just staring at it?” Granger asked, a wave of panic washing over.

“Why wouldn't I want to stare at you? You are exquisite.” He responded.

He pulled his trousers and boxers down, and rubbed the tip of his hard cock up and down between her slick folds, coating himself in her juices. He took a deep breath, summoning all of his willpower and control. He was not going to cum yet. He repeated it over and over in his head as he lined himself up with her tight entrance and slowly pushed himself in.

She moaned as he stretched her wide open, dipping the head in and then pulling back out. He pushed back in, a little deeper this time. He repeated this a few times before he was able to bury himself all the way inside her. Much as he wanted to just slam himself home as soon as his head entered her, he also wanted her to enjoy it. And Draco knew that taking a cock the size of his was no easy feat, it took time and stretching to accommodate to his length and girth. But as soon as he was buried all the way in, he stopped, giving both of them a moment to gather their breath. She was a panting, moaning mess again, and it was taking all of his concentration not to empty himself just now. Hermione fucking Granger was absolutely perfect.

“Look at you, Granger. God, you take me so well.” He whispered to her.

His hips slowly began to rock back, and when he had almost completely pulled out, he pushed back in, at a slow and punishing pace. Her jaw dropped and a breathy moan escaped her lips.

God, when she makes sounds like that…

“My good little witch, with her lovely little cunt. So wet for me.”

He wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold on now.

“So perfect.” The words tumbled off his tongue as he continued thrusting in and out of her. His pace was picking up now, and he had fully leaned up, using her thighs as leverage. “You were made for me.”

“Yes, keep going.” She moaned. “Just- just like that!”

He angled his body higher so he could push deeper inside her, hitting her soft, sensitive spot with every thrust. He pushed himself faster and faster, feeling his band stretching thinner and thinner. He needed to make her cum. Oh god, he needed to feel her come apart all around his cock. He felt like he would go absolutely fucking insane if he didn't get to feel it.

He moved one of his hands towards her cunt and flicked her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. She was arching her back, her muscles starting to clench around him.

“Come on, baby.” He told her, his muscles tensing. He was so close, just a few more strokes. “You feel so fucking good. Can't believe I finally get to have you. God. Fuck! You're mine now, baby. Mine.”

His words rang through her ears like sweet music, coaxing her towards the edge. She was almost there. She squeezed her eyes tight, her vision going black as he pounded into her, flicking her clit. Her thighs were shaking violently.

“Mine. Do you fucking hear me, witch? You're mine!” He growled.

And suddenly, she tumbled over the edge with a scream, her greedy cunt contracting around him, making him come undone too, and milking him of every drop of his hot cum. He was buried in her, deep, filling her up, in just the spot where he needed it to be. And just like that, he instantly knew that he was a completely ruined man.

They laid there together for several long moments, collecting themselves and waiting for their breathing to even out before Draco finally rolled off of her and rested on his side. He raised his hand to reach for her, and she flinched. A sort of whimpering noise came out of her, and Draco chuckled. She was completely spent, over stimulated, and sensitive. Absolutely not available for another round. He wasn't either, though, honestly. He rested his hand across her jaw, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“Don't worry, darling, I'll let you rest now. There's plenty of time for me to have more fun with you later.”

She turned on her side to face him. She gave him the look he knew was coming, whenever she did finally come back to her senses, down from the high she had been riding. He had been preparing for it since the moment he reached out for her. In fact, he had actually been expecting her to slap his hand away. So far, things were still going better than he planned.

“There can't be a next time.” She exhaled. “There shouldn't have even been a first time. I-I don't… I'm not usually like this. My mind was just boggled, and the adrenaline.. I mean, I could have been killed. Clearly, I wasn't thinking straight. But now I am. This won't happen again.”

Her tone was serious. The look in her eyes was resigned, even if a little reluctant. Her mouth was pressed into a tight, thin line. Yes, she did indeed look like she meant it when she said it, but Draco didn't believe for a second that this was over. He wouldn't let it be over, because now he knew what she was like. The taste of her still lingered on his tongue. It wasn't a fantasy or imagination anymore. This was real, and he was determined that she had been made his indefinitely now, just as much as he now belonged to her. There was no turning back now, and he knew that she knew it too. How could she not?

“Oh, Granger. I've already had you now. And I have no intention of letting you go. I meant it when I said that you. Are. Mine.”

When he looked into her eyes, he smirked. He knew he had her, because her hazel eyes had darkened with want, so much that they were almost black.

“If you know who I am and you've been watching me all this time, then you know that my best friend is Harry Potter. He's Head Auror for the Ministry. He'll lock you up in Azkaban if I ask him to.”

Her words held an empty threat, he knew. Regardless, he didn't care. He still just smirked at her. When he spoke to her, his voice was low and deep, almost whispery, and it made her breath catch in her throat.

“Then call him, Golden Girl. I won't fight, I won't run. I'll sit right here. And I'll listen to you tell him about how you took my death eater dick like a dirty little whore and how you begged me for more. Please call him, so I can tell him that everything we just did here was worth it, even if I earned myself a life sentence in Azkaban. I want to see the look on his face.”

“It would be worth life in Azkaban, just to spite Harry? Is that why you did this?” She asked him, and he knew he saw a flash of hurt across her features. She masked it well, but not fast enough.

“No, Granger. You are worth it. But if I'm never going to have you like that again -unbelievable, by the way- then the look on Potter’s face would come in close second.”

There was something so undeniably familiar about this particular death eater, but for the sake of Hermione's own sanity, she did her best to shove it down. She refused to acknowledge it for now. Didn't want to think about it anymore. She let herself keep thinking that this completely mysterious man had given her the best orgasm she had ever had in her life, and that the mask he wore that should have terrified her had made her so incredibly wet that she couldn't stand herself. A mystery man that she would, without a shadow of a doubt, let take her in any and every way he wanted to, as long as he made her feel like that. A mystery man that saved her, took care of her, guarded her, and told her that she was worth it.

When she really thought about it, it was actually quite romantic. She could worry about all of the specific details later, like names and faces. Setting those things aside, he was clearly dedicated, and had already treated her better than any other man that came into her life, and somehow, that meant more to her right now than his identity. A right shot better than Ronald’s cheating arse, who hadn't so much lifted a finger for her since they were in school. Yet another box of shit she was not opening up and thinking about right now because she felt too good, no, this moment was too good, to ruin. And she knew it wasn't just a moment of vulnerability that had brought her to heel before him. It was because she liked him watching her. The fact that he touched himself while he watched her, probably followed her around with drool dripping down his chin. The standard for the men in her life shouldn't have been raised by a sexy, masked stranger that stood outside her home at night touching himself, yet, there it went. Higher and higher.

Besides, she thought, I probably wouldn't even be alive if he hadn't been there.

“We shouldn't do this again.” She told him again, and he could see the internal battle happening behind her eyes. “You're probably some crazy psycho.”

Poor thing. She had absolutely no idea.

“A psycho that you just let in your knickers.” He leaned closer to her again, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. His eyes flicked down to her mouth.

“A momentary lapse in judgment.” She jutted her chin up at him in defiance.

He knew she would put up a fight. She wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't. But that was okay, because he could play this game with her too. The game, the battle, between her and her wits, what she wanted and what was more rational. The ironic thing to him is that what she wanted and what he wanted were the same things. He just had to help her to see that he was good for her. That she could give herself to him again.

“Maybe you could've said that if you stopped me earlier. After your first orgasm. But not after everything else. You wanted it just as much as I did.”

“I wanted to feel that way, yes, but I don't need you for that. Anyone else could have done the same.”

Even as the words fell out of her mouth, doubt crept in to replace each one. Nothing else had ever come close to what they had just done. Or what she had done, either. Embarrassment flushed her skin a delicate pink color when she thought about her squirting. The feeling had been so intense at that time that there was no denying it when it happened. Merlin, she hadn’t even known she could do it. And a warmth seeped into her when she realized that he had swallowed it.

He sneered at her now, his lip curled up at her. The hand that had been resting on her jaw now moved to the back of her head, and tightened in her hair at the base of her neck. She hissed in pain but still held his gaze through the dark eye holes in his mask. And then he spoke the words that both of them knew to be true.

“No one else would have done the same, Granger.”

“They will, and it'll be under normal circumstances.” She told him through gritted teeth. “Not just the product of fear induced adrenaline and unchecked hormones from not having properly been shagged in ages!”

“Then go on out there and find someone, little witch. I dare you to try.”

“You dare me?” She scoffed at him and gave him a look that was so very Granger that his cock twitched in response. He knew she felt it because her eyes flicked down to the barely there space between them and licked her lips “And what if I do? What, would you kill them too?”

His free hand moved to her throat, his long fingers wrapping around her, squeezing her pulse points just underneath the line of her jawbone.

“I won't have to, because when you wind up so disappointed that they just can't hit that spot that makes you scream like I can or tease your sweet little cunt until all of the bones in your body disappear and you're left a sopping mess on the floor, your precious fucking pride will finally snap, and you'll come back to me. But when you do, I'll take my apology with you down on your knees.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips and then shoved her away from him. He pulled himself to his feet, and tucked his member back into his trousers, keeping his eyes trained on hers. Even with his mask covering the top half of his face, she could feel the intensity of his stare. She stared up at him with her eyes blown wide from a mixture of anger and arousal. He smirked at her, and she watched as his body started to slowly dissolve into a cloud of smoke until it fully engulfed him. The cloud glided over to a small, open window and poured out of it, disappearing into the black of the night.

It was then that Hermione realized she had been holding her breath.

Chapter Text

Every once in a while something changes

And she's changing me.

It's too late for me now, I am altered

There is something beneath

She's not acid nor alkaline

Caught between black and white

Not quite either day or night

She's perfectly misaligned

I'm caught up in her design and how it connects to mine

I see in a different light

The objects of my desire.

It had been two weeks since her encounter with the masked man. And she had to admit to herself, she had been looking for him. Sneaking glances behind her when she was in the library, keeping an eye over her shoulder when she went around the curve of the bookshelves or street corners, searching through the crowds when she went into public places (not that she thought he would wear his mask in public. He could literally be anyone and she wouldn't know so it would ultimately be pointless. Being in public was the best way to hide- in plain sight), looking through the glass windows covering her house every time she walked past. She knew it was mental, but she just wanted to know if he had come back. Was he still out there, somewhere, watching her? Was he lying when he said he had no intentions of letting her go? She knew she had been lying when she said it wouldn't happen again, however much she wanted it to be true. As it turned out, there was actually nothing else she wanted more than for him to show up, sneak into her bedroom when he thought she was asleep, and sink his cock back into her and demand that she belonged to him. She might not even be too upset if he said it with a knife to her throat, threatening her with his claim while she came and dared her to defy him. And of course, she would, but they would both know she didn't mean it, that just seeing the challenging look he would give her would have her adrenaline pumping.

Yes, she had told him it wouldn't happen again, but that didn't mean she really wanted him to go away, to stop trying. Yet, it seemed that was exactly what he had just done. She should let it go by now, too.

And she still had her date with Viktor. It was tomorrow. How in the hell was she supposed to focus on what seemed to her now like some silly little date with someone else? Not that Viktor wasn't handsome. He was very handsome. He was tall and strong and looked almost exactly as he had back when Hermione first met him in fourth year, only his beard was thicker now, he kept the dark brown hair on his head a little longer too, and some of the boyish innocence had faded from his dark brown eyes. The twinkle wasn't there anymore. It was replaced by such a hard intensity that it was hard to meet them, from what she had seen in recent photos of him in the newspapers anyway. She wondered what he would be like in person. Maybe Viktor was just what she needed now. Maybe he would help to snap her back down to reality, ground whatever insanity was currently trying to take hold of her brain, carve out all of her logical common sense and make her crave a dangerous masked man that stood outside her house at night. Because she didn't know what the hell was wrong with her. And she had already caved to her tempting, deprived insanity once. She should not do it again. But she wanted to, despite the warring within herself. She felt unhinged.

It was wrong.

It was sexy.

It was dangerous.

It was thrilling.

He was a stranger. A stalker. A killer.

He desired her, and made her feel better than anyone else she had ever been with.

It was mad.

So maybe she was mental now. It was understandable, after what she had been through. War does change people.

She didn't even know who he was! Her friends would say she's gone off the rails. Imagine, telling them you met your boyfriend because he was stalking you. Oh, and to mention that you watched as he killed two people, proceeded to heal his injuries after, and then jumped his bones like a sex-starved maniac despite the fact that you had absolutely no idea who he was? Ginny would possibly go into shock at the idea. Hermione herself had barely processed it.

She hardly knew Viktor. What was the difference, really? That he's normal? That no one would chastise her if she dated him and he would automatically have her friends’ approval without her having to defend or explain her interests? And her masked man had only killed those two people to protect her, hadn't he? It was a grey area, she would argue. He wasn’t completely deranged.

She had a taste of madness, and it was so deliciously sweet. She wanted more.

And in the same string of all of these thoughts, the thing that she really wondered the most was, where was he? If he was still there, he hadn't made himself known. It was driving her crazy, but in all the wrong ways. She wasn't scared of him. She wasn't afraid for her life. In fact, she felt the exact opposite of that. Knowing he was there now, she had never felt so safe in her life. It was absurd, she knew, but watching him willingly and without a second thought, kill two people who would've hurt her gave her a sense of security.

The sound of her muggle cell phone ringing interrupted her train of thought, not to her dismay, though. It was Ginny. She and Harry had been trying to teach her how to use one for a couple weeks, and she had just recently learned how to make a phone call. They hadn't made it very far into texting just yet. She sighed.

Just one small step at a time.

“Hi, Gin. What's up?” Hermione answered, putting Ginny on speaker as she set her phone down on her kitchen counter and set to opening a bag of popcorn to pop in the microwave.

“Just calling to remind you of our date tomorrow! Harry and Luna have already made dinner reservations for six people so you can't cancel on me!”

“I wasn't going to cancel, Gin. I know this is important for you, being hopelessly in love and all.” She laughed.

“He's tall, dark haired, and brooding with big brown puppy dog eyes, Mione. What's not to love?” She sighed dreamily.

The small details that Ginny named off made Hermione wonder what her masked man had been hiding underneath. She thought of the only details she did know, being pale skin and golden hairs on his stomach and face. He was very tall, towering over her. He was just over 6 feet tall, she knew. Very fit. The body of a Quidditch player. Thick, hard broom thighs, defined and toned, masculine arms. A slim, perfectly carved out abdomen. Deliciously plump pale pink lips. A sharp, pointed jawline. Those were what she knew.

But what did she want the missing pieces to be? Red hair? She scoffed. Certainly not. She couldn't look at any ginger and not think of Ron now.

What about black hair? Like who? Justin? Harry? Neville? She sighed. Probably not that, either.

Brown? Well, there was Viktor. And the idea that it could be him had occurred to her. After all, what were the chances that she just so happened to have acquired a stalker around the same time as Viktor approaches Ginny asking for a date with Hermione? But there was absolutely no way he would be underneath that mask. He lived most of his life outside playing Quidditch. When he wasn't traveling for a match or playing, he was training. It was a year-long process for him. Dedication. With entirely too many hours spent in the sun. His skin was much darker than that of her mystery man. So, no, she supposed. She probably wouldn't want him to be another brunette.

So what about a blonde? A blonde… like… Well, she didn't know very many blondes for comparison, but there was one. She shuddered at the thought, but found it wasn't disgust or dismissal that overcame her when she thought of him. It was something else entirely that both shocked and intrigued her. Certainly an option she had never really considered before. It seemed unattainable and unrealistic for so long, she naturally just overlooked it. But now, she wasn't so sure. Something seemed… different now.

Hm. A blonde. Like Draco Malfoy.

She thought of him whispering in her ear.

“Would you let me watch you, Granger?”

A shiver ran up her spine as she thought of the prat she realized she had been seeing lingering about in the Ministry for what Hermione thought was entirely too long now. And more frequently. She knew he had to report for his parole, but wasn't that normally a weekly or monthly occurrence? But she could have sworn she saw him at least three times just this last week, coming and going from one office or another. Almost always in her vicinity. It was curious. The kind of thought that amused her on a level very different from hilarity. In a way it shouldn't have. The idea that Draco Malfoy could be her stalker was alluring to her, she also considered it to be highly unlikely, given his previous animosity towards her and her muddy blood. She'd have to be delusional to think that would ever happen. And what would her friends think anyway? Probably that she'd been Imperioused or something. Not that she would blame them.

“Uh-hum!” She heard Ginny clearing her throat on the other end of the phone, snapping her attention back to her best friend.

“Sorry, Gin. Lost in thought.” She hummed. “I agree. Maybe it's about time you scratched this puppy's back, huh?”

Ginny laughed. “It's well past time, I think. So hopefully if our dinner goes well, I'll get a second date and then a third, and then well you know the rest is history from there. If I get a second date, you had better go on and have a bridesmaid dress picked out because there'll be a wedding to plan! Mrs. Ginevra Weasley-Finch-Fletchley coming through!”

“Good lord, are you really going to have a double hyphenated last name?” Hermione laughed.

“Well, I like it. I think it just rolls right off the tongue. So yes. I suppose I will.” Ginny responded matter-of-factly.

“You're ridiculous, you know that, right?” Hermione asked.

“Me?” Ginny exclaimed sarcastically. “Not at all.”

“So, after work tomorrow, I'll just pop home for a quick freshen up and then I'll meet you for dinner.”

“Right, sounds great! By the way, Mione, just so you know, Viktor is positively thrilled you agreed to come. Maybe you can snag yourself a little puppy dog while he's in town.”

Hermione hummed in thought.

“Viktor is kind of like a puppy, isn't he? Well, we'll see. I'm not making you any promises. I'll see you soon!”

“Just think about it, Mione. I want to see you happy again.”

“Sure, Gin. I'll think about it.” Hermione was glad her friend couldn't see the look on her face. She would know what it meant.

Not that Hermione was lying, really. Just that she still wasn't quite so sure what she would see herself doing with Viktor. She was more than a little sure that she would, ultimately, end up hurting him whether she wanted to or not if she pursued him the way he probably wanted her to. At the moment, she currently didn't trust her own motives, as she suspected they were probably being fueled by her need to grab her masked man's attention again. To know if he was still stalking her. If he still wanted her. To coax him to come back out and approach her. Even if the cost of that was someone else's broken heart. That thought made her feel a little guilty also. She sighed.

Once upon a time, she would have been a good girl and made a proper wife out of herself for a man like Ron or Viktor. Before the war, before everything that happened, before she'd had to kill other students she went to school with just to survive, see her friends and loved ones get killed and tortured in front of her eyes. Before she had to obliviate her parents to the point of no return and orphan herself, just to save them from a war in a world they knew next to nothing about. Before the whole wizarding world changed and the darkness threatened to take over. It hadn't won but it had certainly left its mark, seeping into the cracks of broken hearts and broken minds, poisoning people, changing them, screwing them all up in the head. That was sort of how Hermione felt these days. Like, instead of being perfectly carved, smoothed out, and maintained, parts of her had just been ripped out, broken off, and left with jagged edges. She was sharper now. Ron didn't like it. He cheated on her and left her. Viktor wouldn't like it either. He would leave eventually. But her masked man had been there. He saw all of her sharp edges and had made a claim on her all the same. He had wanted her exactly the way she was.

The two witches said their goodbyes, and the microwave beeped again, just as soon as Hermione ended the call. She had forgotten her popcorn. She took the bag out and opened it up, and popped a few pieces in her mouth. Not hot anymore. Not completely cold but definitely not edible by her standards. She cast a heating charm over the bag, sprinkled it with salt, sprayed extra butter on top, and then headed to her couch. She hadn't been planning on staying up too late tonight, as she had work in the morning, but she still enjoyed the routine of settling down and watching a Muggle film before she turned in. Tonight it was Basic Instinct.

She couldn't focus on the movie, though. All she kept thinking about was Viktor, her masked man, and the date as she shoveled popcorn into her mouth. She chewed fast, her eyebrows pressed together in deep thought. Her hands took over her body for her, automatically grabbing a new handful of her snack whenever the last piece popped into her mouth. She was sure she looked like a lunatic, but she didn't care. Couldn't. Not right now.

Maybe she just wouldn't go on the date. Ginny would probably rage at her, hex her with some nasty, temporary curse, not speak to her for a few days. She could handle that. Though, maybe she might not be too pissed with Luna still in attendance. Viktor just didn't deserve to be used. From what she remembered of him, he was a nice guy. Very sweet, very observant, very attentive. Strong, but soft, if you had his attention. Maybe if he were a wanker, she wouldn't mind tossing him out like a fishing lure into a pond, dangling him as bait for her psycho masked man. But he wasn't a wanker or a tosser or an ass. He was gentle and good.

Little more than halfway through the movie, with her empty popcorn bag tossed to the side and a blanket covering her from her chin down to her toes, her eyelids grew very heavy. The last thought she remembered having before she knocked out on the couch was whether or not she saw a dark figure shifting in the darkest, furthest corner of the room. But her vision was so blurry from exhaustion and the room was so dark, she just couldn't quite tell.

The next morning, Hermione woke, still on the couch, and a glance at her clock told her she was running late.

“Bollocks!” She exclaimed, throwing the blanket off of her and slipping on her slippers.

She ran to her room, snatching her clothes off and tossing them on the floor as she went. After using her wand to send the used clothes to the laundry room and start washing a load, she pulls on a below the knee length, button up, black silk dress. The buttons stop just at the middle of her thighs, leaving a wide, open slit between her legs. She matched it with a belt, a dark green turtleneck sweater underneath to snake through the short sleeves of the dress, sheer tights, and a pair of black pointed toe three inch heels. She magicked her hair into a perfect bun atop her head, leaving a few stray curls down to frame her face, and then ran to her floo.

The fires roared to life, beautiful emerald green swirls around her, releasing her into the entrance of the Ministry just in the nick of time. She manages to make it to the elevator and squeeze in between a couple of taller wizards she doesn't bother to make eye contact with. They didn't seem to notice her taking up the small amount of space between them, as they continued their conversation pertaining to the upcoming Quidditch tournament. It explained Viktor's sudden availability, at least.

When she finally reaches her floor, Level 1, for the Minister for Magic and Support Staff, she rushes down the hallway, walking at a respectable but very brisk pace. The floor was covered in a thick purple carpet, and for the moment, she was glad for it because the soft padding of her heels didn't cause enough of a racket that it called her to attention in the busy lobby. Her footsteps were drowned out by the loud noise of chattering amongst coworkers. She walked down the hallway to her left, finally seeing her mahogany door with her placard on it reading, “Hermione J Granger” and another one beneath it reading, “Special Advisor for Elf Legislation”. And her work days were always particularly busy, with there being plenty of elves bustling to and from her office asking for new homes or better wages. Plenty of demands to be met, relocations to set in place, fundraisers to organize, new legislatures to write up and send in to the Wizengamot, attending meetings with the Minister and meetings with their counterparts in Bulgaria as they accommodate to expand the department. On top of fighting for the rights of elves, she was also Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, directly under Kingsley Shacklebolt. The only other person known to have had the position was Percy Weasley, until he met his unfortunate, untimely demise during the war. The job title was more for show than anything. Hermione was basically Kingsley's do-girl. Suffice it to say that her days at the Ministry were quite busy.

Whenever Kingsley couldn't make an appearance, she was expected to show up in his place, take notes, put up a good show, and debrief him later. She did dinners with high profile contacts, arranged appointments of any sort, be it with the dentist, the massage therapist, or colleagues and new potentials. She also fetched his coffee in the early afternoon if he needed it. If he hadn't had a wife, Hermione was absolutely sure he would have her pick out the very clothes he wore. Then, when he did attend an event, she was usually still expected to make an appearance with a happy little smile. It was all for show for the rest of the wizarding world. To show that they had moved on. To Hermione, well, it kept her busy and she enjoyed shadowing Kingsley and learning all the things he taught her. He had become something like a father figure for her during her time working with him so she didn't mind attending Christmas parties in his absence or his presence if he requested it, and she didn't mind popping by the shop to grab the turkey he forgot and the wine for his wife's dinner parties. It gave her a sense of comfort, of family.

Today would be no different. She usually stopped by her office to check for any paperwork that needed her attention, bringing it with her as she convened with Kingsley for further assignments. So that was what she was doing now.

Only, today, something was different, because when she walked into her office, she found that her chair had been pushed a few centimeters to the left of its usual spot, centered and pushed into her desk. And there was a note, with a lovely display of toast with avocado and a perfectly over medium egg laid carefully on top, a bowl of freshly cut fruit sitting beside it, one fresh cut white tulip in a thin, elegant vase and an iced coffee. It was the first time her random breakfast deliveries had been laid out so delicately. She had, actually, before she found out she had a stalker, sort of assumed that someone who worked the earlier morning shift in the office had been ordering breakfast for everyone else and had simply left hers on her desk for her to have when she arrived. No one ever spoke of it, so she just chalked it up. Now there was this display. Before, it had always been in a folded white paper bag with her last name on it, and a latte. Usually whatever was trending or seasonal, like a sugar cookie or gingerbread for Christmas, or pumpkin spice or apple for September, October, and November. She had seen a few coworkers with the same bags or cups. She asked a few if they brought it for her or knew who did. No one ever did. No one ever knew. No one ever approached her for a thank you or any show of gratitude. It was just there for her. It was from the expensive local bakery up the street. How could she possibly refuse? This, she could tell from the packaging, was from the same place.

She walked over to her desk and ran her eyes over everything before her. Nothing else seemed to be out of place. The dusty bookshelves she had lining the wall behind her held no sign of intrusion. Everything on her desk seemed to be as she had left it. She picked up the letter, turning it over to look at both sides and make sure she didn't miss anything. When she found nothing, she carefully opened it up.

A smirk etched itself across her face as she realized just who the letter had come from, a feeling of satisfaction seeped through her. It didn't take her long to figure it out. Only a moment. There was only one person it could have come from.

“Don't go on that date, little witch.” It said.

Oh. Will that finally get your attention?

That settled it, then. A wave of guilt rocked through her. As soon as it passed, however, she shook it off. Her mind was made. Her fate sealed. She had to go now. Just to see what he would do if she did go on the date. Or maybe if she did even more than that. What would he do?

This thought sent a shiver down her spine and kept a smile on her face as she took her seat. She had a few moments to spare anyway, and her food was still warm, the ice in her drink not yet melted. As though it were very fresh. She shrugged and ate her breakfast.

She rode the high from her anticipation all the way back down the hallway, finally ready to take on her day with Kingsley, no matter what that would entail. She walked with her head held high, her back straight, and her hips swaying, her brain fuzzy and floating on an adrenaline buzz. She was in a great mood. She was sure that nothing, absolutely nothing, could ruin this for her. She nodded to a wizard passing by, a big smile on his face, flashing his white teeth to her.

“Hermione, how are you?” Came a familiar voice to her left. She didn't stop walking or turn her head, but she knew who it was. The voice was unmistakable.

“Neville!” She called out to him, slowing her pace for a brief moment. She did really enjoy talking with Neville. He was quite brilliant and she rather enjoyed his chats about his work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which now also included magical plants. Werewolves and Devil's Snare and all of the like were his specialties. “How are you? I'd stop and chat but I'm just a bit behind this morning.”

Luckily, he kept up with her pace, walking beside her as he talked.

“That's all right. I won't take too much of your time. I'm off to Hogwarts, actually. Doxy infestation. They've got ten children in the hospital wing from their bites. It's a really nasty business, doxy bites. So I've got to go clean it up!”

Hermione looked at him, her eyes widened.

“Godric, Neville. Do be careful, won't you?”

“Oh, of course! Just gotta round them all up and bring in this batch of matured Mandrakes and origanum dictamnus for Professor Sprout. I think it'll be alright. Practically a done deal.”

“Excellent then, Neville. I look forward to hearing more about this later!”

Neville smiled at her and then switched directions, moving towards the Floo system.

“Of course! See ya later, Mione!”

And then he was enveloped in a green flame. Hermione continued across the lobby and down a joined hallway, towards the Minister's office. The smile on her face dropped when she saw the set of wizards standing outside Kingsley's office. There he was, with Fred and George Weasley, Harry, Ron, and… Draco fucking Malfoy. How lovely.

She was just getting close enough now that she could hear Ron's agitation dripping off of every word he said.

“You're going into business with Draco sodding Malfoy? Really? No, you've got to be joking! Somebody had better pinch me because there is no way my brothers would ever sellout to a Malfoy.”

“We're not selling out. We're expanding, at Malfoy's expense.” The twins responded, flashing a smirk at Malfoy. They were always so in unison. Hermione was so grateful the war hadn't separated them or ruined them. They were quite a team, those two.

“And I don't remember it being any of your business-” Fred said, and George picked up.

“Or that we needed your permission, ickle Wonnikins.”

“Really? It seems to me like the two of you need to answer to someone because you've both bloody lost it!” Ron exclaimed. “You want to be associated with a death eater?”

He really emphasized the words “death eater”, as if to remind them, as if they had forgotten. As if they could forget. But he forgot that Draco was just a boy, too. Just as much as Harry was. It was why she and Harry had testified for him at his trial. That, and Narcissa having lied to Voldemort about Harry being alive, plus Draco neglecting to tell Bellatrix it was Harry brought before him, and throwing him the wand when he shocked everyone and rose to his feet just before he finally defeated the dark lord once and for all. All of that had, ultimately, after Draco spent some time in Azkaban, led to the pardon of Draco and his mother. Draco had suffered, but he was free now. Lucius, however, was not so lucky.

It was an easy thing to shrug off, Hermione supposed, when it was someone else bad things happened to. Especially when said someone else was your school nemesis, bully, all around least favorite person. She wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Malfoy, but she did have the capacity to sympathize with him and put herself in his shoes. It was a skill Ron had always lacked. Perhaps one of the biggest things that had really driven them apart, if she were honest. It would be hard, but she thought maybe she could understand his cheating and possibly even forgive it one day. She could learn to trust him again, because she understood where he was coming from, and it was something she could fix. But Ron. Poor Ron. He was really quite never able to think of anyone but himself. It grieved her that she would and could sympathize with his trauma and help him and support him, but he could never do that for her. He never even tried to understand her. He couldn't give her what she needed. His vision was always so short sided. She had always thought he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, and it never changed, even as he grew older and lived through the things they had lived through.

The twins never changed much either, but in the best kind of way. That being, they always got a rise out of riling Ron up. Possibly because he was so easy to antagonize.

“Wait a minute!” George exclaimed, and then faked a gasp, his hand over his heart. He indicated to Malfoy, pointing at him with a long, pale finger. “Do you mean to tell me that he's a death eater? This guy?”

Hermione sighed. This was not going to be good. She looked at Malfoy, and raised her eyebrow at him. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Of course he would. Prat.

“Yeah, Georgie. I think that's what our little Won Won has been trying to tell us! Our new partner here is a bloody death eater! He certainly didn't put that on his resume, did he?” Fred’s hand clapped over his mouth. “What do you make of that?”

“This guy? Our little blonde ferret friend over here?” George repeated, putting his hand on Malfoy's shoulder and gently swaying his whole body back and forth. He hadn't been prepared for it, though, and stumbled a bit, but balanced himself quickly, holding the ginger by his shoulder, and chuckled. Then George playfully swatted at Malfoy’s cheek.

“No, look at him, Freddy. He doesn't really look the part. He's actually sort of pathetic, if you really look at him. He's all pasty white and porcelain. Like a doll.”

Fred snatched one of Malfoy's hands, examining his fingers closely. This earned him a huff from his younger brother.

“Oi, I think you're right! Have you ever seen a death eater with a manicure before, Georgie?”

“A manicure?” George repeated. “Oh, look at the big, scary death eater with his dainty little fingernails! You wouldn't possibly get these dirty, now, would you?”

The twins and Malfoy suddenly burst into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, for fucks's sake!” Ron groaned. “This is mental. Do you know that?”

But he was ignored.

“Yeah, a manicure!” Fred exclaimed. “I thought only girls got those.”

“Well, no, actually, they're quite common among-” Malfoy tried to interject and pull his hand back but was promptly ignored. Fred still held onto Malfoy's large, pale, veiny hand. Much to Hermione's dismay. Her eyes seemed locked onto that hand, observing every detail, from the ripples in his skin as he moved, to the curve of his knuckles, and, yes, his perfectly manicured fingernails. He had quite nice hands, that Hermione was ashamedly imagining being wrapped around her throat while he did unholy things to her. It was lucky for her that everyone else seemed distracted.

“Hey, Fred, I think Malfoy's too much of a pretty, prissy boy to be a death eater. What do you think?” He interrupted before Draco could finish his sentence.

“Definitely. Imagine that, a prat like him!” Fred laughed. Of course George followed suit.

When she finally managed to avert her eyes from his hand, it also dawned on Hermione that Malfoy actually seemed to have managed to get close to the Weasley twins, by some strange twist of events. Odd, seeing the way they were treating him, while also still defending him, and the way he smiled at them and stood there as he took their shit, it almost seemed like they could be best friends or brothers, really. Like they just had a natural, established bond with each other now. They accepted him.

Just after that, she realized that this was probably what he had been up to, that day she saw him in Wizard Wheezes. Oh. It makes sense now! Ha! Now she did know everything again. Stupid Malfoy. Now she was the one with a sense of smug satisfaction.

Guess this is what it's like to be Draco Malfoy, the thought flew through her mind.

“Ron, honestly, you're overreacting.” Harry finally decided to cut into this silly little show of theirs. He leaned a little closer to Ron, his eyes pleading. “You honestly don't even pop in the shop that much anyway. What does it matter?”

“What does it matter? What-?”

“Indeed, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is a reformed man now, as he has proven many times over. His trade sharing and charitable donations have done more to help rebuild and reestablish our world than we ever could have thought possible after the devastation of Voldemort's reign. And you should know, it was all volunteered willingly, as a show of reformation. He's made very public apologies. He has been pardoned as a death eater. I do not recognize him as such, your brothers clearly do not, and neither should you.”

Ron opened his mouth to interrupt, but he stopped when Kingsley raised his hand. He was the Minister, after all. He held a certain air of authority about him that could ground almost anyone.

“You may also want to consider that, were it not for Mr. Malfoy, Arthur and Molly might not have been able to bring your childhood home back from out of the ashes.” Shacklebolt tried to reason with Ron.

Hermione looked between Malfoy and the Minister, who stood in matching stances, both of their arms crossed over their chests, a bored look on their faces. Except for Malfoy. He looked bored, but just as smug as ever. His chin was jutted up, and since he was several inches taller than Ron -the man was a giant, for Godric's sake, he had to be at least six feet and four inches. Pretty much anyone was shorter than Malfoy now-, he looked straight down his pointed nose at the ginger. His eyebrow was cocked.

“Just let it go, Ron.” Harry told him.

Ron looked at them for a second as if they had all sprouted two heads, but his resolve was starting to melt. She could see Kingsley's words settling into the forefront of his mind, and for a moment, it seemed like Ron might actually back down. Until Draco Malfoy did what he does best: he opened his mouth.

“Yes, just let it go, Weaselbee. We are grown now, aren't we?”

Ron's face flared red, his cheeks swelling with anger.

“Shove off, Malfoy, you fucking death eater!”

Hermione made a show of clearing her throat quite loudly, so as to get everyone's attention. It worked. They all turned towards her. Ron seemed to only get pissed all over again at her arrival.

“Minister, hi.” She waved to Kingsley. He nodded to her with a small smile in acknowledgement. “Ronald, we all have work to do, and you're just being ridiculous. Fred and George are at perfect liberty to do business with whomever they would like.” She said to him.

“Oh great, another one of you little Malfoy sympathizers.” He groaned. “I don't know why I expected either of you to be on my side when you're-” he indicated between Hermione and Harry, “the reason he's out of Azkaban in the first place! He should still be in there, rotting away with Lucius!”

He looked at Malfoy, ready to shoot daggers from his eyes, but Malfoy didn't seem affected at all. In fact, he looked calm. Calculated. And very pristine.

“Mr. Weasley!” Kingsley shouted. “I think it's best if you leave now.”

“Excuse me-” Hermione started, but Malfoy cut her off.

“Weasley, if they had left me in there to rot, you would have nothing better to do with your life. Look at your brothers, we're expanding the business. Potter here is an Auror. Granger does-” he looked over her, his eyes slowly tracking over the length of her body. She didn't miss his little eyebrow twitch, as a sort of approval of her or her attire, she wasn't sure. But it was approval. “Whatever it is Granger does here. I'm sure it's something smart and… Very important, and…Impactive.” He paused between some of his words, seemingly too distracted by her to talk as his eyes roamed over her curves. A flush of heat scorched through her in response. His eyes lingered on her feet for a couple extra moments before they snapped back up to the offending ginger. “And then look at you. What do you do? Mope around at home, work your boring little job, occasionally get a boring shag out of your boring little girlfriend to no satisfactory end for either of you? You're just pathetic.”

Ron didn't say anything else. Instead, he glared at Malfoy, and Hermione swore she could see little tendrils of smoke billow out of his nose as he exhaled. His face was beet red, his cheeks puffed out at full capacity. He was seething. In the quickest movement she had ever seen Ron make, he reared his fist back as far as he could and slammed it into the side of Malfoy's sharp cheekbone.

Malfoy chuckled, still keeping his arms crossed. Hermione found herself transfixed as she watched the movement of his tongue inside his cheek, swiping over it. Then he sucked the same cheek in and spat a whole mouthful of blood onto Ron's face. It splattered on his neck and white shirt.

“Granger hits harder than you.”

And he smiled. A broad, bloody, smile that showed all of his teeth. It was disturbing to Hermione that she thought he looked deranged and beautiful at the same time. For reasons she didn't want to explore too deeply, seeing the look on his face made her cunt clench. Another wave of heat flashed through her..

Harry must have seen the look on his face because he said, “Ron, no. Don’t make me restrain you.”

And then Ron was pulling back again, preparing to punch Malfoy again. Only this time, Harry was ready. He grabbed Ron by the arm, spun him to the side, and magically bound him.

“That is quite enough.” Kingsley sighed. “Harry, escort him out of here, if you must. Temporarily ban him from entering again.”

“For how long, Minister?” Harry asked.

“Until further notice.”

“Right, sir.”

“Bloody perfect timing, Potter.” Malfoy scoffed at him.

“You just better be glad he's here, Malfoy.” Ron threatened.

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy responded.

“Alright Won Won. Time to go.” George told him, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder.

“Or do we need to call Mum?” Fred asked.

“Or Ginny?” Fred and George said together.

This earned a laugh from Harry. Ron glared at him and then back and forth between his twin brothers.

“Piss off.” Before he turned and left with Harry close behind him, guiding him, he made an annoyed face at them.

“Bye, Won Won!” The twins called after him, both of them waving.

They turned back to face Malfoy and the Minister.

“Alright, Kingsley, always a pleasure, but I'm afraid we'll be needed at home.” Fred nodded his head toward the direction in which Ron had just gone.

Kingsley nodded. “Of course. We'll owl over all of the official signed documents tomorrow morning. Gentleman.”

He watched as they departed, disappearing within the crowd. While he watched the Weasleys, Hermione watched Draco. He had pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and was wiping the blood from his face.

“And then there were three, eh, Hermione?” Kingsley chuckled, breaking through her concentration. “Already an exciting day.”

“Indeed.” Hermione frowned, meeting his gaze.

“We have two meetings, a lunch, and a few other small errands to attend to today.” He told her. “Unfortunately, I'll only be able to attend the first meeting. Then I'm headed to a more urgent matter with Charlie Weasley in Romania. Feel free to skip the first meeting. I'll send my notes.”

Hermione nodded. She would just go over the new law she was trying to revise for Elvish Welfare in her downtime. No problem.

“Alright, so I'll take your second meeting, luncheon, and leave me a list of your various errands so I can see everything is all done later.”

“Great, thanks a bunch. I'll be off!”

And so he was, leaving her alone with Draco Malfoy for the first time, probably, in forever. She couldn't ever recall a time when she had been completely alone in his presence. It was unexpectedly a little intimidating, unnerving. Completely new for her. She gulped.

“Granger.” Malfoy greeted her. He took a few steps towards her, until he towered over her. He craned his neck a little so he could meet her eyes.

From most angles, she figured, he looked like a sculpted marble statue. From this angle, he looked like a god, and he stood at the height of one, too. He was all sharp angles in his face, and long, lean muscles everywhere else. He smelled of amber and honey. It made her thighs quiver and heat seeped into her core.

Gods, she was definitely going to need to change her underwear and freshen up before her date later.

Not that she would let him know that.

“Malfoy.” Her voice was laced with more attitude than she intended, but she didn't back down from it.

He chuckled.

“I see we still haven't learned to mind our manners and behave like a good witch. Surely, someone will have to teach you, one day.”

“Not likely. I'm very busy, so if you'll just excuse-”

“I do think I heard the Minister correctly when he excused you for your first meeting. That means you have some time suddenly available.”

“I may not be spending my time in a meeting, but I have plenty of other things to occupy my schedule.”

“Oh?” He questioned. “Like what? Fetch the rest of the office some coffee? See if anyone else needs some paperwork done?”

“I'm not just some errand girl, Malfoy. I happen to run the Elf Legislations department. And there are many things that need-” She looked into Malfoy's icy eyes. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. “Legislated. So I'll be going then. If you really have need of my services, you can make an appointment with our secretary.”

Malfoy cocked his eyebrow at her, but quickly flashed his eyes up and down her body. He smirked at her. That damned smirk that sent another wave of heat through her. What in Godric's name was wrong with her? This was Draco Malfoy. She was supposed to hate him. Why was her body reacting this way to him?

“Who said I needed your services, Granger?” He asked, taking another step towards her.

He was so close to her now. He crowded her completely, surrounding her in his scent, overwhelming her senses. A part of her mind was trying to boggle over, but she held her ground. She refused to show weakness. Especially to him.

She stammered despite her resolve, and on instinct, she wanted to step backwards. She should step back. She just couldn't seem to get that message through to her feet. Her body seemed to be rebelling against her. “Erm, well, I- then why concern yourself with what my schedule entails?”

He shrugged, his mouth turned into a fake frown. He looked at her again, ice meeting honey.

“Fair point. You know, I do have elves, Granger. I'm sure they'd certainly be up to make a quick little trip to the Ministry to speak with a very special advisor for Elvish rights. Sweet old Pip will surely have plenty of nice things to say.”

Hermione grimaced when she thought of the Malfoy elves, of Dobby. How mistreated he was. Yet, up until the very end, he defied the Malfoys and saved Harry and his friends. No matter the consequences. He was always there, until he died. It was so fucking sad.

Malfoy must have seen the emotion as it crept over her face, and he sighed.

“They are treated better now, of course. I couldn't get rid of poor Pip, no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I did try.” He let out a small laugh, faint, hoping to ease some of the tension that had suddenly built up.

But it was okay. He knew there would probably be small things like this, small reminders from their shared childhoods, that they would have to work through. He would work through them, with her, and show her in every way how different he was now. He would show her that he was good. This was just the first hurdle they needed to cross. He fully believed this was a good thing for them.

“Well, feel free to send Pip, and any of your other elves, by my office. I'll do whatever I can for them, even if they don't want to leave their precious Manor.”

“Please, do, Granger. Speak with them, and then you come and tell me what I need to do. I'll be good. I'll listen to you.”

Merlin help her. He would be good? He would listen to her? She hardly believed it, but imagining it? Well, that she could do. She imagined him sinking down to his knees right then and there, lifting up her skirt, and plunging his tongue into her wet slit. Her cheeks burned at the thought, and she regretted it as soon as she remembered that he was, actually, right there, looking at her. The man that was supposed to be her enemy. With that look on his face and molten silver eyes.

She had to be gone off her rocker if she would ever really consider sleeping with Malfoy, of all people. No. No, she was not. Not yet. She was just desperate. Horny. A mess, after her masked man had fucked her positively boneless and then hadn't come back since she told him he'd never have her again. Why wasn't he chasing her now? Was it not as good for him as it was for her? Had she not lived up to whatever fantasy he had played out in his head, the way he imagined her to be?

She wondered. And then a more ridiculous thought crossed her mind that, maybe, she wouldn't have to hurt Viktor to get her masked man's attention again. He was good. A nice guy. He didn't deserve it anyway. But Malfoy? Well, that was another story. He was a player back at Hogwarts, leaving behind a slew of broken hearts. He was probably the same way now. She could just use him.

Gods no. There will be no sleeping with Malfoy! No! She yelled at herself internally.

“Right.” She gave a small laugh and finally stepped back a few paces. “Okay. So, erm, get with the receptionist and set the appointment. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

She turned and set off down the hall before he could say anything else. She was afraid of what she might do, or what she might say (hi malfoy, would you maybe have any interest in having sex with me so I can make someone jealous? Who? Oh, no one…. An ex. Yes, that's what she would say. Just an ex). So she pushed herself forward to put as much distance between herself and Draco Malfoy as she possibly could, for the sake of her sanity. And, perhaps, her ego.

She didn't look back, so she didn't see the grin that stretched itself across his face. He was a madman for her, too caught up in the rhythm of her swaying hips as she walked away from him to bother with following after her just now. She was mesmerizing. And whether she knew it or not -he currently opted for not-, he would be seeing her again later. She was just a drug he couldn't quit. He did very little other than think of Granger. He didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't change his clothes or brush his teeth without her on his mind. He was almost completely consumed and overwhelmed with thoughts of her. They were almost torturous for him, a constant, never ending stream of her playing through his mind. He needed her, like he needed the air to breathe. He wanted to bottle her up and drink her like a fine wine every single night. And Godrick, especially now that he was getting close to her, with and without a mask, the anticipation of finally making her his made him feel like he might burst at any moment. He craved her so badly, his cock ached for her so terribly, but he wanted her to beg him back. She had, after all, told him that he wouldn't have her again. So now he had to make her pay for it. Wanted to kill some of that ridiculous Gryffindor pride of hers, level her out a little bit so that she would see that he was just right for her. She would. He knew she would because he had seen her searching for him everywhere while he made sure to keep himself invisible. She wanted him and it was chipping away at her now. She was already his. It was just a matter of time. He just needed her to break, before he did.

Chapter Text

Oh, and my love

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

Or are you really here to cut me off?

Or maybe just to turn me on

'Cause these days

I would be lying if I told you that

I didn't wish that I could be your man

Or maybe make a good girl bad

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

The taste of the divine

You've got my body, flesh and bone

The sky above, the Earth below

Nothing to say and nowhere to go

A taste of the divine

After a long day at the Ministry, Hermione apparated home to change and clean up before her big date in a couple of hours. Unbeknownst to her, Draco was already there waiting for her, having disillusioned himself in her closet in a far corner between a rack of shoes and hanging clothes she rarely wore and had been meaning to go through but kept letting everything else get in the way. They had all been forgotten in the mess of her hectic and busy day to day life. But that was okay, because Draco would help her to remember to do these things one day.

Perhaps he would even help her go through it all and take them away for her so she wouldn't have to lift even a single delicate finger. He could already imagine making her try on every single item for him, showcasing whether it was worthy of being on her body or not, though he would argue that absolutely nothing deserved to adorn her body and conceal it from him. He would help her decide what she should keep and what should immediately be disposed of, and he would do this happily, because there was nothing he could think of that would be better than watching her willingly undress over and over in front of him. Of course, there would be the unfortunate re-dressing and clothing herself as well to try other things on, but he could deal with that. He could manage almost anything as long as, at the end of it all, he was able to watch her unwrap herself like a gift just for him. Or maybe he could do that part for her.

He sighed, a painful spike of want driving through him at the thought of slowly peeling off every offending piece of clothing from her body. She would be lucky if he let her keep any article of clothing at all, and it would only be for the purposes of concealing her delicious body from the eyes of the rest of the wizarding world. She was his to look at, and his alone. Not that she knew it, but she should be grateful that he still held onto a portion of his sanity when it came to her. Every day, the thought of stealing her away from the world and keeping her locked away, completely naked with the exception of a few hand picked jewels from his family's vault, of course- seemed more appealing to him.

His thoughts were broken up by the sounds of her footsteps shuffling into the bedroom. She sighed. Another pair of footsteps followed closely behind her, so soft, he knew they weren't human. If the room hadn't been so quiet, he might not have even heard it at all. He walked over to the closet door, careful to keep quiet despite his muffling charm, and peeked through the wooden shades. He saw her, along with Crookshanks, who was weaving between both of her feet as she walked. He gave her a soft, “mrow” as he went. She laughed as she stumbled over him, gently pushing him with her foot.

Draco nearly scoffed at the sight of the orange beast. With his flat face, furry tail, and in general largeness, he wasn't completely convinced that Crookshanks wasn't a kneazle. He wasn't sure what Hermione saw in the ugly thing. Of all the cats in the world, he certainly wouldn't have chosen that one.

Whatever makes her happy. Whatever makes her laugh like that, he thought.

Suddenly, the cat's eyes snapped over to the closet door, and Draco could feel his glaring gaze. It felt as though he were actually seeing him through the small spaces in the shades. He meowed again and a low growl emanated from the little beast's throat.

“What's the matter, Crooks?” Hermione leaned down to stroke her finger along his ear and down his spine. “Are you mad at me for getting home late again?”

She was late, actually. Another bad habit he would have to help her kick once he finally had her.

She had already saved the blasted world once. Surely someone else could pick up some of the slack for once.

Another meow from Crookshanks.

“Well, you're really not going to like this but I'm not staying long. Got a date tonight so don't stay up waiting for me.” She said with a frown.

The baby kneazle meowed again, much louder this time. He pushed his head against her calf, nudging her a few times. Then nipped at her.

“Oh, you stop that, little beastie. I'll leave out some extra treats for you. How's that sound?” She reached out for him but he arched his spine, dodging her affections.

She scoffed. “You ridiculous thing. You're spoiled, you know. There are plenty of cats out there that have to scrounge in the rubbish for scraps.”

He ignored her, watching the door. Draco stayed stock still, holding his breath for what felt like an eternity before he finally took a couple steps towards the closet door. Fortunately for Draco, Granger scooped the cat into her arms when he was half a breath from the door and carried him out to the hallway.

He heard a meow again.

“Don't give me that. I'll not have you brushing up against my wet legs again and getting your fur all over me before I'm to go meet with Viktor-”

Meow.

“Whom you've never met-”

Mrooowww.

“It's fine. Ginny will be there. And Harry, and Luna. And for your information, I've dated him before. He's a perfectly fine gentleman.”

Even if she did not have perfectly fine intentions with him. Poor guy.

Mrow.

“Okay, little beastie.You can come back in here when I'm all ready to go.”

Meow.

“I love you, too, you silly cat. Go on, now.”

She chuckled and then closed the door and headed into her bathroom, which Draco also conveniently had a nice view of. The only thing he could see was half of the shower door and the mirror, but that was all he needed. From the reflection in the mirror, he could see the round of her breasts and tight nipples, up the curve of her neck, her face, and her hair. There was nothing sexier to him than the way she looked when she was soaking wet from head to toe, the way her curls flattened against her soft skin and clinging to her. And through the half of the shower door he could see, which, also conveniently, she had charmed -along with the mirror- not to fog (she hated the excess condensation as it made her unruly hair unnaturally frizzy), he could see her perfect, round arse when she turned just right. Draco could never have been more thankful for magic than he was in these moments.

She stood in front of the mirror for a moment, considering herself. And while she picked pins out of her hair and untucked her bun, Draco realized that, in all the ruckus at the Ministry earlier, he had completely neglected to really appreciate her outfit for the day. Moreso, the colors she elected to wear. It was quite stunning on her, truly. A deep Slytherin green paired with black. Excellent choices. He mentally chastised himself for not letting it soak in earlier. A missed opportunity, he thought. She looked like a true Malfoy already, and he couldn't have been more proud. His heart throbbed beneath his chest at the thought. The only thing missing was the Malfoy jewels. An easy fix that he would be sure to remedy as soon as she was good and settled in with him. He would give her all the time she needed. Patience would be the key with Granger. One wrong move, one hard push, and it could all be over.

It also occurred to him that if it weren't for the unfortunate arrival of Weaselbee at the Ministry, with him barging in and creating such a riot, he might have had more of a mind to tell her how green suited her and made her eyes pop and enunciated her freckles. That he so wished she would have been sorted into Slytherin while they were in school because seeing her in that lovely shade of green every single day would have driven him mad. If she had been in Slytherin, there's no doubt in his mind that he would have had her snuck into his bed every night. Another wizard never would have had the opportunity to lay a finger on her because she would have already been his. He could have taken her to the Yule Ball in their fourth year and told her all of his dirty little secrets in their sixth year. His entire life might have been different if she had just been sorted into his house. Instead it was a horrible tragedy to his life that the beautiful bushy haired girl with honey brown eyes was thrown in with the Gryffindor lot. Bloody shame, that.

He might also have told her of all of the services she could most definitely provide him. Services that did not include house elves in the slightest. He groaned inwardly.

The last pin was finally plucked from her silky curls and they tumbled down her back, stopping just at the round of her arse.

Then she began undressing, and even though she was making steady work of it, Draco felt like he was watching in slow motion. His throat ran dry as he took in the sight of her fully nude, then climbed into the shower. The way the water engulfed her entranced him. His witch was an absolute vision when she was soaking wet. The water gliding over her skin made her look like she was made of the softest satin, pure, and delicate. She leaned her head back to wet her hair. His eyes followed a water droplet as it slid over her breast down into the valley of her chest, and straight down her stomach, down the mound of her sex, and finally dripped off of her to the shower floor to join the pool at her feet.

Gods, how he would love to lick up the trail the water left behind.

His cock was stiff against his trousers now, straining to break loose. He could still remember the way her skin felt under his hands. So smooth, so soft. And the way she tasted, the scent of her still clung to his senses. He could close his eyes and still imagine tasting her on his tongue. There wouldn't be enough firewhiskey in the world to drown her out.

She was humming now, some muggle tune he didn't recognize. Not that it mattered. He was certain Hermione was performing it better. Sweet music to his ears. He inhaled, and the scents of her body wash and shampoo, vanilla and jasmine, had drifted through to her room. He sighed, drinking it in, as another wave of need washed over him.

He was leaning on the door now, his forehead pressing hard into the wood of the blinds, clenching his jaw. He hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes, lost in the pure bliss that her scent, so close to him, had brought upon him, until suddenly he was blinking and the view of her white arse came into focus. She was bent over, massaging soap into her calf, her other hand braced on the shower wall to help keep her balance. She bent lower to wash her foot and her sweet little pussy peeked out at him.

Gods, he wanted to be on his knees on that shower floor. Have her riding his face with his tongue and fingers pressed into her perfect little cunt, his other arm around her arse, anchoring her to him, pulling her closer. He didn't care if he suffocated or drowned. He wanted to bury his face in her cunt and eat her up until she fell apart.

Draco's eyes rolled, a growl vibrating through him. His cocked ached terribly now, the head throbbing. It was painful, desperate. Like he had been pent up for decades and might explode at any moment. He needed a release, but he wanted it to be inside her. The silicone fuck toys he had gotten from that muggle shop he followed Granger to one time just weren't the same. They weren't hot and wet and tight. They didn't make him groan or cum in a very satisfying way. It was more like a tease of an orgasm. Just enough that he could retain some form of control. But being inside Granger, with every stroke, he became more sensitive, the sensations building higher and higher, his moans becoming more wild and animalistic and his pants turning into growls. He felt like every thrust made him more feral for her, like he was becoming a beast. His vision hollowed out, a black hole of ecstasy and lust crowding him until something in him, probably the last strands of his fragile psyche since he became obsessed with her, snapped and he shattered and filled her up. Then he came back down to himself, his pleasure morphing into a more permanent possessiveness. He always knew that fucking her would seal his fate. She had ruined him.

Her shower ended quicker than he would have liked, as per usual. The squeal of the knobs turning the water off echoed through the empty room. Granger stepped out and wrapped herself in an enormous thick towel. She strode into the bedroom, over to her dresser, and pulled out a few choice pieces of clothing. She settled on a light tan colored short sleeved turtleneck sweater and a long, burgundy silk skirt with a pair of heels. Simple, but elegant. She was perfect.

And then a flash of anger and jealousy seared through him when he remembered just why she looked so fucking phenomenal. For another wizard. After he left her a note specifically telling her not to go on this stupid little date. What the hell was she doing?

Of course now that she had committed to attending this date, he would have to make sure that she was safe. That she returned home safe and sound, and far, far away from Viktor fucking Krum. And then he would have to punish her. Remind her of who she belongs to. He wondered if she would like being spanked. Then wondered if he even cared if she would like it. She deserved it. What did it matter if she liked it?

He then, regrettably, wondered if he had kept her in suspense for too long. Yes, he had seen her peeking around corners and scanning through her windows when she turned all the lights down. He saw her craning her neck in public, searching for anyone who might look suspicious in the slightest. He'd seen the traces of disappointment on her face when no answer appeared, no face was identified. But maybe she had given up and resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't coming back and decided that she should move on.

Well, that isn't going to fucking happen, Granger. You can't move on from me. I'm not done with you yet, and I never will be. You. Are. Mine.

He waited in her closet, watching, until she finally apparated away. Then he opened the door. Her scent still lingered in the air from her shower. He drew in a deep breath, appreciating this little piece he had of her. Draco looked over the room. He wasn't sure what he was looking for until his eyes landed on the pair of underwear she had worn to the Ministry this morning. They called to him, and he was unable to stop himself from walking over and picking them up. His thumb absentmindedly stroked over the thin, lacy fabric.

And who the bloody hell was she wearing these for?

Certainly no one at the Ministry. She hadn't even attempted to get close to any of her colleagues in such a manner. Another thing he adored about her. She was exceptional at keeping business and pleasure entirely separate. So, no one from work. She had changed them after she got home, so it seemed she hadn't been saving them for Viktor. Another thing Draco knew after all this time spent watching her was that Hermione Granger was hardly ever so lazy as to leave a mess sitting out or dirty clothes strewn on the floor when the hamper was right there. Even if she was in a rush, even if she was late. Even if her life depended on it. Which meant there was only one other answer. Only one other person they could be for. The answer made his chest throb.

Him.

They were there for him. In case he came snooping, or swooping, in on her. He bunched up the fabric in his palm and brought it to his nose. He couldn't help himself. He inhaled deeply, pulling her scent into him. The musky smell she left behind was unmistakable. It sent a twitch through his cock. The scent of sex, her sex, made him realize something. He sighed.

Of course.

She still wanted him. Their little run in at the Ministry had left her hot, bothered, and hungry for more. And he was about ready to break, especially now that the confirmation that she was still thinking about him had calmed his temper. But he wouldn't show her that. No, no. She still had to be punished for disobeying him. He couldn't make it too easy on her. She wouldn't understand, wouldn't appreciate his coming back despite her shutting him down when they both knew she was lying, if he didn't teach her a little lesson. He would just have to execute the illusion that she was the one that broke first, that he still had all the power here. He could do that. He had all the evidence he needed now. A smirk etched itself onto his face. A dark chuckle rose through his throat, crescendoing into a soft moan as it rolled out of him.

He stuffed her underwear into the pocket of his trousers and apparated to his Manor. He took some time getting ready. Couldn't seem too eager to follow Granger. He’d give her a small headstart, since her friends were also in attendance. It wasn't as though she would be entirely alone with Viktor. He showered, changed into a black suit with an emerald green button up shirt and black tie to match, sprayed on some of his best (and most expensive) cologne, clipped on his watch, magicked his hair into a perfectly tousled look, and was finally ready. For the first time since he was back at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy was going on a date. The question now was, with whom?

When he apparated to the restaurant, as per usual, the line for the place was terribly long. Even on an off evening, there was still a constant hustle and bustle of witches and wizards waiting in lines for hours in hopes of maybe getting a seat before closing. It was best to book a reservation ahead of time in a place like this, but unfortunately it was always booked out by several months. Luckily for him, he was a Malfoy, and regardless of which side you took in the war, the name carried a certain amount of weight to it. That was another thing Draco had made certain to do upon his inheritance of the Malfoy estate and vaults, after his stint in Azkaban. He had reached out to all of his father's old contacts and… Realigned their interests with his own, if you will. The half that weren't loyal to him out of pure adoration and devotion, were too afraid of him to oppose him. Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted. And tonight, he wanted a table and a woman on his arm. He had to have a cover story, of course.

He looked down the line, surveying the witches with their men. There was one woman, a little too tall for his tastes- though he could make it work for an hour or two- dark haired woman whom his eyes landed on. She looked a lot like Pansy. He considered her. She was attractive, but the constant stolen glances, shy smiles, and eyelash batting at the wizard beside her told him all he needed to know. Off limits. Respectable. Probably even in love, and not just any love. This was new love. Blind and intense. Unyielding. Nothing like Pansy at all, actually, aside from her dark hair and dark eyes.

Moving on. Another woman with short, blonde hair. She herself was a little shorter than he would have preferred, but she wore glasses, and it was endearing on her. Like a tiny librarian. Really, though, she was like 4 feet tall and it would devastate his back, being over six feet tall, himself. Another pass.

And then he spotted another woman. Long, curly brown hair in a half updo. He supposed that was what caught his attention, really. She wore a tight, silver, spaghetti strapped silk dress that just barely covered her arsecheeks and strappy black stilettos a mile high. She had striking green eyes, sharp cheekbones dotted with freckles, and the look on her face told him their whole story. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she kept narrowing her eyes at the wizard she stood with. The poor lad looked helpless, running his fingers through his hair nervously. Early relationship or first date. He's scared out of his mind, he knows she's out of his league. But she gave him a chance because he told her that he would bring her here, obviously not expecting to be standing in line all night, and now she's regretting wasting her time with him, and Draco could tell he knew it too. His time was running out. He's probably praying for a miracle that they can get in and she'll give him a second chance to redeem himself. He's hoping they can laugh about this one day. Meanwhile, she's hoping she'll never see him again after tonight. She was only in this for the free meal. Doubtful that she'll ever talk to him after tonight. She'd probably ditch him if it meant she had a chance to go in. It was awful for the man she came here with, but wonderful for Draco. She was just what Draco had been looking for.

Well hello, Ms. Just Right For Right Now.

He straightened himself out, tugging down the sides of his coat, and strode over to the maître ď. The couple were five or six rows down, but they would be close enough. The woman noticed him sooner than Draco had thought she would, spotting her watching him out of his peripheral. The maître ď was looking down rather intensely at a stack of papers on his stand, flipping through them, when Draco approached him.

“I'm sorry, sir, it seems we're full up at the moment. If you have a reservation, please step to the front of the line where you will be priority, otherwise I'll have to ask that you go to the back of-” He paused, finally raising his eyes. His cheeks flushed pink when he locked eyes with Draco. “Oh. Mr. Malfoy! What a pleasant surprise, sir!”

“Indeed. Good evening, mister-?”

“Valentin, sir. Alexandre Valentin, humbly at your service.” He gave a short bow and then smiled up at Draco. “You would like a table, I presume, sir?”

“For two, if you would be so kind, Mr. Valentin.” Draco nodded.

“Yes, sir. I will make one ready for you straight away, if you will give me just a moment.”

Draco nodded.

Alexandre pursed his fingers between his lips to whistle for the other maître ď and signaled for him to come over with his index finger.

“A table for Mr. Malfoy. Party of two. Immediately.”

The other man nodded and strode off quickly.

“And where is your madam, monsieur Malfoy, if I may ask?”

Draco took his cue, and looked over at the brown haired woman. Her eyes were still locked on him, just as he expected. It would have been impossible for her not to notice him. On top of the power that naturally exudes from him, Draco also looked like he came from money. Both things were second nature to him, imprinted into his brain from the moment he was born, a typical part of purebred upbringing, but most especially emphasized by the Malfoys. He was never allowed to look or be anything less than pristine. Diplomatic. Aristocratic.

“How would you like to join me for dinner?” He asked her.

She looked back at him, surprised, her hand pressed to her bare chest. Her eyes flicked from side to side, looking to see if maybe he was talking to someone else.

“Yes, you, curls. You're not getting any younger standing there waiting in line, and I'm headed in. Come with me.”

She gave him a once over, and Draco saw it in her eyes the moment she decided he was worth her time. Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. He fought back a grin. She looked over her shoulder at the other man and shrugged.

“Sorry, Arnold.”

Yes, indeed. So, so sorry Arnold. Think of it as a favor, mate. She's no good for you anyway.

If he were honest, Draco was almost disappointed by how easy it was to convince her. Almost. He still needed her, after all, but he had expected her to at least pretend she wasn't so desperate. He didn't get a single ounce of fight from her. Oh well. He chalked it up to a bit of good fortune. A good sign that his night was turning out even better than he thought it would, and yet another reminder that his witch, Granger, was far superior to any other. Naturally, a Malfoy would never accept anything less than the best, which Granger was. But it was also the fact that the fire behind her eyes never died, and even if she had been dying to step foot in this place, if she had been propositioned as such, she would have fought him. She would have denied it and probably cursed him and told him to go back to Azkaban. She would have also denied herself of the pleasure just to spite him. Truly, no one else would ever astound him the way she did. His perfect witch.

The man, Arnold's, jaw dropped as she walked over to join Draco, looping her arm through his and a smile plastered on her face, flashing perfectly white teeth.

“Good choice, Mr. Malfoy, though I must admit, I have always been more partial to the blondes.” Alexandre said, giving Draco a very sly smile.

He returned it. “Very good choice, Mr. Valentin. Blondes do have more fun.” He even gave the man a quick wink.

He laughed, and then nodded his head to the other maître ď, who had just returned, and added, “You may follow me now, sir. Your table is ready.”

“Excellent!” Draco exclaimed. He turned to the girl. “Are you hungry, darling?”

She nodded. “Starved.”

They followed closely behind Alexandre as he led them through the luxurious dining room, underneath crystal chandeliers, beyond an aquarium that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and was full of exotic and rare creatures of the sea. It was mesmerizing to watch them all, but perhaps the best part of all was how his luck tonight seemed to be unending. The table prepared for them was positioned directly across from Granger. He smirked. He would have to leave them quite an exceptional tip this evening for having gone above and beyond in ways they weren't even aware.

“I do hope this is an acceptable table, Mr. Malfoy.” Alexandre said to him, pulling out Draco's chair.

He risked a quick glance at Granger. In front of Viktor, between Potter, who did see him and was staring straight at him, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. He nodded his head to Harry in acknowledgement. Harry paused for a moment to consider before returning it, and that was when Granger finally, fucking finally noticed him. She stiffened when she saw him, her back straightening in her seat. Draco flashed his eyebrows at her. He wondered if his eyes conveyed the hunger he felt growing deep in the pit of his stomach. Only, it wasn't for food. It was for her. He could feel the heat, the intensity, between the two of them traveling back and forth as she held his gaze for a couple moments before finally averting her eyes. He watched as her cheeks flushed a light pink, smirking, before turning back to Alexandre.

“Couldn't have picked it better myself, Mr. Valentin. Best view in the house.” He took the seat the maître ď held out for him, and then he moved to pull out Draco's date's chair.

“Of course. I see you've taken notice of our other esteemed guests this evening. Two-thirds of the famed Golden Trio, Viktor Krum, and the lovely Ms. Weasley and Lovegood. Mr. Finch-Fletchley as well. Quite the collection, that table.”

“Quite.” Draco agreed.

“Your waiter will be here momentarily to take your orders. Is there anything else I can do for you now?”

Draco touched the man's arm with his index and middle fingers, leaning closer to him. He glanced over at the witch sitting in front of him. Her face was already buried in the menu, oblivious to the two chatty wizards.

“Check in with me later. About a half hour or so. I may, or may not, have a favor to ask.” With his other hand, he slipped a few gold coins into Alexandre's pocket.

“Wonderful, sir. In the meantime, I shall return to my podium. Please, enjoy.” He smiled and then walked off back in the direction he brought them.

The date progressed as well as it could have with a complete stranger you handpicked from a crowd because they just looked like a money hungry, pick-me slag. It was working, no doubt. He kept her entertained with whatever mindless babble he could conjure up between eavesdropping on Granger's conversations at her table -particularly the ones with Krum-, but it wouldn't have mattered if he was entertaining or not. This witch didn't care if he had the IQ of a nargle, because all she saw was his well tailored suit, his fancy shoes, his expensive watch, his well groomed, manicured nails and the smell of his cologne. She saw him for what he was worth, financially, and that was all she needed to know. She thought nothing of it when he leaned back in his chair with the knuckle of his index finger pressed to his bottom lip, and his eyes glossed over with furrowed brows in concentration as he honed in on Granger's lovely voice. He would go silent for several moments before it would occur to him that he still needed to at least seem like he was there for her and his dinner, and not at all to spy on Hermione Granger, who he noticed seemed to be more focused on her drinks when she wasn't being actively spoken to. It was unlike her. Odd.

“So, Hermione, Ginny tells me you stay pretty busy with the Ministry business and that's why it's taken us so long to get this whole date planned.” Viktor smiles at her, gently nudging Hermione's shoulder. “What, exactly, is it that you do there? Forgive me, I'm rarely able to visit anywhere long enough to actually catch up with the times.”

“Erm, yes, I do have quite a busy schedule between advocating for house elves and assisting the Minister himself. I'm really hoping to run for Minister one day so everything now is really just practice.”

“Oh, please, Hermione! Like you really need to worry at all. You've practically already bagged the job, Kingsley is just setting all of his affairs in order. He's been grooming you for it since well before you landed that spot at the Ministry.” Ginny raised her glass in salute to her friend. “We all know you would have gotten the job anyway, but there's no doubt Kingsley would have settled for anyone else.”

“Here, here, Ms. Hermione Granger. Future Minister of Magic.” Viktor raised his glass to her as well, and she could see a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her. “Something I've always admired about you. You are brilliant.”

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Like she's never heard that one before.

Granger took a long drag from her goblet before continuing. “Well, what about you, Viktor? Surely you aren't going to play Quidditch forever?” She asked, returning his smile with a small one of her own.

“I'll be returning to Durmstrang, to take over as Headmaster. Yet another thing I have been busy with in recent years.”

“That's wonderful.” Hermione hummed. “I've always wondered what it would be like to go back to Hogwarts. I haven't set foot since… Our eighth year.”

“You should be proud you went back. Ginevra mentioned there were many who couldn't face it after everything that happened.” Viktor placed his hand on Hermione's shoulder and swiped his thumb across the curve of her bone. “I know it must have been very difficult to get through.”

“Thank you. It was a hard year, but it seems it paid off in the end.” She chuckled, and Draco thought it sounded nervous. Perhaps a little forced. She brought her glass to her lips and tipped it up, pouring the liquid into her mouth and gulping it down without pausing to breathe.

These are the conversations that we should be having right now, Granger. Not you and Viktor fucking Krum. It should be me sitting there with you, smiling at you, getting to know you on every intimate level. It should be my fingers caressing you while I tell you how proud I am to call you mine. How you are not only the brightest witch of your age, but the strongest too. I should be the one looking longingly into your eyes while you sip your champagne.

Or, rather, drain your glass in two seconds flat. What the hell?

Viktor turned his attention back to whatever Lovegood was saying, and Hermione took the chance to refill her drink immediately and drank it down too. Draco noticed the look of concern Ginny flashed her, her eyebrows raised. Granger smiled, presumably in an attempt to reassure Ginny. For now, it seemed to work. She looked back at Justin, her cheek propped on her closed fist. She eyed him dreamily.

Your friend is concerned for you, and I am, too. You look nervous. You don't usually drink like this. What's going on with you?

He heard his date clear her throat from across the table, and his attention snapped up to her. He could now hear the voices of the Weaselette and Justin Finch-Fletchley, but couldn't exactly make out what they were saying. Not that it mattered. That wasn't what he was here for. He smiled at her. She was staring at him, her own eyes wide. If he were a fool like Arnold, he wouldn't see the annoyance she was trying hard to keep hidden away. This was probably the second time she had to jar his attention away from Granger. He would have to do better.

“Sorry,” he told her. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Yes, you seem quite distracted, for someone who wanted a date so badly. What are you thinking about over there that's stealing all of your attention away from little old me?” She gave him an innocent look, her lower lip pursed into a pout.

“What was your name again?” He asked. He honestly wasn't sure he had ever bothered to ask. This seemed to further irritate the woman, but she smiled.

“Celeste.” She responded. “And you're a Malfoy. Though, I can't say I know which one.”

“Draco.”

Finally, their food arrived, and now Draco had something else to feign distraction with. Just as well for her, it seemed. Celeste did her best to keep herself nice and proper while she practically scarfed her food down.

Well, she had said she was starving. Maybe she wasn't lying. How long had she been standing outside waiting?

As he twirled his alfredo pasta loosely on his fork and used his knife to pack it all together so that it didn't hang sloppily, Draco's focus naturally shifted back to Granger's table. He listened in on her conversations as often as he could. He picked up mention of a Thanksgiving gathering at the Burrow, with the Weasley's.

Bollocks. Was it already coming up?

With most of his time usually spent watching over Granger -she may have, but Draco certainly hadn't forgotten the “others” referenced by the Carrows, he thought about it every day- and memorizing basically her every breath, Draco had lost all sense of time. Though, if he truly thought about it, he supposed he could recall looking at her beautifully carved Jack-o-lanterns that were previously lit up on display on her front porch and thinking they were looking a bit droopy. But how long ago had that been? He wasn't sure. Apparently weeks.

Oh well. What did it matter if he spent the rest of his life busying himself with Granger? It wasn't like he had anything else that required him. He didn't need to know what day it was, or the time. He knew when Granger woke up, when she took her shower, when she went to work, when she was supposed to be home but never was because she was always late at work, when she had an off day, when she ate. He knew all of those things, so what did the concept of time matter in comparison with that?

His vault at Gringotts was endless, and would continue to be endless. The family businesses ran themselves. He was only required to make occasional, brief appearances. And his new set up with the Weasleys would require a little more from him for now, but he could enlist the help of his best elves if his time became unmanageable. It wouldn't be long before it was up and going on its own, either. But Granger needed his constant supervision for a multitude of reasons. For one, being on a shoddy date with a shoddy famous Quidditch player.

Fine, he's not actually shoddy, but he just wasn't the one for Granger. Draco knew that because Draco was the one for her. This whole thing would just be a big waste of time.

Second, being these others that were probably out there searching for her, waiting to strike when she's all alone, stalking her, and cataloging her routine. Luckily for Granger, hardly anything about her life was routine and there was also the fact that she was never alone. Draco was always there.

Another reason being-

“Of course, I'll come. Even if Ron is terribly awkward.” Granger laughed so small, it was hardly a laugh at all. More of a painful attempt to make light of her past with the ridiculous redhead, purely for the sake of her friends, of course.

If she really wants to please someone other than herself so badly, she should ditch these inconsiderate tosspots she calls friends and come put my cock in her mouth instead. Be a much better use for it than entertaining Viktor.

Draco scoffed internally, doing his best to control his outward emotions. The witch sat across from him was still eating in silence. He wondered if she was regretting coming in with him. He sort of hoped she was, honestly. He hadn't brought her along to entertain her. He brought her along as a cover so no one could bust him for spying on Granger. He was using her just as much as she was using him.

“And Viktor. Of course, you'd be welcome, if you'd like.” Ginny added. Then she looked to Justin, with her eyes sparkling with renewed adoration, “And you.”

Justin smiled at her. “I'll see you there, Red.”

And then she was. Red, of course. Not only her hair, but her cheeks turned a deep rosy red as she beamed at him. The sweetness of them made Draco's chest burn.

Would Granger ever look at him that way?

“So, Mr. Malfoy?” Celeste tilted her head at him. “You look like a Durmstrang type of man. Strong, masculine build and sharp features. Wealthy. Respected. Or am I wrong?”

This, Draco could entertain without much attention. He chuckled dryly.

“Actually, that's where my mother wanted to send me. But my father insisted on tradition, and that was that. He believed Hogwarts was superior, because how could it not be, when that's where all of our ancestors went? So that's where I attended. The one good decision he ever made for me.”

That's where he met Granger, after all.

“I went to Beauxbatons. My parents actually thought that was the best school, especially since there were no boys.” Then she giggled. “At least, until Quidditch season came round, and the TriWizard Tournament. There were several occasions we were exposed, mother would say. I actually know that man sitting at that table behind you. Viktor Krum. Well, not personally, but then again, who doesn't know him now?”

Draco nodded his head. “Indeed.”

“I mean, he's internationally famous now. One of the best Quidditch players. He's brilliant, but I suppose it's really because he's such a great flyer and you have to really be able to lean into that-”

Celeste was droning on -clearly an avid Krum fan, or Quidditch fan, he couldn't tell- but Draco had stopped listening. He had something much better to listen to just behind him. The last thing he wanted to hear about was all of the seemingly endless talents of the bloke sitting next to Granger. His Granger. Draco had half a mind to cast a silencio on Celeste. His hand twitched, ready to grab his wand, but he fought it back.

“Also, for the record, Mione, Ronald can stuff it. He has no right to-” Ginny started.

“You should know, whatever it is you're about to say, it looks like you can tell that to him right now.” Luna intervened, pointing in the direction over Hermione's shoulder.

What?!

His head snapped around, searching around the tables. Unfortunately, it was not hard to miss the redhead with his scorched cheeks all puffed up like a fucking blowfish. His lips were pursed together, and his sight was fixed on Granger. He looked terribly aggrieved as he stalked toward them. This was not good.

When he finally approached them, he seemed to not know who to look at, so he stared at the middle to the table.

“You were just talking about me, weren't you?” He asked in a low voice, almost shyly.

“Not that anything we talk about is any of your business, Ronald. I've already told you, anything Hermione and I discuss, is between us. You lost the privilege of knowing a long time ago.” Ginny stated matter-of-factly.

“What on earth are you on about? You're my sister! You're supposed to be loyal to me!”

“And what do you know of loyalty?” Ginny challenged.

“Ginny, please, you don't have to-” Hermione tried to speak.

“Mione, I'm telling you this because I love you, but stuff it.” Ginny held up her hand. “My brother is an arse. No one else will say it, so I will.”

“Harry? Are you just going to sit there and let her talk to me like this?”

“I'm not getting in the middle of this. The two,” Harry glanced quickly at Hermione before facing Ron again. “Or the three of you, can settle this amongst yourselves. You know I'm not picking sides.”

Ron's jaw dropped and Ginny huffed.

Draco wanted to laugh. To throw his head back and cackle maniacally and tease and taunt the Weasel. But he couldn't, because then they would know he was listening. They would see him. He couldn't have that. Not just yet.

“Oh, no. How embarrassing,” Celeste whispered to Draco, but the silence that had settled between the group was not quite loud enough to drown her out. Her voice carried over to their table. Draco flinched, bracing himself for impact. He could improvise. He was great at it. No problem. This would be fine.

Ron's head snapped over to Draco's table, glaring at Celeste. The she weasel certainly didn’t help matters any, as she roared with laughter.

“And what the bloody hell are you looking at?” He snapped at her.

Celeste, the demented thing, actually laughed at him. The laugh that Draco had so wished to let out. He fought against himself, maintaining his elegant composure. Bless his Malfoy roots for saving him just now.

“Piss off, Weasley. I won't have you attacking my date because you can't get a handle on your own love life. What, are you here to beg Granger back?” He said in a mocking voice.

In a flash, Ron's face blossomed red, and dread settled in Draco's core. He fought the sneer trying to spread across his face.

She wouldn't go back to him, surely? Right? After all, the relationship hadn't ended strictly because she wanted it to. She had still loved him. He was the one who strayed. If he showed her now that he wanted her, would she take him back?

“Ron, is that true?” Hermione’s soft voice came from beside him.

Oh no. Please don't do this, Granger. I may just have to kill him if you do.

Ron looked at her sheepishly.

Celeste rolled her eyes and mumbled to herself, something none of them could quite catch, and turned her attention back to what remained of her dinner. Draco, however, was locked in.

“Could we talk somewhere in private?” He asked.

Hermione leaned down to whisper to Viktor, who gave her a reassuring look. He placed his hand on her forearm, and then nodded at her.

“Will you leave? If we talk, will you leave? You know I hate to cause a scene.” She asked Ron.

He nodded. “And then you can get back to your little date.”

“Be back before midnight, Mione.” Viktor chuckles, his fingers stroke delicately up her arm. She giggles.

Then she starts to follow Ron, who makes his way in the direction of the loo.

“Right, darling, if you'll excuse me, I just need to head to the loo.” Draco tells Celeste, but before she could answer, he's up and out of his chair, winding and weaving around the tables to the back of the room.

He makes it down the hallway and into the bathroom just before Granger and Weasley meet just outside. There was one man, an older man, standing at the sink, smoothing out his shirt and tousling his hair. Draco sighed. He stood in an empty stall for several moments, waiting on the man to leave so he could go and stand by the door. After many more moments, the man still hadn't left. He was humming to himself and picking at his sleeves, curling his mustache. It was like he knew Draco was waiting for him to leave. He waited a little longer before flushing the toilet and then walking out to the sinks. He would have to handle this himself.

He stood directly behind the man and whispered, “Imperio.”

He gave him the intention of forgetting Draco's face and leaving the bathroom. Once the man was finally gone, he cast a silencio and disillusionment charm on himself, then slowly cracked the door open to hear the rest of the conversation, praying to Salazar that he hadn't missed anything vital. He needed to know what the fucking Weasel was going to say to Granger, just as badly as the weasel had apparently felt like he needed to tell her.

“What was so incredibly important that you had to drag me away from my date, Ronald?” Granger's arms were crossed over her chest as she stared at him.

“I just….” He slowly raises his eyes to meet hers. “I wanted to say that I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry-?”

“I wasn't finished!” He snapped suddenly.

Draco felt his blood run hot, simmering, almost boiling. How dare he speak to her that way!

Hermione's eyebrow raised at him in response. She shifted her balance from one foot to another. Despite the front she was attempting to put on, she did look rather uncomfortable. Draco readied himself to pounce whenever he needed to.

“Sorry.” Ron sighed.

Hermione simply nodded. He took this as a sign to keep talking.

“I just- I can't believe you're really on a date. And with Viktor Krum. You always told me that it was never serious between the two of you, and now here we are, and we've only just broken up and now you're with him. Personally, I think you've jumped into this rather quickly, to be honest. A little too quickly.”

“Excuse me? We haven't only just broken up, Ronald. It's been months. And need I remind you that you cheated on me? Our bed hadn't even gone cold yet before you were snagging Susan Bones. Matter of fact, it wasn't even empty! You have no right to speak on my business now. If that's why you're here, you may as well pack it up and leave.”

“Do you know, I think that going on this date right now really means that you're struggling to move on. It means you want me back. Because you never move on so fast.”

She stands there just listening to him prattle on as though he hadn't heard a single word she said, in bewilderment.

“But, you know, it's really not fair to poor Viktor. You don't have to do this. Don't have to hurt him for me, Mione. I'm here. I want to come home.”

“Is that really what you think, Ronald? Like I've said, it's been ages since we've been together. This is not about you. Believe it or not.”

If only he knew the half of it.

He tried to reach out and grab her hand, but she recoiled and pulled back from him, taking a backwards step. The energy around her was starting to crackle. It was his magic, she knew. He was making the air feel heavier around them.

“I'm ready to be the man you wanted me to be now. I- I ditched Susan and Lav, Katie decided she was going to marry. I'm ready now.”

“It's a bit too late for that now. I don’t want that with you anymore. Our time, it's passed. You can be that for someone else now, if you're really ready.” She took another step back, and this time, he moved a step forward.

Ron's demeanor slowly changed into a more sinister one as the rejection tried to settle in. It set all of Draco's senses on edge. Something bad was going to happen. Granger needed to get away from him. He could just feel it. Goosebumps now covered her arms. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something inside her was setting off an alarm, but she just couldn't make it out yet.

“Hermione, you're being a bit dramatic. I mean, sure, I cheated, but this just isn't like you, Mione. I thought you would've, I dunno, mourned me, or something.”

“I did mourn you! Every single night when I was home alone in our bed, wondering why you were never there, whilst you were off giving Susan your bone!”

He chuckled. Ron. He actually chuckled at Granger. Draco's face twisted into a sneer. He was getting hotter and hotter by the second. For both their sakes, Granger had better handle this situation, and quickly, before he snapped. Right here in this restaurant.

“You've always been hilarious, Mione. You know what? It-it's okay. We can move on from this. I can forgive this whole incident here because I know you're still hurting-”

“You can forgive me?” She interrupts, curling her lip up at him. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, yeah. Of course, Mione.” Ron reaches out and takes one of her hands in his, stroking his thumb across her delicate, silken skin. “We can get through anything together. I'm willing to move past all of this that we've been through. And do you know why?”

She didn't answer. She stared at him, shock etched into her face. It wasn't very often Hermione Granger was rendered speechless, but this was certainly a stunner. Her jaw dropped, her mouth forming into a small o, but she kept his gaze.

Suddenly, Ron's eyes turned a vicious shade of icy blue. He looked angered by her lack of response. And she suddenly felt her spine run cold. A chill set deep in her bones. Shocks of pain radiated through her back and chest. In all the years she had known him, Ron hadn't been particularly violent. He had never raised a hand to her. Never hurt her physically, just emotionally. Right now, Hermione wasn't sure which one would be worse. The look in his eyes made her feel like a gazelle cornered by a lion. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. He brought her to the very back of the restaurant, away from everyone else. Probably so they wouldn't hear him. She couldn't deny, she was a little afraid. Especially when Ron took hold of the hand he had been so lovingly caressing before and squeezed it so tightly, she swore she could hear her bones grinding.

Her face twisted in pain. She tried to pull away from him, but he was stronger than her. He jerked her forward, bringing her closer to him than she was before.

“Ron, you're hurting me. Please. Let me go.” Tears were starting to form in her eyes. He wrenched her closer and squeezed again. She gasped in pain. “Please. I-I know you didn't mean to, but it hurts. Please, stop, Ron. I-”

“I said, do you know why?” He asked her again, his breath ghosting across her face. He emphasized every word he spoke.

She gulped. What the hell was wrong with him? He had never been so…. Rough before.

“W-why?” She stuttered through the pain. She was almost too frozen from shock and fear to keep fighting against him. Ron felt like a complete stranger to her now, like she had maybe never really known him at all. It was jarring. He had Ron's face, voice, hair, and all, but he wasn't the Ron she knew. It bewildered her just how much someone could hide from you, until they wanted you to know the monsters lurking inside of them.

Finally, he loosened his death grip on her hand, and watched as she winced, causing two salty tears to roll down her cheeks.

“You're my soulmate, Mione. We belong together.”

Her eyes widened. Goosebumps covered her arms, the back of her neck, and shivers crawled down her spine. Her breath shuddered. A terrible, horrible feeling enveloped her.

Just then, the door to the men's bathroom swung open, and out strode Draco Malfoy. He looked calm and collected as ever. He looked between the two of them with raised eyebrows. She hoped he could see the terror on her face. He did. He glanced down to where their hands were intertwined, and he also did not miss the way Ron squeezed her hand again, hard. To someone who hadn't just witnessed what he had, Draco supposed they would just look like two lovers who just got caught in the act, unable to resist themselves, at the back of the restaurant. Granger's face displayed the pain she was feeling. Not so much in a grimace or contortion. It was in her eyes. They were watery, and wide, and full of desperation. She didn't know it was taking every ounce of his self control not to rip him away from her and shove his wand into the offending redhead's eye for having dared lay a finger on her. He figured it would be best for now to maintain ignorance. He could get Granger out easily if Weasley didn't know he had seen.

“Who would've guessed, Gryffindor's little golden couple, back together at long last.” Draco said in a mock tone. “I'm sure the world would be pleased to know.”

Granger let out a short exhalation of air, dry and unamused. She maintained eye contact with the blonde, praying to Merlin that he would see, that maybe he could help her. Something told her she couldn't risk giving it away right there in front of Ron. But Merlin, what could she do?

“Piss off, Malfoy. We're a little busy here.” He said, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

Hermione tried to move, tried to pull away from him, tried to take a step towards Malfoy. But Ron held her still. She felt a small pop between her knuckles and bit hard on her tongue.

Please! Please! She begged internally.

“Hm. Unfortunately for you, Weaselbee, it's a happy accident I've run into Granger here. You see, I am in dire need of her services. Or, rather, my house elf is. It's rather urgent. Can't wait a moment longer, now I've found you.” He smirked at her, and then extended his arm straight out, inviting her to join him at his side. “If you would, Granger, I must insist.”

She tried to move again, her free hand reaching out to Draco. Ron still tried to hold her still, and Draco rolled his eyes. He certainly didn't have to downplay his annoyance, he just had to keep himself in check. He didn't want to, but he could obliviate Granger if necessary, sneak her old boyfriend's corpse out the back.

“Let go, Weasley. I'm sure at least half of the wizarding world would agree that the rights of house elves are vastly more important than the needs of your little prick. She'll be back.” Then he glanced at Granger, taking a small risk. “Back before midnight. Eh, Granger?”

And then Draco's eyes bore into Ron's, daring him. Challenging him. A dark part of him hoped he would take it, regardless of all consequences. How could he care about anything else, when Granger was at stake?

Granger laughed, another fake, breathy laugh. “Erm, yes. Midnight.”

She used her free hand to try and pry Ron's fingers from her flesh, but he tugged at her again, squeezing her hand even harder, and pulling her face close to his. He supposed from Malfoy's stance, he would probably think they were sharing a tender kiss. Not that Malfoy was so naive, of course. He didn't miss the tiny, pained whimper that rose through Granger's throat.

“Yes.” Ron agreed through gritted teeth. “Midnight.”

Now, he had absolutely terrified her. She had no idea what he would do, or what she should do. Should she tell Harry? And what the bloody hell was wrong with him? Did something happen, or was he always like this, and she just overlooked all the signs because she was too preoccupied between her job, maintaining their house, keeping him happy, and everything else? How could she miss this? Would he….? Did he hurt Susan? More importantly, how far was he willing to go?

Ron finally released Hermione's hand, and it dropped like a dead weight at her side. Draco didn't miss the way it twitched and shook almost violently. The control Granger was demonstrating right this moment both unnerved him and made him proud. She'll be an excellent Malfoy. But for now, there was the issue of her, apparently, abusive and obsessed ex boyfriend. The relief he felt when Granger's small frame pressed flush against his hip was indescribable. His long arm naturally accommodated to fit along her shoulders, and he pulled her even closer to him. Hopefully not in such a way that she felt smothered. He preferred if she felt protected. Because he would protect her. From anyone. Especially Ronald fucking tosspot Weasley.

Draco guided her back to the dining area, just out of hearing range for the first few tables. There was a row of windows on the far right wall with small, two person tables. He led her over to one and pulled the seat out for her. Her whole body was shaking as she sat, and he couldn't blame her. After everything else he had already put her through, and now this. Physically hurting her. And she was terrified to speak about it. Probably because she was Hermione Granger. How could such a silly little half wit of a man honestly get the best of her, and twice? She was the brightest witch of her age, and one of the strongest. To the public eye, and quite possibly even that of the people who know her as such -much like Draco, too- she had an image to keep up, a reputation to uphold. Standards, expectations.

Bullshit. Ridiculous bloody Gryffindor courage.

But that was fine with Draco. He did not have the same burden to carry as she did. He could take care of things for her. And he would. Ronald Weasley would never hurt her again. He would make sure of it. He reigned his thoughts back in, pulling himself back to the present, where he had Granger sat in a chair in front of him, shivering, scared, in pain. It made his chest ache to see her in such a state of disarray. She needed comfort, the beautiful, pitiful little witch. His witch.

“So, about your elves-” Hermione started to say. Draco held his hand up to stop her.

“No. Don't do that, Granger. I'm not an idiot.”

She opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it. Then opened it again, unsure of what to say. She just looked at him for several moments.

“Right.” She finally settled on saying.

“You may not want my help, but I-”

“I've known him since I was eleven. I never… Never has he…” She held up the hand she was absolutely sure was broken, examining it. “I’m pretty sure he shattered all the bones in it.” Tears pooled in her eyes again, and a broken sob escaped her quivering lips.

A fierce, fierce hatred grew in him then. Hatred for Weasley, and hatred for the pain now plaguing his precious witch. His chest throbbed and ached for the curly haired witch in front of him. His heart broke with the sound of her muffled cries as she sobbed into the crook of her elbow in an attempt to muffle them. He wasn't sure what to do, overwhelmed with the decision to turn back and rip Ron's throat out, or to pull Granger to him and squeeze her, gently and tenderly, stroking her hair, until her sobs fell away and her breathing became even and she relaxed.

Without really thinking, he delicately grabbed her broken hand by the wrist, and she watched him through watery eyes, hissing as he moved her. He held it in his palm, and brought his wand up over it, muttering an episkey and several numbing spells for the pain. She groaned as her joints snapped back in place and her fractured bones crunched and ground. By now, her hand was a smear of black and purple bruising. Even a powerful episkey couldn't fix the mess he'd made of her hand. She would have to go to St. Mungo's now. Preferably before anyone else could see it.

And blast, she still had to get on with her date. She hoped Ginny wasn't furious with her.

The look on Granger's face when his eyes connected with hers made his heart soar. For once, she wasn't looking at him with hatred. Much as he really enjoyed the fire behind her eyes, he needed to create a soft spot in order to really progress their relationship forward, and now he finally had it. His chance. It was magical.

“Thank you, Malfoy. Could I ask you of one more favor though?”

“I suppose so. I'm feeling a little generous tonight.” He smirked at her. She laughed a soft, sweet laugh. His heart skipped a beat. She laughed, just for him.

“Just, please, don't- don't tell anyone. I need to figure out how to handle this.” She looked at him sincerely.

You don't need to worry, little witch. I'm going to handle it for you. My love.

“Of course, Granger. Our little secret.”

Draco didn't miss the slight tinge of pink that blossomed in her cheeks, or the way her eyes quickly diverted themselves to look at something out the window. His own smirk broadened.

This is it. Their moment. Their beginning.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Right. Well, I'll need to be getting back to my seat now. I'm sure Viktor and the others are starting to worry. And your date-”

“Is a real man-eating piece of work, really. I'm sure she's fine. But you, Granger, you really need to get that seen to.” He indicated to her hand.

She glamoured her hand, covering over all the bruises. Her pale pink skin was perfect again. Unmarred. Untouched. Silken.

“Not tonight. On with the show and all that.” “For Viktor Krum?” He couldn't help the annoyance that poured into his words. His pure, unmasked jealousy.

Someone else he would take care of, if he needed to.

“No, you twat. For Ginny. My best friend? She's absolutely smitten with Justin Finch-Fletchley. I'm here for moral support, and so is Harry and Luna.” It almost scared her how easily her lie came to her. Perhaps because it was, technically, a half truth. She was here to support Ginny. She was laying it on thick with Viktor because she was hoping that, somehow, her masked mystery man had followed her here. It happened to be something of a bonus that Malfoy here had shown up. Maybe a little extra attention would liven her mystery man up a little and draw him in to confront her in person. How desperately she wanted to feel him again. Even if he was angry with her. She wouldn't tell Malfoy any of that, however.

A small part of Draco eased at her confession. Knowing that bit of information helped him cope with seeing her act all chummy and smiley with the Bulgarian. That's really all it was. An act. For Ginny.

“Though, since I'm here, I must say, moral support does have its perks.” She nodded her head in the direction of Viktor, who's head they could see when leaned slightly to the left. “Viktor is quite attentive. It's nice.”

Nevermind. He's a dead man walking.

“I see. How saucy of you, Granger.”

She turned in her chair, and Draco extended her his hand. First, she just looked at it, her eyebrow quirked in confusion. Then, she took it and let him guide her to a stand.

“I'll be going now, then.”

She took a few steps away from him, and then half turned back, to meet his eyes.

“You know, you've been really…. Nice to me lately, for someone who's supposed to be my enemy.” She smirked at him over her shoulder.

Salazar, what a fucking vision she was. Her eyelashes were long and curled, nearly brushing her eyebrows when they were blown wide open. He adored the freckles that dotted each of her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. The perfect bow of her lip, the warm, honey brown hue of her eyes…

“How about, maybe, we can call ourselves… Frienemies, for now? A tiny step up from us completely loathing one another?”

And one small step towards our future.

“I like that.” Her eyes twinkled at him, catching in the reflecting lights of the chandelier up above. “Frienemies, then.”

“Fuck you, Granger.” He smiled, and winked at her.

“Fuck you, Malfoy. Fuck you very much.” She smiled back. How absolutely dazzling she was.

“Maybe one day, Granger. If I'm lucky.”

She laughed, hoping to smother the feeling swelling in her chest and turning her face pink, and then turned and headed back in the direction of Viktor. Her heart rate quickened and butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach. Her blood felt electric, buzzing beneath her skin. The fear and adrenaline from before, with Ron, was gone for now. A new, giddy feeling replaced it, but it certainly wasn't for Viktor. She cleared her throat and tried to swallow it down. How odd, Draco Malfoy making her feel this way. She certainly wouldn't have believed it if someone told her this would happen ten years ago, back at Hogwarts. The beginnings of a new crush.

Nothing compared to that of her masked man. Merlin, she had to focus tonight. Despite the possible setback with Ron, she was still determined to do whatever it took.

So, back to Viktor she went.

Chapter Text

And you've got me up in a frenzy again

And I know you're planning to leave in the end Won't you say that you will?

Let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill Entangle to one

In this light, you are mine

Til the sweat turns to blood

Won't you say that you will?

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione! Are you alright?” Ginny asked when Hermione took her seat next to Viktor.

Her hand was still sore and a bit shaky from the damage Ron did, but she could manage until she left.

“I'm fine. Sorry. Took longer than expected.”

“Are you-? Did he-? Is he gone?” She asked.

Hermione nodded. “It's dealt with. Has anyone ordered dessert?”

“I hope you don't mind, Hermione, but I've arranged for an assortment of pastries. Ginger newts, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and éclairs. Even a round of butterbeers. With some ginger in yours.” Viktor winked at her.

She forced a laugh, still feeling a little shaky but doing her best to shrug it off. “I can't believe you remembered. It's been years.”

“How could I? I used to sit with you for hours in the Three Broomsticks while you studied. You poured over the drinks just as quickly as you poured over those books.” He chuckled.

The conversations continued on around them between Ginny and Justin, and Luna and Harry, and sometimes a mix of the six of them, laughing and reminiscing. Hermione noticed that Harry neglected to talk much about Ron, which she was grateful for. He still had her a little shaken up, but she couldn't afford to let it show. She refused to ruin Ginny's date. And things were blossoming so well between her and Justin. There was simply no way there wouldn't be a second date, at this point. The way he looked at her, and Hermione just knew Ginny's cheeks had to be burning from all of the smiling she had been doing. At times during their dinner, it seemed like the two of them were caught up in their own little world. Hermione couldn't help but smile at them. Ginny deserved this. She hoped that, perhaps one day, she might have the same thing going for herself.

Better go on ahead and start planning that wedding.

She sighed.

“Something on your mind, Hermione? I can see the nargles boggling up your head.” Luna asked her, a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“What kind of color theme do you think they'll want for their wedding?” She asked with a small chuckle.

“Hm. A Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor wedding. Probably red, gold, and black. That would make sense. A little blending of the two houses. How delightful, don't you think?”

She wondered if her friends would think it so delightful if she married a Slytherin. No one specific. Definitely not a tall, pale, blonde. Just any random one. A red and green wedding. Like Christmas, her favorite holiday, a little over a month away. Unlike Thanksgiving, which was quickly becoming her least favorite, knowing she had already agreed to spend it at the Burrow for Harry and Ginny's sakes. Ron would be there. She wasn't even sure she would be able to face him. She kept going back and forth between feeling shocked and terrified of him, and anger at herself for being rendered so stunned, she couldn't even fight back. She wasn't even sure if she should tell Harry. It's not like he'd get sent to Azkaban over it. Probably just a slap on the wrist, a privilege of being one third of the infamous golden trio. Bile rose in her throat. She forced herself to swallow it down, chasing it with a shot of firewhiskey, relishing in the way it burned down her throat. A warm feeling enveloped her as the alcohol settled in her stomach. She prayed to Merlin that the alcohol would help numb her mind just as well as it could the rest of her insides.

“Yes, wonderful.”

“Are you sure you're alright, Mione? I can't see a simple wedding for one of your best friends being such a heavy burden that your head is absolutely filled with nargles. Something seems to be deeply troubling you.”

“I'm fine. Really, Lu. Thanks for checking in, though.” She squeezed the blonde's hand reassuringly.

But she wasn't so sure she was fine. Even before Ron. She probably was fine before the war, but it didn't matter to her anymore now. She could hardly remember who she really was back then, other than a bookworm. Best friend to Harry Potter, silently suffering through her immense crush on her other friend, Ron. Fighting through whatever battles came Harry's way, helping him find horcruxes and answers to riddles and questions and quizzes. Now everything in her life all boiled down to her, and what she wanted. Only, everything she thought she wanted at the time had seemed to backfire on her. Until her masked man came along and gave her something she never thought she would want. She clung desperately to that now, trusting it because it was completely controlled by someone else so clearly, it couldn't be wrong. It wouldn't be wrong, because she had no hand in it. It had to be fate. She felt her resolve harden.

He had still not shown his face. Caused a scene. Confronted her. What did she expect him to do, really? She wasn't sure. But she was going to drag him out of hiding. She just wondered how in the hell she would manage to do that? What made her mystery man tick?

One ginger newt, half a pumpkin pasty, three butterbeers with ginger, and two shots of firewhiskey later, and Hermione was a giggling mess. At anything Viktor said. At times, she even felt like she was forcing a laugh. He was hilarious, yes. Great company, indeed. But Hermione was focused entirely on laughing her way into his flat, just to see what would happen. If her masked man had followed her to this restaurant, he would certainly follow her there. He would see her, and maybe he would stop her. Or maybe he would watch her potentially hook up with another man, and remember what it was like to have her, and come for her again, too horny to turn her away. Or, maybe, he would watch her, and for every stroke Viktor pushed inside of her, her masked man would spank her. Until her arsecheeks were raw and whelped and her juices leaked down her thighs. She wanted to be punished, maybe even slapped around a little bit. The really twisted part of her felt like the harder he punished her, the more it meant he cared because he wanted her to feel the pain he felt he saw her with someone else. She wanted him angry and raw and untamed. Unchecked. Unhinged. She wanted all of him. Her cunt clenched in response to her disturbed thoughts.

Thoughts again of his death eater mask, a chunk missing from the bottom with a hole large enough for his mouth and chin to be exposed, buried between her thighs. Her thighs tightened. She thought of him taking her from behind, holding onto only her hair, using it like reins to slam into her while her fingers played with her clit.

She sighed.

Merlin’s beard. She couldn't be thinking like this right now.

Not as though the thoughts were easily ignored, when Viktor's innocent fingers traced circles on her inner thigh. Hermione's slit was throbbing with desire. She blamed it on the copious amount of alcohol she had consumed in such a short time and very little food in between. Mix that with her desperation to be fucked properly by a tall, sexy man with a dangerous mask, and poor, innocent Viktor giving her some much needed physical affection, and she had a cocktail for trouble.

If she could just get his cock again, she would be fine. She could go back to normal.

“Alright, lads and ladies, it's time to bid thee adieu for the evening.” Justin announced, standing from his chair. Ginny, naturally, as if she had done it a million times, rose with him. “I've a lot of work to catch up on.”

Spirits were high, the crowd was buzzing, and Ginny had a twinkle in her eyes as she took in the full view of Justin for the first time since dinner started.

“And what about tomorrow evening?” She asked him, pressing her index finger to the center of his chest.

His hand rose up to clasp around hers.

“I'm full up until the weekend, darling.”

“Could I fly out to see you?” She asked, her smile faltering for a moment.

“You had better, you little minx. And then, I'm afraid, I might not be free again until Thanksgiving.”

“But you'll be there?” She asked, hopeful.

“Of course.” He reassured her.

“I'm sorry you had to witness all of that on a first date, by the way. Nothing like a bit of family drama to muck up a perfectly good evening.” She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her elbow.

Justin used his thumb and forefinger to hold Ginny by her chin and looked into her eyes. Her cheeks lit up.

“You know something, Red?” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, but Hermione and Luna heard it anyway.

“What's that?” She whispered back.

“You were actually really hot. I like seeing you all fired up.” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her cheek, and Ginny giggled.

“I can't wait to see you again.” She told him.

He kissed her good night, and dismissed himself. Ginny followed soon after, then Harry and Luna together. Now all that remained was Hermione and Viktor.

From his seat across from them, Draco heard them preparing to leave. As requested, Alexandre returned to Draco's side and leaned down slightly. Draco motioned him closer with two fingers, and he did so with a grin. His smile widened at the words Draco whispered in his ear and he whisked away again. Celeste looked at him, puzzled, but he only nodded at her.

Her puzzled expression morphed into panic and, if he weren't mistaken -and he so rarely was- a little bit of disgust, too, when she realized who Alexandre was towing over by the ear. Straight over to their table.

“I found him, sir. Quite fortunately, it wasn't a very difficult task. All I had to do was follow the smell of desperation and despair and, well, there he was. Out by the dumpsters.” He still held firm to Arnold's ear, and used it to guide him into the seat Draco had just risen from.

The poor sod reeked of firewhiskey. His eyes looked sullen and were rimmed in pink. Probably from rubbing them raw, wiping away the tears that soaked into his shirt. He looked pitiful. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the distasteful and very unlady-like expression on Celeste's face. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Celeste.” Arnold greeted her.

She sighed. “Hullo, Arnie. Excuse me, but what the bloody hell is this?”

She looked again at Draco, who decided to acknowledge her this time.

“What, did you think I was going to take you home with me? So you can one day do to me what you just did to him?” He asked her, indicating to Arnold. “No, thank you. Regardless of whether or not my vaults would ever run empty -they wouldn't, by the way-, I've no patience or regard for a gold digging whore.”

Alexandre snickered, but tried, and failed miserably, to mask it with a cough. Celeste ignored Alexandre and kept her focus on Draco. She looked at him, her mouth agape. It was clear to him that no one had ever addressed her in such a manner before. But Draco didn't care anymore. He needed to catch up to Granger, who was now on her way out. And with Viktor.

“Splendid. A great many thanks to you, Mr. Valentin.” Draco turned back to face Alexandre. Once again, he gave the man several gold coins, before he left, following in the direction that Granger and Viktor had gone.

Just before he disappeared out of range, he heard Alexandre telling Celeste and Arnold, “You may order as you'd like, Mr. Arnold. Your meal has already been paid for. Do enjoy yourself, lad. Poor, pitiful thing.”

When he got outside, he spotted them standing by the Floo station.

“My flat is just a few blocks from here. We could walk, enjoy a bit of fresh air.” He heard Viktor tell Granger.

“Oh really? Well. That would be lovely.” Granger responded, though her words were still a bit slurred.

“I reckon you could use it, after all those drinks.” Viktor laughed.

“I reckon you'd be right.” Granger also laughed. She then linked her arm through his, and they took off walking down the dimly lit street, dramatically swinging her free arm back and forth. The same arm, with the hand that Ron had broken. Draco imagined that she was probably too numb from the alcohol to feel it just now.

Draco, of course, followed at a distance, sticking closely to the shadows. For extra measure, he disillusioned and muffled himself. He also pulled out his death eater mask that he had shrunk to fit in his pocket, resized it, and put it on.

Gods, he loved magic.

As he followed behind them, listening in on their conversations, he wondered briefly how in the hell muggles managed to do this. To follow someone so closely and remain undetected. It was easy when you had magic. But being completely exposed and trying to walk over the ground when it was strewn with dried, dead, crunching leaves and no spells to cover it up? He'd be caught in two seconds flat. He probably wouldn't have made it much further than the door of the restaurant before he had attracted one of their attentions.

Granger may have been a little drunk, but she did occasionally glance over her shoulder. The first time or two, Draco overlooked it. She could have just been looking around, and was half buzzed anyway. People did crazy things when they were under the influence. But then she did it again. And again. Was she paranoid? Possibly. Fighting in a wizarding war would do that to you. Draco himself was all too aware of that. There was also the chance that maybe she was afraid that Ron would come back to find her again? Possibly. He checked his watch. 11:30. Not quite midnight. She would still have some time, if Ronald was sticking to the midnight rule.

He wondered briefly if she should be more worried about himself following her, or the Weaselbitch. At least his own intentions were far less sinister, though he was still an obsessed stalker all the same.

No. Not a stalker. He was protecting her. Protecting what was his.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Viktor asked her, taking notice of her behavior.

She glanced over her shoulder another time, just as Draco's shoe scuffed on the ground, messing up the sync he had finally found to match his footsteps with theirs and blend in. It made the slightest noise, and Viktor seemed as though he hadn't noticed, but as soon as it happened, he saw a smirk suddenly appear on Granger's face. Or… Was she looking for him? He knew she couldn't see him, but did she still somehow know he was there? Was she hoping he was there? Following her, back to Viktor's flat? And then what? What was she going to do? Surely, she wouldn't….

Suddenly, the thought that she might actually sleep with this other wizard made him feel nauseous. She wouldn't. Not Granger, not his Granger. She was good. Innocent. Pure. That was why he needed to follow her tonight. To protect her. She would go back to his flat because she was too drunk to Floo home, and she would lie down on the couch -though, if Viktor were a gentleman, he'd give her the bed- and then be off to sleep and leave early the next morning for the Ministry. Then she would come home, and he would already be waiting there for her. He knew that, because he knew her, and she was good. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even reward her. She might be ready to beg now. And if Granger were ready to beg, he absolutely could not refuse.

“Oh yes, I'm just-” she paused in thought, the smirk still playing on her pretty little mouth. “Hm, the war made me a little paranoid, I suppose.”

He sighed internally, thinking that maybe after tonight, he should start showing himself more. Though, he did like the hopeless, desperately horny way she looked everywhere for him, he wanted her to crave him as badly as he craved her. It was time to start building up to something more, in his mask, as he had without it. Good, sweet little Granger. It's time to be rewarded.

He entertained these thoughts as he followed all the way to Viktor's flat. He didn't enter, choosing to stay outside so that, after Granger was safely tucked in, he could make a quick exit. Nice and smooth, like he was never even there. Not that it was entirely necessary, but he chose to conceal himself even further by ducking behind the bushes, wedging himself between them and the windows of the old brick building. The door opened, and Granger entered first. She sat down on the couch and smoothed out her skirt.

“Would you like another drink?” Viktor called to her from the bar in the small kitchen.

“Sure, just whatever you're having.”

Draco watched closely as Viktor poured the beverages, not trusting the wizard not to spike her drink with something. Much to his satisfaction, however, he didn't even attempt it. Not that it was entirely surprising. From everything he had heard, Viktor was a good man, a good wizard, and a good Quidditch player. It was no matter, though. Draco was better, and he was ready for Granger to start learning that.

“Here you are.” Viktor handed Granger her drink.

She leaned forward and grabbed his hand, still wrapped around her glass, and used it to bring the glass to her lips. She maintained eye contact with him as she took a long drink. Even from a distance, the insinuation of her actions made Draco's cock twitch. Until he saw Viktor's tongue flick out to wet his lips, and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. Everything Draco had felt, he knew Viktor probably felt it tenfold because he had Granger right there. Seated on the couch directly in front of him while he towered over her, her head almost level with his groin area. An angry fire lit in the pit of Draco's soul.

Salazar fucking Slytherin’s saggy left nut, Granger was playing a very dangerous game.

Viktor cleared his throat and Granger released him. He slipped her glass into her hand, and then got down on his knees in front of her, his hands resting on her thighs. She glanced down at his hands, and for a split second, her eyes flicked to the window as if to say, “Are you watching this?”, and then back down.

She downed the rest of her drink in one big gulp, and looked at Viktor. He smirked at her, and his hands ran down the length of her silky skirt. He found the hem and slid it up to her hips. Then his hands trailed back down to her knees, gently running his fingers over her flesh, and started to slowly spread her open. He looked back at her, and stopped. He wanted her expressed permission before going any further.

Good, Granger. Now you can stop this silly little fucking game of yours and tell him to piss off. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do.

He could feel his anger and jealousy burning through his veins like hellfire already. He was sure at any moment, his skin would melt off of him and he'd be left an angry, bleeding skeleton of a man hell bent on murder and destruction if Granger didn't stop Viktor from touching her further. Didn't she know who she belonged to? She already knew he was there, and that was undeniable. Wasn't that what she wanted, why she kept looking over her shoulder? She wanted him to follow her. He had. Now what?

She had to be teasing him. She wouldn't possibly fuck another man, much less make him watch. Not his lovely, innocent Granger, who saved the world and fought for poor house elf rights. Sweet little Gryffindor Golden Girl, swotty know-it-all, prude of the year who didn't lose her virginity until after she left to find horcruxes with Potthead and the Weaselbitch. No. No fucking way was she going to do that to him.

Draco watched as Hermione leaned back into the couch cushions and let Viktor spread her wide open, pushing her feet up to rest on the edge. She was on full display for him. He looped his fingers through the waistband of her knickers and pulled them off of her. Her pretty little pink pussy was glistening already. Draco's member strained against his trousers. His blood was boiling, his heart pounding in his ears. His knuckles were clenched, turning white, as he stared at her. She was looking at Viktor, a pink blush on her cheeks.

“You are beautiful, Hermione.” Viktor told her.

“You've told me how I look. Now I want you to tell me how I taste.”

“With pleasure.” He responded, and leaned down to her sex. He trailed his tongue through her folds, and she sighed, pushing herself into him. From between her thighs, Viktor moaned and sighed as he ate her. He stopped for the briefest of moments to look up at her, his chin and facial hair wet from her center. “Delicious.”

She giggled and placed her hand on the back of his head, pulling him back to her sensitive spot between her thighs. When he continued to flick his tongue against her clit, Granger's eyes lifted, straight to the window. He was super charged with emotion, adrenaline, and rage, so Draco's control of the disillusionment charm staggered, revealing his masked face through the glass. A wide grin spread on Granger's face, and her honey brown eyes glazed over. She moaned, keeping her eyes on him. She spread her legs even further and arched her back. Viktor continued to lick and swirl and suck on her center, eliciting all of the noises and pants that rang through Draco's ears and made his chest burn. He stood there, staring at her. A mixture of need, anger, and pain swelled in him. When Granger screamed her climax, her eyes never leaving his, teasing him and biting her lip, all he could see was white, blinding, seething rage that made the air around him crackle. He needed to leave, before it fully consumed him and he really hurt someone. Possibly even her. And he didn't want to hurt her. Not the way Ron had. Though, in this current moment, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't harm her if he were to go in there. He would probably lose all control. How dare she? Was that what she wanted? To piss him off, or was it simply about attention?

Fighting back his instincts that screamed at him to barge through the door and rip Viktor away from her and shove his wand through his chest, he took off in a sprint. He didn't know or care what direction he went in. He just knew he didn't want- no, he didn't need to see what Granger did next. He ripped his mask off once he was out of sight, and ran until his lungs and throat burned and he felt his legs go numb, from the cold and the overexertion. He may also have apparently apparated at one point without even realizing it, as he was now, he realized, suddenly back in Godric's Hollow, in the middle of the town square. He stopped running but didn't stop moving. His feet carried him down the empty streets, through one dark, back alley, and into another. And that was where he found Ronald Weasley.

Once again, his blood ran hot. The crisp winter air that had left a chill deep rooted into his bones was now melted away. The cold couldn't touch him now.

His vision hollowed again, seeing only a one way tunnel leading straight to the redhead. He was standing outside the back door of the pub a couple blocks ahead.

The fucking bastard who hurt Granger.

He took a step towards him, and then heard another voice as the door was thrown open. Two more, really. They were familiar, but he couldn't quite place them yet. He decided against charging forward, and ducked into an empty crevice built into the building, a space barely large enough for him to fit into, but it did the trick. He disillusioned himself again, for extra measure. And it was a good thing he did, because a few moments later, he was able to match those voices to some faces and it spelled bad news. Scabior and Michael Moran, two snatchers that Draco knew during the war. They had actually, unfortunately, stayed in the Manor during the brief time that Voldemort held reign. They had to be a part of the group Amycus and Alecto had mentioned before their untimely demise.

What the bloody hell was Ron doing with them?

“You had better be right about this, Weasley.” Michael grabbed Ron by his shirt collar, jerking him forward to look into his eyes. “Last time we sent two of our founders after that mudblood bitch of yours, they went missing. We haven't seen them since. We lose anymore of our men on account of your fuck ups, and I think it's safe to say you'll be the one to go missing next.”

“She's there. She will be there, I promise!” Ron's voice was shaky, his hands thrown up in surrender.

Michael shoved him forward, slamming him into the stone wall of the building, and grunted as he strode forward. Another angry man on a mission. Scabior cackled, and prodded Ron's nose with his long, crooked, dirty finger. His wide smile revealed his mostly blackened teeth. The man was filth, in every sense of the word, higher than even Weasley on Draco's shit list, which seemed to grow for one reason or another by the day.

“Come on then, Weasley. With us. And I want you in front of me so I can keep two eyes on you at all times.”

“Fine.” Ron huffed, and started to follow after Moran.

Oh, Ronald. What have you done?

Draco followed after the trio, taking extra caution not to scuff his foot this time. They walked a couple of miles, just outside the sleepy little town, and about another mile into the wood, to an old, creaky, abandoned shack. It was the perfect location for an escapade such as this. Far away enough, no one would be able to hear you scream.

Draco waited outside as the three men entered the shack. He listened to their heavy footsteps as they walked across the room, thudding and scraping along the way. There were large gaps between the wooden planks in the walls where the putty holding them together had withered away, that Draco could just barely peek through. He could see Moran, and the tattered remains of what Scabior could once call a jacket that clung to his skin, on the other side of the room. It looked as though they were standing in front of a very old, overused firepit, full of dust and ash, and a rusty fire prod leaned against it.

Scabior leaned forward and said, “Dragon's breath.”

The fireplace finally crackled to life, the ash swirling and circling into the air in the pit, transforming into wooden logs that exploded with flames. After a series of clicking noises, the bricks at the bottom of the fire pit rolled back, and then dropped down, opening that part of the floor into a large doorway. It opened into a stairwell that led further down into the earth, just below the fire, suspended in the air above the entrance.

Of course they would have a hidden entrance.

Draco waited outside the shack until the three men disappeared into the floor. To his surprise, the entrance hadn't closed yet, so he took his chance to sneak inside. When he got to the fire pit, he saw that the stairwell led into a long and narrow hallway made into the ground, with deep roots winding all the way down, as though they were pointing the way he needed to go. He carefully strode down the long corridor until he could hear their voices echoing once again. Just ahead of him was another doorway that opened into another, dimly lit room with a small, crackling fire lined with bricks. He flattened himself against the wall so that he could listen in on their conversation.

"Don't you feel so ashamed, Weasley? Knowing your mother and father and the rest of your pathetic little family, including yourself, fought on the side of the Order, and now you're turning on all of them? She must be a good little whore, for you to sentence her to death over a little rejection. What is it? You can't have that sweet little cunt, so no one else can? Well, Weasley, that's not entirely true. You see, I just might have to take a little piece of her for myself, if she's good enough to kill for it. And I dare you to try and stop me.” Draco heard the words fall out of Moran's mouth.

She certainly is good enough to kill for, Draco thought.

Scabior chuckled. “I just might partake, myself. See if the mudblood is good for something, after all. Maybe if she is, we'll let her live, eh, Weasley?”

Like hell.

“Yeah, and make sure she knows good ole Weasley is the reason she gets to keep her life, too!”

“Shove off, you piss pot! Do you want my bloody help or not?” Ron yelled.

“Temper, temper.” Moran teased. “Who knew your feathers could be so easily ruffled?”

“Where is the girl?” Scabior asked. “Stop dicking around.”

“Here. She lives here, in Godric's Hollow.” Ron responded.

“Ah, bollocks! He's lying! We've been here before, searched every inch of this town-”

“Not every inch. Hermione's got a cottage, on the other side of the forest. It's enchanted. You have to know it's there, or enter with her.”

“Amycus and Alecto? What happened to them? They got in, right?” Moran asked.

“I don't bloody know what happened to them! I told them how to find her, everything I knew about her schedule, all of her usual haunts. Everything. I never heard a thing about it after that. I just saw Hermione a few days later and assumed they hadn't caught up yet.”

“Do you think she could have killed them?” Scabior snarled.

“No, I- Well, maybe. I dunno. Mione was never really one to kill. Not unless she had to. Gave her nightmares.”

“Alright then, Weasley. You mentioned a notebook you had? Some kind of documentation of her whereabouts and details of her routines. Let's have a look at that, shall we?”

Ron pulled a small, black notebook from his jacket pocket and held it up for Moran and Scabior to see. Draco decided this was his moment. He dropped the charms on himself and stepped forward into the room. He worked hard to conceal the anger he felt blistering through his veins, burning his skin to the point he felt it might melt away.

“I'll take that, Weasley, if you'd be so kind.” His hand was extended towards Ron, waiting to receive the notebook. The three wizards looked as though each of them had been struck with lightning as they snapped their attention to Draco, their wands raised.

“Malfoy! What are you doing here!?” Ron screamed at him.

Salazar, he really is quite uncivilized.

“I thought it would be obvious, Weasley. I followed you. Gods, you know, I'll never understand what Granger saw in you. You really are an idiot.”

Scabior and Michael Moran recognized Draco, and immediately lowered their wands. Clearly, they thought they were all still on the same side.

“Draco Malfoy. What a lovely surprise!” Scabior exclaimed. “Truly! An honor! Tell me, how are Lucius and Narcissa?”

“Alive.”

What an interesting conversation to have with someone you're about to kill, Draco thought.

“Oh, good!”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, after today, you won't be able to say the same for yourselves.”

“What-?”

“Petrificus totalus!” Draco exclaimed, landing a direct hit on Ron. He fell instantly to the floor, his mouth agape and eyes blown wide in shock. Then he swirled his wand around to aim at Scabior, who had started to lunge at Draco just as the spell connected with Ron. “Incarcerous!”

Ropes bound Scabior, stopping him mid jump, slamming him to the ground, and squeezed him so tight, he could hardly breathe. They squeezed tighter and tighter until they ripped through his skin, tearing him open and shredding his flesh as he wiggled and fought against them. Blood oozed from every part of him that the ropes bound. He howled in pain, twisting and writhing on the floor. Before Draco could take a moment to fully appreciate Scabior's suffering, Moran tackled him to the ground. Draco rolled to the side, but Moran maintained his grip and rolled with him.

Draco landed a punch to Moran's face and then rolled again, putting distance between himself and the other man. Both of them rose to their feet.

“Oh, this mudblood had better be worth all this.” Moran used his thumb to wipe the blood from his lip, and then smirked at Draco. He narrowed his eyes in response, feeling his magic crackle into the air as his anger rose. He wanted to destroy Moran, but not just with his magic. That would be too easy. Too simple. He wanted to rip him limb from limb with his bare hands, just for thinking about Granger. It seemed everyone else, much like Granger herself, needed to learn that she is his.

Draco lunged forward so that his fist connected with Moran's jaw. It knocked him back, but Moran surged forward, ramming into Draco's ribs with his shoulder, pushing him back until he slammed into the wall behind him, and he reached up with his claws and scratched at Draco's cheekbones. He left a deep gash on the right side of Draco's alabaster face that bled down his neck and stained his shirt with crimson. Draco brought his knee up to collide with Moran's ribs, and the crack of them as they broke from the sheer power he channeled into the attack seemed to reverberate around the room. With Moran doubled over, Draco took advantage and punched him in the temple, his knuckles smashing into the soft, sensitive spot on the side of the wizards head over and over, until he finally just collapsed. But his rage was still not satiated. He climbed on top of Moran and continued to punch him in his face until his nose had sunken into his skull and his top lip was completely split down the middle, busted open, and revealing his crooked teeth.

Then he repositioned himself to a squatting position, hovering just over Moran's body. Draco grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him forward to look into his eyes. A gurgling noise erupted from the back of his throat, and a mouthful of blood poured down his chin. His eyes were bruised and sunken in, a complete mess made of his face, but he was alive. Draco sneered at him when the man's blood spurted out and landed on his cheek.

“Now then, Michael. Are you ready to answer some questions for me?” Draco asked, his voice low and threatening.

Moran seemed to choke on his own blood as the thick liquid poured out of his throat, and another mouthful landed in his lap.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Draco responded for him.

He jerked him again by his collar and dragged him to the table and chairs in the middle of the room, right where Ron and Scabior could see, and forced him to sit down. Draco sat in the chair opposite him, and pulled the man's hands to the center of the table.

To his annoyance, Moran tried to pull his hands back. In one swift movement, Draco transfigured his wand into a blade, grabbed Moran's hand, pulled it back to the center of the table, and shoved the blade through his palm, sticking him to the spot. He wailed in pain, slamming his free hand onto the wooden table just beside his other one.

“Fuck!” Was all Moran managed to yell, as another spew of blood shot out of his split lip. The man looked absolutely disgusting, even Draco had to admit.

He searched through Moran's pockets, finding his wand -which Draco kept for himself- and a couple of sickles.

He chanced a look at Ron and Scabior. Ron was immobilized, but tears managed to slide down his cheeks, and he couldn't help but smirk, despite his own wound stinging in protest. Scabior had given up trying to fight against his restraints, but not before they had dug so deep into his skin that the muscle tissue in his arms was protruding from his skin and he was bleeding in a puddle on the ground. He was sure to have mangled some of his bones from his violent jerking against the strong holding, thick ropes that kept pulling tighter, and the best part was that Draco hadn't even had to lift a finger. The tosser had done it to himself. The thought occurred to him to just let him sit there and kill himself. Unfortunately, he needed to make sure someone was capable of giving him the answers he needed, and if Moran died during his interrogation, perhaps it would encourage Scabior or Ronald to loosen their tongues. He needed to make sure Scabior survived long enough for him to talk. With great reluctance, Draco loosened the ropes binding Scabior to just the point of keeping him still without squeezing. He cast a healing spell to close up his wounds to stop him from bleeding out, and then his attention was caught by a light suddenly catching and reflecting off of a large meat cleaver that hung on the wall behind Moran. He smirked, and walked over to retrieve it.

Moran’s eyes stayed on Malfoy as he moved across the room.

“So. Michael.” Malfoy leaned down to talk directly into Michael's ear. Then he slammed the blade of the cleaver into the table not even an inch away from his pinky finger.

The man jumped up in his seat, shouting as his hand still stuck to the table caught on the knife and ripped through the flesh between his middle and ring finger knuckles. His other hand formed into a white knuckled fist that he used to punch his own forehead in an attempt to relocate the pain and distract himself. Draco could tell by the expression on Michael's face that it wasn't working. He smirked again.

The anger he felt towards Granger was far from being removed. He would have to face her, to punish her for being with another wizard regardless of her reasons, before it could disappear altogether, but punishing Moran was certainly helping to take some of the edge off.

“Tell me about this little group of yours. How many of the dark lord's followers still remain and where can I find them?” Draco asked, still towering over the man, talking into his ear.

“F-fuck you, Malfoy.” Michael stuttered out his response. His voice was shaky, and as he spoke, he spit dribbles of blood onto the table.

“Moran, since you're the one who's taken such an interest in Granger, maybe I should let you in on a little secret.” Draco leaned closer, until his breath ghosted across Michael's ear. Goosebumps prickled across his flesh and his back was as stiff as a board. And then he whispered to him, “The Golden Girl is worth it, and I'm going to make sure you never get to lay a finger on her. She's mine.”

“You filthy blood trai- ah!” Michael screamed as Draco suddenly brought the cleaver down onto his thumb, slicing it cleanly from his hand, down to his last knuckle. He banged his free hand against the table several times, and gasped for air. The blood in his mouth choked him as he inhaled. When he coughed, another fresh mouthful of the crimson liquid splashed out onto his clothes and the wooden table.

Despite his condition, Michael managed a choked laugh.

“I wonder what your father will think, when he hears about you and the mudblood. Oh, my, how the mighty will fall! You're not even half the wizard Lucius was.”

The words should have stung. They should have made him cower and drowned him in shame. They might have years ago, but now, that one sentence filled him with pride. He didn't want to be like his father. Granger would never love a cold, heartless, selfish man like Lucius. But a man who lived for Granger? Breathed for her, fought for her, served her, and knew that she deserved nothing less than to be worshiped and treasured? How could she not love a man like that? So that was what Draco was. He would be a man worthy of his witch. Knowing all of this, he simply smiled in response to Moran.

“Good.” Then he looked down to Moran's finger, and took in the sight of his fucked up face, taking note of the way his blood gushed from seemingly every visible orifice. He would have to do something about that, if he wanted to keep the man alive long enough to get through his questions.

He looked at the fireplace, at the bricks encircling it. It had been lit for quite a while now, and he reckoned the bricks just might have gotten hot enough that he could cauterize his finger.

“Accio brick.”

A single red brick shot over to the table instantly, landing just in front of Moran's hand. He tapped it quickly with his finger to test the heat. It burned, definitely hot enough to sting, but would it be hot enough to seal his wound?

Hm. One way to find out.

He transfigured another brick into a pair of gloves, and resized them to fit to his hands. Once more, he reached out and touched the brick, and was satisfied that he couldn't feel the heat through them. His makeshift gloves would do for now.

He pushed the brick towards Moran's bloody wound, and he glared at Malfoy when he realized what he was going to do.

“Don't you fucking do it, Malfoy!” He yelled at him, trying again to pry his hand free from the knife that held him in place. He tore through another fleshy part of his hand and hissed. His remaining four fingers were shaking and twitching uncontrollably now.

Draco slammed his hand down over Moran's pinned wrist to hold him in place as he pulled the brick all the way against the man's skin. The scream that pierced the air made Draco's ears ring, but he refused to let go and summoned forth thoughts of Granger to drown out all other noise. He held the brick against Moran's wound for several seconds before pulling it back to examine it.

It wasn't hot enough. His wound was still bleeding.

“Ha! Well, that didn't work quite like I hoped it would.” Draco chuckled.

“You bastard!” Moran wailed.

“Hm. Shame.” Draco pointed Moran's wand at the brick on the table. “Incendio.”

A small flame that burned hotter than fiendfyre jetted out of the tip of the wand, effectively and quickly heating the brick.

“Maybe it'll work this time. Let's see, shall we?”

Before Moran could react, Draco had slammed the brick back into his wound. Another gurgling scream erupted from the man's mouth, followed by a chorus of laughter from Draco. He held the brick in place even longer than he had the last time, until Moran was in so much pain, he couldn't make any noise at all. He slammed his free hand into the table, his hips lifting off of the chair he was previously sat at, and his eyes squeezed shut as hard as he could manage. And Draco enjoyed every second of Moran's agony.

Because he deserves it. No one threatens my witch.

“I'm going to ask you again, and this time, if you'd like to keep your remaining fingers, you will tell me what I want to know.”

“Ah, you go to hell, you son of a bitch!” Moran spat at him.

“Otherwise, you've got nine more fingers left, and I have all night to remove them in any way I see fit. I can keep you alive for as long as I'd like, drawing this out. I'll reap every single one of your screams until the last breath of air empties from your lungs if I have to.” He leaned down to look Moran in his eyes. “Or you can tell me, where are the others?”

Moran stared at him through his swollen, red eyes. “And do you really think you can take on a hundred men, all on your own?”

Draco stared back. “Is that how many there are of you?”

“Close enough. A few of us have gone missing. Like the Carrows-” he paused when he saw Draco's eyebrow twitch, and then sat back against his chair. “But I reckon, from that look you've got on your face, you already knew about that.”

Draco merely hummed satisfactorily in response.

          -----------------------------------------------‐---

Hermione awoke in Viktor's flat quite early, despite her very late night. The sunlight peeked through a crack in the curtains, directly into her eyes, pulling her out of her slumber and into a half fogged state of awakeness. She scoffed her annoyance, rolling her eyes, but refusing to physically get up and out of bed. Instead, she thought through the events of the evening. Of Ginny and Justin, of Ron and her still sore hand, Viktor, and of…. Malfoy.

She held her bruised hand up to the light to get a better view. It had healed up tremendously from the night before, all thanks to Malfoy, but she would probably still need to see an official healer soon before everything fully set in.

Still, all of that aside, it was the softest she had ever seen him. He was kind to her, comforting, gentle. Tender, almost. Everything she needed, just when she needed it. Maybe not a completely insufferable twat after all. Not all of the time. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't fight the small smile that creeped across her features as she considered their newfound frienemy-ship.

She also recalled the particular feeling of being followed as she walked with Viktor, though it wasn't something that scared her. In fact, it delighted her. She had a feeling as to who it was. Her masked man.

Shortly after he had whisked away, she had made up some excuse to Viktor about feeling too light headed and dizzy to continue in the direction they were headed. In fact, she had excused herself and drank a vial of pepper up potion in his bathroom and then made herself comfortable in his bed while he curled up on the couch. The truth was, she was at war with herself. Though her body felt ready to do anything she needed to do in order to get something, anything, from her masked stalker, her mind would not quite catch up to speed. It was no fault of Viktor's. He was attractive and attentive, and he made her feel good. It was obvious that Viktor would be very good at a great many things in the bedroom. He simply just was not what she wanted. As much as she willed herself to, she just couldn't make herself be compliant enough to want to be fucked by him. Not when she knew what she could be having instead. Regardless of what Viktor could offer her, she had the distinct feeling that it wouldn't compare, that the masked man would be right. She wouldn't find anyone to make her feel the way he did. And his absence was starting to make her hate him.

She had sort of hoped that, in the privacy of Viktor's own quarters with no other witnesses, that maybe her masked man would barge in and interrupt them somehow. Didn't even expect him to let them get as far as they had. Instead, there had been nothing. She watched with disappointment simmering in her veins as he disappeared back into the night. It had thoroughly ruined the orgasm that had previously wracked her body at the thought of him bombarda-ing the door to pieces and snatching her up by the throat, tearing her away from Viktor, and stealing her away to enforce his claim on her.

She sighed into the pillows, unsure of what to do. Clearly, he was intent on staying just out of her reach no matter what she did. How positively devastating.

It wasn't long before she heard the soft padding of Viktor's footsteps as he made his way to the bedroom. It being his home and having thoroughly ate Hermione to completion on his couch mere hours ago, he didn't bother to knock. He cracked the door slightly, and gently called for her.

“Come in, Viktor,” she responded to him. “I'm awake.”

He made his way over to her and sat on the edge of the bed by her feet.

“How are you feeling this morning?” He asked her. “Better.” She sighed. “I'm sorry… For the abrupt ending of things last night.”

He chuckled. “It's quite alright. I enjoyed myself all the same. Though-” he looked at her, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, though with intentions. “If you wanted to pick up where we left off, I'd be more than happy to oblige.”

A pang of guilt twisted her insides. Willing as she had been to use Viktor last night while being heavily encouraged by her poisons of choice, she couldn't justify it right now. Not when she was looking at him in the fresh light of a new day and knowing he was such a kind, caring man with a genuine heart. Not after the fucked up way Ron had treated her at the restaurant and left her hand and her heart battered once again, and knowing how much it could hurt Viktor to begin a fake romance with him that would simply never be. She would, inevitably, break him, and no matter how much she lusted for her masked man, she didn't think it would be worth the cost of Viktor's shattered heart in the process. She couldn't look at him now and feel as though she would be able to bear the weight of knowing she inflicted even a fraction of the same pain that Ron had done on herself. Not to such a good man.

She internally groaned.

“I'm not so sure that's a great idea right now, Viktor.”

He looked at her, his eyes soft and searching.

“We don't have to have sex right now. We can start with something easier. Take it slow, whatever you need. I'm good to just be with you and enjoy your company. I still do, as much as I did back then.”

Oh, no. Poor, sweet Viktor.

“I'm intrigued by you, Hermione. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

But she found herself wishing that another man with a different voice was here in front of her speaking these words, and that was the problem.

“Right now, Viktor, I would just burn you. I'm sorry to have to decline, but I just don't… I can't give you what you want.” She frowned at him.

Viktor sighed, running a large hand through his dark hair. “What if I'm willing to bear the pain?”

The look he gave her saddened her. He truly was the sweetest man she had ever met, and she knew that in another life, perhaps, she would fall for him. But now she was absolutely ruined for someone that should absolutely be forbidden to her. Someone she really shouldn't have even considered. A person whose name she didn't know, and whose touch she craved to the point she considered doing terrible things to decent people just in the hopes of having it again.

“I'm sorry, Viktor.”

“Well, it was worth a try, anyway. Perhaps one day when I've settled down as Durmstrang Headmaster. It's not exactly easy to have a relationship when you're a traveling Quidditch player anyway. I have no doubts, Ms. Granger. You are the right person for me. Suppose it's just the wrong time.”

It was her turn to sigh now.

“So, just friends, then?” She asked.

“Sure.” He agreed, patting her leg.

After he left her alone in his room once again, she finally stood to dress and leave, determined to shower in her own home and grab a cup of tea.