FC1 - "WHiPs", SlytherinsWench
Title: WHiPs
Author:SlytherinsWench
SlytherinsWench
Rating: R for loads of innuendo
Warnings: A bit fluffy, with a light, smutty frosting.
Author's Notes: Thanks to SJ for her quick advice!
Summary: Wizarding Highway Patrol + 1 Officer Malfoy + 1 speeding Hermione Granger… Can you say, “search me officer?” I know I can!
When Hermione Granger was in primary school, before Hogwarts, she and her friends played a very silly little game. She was positive that it was below her intellect, but she’d played nonetheless. It was called M.A.S.H.
It was a fortune-telling game. Giggly little girls would write down four choices in different categories while twirling their pigtails and…
What? Don’t interrupt.
I was about to tell you. That’s why she bought the Porsche to start with. Invariably, they would always pick the most insane and unattainable cars for that category. Like Lamborghini, McClaren, Bentley and of course, the standard Porsche. Not that any Porsche could be described as standard. But anyway, when wizarding cars became a widespread phenomenon, proper little Hermione Granger decided to splurge.
After all, every game of M.A.S.H. that she’d ever played had been quite clear that a Porsche was in her future. And this had been her opportunity.
But unfortunately, with the need for speed came the need for a regulatory body.
Yes, darlings, that’s where the WHiPs come in.
Wizarding Highway Patrol.
Hermione thought it sounded dirty.
Don’t you? Whips and chains instead of planes and trains? And of course, those tight little outfits didn’t help at all. They had to be streamlined for aerodynamics because those lucky gits all got McLaren F1 brooms, specially designed for WHiPs maneuvering. Bought and paid for by Officer Malfoy, of course.
Apparently, he thought he was still playing Quidditch. It reminded her of all of those cheesy muggle sitcoms about boys who never outgrew their high school glories.
Not that Hermione would ever dream of telling a soul, especially not the former Quidditch hero himself, but Draco Malfoy was one fine piece of wizarding ass in those pants. She wondered if he’d had to paint them on and worse yet, what it would be like to be the brush for said painting. Or maybe she’d let him use her tongue…
Hermione colored at the thought. If some of these wizards knew even half of the thoughts that zipped around her pristine little head, they’d have apoplexy.
She actually had this recurring fantasy… Hermione wouldn’t call it a dream, no. She was awake. But she couldn’t help herself.
Just sitting in the Porsche had been a bad idea, because that’s when it had started. She’d squirmed in the butter leather seats, positioning her arse just right, until the seat felt like it had been made for her.
Then she’d placed her hands appropriately on the wheel, and visions of speeding down that new wizarding highway had filled her head. She could feel the wind in her hair… She could hear the sirens, could see Draco Malfoy in the rearview mirror coming to tell her what a bad girl she was…
And you know, the easiest vantage from those itty-bitty mirrors was from the waist down… Oh my Merlin, the waist down! Hermione had tittered and the salesman had given her a knowing look.
‘All the girls are buying fast cars, what with Officer Malfoy doing time in Traffic.’
She’d almost walked away then. Almost. But M.A.S.H had said nothing about Draco Malfoy. Only Porsche, beautiful sleek Porsche.
Hermione Granger had driven it off the lot, ownership scrolls in hand.
Of course registration had been hell, but they had staffed the Wizarding Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, or WDVLA, with goblins. Getting a license was worse than borrowing money…
But we are getting off of the subject; that being one Officer Malfoy’s impressive parts in a rearview mirror.
That was a subject a bird like herself could definitely get off on…
Of course the reality was like a cold slap to the face. How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t had the Porsche even a day, and already, her lead foot had gotten the better of her. And it would have to be Malfoy.
Worse yet, he would have to look every bit as stunning as she imagined. Now, if only he would keep his churlish mouth shut…
“Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”
She couldn’t see the face of the man that was talking. Only his hard abs, outlined so perfectly by that streamlined material… And if she fluttered her eyes downward just a bit, oh holy Jesus, Merlin and… and… Whoever the hell else was listening.
Hermione did, in fact, know how fast she was going. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so, but she didn’t think that would go over well. Maybe some girlish wiles might actually do her some good here.
Not that she would ever advocate downplaying her intelligence, or any woman’s for that matter. But there were some things that just had to be done. After all, who needs the hassle of a ticket? Yes, this really was the most practical avenue. Really.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Well, do you?”
“No, Officer. I don’t.” Hermione was breathless and undid the first button on her blouse as she spoke. She hoped her cleavage wasn’t blushing.
“Your breasts,” he paused. “No matter how magnificent, are not going to get you out of this ticket. You know how many great pairs of tits are flashed in my face every day?”
He said she had magnificent breasts! Of course, she did. Stupid git. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I was just hot. Write me the ticket and I can be about my business.”
“Wasn’t your business attracting my attention?”
Oh the nerve…
“Women speed down this road every day with the mad hope that I’ll pull them over and shag them silly.”
It was a lovely fantasy… But by heaven, he was such an overbearing ass. “Apparently, since you were staring down my blouse instead of looking at my registration or my license, you’ve failed to notice who you’re speaking to.”
Hermione pushed open the door, slamming it into his thighs and forcing him back. She swung her long legs out of the Porsche and stood, her heels putting her almost eye-level with him.
“You are sadly mistaken if you think…”
A smirk crossed his face. It was tired and trademarked. A look that she’d seen a million times. But never in the grown-up man flesh. It was devastating.
“Well, if it isn’t the proper prefect? Or would that be the perfect prefect?” He arched a brow above his dark sunglasses.
What was she supposed to say to that?
“Fancy seeing you here, on the wrong side of the law.”
“Fancy seeing you here, on the right side of the law.”
“Kitty still has her claws, I see.” He wasn’t impressed in the least. In fact, he seemed genuinely amused.
“I have places I need to be, Malfoy. Just write my ticket.”
“Officer Malfoy, thank you.”
Oh, the way he said that. It made her feel like she was being very, very naughty. She wondered if he had a night stick like the muggle cops. Or handcuffs, dear saints above…
Visions of herself, face down on the hood of her Porsche with the oh-so stern Officer Malfoy behind her filled her head like so much cotton candy.
“Yes, well, Officer Malfoy.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, but just thinking about him doing those things to her, well, she licked her lips but good.
* * *
“Knock that off, Granger.”
“What?” She looked legitimately confused.
Draco wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He hadn’t been so affected by a woman since…
Since fourth year. Yule Ball. Blue dress robes. And the very same Hermione Granger. She’d been elegant perfection. He’d spent many a secret night with her face conjured in the cocoon of his bed curtains and with his hand on his cock. She was unattainable, forbidden.
And here she was now, all grown up. Most definitely grown up, he thought as his eyes were drawn back to where she’d unbuttoned her blouse. Then he couldn’t help looking at her mouth again.
“Tell you what, I’ll let you slide. This time.”
“Why?” Hermione narrowed her eyes.
He certainly wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Malfoy leaned across the door that divided them and wrapped a dark curl around his finger.
When had her hair become so soft? It was silk…
“Because you’ll owe me.”
“I’d rather have the ticket, thank you.” Hermione snapped, but she didn’t pull away.
Interesting.
“Considering how fast you were going, that would be mandatory time.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! Azkaban, for… for… this?” she sputtered.
“No, not Azkaban. But traffic court is staffed by the goblins, just like the WDVLA. So I think you’d be looking at,” he paused, thinking. “At least a week of paperwork.”
“You really are serious?”
“You could always bribe me.”
* * *
The most secret of all of her fantasies were coming true. Or Malfoy still had it out for her. Occam’s Razor came to mind, meaning the simplest answer was probably the correct one…
“I would never bribe an officer of the law.” Hermione snapped, embarrassed that her body had tightened at the very thought of what bribing him would or could entail.
“Come now. Wouldn’t you?”
“You’re the devil.”
“Maybe. Haven’t you ever thought about it, Granger?” He traced the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “What it would be like between us?”
She was sure that he was just trying to get her to make some incriminating admission, but she had thought of it. She’d thought of it often. Hermione would be damned, though, if she’d give him the satisfaction.
“No. Certainly not. Have you?” It wasn’t a question that she really wanted an answer to. It just sort of escaped her mouth, like most things before she had the chance to really think about them.
“Oh yes, Ms. Granger. I certainly have. I’ve thought about it. Long. And hard.” He punctuated each word with a heavy pause, giving each one time to hit the bottom of her stomach.
“I can’t fathom why. We don’t even like each other.” Oh, there was some of that spine that she knew she had hidden somewhere.
“I’m hurt,” his mouth was inches from hers now and he sounded like anything but hurt. “I like you. I like you very much.”
“You just want to see if you can get into my knickers.”
“I won’t lie, Granger. I’d love to be in your knickers. They might be the only pair I haven’t been in.”
Just hearing him say, in your knickers, that was enough to make her have to cross her legs and grab the car for support.
“See, you just think we don’t like each other. And you can’t blame me for school. I was a boy then, a boy who didn’t know the joys of bookish witches.”
“Oh, and what are the joys of bookish witches?”
“It’s so easy to make them scream.”
Hermione had to get the upper hand back, somehow. All she could think about, all her celebrated brain could do, was flash images of him. Of her. Of all the things he could do to make her scream. Like right now, if he got any closer, she would be screaming and tearing at his hair, begging him to take her like a…
“Why? Do you light them on fire?” Ha. That was good. At least, she thought so.
“Why don’t you hop on the back of this McLaren and we can find out?”
He was serious. This wasn’t a joke. Draco Malfoy was hitting on her. She couldn’t think.
His mouth was on hers before she could process the reality of the situation. She tried to rear back, but the car was solid behind her and he just kept coming. But that damn door was still between them.
If she was going to be ravaged, it was damn well going to be done right.
Hermione smacked at his shoulders rather ineffectively until he broke the kiss.
“Don’t tell me that you’re really saying no…”
“I didn’t say no, but I’m not a WHiPs groupie, either. You will come to my flat, you will pick me up, you will take me to dinner…”
Draco Malfoy was intrigued. He couldn’t remember the last time that a woman had made him take her to dinner.
“Friday, then?”
What the hell was wrong with tonight?
“No.”
“Hermione, if there are flaming hoops,”
He’d just said her name! Not Granger, not… What was he saying? Was he still talking? His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear a damn thing. She blinked. Hermione wasn’t sure how her eyes had anything to do with her hearing, but it was worth a shot.
“What?”
“I was saying, that if you…”
Again, that hard mouth was moving, there was sound coming out, but it just didn’t register. So, she just nodded.
Hermione realized as she was driving away sans ticket, that she’d just stumbled onto the single witches’ Holy Grail. An honest to Merlin date with Draco Malfoy.
How many women had that very same fantasy about being pulled over and… She sighed. Then she slammed on the brakes and almost skidded off the road.
Draco Bloody Malfoy!
She was going out on a date with Draco Malfoy. He was like the poster child for the SS. Why would he want to go out with her? Surely, he couldn’t have had some brilliant epiphany… though that would be convenient.
Hermione had heard that Draco had served the Order during the war, but she wasn’t sure to what extent. What did he want? He couldn’t just want her, could he?
Why was he in Traffic?
She’d heard that when he’d been an Auror that there’d been an epidemic of witches filing false reports just to get some face time with him.
He wasn’t that hot, was he?
‘Yeah,’ that little voice in the back of her head corrected. ‘He is that hot.’
And she, Hermione Granger, had a date with him. On Friday, apparently.
She was sure it had to be some kind of hoax. There had to be something more in it for him. Hermione wasn’t going to back down, though. She’d just have to be on her guard.
* * *
Hermione flooed in sick Friday. Very uncharacteristic of her. Her boss was convinced that she was either dying or under an Imperius.
She assured him that it was just a bit of exhaustion and she needed to rest. And that wasn’t an outright lie.
She hadn’t been able to sleep the whole night, her melon had been overworking itself imaging scenarios with Draco Malfoy. Some good. Most bad. One way or another. Every time she’d closed her eyes, they’d popped open with a resolute snap that she was sure had been audible in the next flat over.
Which was probably what he wanted all along.
Then she reminded herself that the whole date thing had been her idea.
“You sodding idiot!” she muttered to herself.
She should have just shagged him there on the car and been done with it. Then there wouldn’t be anymore of fiddle-farting around with this skittish anxiety.
Hermione was fairly sure that the night would culminate in something that would change her life one way or another.
Because if he was as good as they said... And “they” always had plenty to say.
Who’s they?
Well, the entire witches’ underground of bathroom stall conversation, of course. That damn thing flew hotter and faster than any floo network.
And what was she going to wear?
This really was too much for her. Hermione wasn’t that kind of woman. Of course she took care with her grooming, but she wasn’t a girly-girl. She didn’t fuss with her hair, her make-up, or her clothes. Shoes, now that was another story.
Hermione had two wardrobes to choose from, which just made it worse. Muggle or wizarding?
She needed a drink. A big one. She might feel braver with an Appletini. Or sick. But anything was better than this.
Unless of course…
She could just see it. They’d be having a grand time, cruising on that McLaren and she’d hurl chunky apple Technicolor humiliation all over those nice broad shoulders…
Hermione finally decided on a smart pair of riding pants and a lacy, low-cut shirt. That way, she would be fine wherever they went. And she had to admit, as she examined her arse in the mirror, that those riding pants really did do her justice.
Not that she actually had a horse or anything, but they were really cute pants. And they’d been on sale.
After shelling out the lucre for that Porsche, it was going to be sale items or nothing for a long time. Maybe even peanut butter for lunch until she died. Which would be soon if Draco didn’t show up.
Imagine being stood up by Draco Malfoy.
* * *
Draco was a little nervous himself. Not that he’d admit it. But that flutter in his stomach had to come from somewhere and it was either that or he’d had some bad caviar.
If Draco Malfoy hated one thing, well, he hated lots of things. But he really hated being sick. He hated it more than a clingy witch.
“Don’t cock this up, Malfoy.” he muttered. Shite, who was he kidding? He was Draco Malfoy. The only thing that would be getting “cocked up” would be Hermione Granger.
But then what?
After her, there might not be any witches left to shag. At least none that he could stand to look at in the light of day. He might have to start over. Or get used to the dark. He’d heard things about those ugly witches…
Draco had heard an American call them “Rodeo Fucks”. Which apparently meant you just held on and they bucked like wild horses.
He smirked.
* * *
“What would you like to do this evening?” Draco asked when she opened the door.
She didn’t speak.
“Hey, love. This is your dog and pony show. I’m up for anything,” he said in that standard, blasé Malfoy way.
Hermione just bet that he was. Up for anything. “For starters, I didn’t think you’d agree to it.”
“If you don’t really want something, you shouldn’t ask for it.” He leaned against the doorway, his presence filling up the room without even being inside.
“You have to admit, this is all,” she paused. “So sudden.” Hermione couldn’t help but snicker. How very Barbara Cartland.
“No, it’s not sudden. This has been coming for years.” Draco didn’t wait for her to invite him in, but slipped inside with the deadly grace of an assassin.
Hermione snickered again. An assassin? Really.
But then she realized that Draco Malfoy was a dangerous man. Not because of the mark that had been on his arm once upon a time, not because of the men he’d killed, but because he was holding her. And she wanted him to.
She hated weak-minded, jelly-kneed, ninny twits who were complete idiots around a nice pair of shoulders. And oh my, were his shoulders ever so nice, she thought as she grabbed onto them, waiting for his kiss.
“Tell me a secret,” he whispered against her mouth. “And I’ll tell you one.”
“I have no secrets.” Hermione said, though she desperately wanted one right now.
“Everyone has secrets, Hermione. Everyone. Even you.” His mouth was soft on her cheek, but his hands were bold, one sliding down into her shirt to cup her breasts.
She gasped and arched into him, but he stopped the caress. “Tell me, Hermione.”
And Hermione realized that he could have her right there, on the floor, with the door to her flat open where anyone could see. She couldn’t bring herself to care about anything but the heat in his touch, the feel of his skin on hers.
Memories would keep her warmer than trepidation. After all, good girls never made history.
“I’ve wanted to touch you, that’s my secret.” Her answer was breathy, almost giddy. “Since fourth year.”
His lips paused in their trail down the hollow of her throat and he tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
“Yule Ball.” They said in unison.
The tension was shattered as they both started laughing.
“It was the first time I’d ever gotten a look at you when you weren’t being a wanker.”
“It was the first time I’d ever gotten a look at you without your nose in a scroll.”
“You know,” she moved out of his arms to close the door. “We don’t have to go out, we’ve both waited so long.”
“Actually Hermione,” those devil lips were close to her ear when he came up behind her, his hands sliding down to her hips. “After all these years, another few days won’t hurt.”
“What do you mean, a few days?” she growled.
“Let’s do this right. Get your coat.”
She turned the lock on the door. “Make me.”
“Granger, I’m trying to…”
“You’ve always been the bad boy, Malfoy. Don’t turn Alice on me now.”
“I’ll show you Alice,” he pushed her up against the door, his body deliciously hard against her.
Then, he reached around her, and Hermione thought he was wrapping his arms around her waist, but he was reaching for the lock.
“I’ll be outside if you want to,” he smirked. “Come.”
Hermione let out a little whimper of disappointment. “That’s not fair.”
“When have I ever been accused of being fair?” Another smirk.
“You know, it would probably be easier for both of us if we just shagged like ugly monkeys on the floor and you say that you’ll floo me, but never do. At least we’d know what to expect.”
“Knowing what to expect is boring.” He put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her out the door to an uncertain future.
And I don’t know about you, but I certainly wouldn’t have been pushing for the “floo me” line. Silly bint. Good thing our Draco knows better. Or this could have been a not so happy ending.
-The End
Author:SlytherinsWench
SlytherinsWench
Rating: R for loads of innuendo
Warnings: A bit fluffy, with a light, smutty frosting.
Author's Notes: Thanks to SJ for her quick advice!
Summary: Wizarding Highway Patrol + 1 Officer Malfoy + 1 speeding Hermione Granger… Can you say, “search me officer?” I know I can!
When Hermione Granger was in primary school, before Hogwarts, she and her friends played a very silly little game. She was positive that it was below her intellect, but she’d played nonetheless. It was called M.A.S.H.
It was a fortune-telling game. Giggly little girls would write down four choices in different categories while twirling their pigtails and…
What? Don’t interrupt.
I was about to tell you. That’s why she bought the Porsche to start with. Invariably, they would always pick the most insane and unattainable cars for that category. Like Lamborghini, McClaren, Bentley and of course, the standard Porsche. Not that any Porsche could be described as standard. But anyway, when wizarding cars became a widespread phenomenon, proper little Hermione Granger decided to splurge.
After all, every game of M.A.S.H. that she’d ever played had been quite clear that a Porsche was in her future. And this had been her opportunity.
But unfortunately, with the need for speed came the need for a regulatory body.
Yes, darlings, that’s where the WHiPs come in.
Wizarding Highway Patrol.
Hermione thought it sounded dirty.
Don’t you? Whips and chains instead of planes and trains? And of course, those tight little outfits didn’t help at all. They had to be streamlined for aerodynamics because those lucky gits all got McLaren F1 brooms, specially designed for WHiPs maneuvering. Bought and paid for by Officer Malfoy, of course.
Apparently, he thought he was still playing Quidditch. It reminded her of all of those cheesy muggle sitcoms about boys who never outgrew their high school glories.
Not that Hermione would ever dream of telling a soul, especially not the former Quidditch hero himself, but Draco Malfoy was one fine piece of wizarding ass in those pants. She wondered if he’d had to paint them on and worse yet, what it would be like to be the brush for said painting. Or maybe she’d let him use her tongue…
Hermione colored at the thought. If some of these wizards knew even half of the thoughts that zipped around her pristine little head, they’d have apoplexy.
She actually had this recurring fantasy… Hermione wouldn’t call it a dream, no. She was awake. But she couldn’t help herself.
Just sitting in the Porsche had been a bad idea, because that’s when it had started. She’d squirmed in the butter leather seats, positioning her arse just right, until the seat felt like it had been made for her.
Then she’d placed her hands appropriately on the wheel, and visions of speeding down that new wizarding highway had filled her head. She could feel the wind in her hair… She could hear the sirens, could see Draco Malfoy in the rearview mirror coming to tell her what a bad girl she was…
And you know, the easiest vantage from those itty-bitty mirrors was from the waist down… Oh my Merlin, the waist down! Hermione had tittered and the salesman had given her a knowing look.
‘All the girls are buying fast cars, what with Officer Malfoy doing time in Traffic.’
She’d almost walked away then. Almost. But M.A.S.H had said nothing about Draco Malfoy. Only Porsche, beautiful sleek Porsche.
Hermione Granger had driven it off the lot, ownership scrolls in hand.
Of course registration had been hell, but they had staffed the Wizarding Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, or WDVLA, with goblins. Getting a license was worse than borrowing money…
But we are getting off of the subject; that being one Officer Malfoy’s impressive parts in a rearview mirror.
That was a subject a bird like herself could definitely get off on…
Of course the reality was like a cold slap to the face. How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t had the Porsche even a day, and already, her lead foot had gotten the better of her. And it would have to be Malfoy.
Worse yet, he would have to look every bit as stunning as she imagined. Now, if only he would keep his churlish mouth shut…
“Do you have any idea how fast you were going?”
She couldn’t see the face of the man that was talking. Only his hard abs, outlined so perfectly by that streamlined material… And if she fluttered her eyes downward just a bit, oh holy Jesus, Merlin and… and… Whoever the hell else was listening.
Hermione did, in fact, know how fast she was going. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so, but she didn’t think that would go over well. Maybe some girlish wiles might actually do her some good here.
Not that she would ever advocate downplaying her intelligence, or any woman’s for that matter. But there were some things that just had to be done. After all, who needs the hassle of a ticket? Yes, this really was the most practical avenue. Really.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Well, do you?”
“No, Officer. I don’t.” Hermione was breathless and undid the first button on her blouse as she spoke. She hoped her cleavage wasn’t blushing.
“Your breasts,” he paused. “No matter how magnificent, are not going to get you out of this ticket. You know how many great pairs of tits are flashed in my face every day?”
He said she had magnificent breasts! Of course, she did. Stupid git. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I was just hot. Write me the ticket and I can be about my business.”
“Wasn’t your business attracting my attention?”
Oh the nerve…
“Women speed down this road every day with the mad hope that I’ll pull them over and shag them silly.”
It was a lovely fantasy… But by heaven, he was such an overbearing ass. “Apparently, since you were staring down my blouse instead of looking at my registration or my license, you’ve failed to notice who you’re speaking to.”
Hermione pushed open the door, slamming it into his thighs and forcing him back. She swung her long legs out of the Porsche and stood, her heels putting her almost eye-level with him.
“You are sadly mistaken if you think…”
A smirk crossed his face. It was tired and trademarked. A look that she’d seen a million times. But never in the grown-up man flesh. It was devastating.
“Well, if it isn’t the proper prefect? Or would that be the perfect prefect?” He arched a brow above his dark sunglasses.
What was she supposed to say to that?
“Fancy seeing you here, on the wrong side of the law.”
“Fancy seeing you here, on the right side of the law.”
“Kitty still has her claws, I see.” He wasn’t impressed in the least. In fact, he seemed genuinely amused.
“I have places I need to be, Malfoy. Just write my ticket.”
“Officer Malfoy, thank you.”
Oh, the way he said that. It made her feel like she was being very, very naughty. She wondered if he had a night stick like the muggle cops. Or handcuffs, dear saints above…
Visions of herself, face down on the hood of her Porsche with the oh-so stern Officer Malfoy behind her filled her head like so much cotton candy.
“Yes, well, Officer Malfoy.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, but just thinking about him doing those things to her, well, she licked her lips but good.
* * *
“Knock that off, Granger.”
“What?” She looked legitimately confused.
Draco wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He hadn’t been so affected by a woman since…
Since fourth year. Yule Ball. Blue dress robes. And the very same Hermione Granger. She’d been elegant perfection. He’d spent many a secret night with her face conjured in the cocoon of his bed curtains and with his hand on his cock. She was unattainable, forbidden.
And here she was now, all grown up. Most definitely grown up, he thought as his eyes were drawn back to where she’d unbuttoned her blouse. Then he couldn’t help looking at her mouth again.
“Tell you what, I’ll let you slide. This time.”
“Why?” Hermione narrowed her eyes.
He certainly wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Malfoy leaned across the door that divided them and wrapped a dark curl around his finger.
When had her hair become so soft? It was silk…
“Because you’ll owe me.”
“I’d rather have the ticket, thank you.” Hermione snapped, but she didn’t pull away.
Interesting.
“Considering how fast you were going, that would be mandatory time.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! Azkaban, for… for… this?” she sputtered.
“No, not Azkaban. But traffic court is staffed by the goblins, just like the WDVLA. So I think you’d be looking at,” he paused, thinking. “At least a week of paperwork.”
“You really are serious?”
“You could always bribe me.”
* * *
The most secret of all of her fantasies were coming true. Or Malfoy still had it out for her. Occam’s Razor came to mind, meaning the simplest answer was probably the correct one…
“I would never bribe an officer of the law.” Hermione snapped, embarrassed that her body had tightened at the very thought of what bribing him would or could entail.
“Come now. Wouldn’t you?”
“You’re the devil.”
“Maybe. Haven’t you ever thought about it, Granger?” He traced the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “What it would be like between us?”
She was sure that he was just trying to get her to make some incriminating admission, but she had thought of it. She’d thought of it often. Hermione would be damned, though, if she’d give him the satisfaction.
“No. Certainly not. Have you?” It wasn’t a question that she really wanted an answer to. It just sort of escaped her mouth, like most things before she had the chance to really think about them.
“Oh yes, Ms. Granger. I certainly have. I’ve thought about it. Long. And hard.” He punctuated each word with a heavy pause, giving each one time to hit the bottom of her stomach.
“I can’t fathom why. We don’t even like each other.” Oh, there was some of that spine that she knew she had hidden somewhere.
“I’m hurt,” his mouth was inches from hers now and he sounded like anything but hurt. “I like you. I like you very much.”
“You just want to see if you can get into my knickers.”
“I won’t lie, Granger. I’d love to be in your knickers. They might be the only pair I haven’t been in.”
Just hearing him say, in your knickers, that was enough to make her have to cross her legs and grab the car for support.
“See, you just think we don’t like each other. And you can’t blame me for school. I was a boy then, a boy who didn’t know the joys of bookish witches.”
“Oh, and what are the joys of bookish witches?”
“It’s so easy to make them scream.”
Hermione had to get the upper hand back, somehow. All she could think about, all her celebrated brain could do, was flash images of him. Of her. Of all the things he could do to make her scream. Like right now, if he got any closer, she would be screaming and tearing at his hair, begging him to take her like a…
“Why? Do you light them on fire?” Ha. That was good. At least, she thought so.
“Why don’t you hop on the back of this McLaren and we can find out?”
He was serious. This wasn’t a joke. Draco Malfoy was hitting on her. She couldn’t think.
His mouth was on hers before she could process the reality of the situation. She tried to rear back, but the car was solid behind her and he just kept coming. But that damn door was still between them.
If she was going to be ravaged, it was damn well going to be done right.
Hermione smacked at his shoulders rather ineffectively until he broke the kiss.
“Don’t tell me that you’re really saying no…”
“I didn’t say no, but I’m not a WHiPs groupie, either. You will come to my flat, you will pick me up, you will take me to dinner…”
Draco Malfoy was intrigued. He couldn’t remember the last time that a woman had made him take her to dinner.
“Friday, then?”
What the hell was wrong with tonight?
“No.”
“Hermione, if there are flaming hoops,”
He’d just said her name! Not Granger, not… What was he saying? Was he still talking? His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear a damn thing. She blinked. Hermione wasn’t sure how her eyes had anything to do with her hearing, but it was worth a shot.
“What?”
“I was saying, that if you…”
Again, that hard mouth was moving, there was sound coming out, but it just didn’t register. So, she just nodded.
Hermione realized as she was driving away sans ticket, that she’d just stumbled onto the single witches’ Holy Grail. An honest to Merlin date with Draco Malfoy.
How many women had that very same fantasy about being pulled over and… She sighed. Then she slammed on the brakes and almost skidded off the road.
Draco Bloody Malfoy!
She was going out on a date with Draco Malfoy. He was like the poster child for the SS. Why would he want to go out with her? Surely, he couldn’t have had some brilliant epiphany… though that would be convenient.
Hermione had heard that Draco had served the Order during the war, but she wasn’t sure to what extent. What did he want? He couldn’t just want her, could he?
Why was he in Traffic?
She’d heard that when he’d been an Auror that there’d been an epidemic of witches filing false reports just to get some face time with him.
He wasn’t that hot, was he?
‘Yeah,’ that little voice in the back of her head corrected. ‘He is that hot.’
And she, Hermione Granger, had a date with him. On Friday, apparently.
She was sure it had to be some kind of hoax. There had to be something more in it for him. Hermione wasn’t going to back down, though. She’d just have to be on her guard.
* * *
Hermione flooed in sick Friday. Very uncharacteristic of her. Her boss was convinced that she was either dying or under an Imperius.
She assured him that it was just a bit of exhaustion and she needed to rest. And that wasn’t an outright lie.
She hadn’t been able to sleep the whole night, her melon had been overworking itself imaging scenarios with Draco Malfoy. Some good. Most bad. One way or another. Every time she’d closed her eyes, they’d popped open with a resolute snap that she was sure had been audible in the next flat over.
Which was probably what he wanted all along.
Then she reminded herself that the whole date thing had been her idea.
“You sodding idiot!” she muttered to herself.
She should have just shagged him there on the car and been done with it. Then there wouldn’t be anymore of fiddle-farting around with this skittish anxiety.
Hermione was fairly sure that the night would culminate in something that would change her life one way or another.
Because if he was as good as they said... And “they” always had plenty to say.
Who’s they?
Well, the entire witches’ underground of bathroom stall conversation, of course. That damn thing flew hotter and faster than any floo network.
And what was she going to wear?
This really was too much for her. Hermione wasn’t that kind of woman. Of course she took care with her grooming, but she wasn’t a girly-girl. She didn’t fuss with her hair, her make-up, or her clothes. Shoes, now that was another story.
Hermione had two wardrobes to choose from, which just made it worse. Muggle or wizarding?
She needed a drink. A big one. She might feel braver with an Appletini. Or sick. But anything was better than this.
Unless of course…
She could just see it. They’d be having a grand time, cruising on that McLaren and she’d hurl chunky apple Technicolor humiliation all over those nice broad shoulders…
Hermione finally decided on a smart pair of riding pants and a lacy, low-cut shirt. That way, she would be fine wherever they went. And she had to admit, as she examined her arse in the mirror, that those riding pants really did do her justice.
Not that she actually had a horse or anything, but they were really cute pants. And they’d been on sale.
After shelling out the lucre for that Porsche, it was going to be sale items or nothing for a long time. Maybe even peanut butter for lunch until she died. Which would be soon if Draco didn’t show up.
Imagine being stood up by Draco Malfoy.
* * *
Draco was a little nervous himself. Not that he’d admit it. But that flutter in his stomach had to come from somewhere and it was either that or he’d had some bad caviar.
If Draco Malfoy hated one thing, well, he hated lots of things. But he really hated being sick. He hated it more than a clingy witch.
“Don’t cock this up, Malfoy.” he muttered. Shite, who was he kidding? He was Draco Malfoy. The only thing that would be getting “cocked up” would be Hermione Granger.
But then what?
After her, there might not be any witches left to shag. At least none that he could stand to look at in the light of day. He might have to start over. Or get used to the dark. He’d heard things about those ugly witches…
Draco had heard an American call them “Rodeo Fucks”. Which apparently meant you just held on and they bucked like wild horses.
He smirked.
* * *
“What would you like to do this evening?” Draco asked when she opened the door.
She didn’t speak.
“Hey, love. This is your dog and pony show. I’m up for anything,” he said in that standard, blasé Malfoy way.
Hermione just bet that he was. Up for anything. “For starters, I didn’t think you’d agree to it.”
“If you don’t really want something, you shouldn’t ask for it.” He leaned against the doorway, his presence filling up the room without even being inside.
“You have to admit, this is all,” she paused. “So sudden.” Hermione couldn’t help but snicker. How very Barbara Cartland.
“No, it’s not sudden. This has been coming for years.” Draco didn’t wait for her to invite him in, but slipped inside with the deadly grace of an assassin.
Hermione snickered again. An assassin? Really.
But then she realized that Draco Malfoy was a dangerous man. Not because of the mark that had been on his arm once upon a time, not because of the men he’d killed, but because he was holding her. And she wanted him to.
She hated weak-minded, jelly-kneed, ninny twits who were complete idiots around a nice pair of shoulders. And oh my, were his shoulders ever so nice, she thought as she grabbed onto them, waiting for his kiss.
“Tell me a secret,” he whispered against her mouth. “And I’ll tell you one.”
“I have no secrets.” Hermione said, though she desperately wanted one right now.
“Everyone has secrets, Hermione. Everyone. Even you.” His mouth was soft on her cheek, but his hands were bold, one sliding down into her shirt to cup her breasts.
She gasped and arched into him, but he stopped the caress. “Tell me, Hermione.”
And Hermione realized that he could have her right there, on the floor, with the door to her flat open where anyone could see. She couldn’t bring herself to care about anything but the heat in his touch, the feel of his skin on hers.
Memories would keep her warmer than trepidation. After all, good girls never made history.
“I’ve wanted to touch you, that’s my secret.” Her answer was breathy, almost giddy. “Since fourth year.”
His lips paused in their trail down the hollow of her throat and he tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
“Yule Ball.” They said in unison.
The tension was shattered as they both started laughing.
“It was the first time I’d ever gotten a look at you when you weren’t being a wanker.”
“It was the first time I’d ever gotten a look at you without your nose in a scroll.”
“You know,” she moved out of his arms to close the door. “We don’t have to go out, we’ve both waited so long.”
“Actually Hermione,” those devil lips were close to her ear when he came up behind her, his hands sliding down to her hips. “After all these years, another few days won’t hurt.”
“What do you mean, a few days?” she growled.
“Let’s do this right. Get your coat.”
She turned the lock on the door. “Make me.”
“Granger, I’m trying to…”
“You’ve always been the bad boy, Malfoy. Don’t turn Alice on me now.”
“I’ll show you Alice,” he pushed her up against the door, his body deliciously hard against her.
Then, he reached around her, and Hermione thought he was wrapping his arms around her waist, but he was reaching for the lock.
“I’ll be outside if you want to,” he smirked. “Come.”
Hermione let out a little whimper of disappointment. “That’s not fair.”
“When have I ever been accused of being fair?” Another smirk.
“You know, it would probably be easier for both of us if we just shagged like ugly monkeys on the floor and you say that you’ll floo me, but never do. At least we’d know what to expect.”
“Knowing what to expect is boring.” He put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her out the door to an uncertain future.
And I don’t know about you, but I certainly wouldn’t have been pushing for the “floo me” line. Silly bint. Good thing our Draco knows better. Or this could have been a not so happy ending.
-The End