FIC: Binocular Vision (Draco/Hermione)
Title: Binocular Vision
Author: mere_whispers
Characters: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, brief Parvati Patil, mentioned Harry Potter, mentioned James Potter, mentioned Lily Potter, mentioned Pansy Parkinson.
Prompt number: #218
Word Count: 9,050
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Alternative Universe; Strong Profanity; Explicit Sexual Situations; Voldemort Free AU, where things tend to seem baffling at times.
Summary: Hermione abhors working for the Wizarding World's singing sensation, Draco Malfoy, more so on tours than ever. But after Brazil, are things going to change?
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Author’s Notes: This is an AU, where Voldemort was defeated during the first Wizarding War, before he could kill Harry's parents. I know the entire back-story to this; feel free to question me about any, pesky, little detail you feel like. Including Lily's "condition," though that isn't of any importance with regards to this story.
A really HUGE shoutout to K, my incredibly talented beta, who has not only brushed this up in record time (three hours, y'all!), but has also tutored me about many things related to formatting, along the way. Oh, honey, thank you so much! You're a blessing!
There's smut, in here, and I'm not an expert of that steamy stuff. Kindly be gentle. *hides under the bed*
And then there's a bit of conversation in Brazilian Portuguese, which I'm not giving translation for. Use Google Translate, if you're curious, or simply let it be because it isn't too important. And, anyway, Draco doesn't understand it, either.
That's about it. So. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did, dear prompter!
Binocular Vision
noun
“vision using two eyes with overlapping fields of view, allowing good perception of depth.”
i. repertoire
It was one of those days, again, Hermione realized with a grimace - the days when she was furious at herself for showing Harry’s worth of impulsiveness at tender moments.
Such days were the ones when she was found regretting, in abundance, her kicking away of the glorious Ministry job she’d once had-days when she was tailing her ‘boss’ on ‘tours’.
Well. That was the official statement.
Because, in reality, ‘tours’ implied that the jock of her employer would roam the world, doing concerts that would gross enough to pull the Weird Sisters off their pedestal, and making Hermione follow after him with her hands full of ‘to-do lists’ that she’d have to spend innumerable sleepless nights in compiling, and that the idiot would never-never-take any notice of!
But then, he never did take any notice of her, either, did he? There was something wrong with his head. Apparently.
And then there was his enamoring the entire crowds by merely flashing one of those toothy, dazzling grins of his that she had never had the fortune of being at the receiving end of. He got privilege at every bleeding occasion, just because-
Okay, so he was a superstar-and what? That didn’t make him super-human.
And, not to forget, those huge-massive-groups of girls - females, really - that were always blocking his way; jamming the entire path! The sod, however, would merely smirk and wink, and wave over, and get his track cleared - leaving behind and impossibly pissed off Hermione to elbow her way out of those hellish impasses!
The absolutely shameless git that he was, she didn’t really believe that he even thought about the kind of troubles she faced. Well, why would he? She remembered - clear as day - those times in Hogwarts when he, along with a buggering huge lot of other boys, never saw Hermione Granger as a girl, a female-a person who’d, someday, grow up to become a woman. He didn’t, and he never missed an opportunity of rubbing it in her face, either. His, “oh, Granger, get yourself a girlfriend, already, man,” and, “why’re you using the girls’ loo, Granger?” and-
Hermione stopped her thoughts from wandering off, not wanting to indulge too deep into those painful memories, that were always going to remain sore. He’d said a lot of vulgar, highly inappropriate things to her, all his life. And he hadn’t - ever - seen her as a female, all his life, either.
She was pretty sure that he did not, now, as well. Something was brain with his wrong, right, according to her earlier conclusion? Right.
Hell, he would have given some indication if he did, wouldn’t he? She’d have caught something. Such an arsehole of a flirt, and his eyes hadn’t ever strayed down to her legs, had they? That was saying something, after she’d revamped her entire wardrobe and stocked up bundles, above bundles, of skirts and shorts and buggering sundresses when she’d accepted this position of his Agent.
The trouble was - she liked the git. A lot. It wasn't her fault, really, that she'd seen that cute, smiling blond boy in the Hogwarts Express, and developed a crush on him. Crush at first sight?
Hermione grunted in agony, rolling her neck and throwing her head back as she gazed up at the star-lit, night-sky.
She was seated, on a rickety, little chair, waiting for the clock to strike ten - which would be the indication of her shift ending for the day, as was the norm on tours - outside of his trailer. Well, outside of his carriage, really, which was an advanced and a fairly better-complete with an Undetectable Extension Charm to make its interiors unbelievably large-adoption of Muggle Trailers, and was driven by ‘Thestrals’. Merlin knew what they were! Luna Lovegood had told the lot of them, in their fifth year, that the carriages they’d thought moved themselves, were actually pulled by Thestrals. Knowing how loony the girl was, they had all hoped that ‘Thestrals’ weren’t as difficult to spot as Wrack-spurts. Though, Luna had clarified, in a rather conspicuous manner, that no objects existed that could make the beings visible. And that the only means that did allow a person to look at them was something rather ‘horrific’. They hadn’t mulled over much-
“Damn, yes!”
The girly, high pitched shriek jolted Hermione out of her musings. Well. Hermione’d almost forgotten that he’d taken a guest - or ‘guests’, even; she hadn’t really looked - with him, tonight.
She groaned. “I hate you, Draco Malfoy…”
ii. gyves
“Granger!”
Hermione swore under breath, deftly ducking her head, and tucking her chin into the collar of her peacoat, she prayed to Godric that the book in her hands would conceal her face and she won’t be spotted.
Her prayer, however, bounced back to smack her over the head when the chair opposite to her was dragged, and another person plopped down to share her-previously-peaceful sprawl under the patio umbrella.
“My head fucking hurts, Merlin!” Draco Malfoy grumbled, running a hand through his already, badly mussed up hair.
Of their own accord, Hermione’s eyes darted lower, gaze skimming the bruises, love-bites on his neck before gliding up to his kiss-swollen - and bruised - lips, and her chest clenched painfully. Ugh.
“I need breakfast, Granger, why the hell are you not-” he snapped, stopping, abruptly, to frown at her book. “What… what are you reading, fuck, Granger - it’s morning, Salazar-”
“Senhor!” Hermione cut the blond idiot’s rants to gesture over to a spot-boy lurking nearby; albeit in a pathetically accented Portuguese.
“Senhorita?” The younger boy did an old-fashioned bow, smiling at Hermione.
Hermione envied his accent. “Could you-um… eh, você poderia nos trazer ... café da manhã?” she stuttered in her hastily learnt, really broken Portuguese.
The spot-boy grinned at her, eyes alight with fascination. “Certamente, senhora!” He looked at Draco, then, with comparatively less excitement. “E você, Senhor?”
“What?” Draco snapped, looking appalled. “I don’t know your language, kid. Talk to the lady!” He brushed the boy off, arrogantly leaning back in the chair as he folded his arms.
Hermione scowled at him before looking back at the flustered boy. “Obter-nos um pouco… de café, por favor. And, ah - a refeicao… é para ele.”
The boy’s smile drooped a bit. “E você, minha querida senhora?”
Hermione cleared her throat, uncomfortably, at his address, but shook her head. “Nao, eu sou-”
“Oh, come on, Granger!” Draco growled in irritation. “Order the fucking breakfast, and get rid of him!”
Hermione fumed at his outburst. “I’m your Agent, Malfoy, not your personal assistant!”
“You, boy,” Draco hissed at the spot-boy, making him startle at the viciousness in his tone. Then he flicked a finger, indicating ‘leave’ in the clearest sign-language possible. “Get lost.”
Half stumbling and half running, he disappeared.
Hermione took in a hissing breath through clenched teeth as she looked back at a yawning Draco. Her blood was practically boiling. How dare he?
“Listen, here, Draco-”
“No, you listen here, Granger,” he sneered, and she flinched away from the venom dripping from his voice. Her throat suddenly felt clogged. “We’re here on business, okay? I’ve - I’ve got a fucking job; this ain’t a holiday trip I’m taking with you! We’ve got a horde of workers appointed to us - can you not restrict your interactions to them? The ones who understand English?”
“Look,” Hermione icily said, reaching across the table to jab a finger into his bicep, which-
Mother of Merlin, but it was firm as rock! Hermione swallowed past a suddenly dry throat, her words forgotten as her eyes dropped to the muscles she’d accidentally prodded.
“What?” Draco barked, oblivious to her awestruck, appreciative gaze on his upper arm.
That snapped her out of the reverie, though. “Nothing.” She sniffed, jerking her hands away from him and taking a sip of her especially modified Earl Grey-added with really strong headache-soothing potions, that is; this job hadn’t granted her a single night of proper sleep-and proceeded to look for the passage she’d been on before this dunce disgraced her with his company.
But just as she had kept her cup back on the table, a pale hand was dragging it away, and before she could react, Draco had taken two hefty sips from it. From her tea. Her special tea!
“Glaring at my head won’t kill me, you know,” he told her, without looking away from the contents of the teacup he was currently swirling in his hand; amusement spilling off is tone.
She sniffed in disdain. “One can dream, yeah?”
“Thanks, anyway.” He shrugged, giving her an exaggerated, toothy grin.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Ugh!
She cleared her throat, looking back into her book. She should have brought some unread book along, this morning, she thought with a frown.
“Why didn’t you take breakfast in your trailer, like you do every day?” she mumbled, the side of neck practically prickling where she could feel his gaze lingering at.
“They’re asleep in there.” He sounded really disgruntled. But he didn’t have the right to, Hermione reflected, because he certainly hadn’t seemed less than enthusiastic when he’d spent the previous evening indulging in shameless flirting with that girl-
Hermione grimaced. Had he said ‘they’? “Uh, they?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, squinting into space. “The two of them.”
How can he be so bloody nonchalant about having threesome sex, on a tour with his Agent sticking close, on his heels, all the time? Hermione's cheeks felt hot.
He took a sip from his-her-from her tea. “What’re you lost in, by the way?”
Hermione feigned a nonchalant shrug. Well, he isn’t some certified pro at nonchalance; if he can pull it off, so can she
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how excitement lit his eyes up as he gave an appreciative glance to the cover of her book. Merlin, the two of them had so many similarities! Her pride felt stroked at his slight, little nod of admiration.
“The War, is it called?” he asked, eyes narrowed at the cover.
Hermione’s tensed shoulders relaxed a bit. This was Bookworm Draco at work, right now. She could tell. She’d spent quite a lot of time with him, years back, during their last two years at Hogwarts. He’d been the only other student to have spent as much time in the library as she had, this Bookworm Draco. And, Bookworm Draco, she could deal with. Bookworm Draco was someone she could share her tea with. Bookworm Draco was someone she could have decent, intelligent conversations with, for hours on end. Bookworm Draco was-
“Why’re you smiling, Granger?” His mercurial eyes twinkled with amusement.
Something akin to longing twisted deep, down in Hermione guts.
She quickly cleared her throat, straightening in her seat to shut her book and flash him the cover. “Yeah. The War by Sikander Patil.”
He cocked a brow at that. “Patil? As in, the Patil twins’… daddy?”
“Parvati and Padma’s dad, yes.” She smiled at his joining of dots. “He’d been a part of the War.”
He must have been piqued, for he leisurely dragged the book to him, flipping it over and perusing the back cover. Then his eyebrows arched. “My father hasn’t given me every single, little detail about those days, but… he’s-he’s told me quite a lot. But, a… horcrux? Nah, never heard of it.”
Hermione squinted at the sunlight reflecting on his platinum-blonde hair. “They’re… objects that one uses to keep the pieces of one’s soul in,” she provided, knowing that it wasn’t mentioned on the back cover. “And, if you read this book, you’ll find out how much Dumbledore’s researched on them. He’d been the key to destroying them all.”
He hummed in response, already engrossed in something. “See this, ‘He’d been too ambitious-and that had been his breaking point. He trusted the wrong people; took them to be what they weren’t. Looking at it from my side, I’d say that they were people who were entirely powerless before Voldemort. And, despite the risk, their conscience turned out to be a hurdle they couldn’t hop past, when it came to supporting Voldemort the way he wanted them to. They’d been of help to us, the way nothing else had.’” He looked at Hermione with a wistful smile. “My father had been one of those people.”
Hermione’s heart stuttered. “Draco, I’m-”
“No, Granger,” he cut her, his voice thick, and-oh, crap, were those tears shining in his eyes? “I’m not asking for pity, here. I’m just - ah, informing you, you know, that whatever you’re reading is probably really close to truth. This… Sikander Patil? He seems to have done a good job.”
Hermione snorted. They’d been study-mates, once upon a time, she was practically his assistant, now; it wasn’t like he would be sharing things with a nemesis! “You know, you can-”
“Can I borrow this?” he asked, flipping through the pages and completely ignoring her words. “I’m guessing that you’ve already finished it off.”
Hermione scowled, crossing her arms against her chest as she let out a petulant harrumph. “Yes, I have. And yes, you may take the book.”
He gave her an absent-minded nod, evidently not paying much attention.
Hermione sighed. “Borrowing it is meaningless if you’re intent on finishing it off, just here, Draco.”
He chuckled, not taking his eyes off whatever had caught his attention. “I’m just leafing through, witch. And, anyways, I cannot exactly-”
Smirking deviously, Hermione cut him, “Wait! You cannot read, right now, can you?” He scowled at which she grinned. “You wore glasses, didn’t you? Back at Hogwarts, during the last year?”
Pink tinged the top of his cheeks, his eyes narrowed as he scoffed at her. “That was ages ago, Granger. Hell, woman, things’ve changed, ever since! People have changed; revolutionized, even. Feelings have changed-I’m cordial with Potter, ain’t I?” He scoffed again, rubbing a hand down his face. “And you're talking about a disparity in my eyesight? I'm not Potter; and my father, sure as hell doesn't wear specs! I got my eyes healed by Blaise’s mum.”
Hermione’s heart felt heavy.
People have changed; revolutionized even. Feelings have changed.
Maybe she was reading too much into his words, but this made that slightest smidgen of hope that she held, about him being interested in her, all those years back, shatter before her.
She took a breath. Not that she’d ever expected reciprocation from him, anyway; such insanity was better off unrequited.
He got up. “Alright, Granger. Thanks for the gift. And, tell that-that… whoever you’d ordered my breakfast to - tell him to drop it off at the trailer.” He stretched, muscles rippling as his t-shirt flexed against his torso. Hermione’s mouth dried up. “Got to deal with those two sleepyheads,” he mumbled around a yawn, walking away.
Suddenly, she wanted to throw-up.
iii. fluke
Hermione ran as fast as her legs could manage. Sprinting across the little village that they’d made up with innumerable tents - Merlin knew why these were even required! - she ducked past those huge, weird things that were born out of modifying Muggle sound systems and applying ridiculous charna on them. And, really, what was their requirement, anyway? Sonorus would’ve come handy-
“Excuse me, little one!” She elbowed her way through an impossibly huge group of kids that had gathered around the carpeted path laid down to connect Draco’s trailer with the backstage. She dashed down the navy blue velvet, that little package in the inner pocket of her jacket bobbing as she rushed towards the backstage, and-
Collided straight into him.
“Granger!”
Hermione swayed, panting, while Draco grabbed her by the shoulders to straighten her. She was too out of breath, to speak.
“Have-have you… Did-did I… Granger, I-” he sputtered, freezing when she stepped away from his grasp. Hermione snaked a hand into the inner pocket of her denim jacket to extract the little item he'd forgotten with his dress designer, today. A little brooch in the shape of a peacock that Draco had always carried on his person, since it was gifted to him at the age of five, and considered a lucky charm. “The brooch!” he gasped; his happiness was infectious as he looked at her with a relieved grin. Then he was crushing her into a hug, and mumbling, “I love you-I love you so damn much, Granger! What would I ever do without you?”
And then he was gone, running down the stairs that led to the dais that faced the audience-audience that awaited their favorite rockstar’s arrival.
Hermione took in a shuddering breath.
I love you-I love you so damn much, Granger!
“Stop it,” she hissed to herself, wrapping her arms about her stomach in the suddenly cold changing room. “That was his relief talking, Hermione, stop looking for fucking reciprocal!”
iv. sublime
Hermione hugged her knees closer to her chest, rocking back and forth as she looked about the make-shift bedroom she’d been provided with, in one of the numerous tents spread over the area. Her head felt heavy with the three pints of Firewhiskey she’d consumed after dinner. She took a deep breath.
Hermione had always been known to be a practical person-someone who always kept her wits about her. Over the years, she had come to agree, too, to some extent. And all she wanted to do, now, was to believe in that fact with all of her heart - channel that practicality, and think of all the possible, plausible, probable reasons that weren’t despairing, despondent, depressing, and yet managed to explain the current state of her mind.
But-she couldn’t.
She couldn’t, because despite all what she’d heard about herself, she wasn’t as invincible - as hopelessly practical - as the people who knew her, supposed her to be.
She wasn’t.
Hermione let out a shuddering breath. She wasn’t not brooding, exactly; she’d deny if she was asked, though.
Oh, well. There lay the trouble, didn’t it? Nobody would ask. Nobody gave a damn. Not Draco Malfoy, of all people, at least, because that was what almost all of her aggression was focused at.
“Oh, fuck it!” Hermione hissed to herself, yanking the covers off her as she got up.
She was done-completely over with his shit. She wasn’t going to stay around anymore. It wasn’t healthy for her heart.
Grumbling obscenities under her breath, Hermione pocketed her wand and stalked out of the peaceful quiet of her tent.
His trailer was in her direct line of sight, and she had half a mind of blowing off a Bombarda in its direction. But, controlling her anger and taking calming breaths, she resorted to jogging down to it, physically.
She hadn’t seen him since this afternoon. After that terribly puzzling behavior of his before his performance, Hermione hadn’t been enough of a Gryffindor to face him, again. Because, despite all of whatever the hell she’d told her foolish heart - whatever excuses she’d stuffed into her head - about his words from this afternoon, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something-some tiny, little speckle of something-that was veiled from her sight. And that made her uneasy; had done so for the entirety of this evening.
To top her ire off, she’d had a glimpse of him when he’d made a quick departure after the concert. And? Well, he’d had three girls hanging on his self like leeches. Three, Merlin!
And, now, at some hour past-midnight, she was rushing over to his trailer - which would still be occupied by those three twats.
Hermione grimaced at her brain’s filthy language.
She huffed out a breath as she came to a stop before the gate to Draco’s trailer. She struck her hand against it, twice, hard.
Three heartbeats passed before the door was pulled open by a furious, red-faced, tousle-haired, bare-chested, boxers-clad Draco Malfoy. Hermione suddenly wasn’t sure if this had been a good idea. For the life of her, she didn’t know if she’d be able to refrain from throwing up when she saw the state his bedmates were in.
Blinking repeatedly, she took a step back, and - almost involuntarily - raked her gaze down his awfully sexy torso, gazing heatedly at his heaving chest-though she had nothing to do with the strenuous activities that had left him out of breath, much to her chagrin-following the clenching-unclenching muscles of his abdomen that weren’t too prominent despite being adorned with six, almost perfectly chiseled abs, down that delectable, tapering ‘V’ that ran along his hips, and-
Shut her eyes as a shudder wracked through her body. Belatedly, she noticed that it was, actually, drafty, out here. Nevertheless, she admitted to herself that her shudder had nothing to do with the cold. His, though-that did.
Guiltily, she swallowed back the emotions lumping in her throat and opened her eyes. “I was just-just… Sorry to, you know-I - I - I didn’t know you had, um, company, just, you know… I’m leaving.”
Her cheeks were burning as she twisted in place. His eyes were molten silver, Merlin, she could probably-
“Granger,” he breathed out in what felt like exasperation. So he was frustrated? Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the patch of grass before her. “I don’t have company.” She gasped in surprise. “You can quit throwing a tantrum and spill out whatever you’re here for. And,” he urged, just as she looked back at him with her eyes wide in incredulity and rage, “for Salazar’s sake, come inside before I freeze to my untimely death.”
She gave him her dirtiest scowl, even as she stomped her way into his gigantic trailer that she faintly remembered Colin Creevey had contributed in building up. That poor kid. How hard must he have worked so that a git like Draco could be held in comfort?
She jumped at the sound of the trailer’s door banging shut. Then, she turned around to look at her companion.
Draco was squinting at her with indecipherable expressions on his face. “What?”
Hermione gulped. He was really pissed at something, Christ! There couldn’t have been a worse time to see him about what she was here for! Hermione wondered if she’d woken him up-if his anger was accredited to her. Then she frowned. Her knocking hadn’t been that rigorous! He won’t have acknowledged if he was asleep.
“Granger!” he snapped, irritably, clicking the fingers of his right hand before her face as he flexed and twisted and fisted his left, at his side.
And that action caught Hermione’s attention. His arms were strong, Merlin, he really did work-out! Her gaze slid past his muscled upper arms to his stiff, sinewy forearms. Was she drooling? Probably. Did she care? Her alcohol-addled head did not.
“Are you going to speak, at all, woman?” Draco grumbled, running a hand over his face as he walked past her to settle into a, seemingly, really plush couch.
Either he was deliberately overlooking her lustful admiration of his body, or Draco had gotten accustomed to women gaping at him, all the time. That thought left a sour feeling in Hermione’s mind. Was he really - really, really - accustomed? Too accustomed?
He sighed, after a few more moments. “Granger?”
Hermione cringed, finally deciding to speak. “Why d’you still call me by my last name?”
He choked on a cough of laughter. “Why do I-really, Granger? That’s what you’re here for?” he asked, laughter evident in his tone.
His laughter, God-she’d never been this aware of his attributes before, had she? Firewhiskey had done a number on her, Godric! Coming here to see him after having consumed three pints, suddenly didn’t seem like the brightest of ideas she’d ever had. Hermione licked her lips. “Among other things.”
He shook his head, smirking at her in amusement, before he shrugged. “Given names feel… intimate… to me. I can't get myself to use them as casually as people usually tend to.”
Hermione’s breath stuttered out of her lungs. Intimate? What was this guy?
“Stop gaping, Granger, it’s unbecoming.” He rolled back his neck, shutting his eyes as he rested his head on the low back of the couch. “It’s middle of the damned night, Merlin… What do want, Granger?” he mumbled after a pause.
Hermione took a deep breath. “You.”
“I? I, what?”
His brows were furrowed, and Hermione knew that it won’t be a minute before he caught on. Squaring her shoulders, she repeated, boldly, “You.”
His eyes flew open, jaw dropping as he fumbled to sit up. “What?” he almost squeaked. “Granger, I-I never… oh, Merlin… You-you-you’re not drunk, are you?”
Hermione scoffed. Yes she was drunk, but not in the sense that he thought she was. “No.”
He let out his breath in a resounding whoosh. His eyes were so far wide - blown, really - in horror, that Hermione felt a misplaced sort of hurt spanning across her lungs, up through her vocal chords and finally lodging like a lump in her throat. He was horrified by the prospect of her wanting him? Did he really find her that despicable? And he didn't even have the complete idea of how deep her feelings ran…
“I-I… Granger, I don’t-”
Hermione cut him off with a wail of anguish. “Of course, you don’t, Draco!” she shrieked. “You think I don’t know that? Hah! Funny you’d think so, after having made your hatred so obvious to me, all through the school years!”
Draco was gaping at her like a goldfish. His pink, plump, wet lips opened and closed without forming words. Then his eyes widened further, and Hermione knew that he’d noticed that hers were brimming. She had to bite down on her lower lip to prevent it from quivering.
“Since the day I kept my foot in Hogwarts, you’ve been crystal clear about your disdain for me,” she continued in a softer, more humanly and less harpy-like tone. “You’ve been pretty direct, up till the very last year - even after we’d been put in the same group for the group-study program Dumbledore had set up before NEWTs - about how I wasn’t even a girl, least of all one that wasn’t an eyesore.”
Draco winced, looking away with shame on his face. Then he rose, slowly, and raked a hand through his hair. Hermione had a faint idea that he was about to jump into a rant of apologies. She couldn't have that.
“After seven years of listening to those humiliating words,” she continued, overlooking the way he clenched his eyes shut as if in pain, “one would think I’d get a hang of them. But, guess what, Draco? I haven’t.” She took a breath to clear her windpipe and wiped the corner of her eyes. “Do you really not think of me as a woman, Draco?” She hated how vulnerable she sounded, but - she couldn't take it back, could she?
“I have!” he exclaimed, taking Hermione by surprise. “Goodness, have you forgotten about our last year at Hogwarts, completely, Granger?”
Hermione blinked. “No, I haven't, but… Is there something I should remember?”
Draco's eyes widened in incredulity. “Are you kidding me, right now? I was - I was fairly interested in you, Granger, back when the five of us used to meet in the library, before the NEWTs!”
Hermione gasped, taking a step back. “You were? You've got a funny way of showing it, Malfoy!” she yelled.
Draco clenched his jaw shut as he looked at her with a glassy, cold stare. “Yeah? How do you suppose should have I shown it, then? Tell me, Granger, do you take me for someone who'd sit through nights with someone, discussing Muggle literature, for fun?”
Hermione swallowed, looking at him with wide eyes. “You could… could've been more… vocal?” she stumbled on her words. “A-and how was I supposed to know that you w-weren’t being a f-f-friend?”
Draco sneered, taking a menacing step towards her. “Is that so? Or, is it that you weren't interested, back in those days, when I was a bloody, spoilt, nobody, Granger?”
Hermione flinched at his accusation before squaring her shoulders, for the second time that night. “Don’t you dare antagonize me, Draco,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes and she walked towards him. “And, because you've obviously forgotten about the power that your surname holds, let me remind you, mister, that you've never been a nobody, as far as my memory goes.”
Draco's viciously tightened expressions loosened a bit, at that.
“And, anyway, I'm going to be audacious enough to presume that I haven't become uglier as I've aged”-she studiously ignored the slight lowering of his eyelids at her words-“which implies that your ‘interest’ in me shouldn't have waned, the way it did.”
His eyebrows blew off his forehead at that. “Well, my career caught up with me, Granger,” he said, his voice rising with every word, “because I wasn't simply following my father's lead into the Ministry and actually making a name for myself!” He smirked, then, flashing her a front of his that he wore in his teenage years. “I'm sorry,” he stated smugly, although playfully, “for not caring much about having a girlfriend when I had so many people, out there, who loved me.”
Hermione reared back in shock. “They're your fans, Draco, not lovers,” she retorted, foolishly.
Draco, though, waved her off and crossed his arms against his chest. Then, as if struck by a thought, his condescending gaze on her softened and his puffed out chest deflated. “Do you… You, uh - you feel something for me, Granger? Something deep?” he asked in a soft whisper.
Hermione, almost involuntarily, licked her lips at that, her gaze drifting down to his chest. Oh, she felt a lot, alright. “I don't know how deep does your definition of ‘deep’ go,” she muttered, self-consciously, “but I have felt something for you, since…” She hesitated, looking up, momentarily, into his eyes that were looking at her with intense, rapt attention. She took in a small breath. “Since I first saw you,” she finished in a really small voice.
For moments, the echo of his stunned silence bounced off the walls, and fell back to her eardrums with thumping sounds that were perfectly aligned with her heart's nervous flutters.
“No, fucking way,” she heard him growl, then, before she was being hoisted up by a pair of lean arms around her waist, and being wedged between something that wasn't exactly flat, against her back, while her front pressed up against the smooth expanse of his chest.
“Draco, what-”
“Fucking shut up, Granger,” Draco growled before his lips covered hers in a rough, bruising kiss.
Her back arched off the wall, breasts meshing into the warm firmness that was his chest, and her eyes slid shut as she basked in the feeling of the pull of his soft, full lips on hers.
His hands, no longer clutching at her waist, raced down the flare of her hips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Hermione's lips parted against his when he gripped her butt, and-
She groaned into his mouth at the feeling of his soft, lush tongue gliding past her lips, then sweeping over the inside of her lower lip - making her thighs tremble in want - before it expertly curled against her upper jaw, skimming, strongly, over the ridge it found behind the row of her shapely, pearlescent teeth.
Desperately, her hands flew up from their resting place at her sides to grip at his shoulders, and he moaned with her at the contact of her frozen fingers and his blazing skin.
“Damn, Granger,” he breathed into her mouth, finally slowing down the explorations of his tongue with a final, parting lick to hers - making her emit an embarrassing squeak - and pulled back to plant smacking, sloppy kisses against her bruised, still parted lips. Then he laved them with the flat of his tongue, and Hermione’s entire body convulsed.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to ignore the pure masculine scent of fresh mint and leather that assaulted her senses, and opened her eyes. She raked her heavy-lidded gaze along his flushed cheeks, his wet, kiss-swollen, reddened lips, and finally, finally those grey, fathomless eyes that weren't much short of turning entirely black from dilation. His breath fanning over her face brought her back to earth, and she blinked.
Draco, though, having different plans, hefted her back up in his arms, still gripping her rear, and dipped his head to smack another kiss against her lips. She rocked backwards with the force. “You taste heavenly,” he, then, growled from somewhere low in his throat.
Hermione caught her breath. He was talking about her taste? Did no one ever tell him about his?
Gaining confidence from his appraisal, she slid her palms up his shoulders, gliding them against the back of his neck, and - relishing his hiss of shredded self-control - pushed her hips against the support behind her for leverage to heave her legs up over his narrow hips. His eyes darkened further.
Then she fisted the hair at the back of his head and pulled him down for another, searing kiss. His response was instant as he took her lower lip between his and sucked, and - daring as she felt - Hermione took the opportunity and nudged his lips, almost hesitantly, with her tongue. Between his mindless suction of her lip and the sinful way his hands were kneading her butt cheeks, Hermione had to concentrate really hard in slithering her tongue through his parted mouth, and entwining it with his gloriously talented one. He groaned, then, his abdominal muscles clenching against her stomach, and-
Hermione whimpered into his mouth when she noticed that her initiated position had placed the semi-hard, manly length of him directly against her - undoubtedly - wetting crotch. And then she realized that there were merely two, flimsy layers of underwear preventing the two of them from direct, intimate contact.
Draco's teeth lightly grazed her tongue, then her lower lip, as he pulled away from her mouth and descended south. Her heavy pants echoed about the silent room when he dragged his lips over her chin and down the expanse of her throat.
“Draco,” she gasped as the wizard in her embrace slipped his fingers past her knickers and palmed the heated flesh of her arse, just as his lips latched onto the hollow between her collarbones.
With each suckle, she mewled in pleasure, clawing - uselessly - at the sinewy arms wrapped around her. Her blunt nails dug into his chiseled upper arms, leaving crescent dents. She sighed in contentment when his tongue flattened over her protruding collarbones, soothing the bites his teeth had administered.
One of his hands left her bottom, then, to rub against the hem of her panties before sliding, round her waist, to stroke the burning skin of her abdomen. His index finger rimmed her navel, once, before he fisted the material of her oversized, button down shirt, and yanked it up. She let go of his biceps, tightening the trip of her legs around him, in the process, and stretched her arms above her head to let him rid her off the garment.
Then his eyes dropped to her bared chest and Hermione's gaze lowered. She was certain she hadn't ever been examined with such blatancy before, and could feel her cheeks heating up by the intensity Draco's gaze held.
“You've got beautiful breasts, Granger.” Draco's voice was a breathy whisper, too hoarse with arousal, and Hermione nearly lost her mind.
“You're going to fuck me… aren't you?” she whispered back between laboured breaths, collecting as much of her senses as she could, and fought to keep her eyes open as his palms began sliding up her sides.
His eyes never left her breasts as he nodded.
With a stuttered inhale, she went on. “Here? Against a…” she trailed off, gesturing behind her with vague hand movements, looking at him, expectantly.
His eyes snapped up to meet hers, a ghost of a smirk tilting his lips. “Against a bookshelf?” She gasped, eyes wide, and felt her arousal - and firewhiskey - addled brain give her a jerk. But then his face grew serious, and hungry, and Hermione bit back a whimper as he leaned down to her ear; her conscience profusely shutting down. “Only if you're up to it. We could use a bed; mine is big enough.”
She let out a breathy chuckle which caught in her throat, not a moment later, when the warmth of his mouth engulfed the taut peak of her breast. His tongue pressed against her sensitive flesh, rubbing and licking and flicking at her nub, and-
“Draco!” she cried out when he sucked hard.
An incoherent mess of whimpers and sighs and moans, Hermione had almost no knowledge of what happened in the world, for the next five minutes, except for the exquisite treatment that her breasts received, and, so, jerked in surprise when cool, soft, satiny bed covers came in contact with the back of her damp and really heated body.
She tore her eyelids open to find Draco straddling her waist, his hands clutching her wrists, next to her head, with a mesmerized look on his face. The next moment, though, he was on her, fusing their mouths together, and Hermione, sighing at the feel of his hard body crushing her breasts, slid her eyes shut again.
The male hardness of him complimented her soft femininity in a very captivating way, and Hermione could hardly wait to feel that with him inside her.
While his tongue swept to uncharted crevices of her mouth, she rocked her hips, humming in pleasure when the length of his shaft poked rubbed against her inner thigh. She heard him swear against her tongue, before he sat up and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her pale blue knickers and dragged them down. His mouth lowered to her breasts, then, and he sucked on her left peak with all of his might as he quickly kicked off his own boxers, and she bit her lip in pleasure.
His panting breath over her face made her look up into his silver eyes. “You're really wet,” he breathed out, pink lips parted in awe-
“Dra-co!” Her hips jumped when she felt two, lean fingers exploring her folds. She gasped. Wet, she was.
“But,” he continued, “this may hurt.”
Hermione had no doubts that it wouldn't, but a smile still flitted across her face at his concern. All thoughts, though, fled, when he filled her with one, powerful stroke.
Her breath tumbled out of her open mouth, in a rush, and eyes rolled back in pleasure. God help her, this man felt entirely, too good. She purred her assent, raking nimble, shaky fingers through his hair, and bucked her hips, slightly, to indicate that she wanted him to move.
He did, without delay, and lowered his lips to her throat with a groan of his own. Her high pitched whimpers reverberated about them with every piston-like jerk of his hips, and she threw her head back, soaking up all the sensations when his lips sucked - feverishly - on the flesh of her throat.
His hands, slowly, slid up her torso; one stilling at her hip and the other reaching up to cup her breast. She cried out when he timed his mouth's suction on her neck with his fingers squeezing of those swollen, aching tips of her breasts. His other hand, then, loosened its grip in her hipbone and travelled south, down to her feminine core, and his thumb expertly found her bundle of nerves - situated, not too far from where his body was mated to hers.
“Dra-” She broke her groan off with a shriek to high heavens when the coordinated sensations on her throat, over her breasts and between her legs sent her unravelling around his member; her walls clenching and unclenching around him as her nerve-endings lit up.
She thought she heard him grunt with his own release, but was too far lost in her blissful, post-coital unconsciousness to be certain.
v. mediocre
This was a bad idea.
Hermione sighed, barely out of her deep slumber, when she registered a soft palm tracing the flesh of her lower abdomen. Her naked lower abdomen.
She woke up with a jerk.
This was a very bad idea.
A chuckle sounded, muffled into her hair, and the last night's events rushed to her mind - just as blood rushed to her cheeks.
This was a stupid, fucking lapse-in-your alcohol-dazed-judgement sort of bad idea!
And, just like that, the words echoing about her conscience made sense.
“Morning, sunshine,” Draco murmured into her hair, nuzzling the back of her neck as he pressed his palm against her navel to pull her back. She bit back a gasp at the prominent erection that he fit snugly against bum. “Missed me?” he whispered, breath ghosting over her bare shoulder.
Hermione gulped. “I…” she croaked, trailing off as the gravity of her situation dawned upon her.
She had not only had sex with Draco Malfoy - technically, her employer at the moment - but also gone out and spewed out all of her deepest secrets to him, last night, and she wished to die, right at this moment - for the earth to open up and swallow her, honestly-
“Oh, Merlin.”
Draco's sigh sounded a bit surprised, tired and more than a little bitter. She felt his body stiffen behind her, for a moment, before he quickly extracted the arm he'd casually flanked upon her naked hip and sat up.
“You regret last night.” It wasn't a question.
She swallowed through a parched throat, not ready for the onslaught of emotions that suddenly overwhelmed her at the resignation in his tone. Shifting uncomfortably, she leant slightly and grabbed the piece of clothing lying before her, on the floor, and almost sighed in relief on realising that it was her shirt, in fact.
She swallowed again, even as she sat up with her back to Draco, feeling - more than she saw - her gaze on her bare back. After last night, there really was no point in getting all self-conscious around him, but she'd been inebriated, and alcohol was usually found to give more courage-
She stopped short at that thought, sucking in a panicked breath. She was drunk!
“Are you going to wear that,” Draco growled in a low voice from behind her, making her squeeze her thighs together, “or are you deliberately waiting for me to act?”
Exhaling a stuttered breath, she quickly slipped the shirt on, without bothering with the buttons, the way they both hadn't while taking it off. She shivered at the memory.
“So - what now?” she asked in a broken whisper, looking at his slumped form - which was covered, from the waist down - with a comforter, over her shoulder.
“You know,” he suddenly hissed, narrowing his eyes menacingly at her. “You were the one who came to me”-she gasped in indignation at that, but he didn't seem to have noticed-“and hence you don't get to have regrets about this!”
It felt as if everything was closing in on her. From what broken recollection she had of their conversation from the previous night, she'd pretty much opened up her heart and confessed about nearly everything to him. And all he'd gathered from all of that, was that she'd come to him? Like, some sort of a wanton whore who'd needed a night of passion with his surname and profession?
“I came to you?” she uttered in disbelief, and her ire shot up further when he clicked his tongue. “What, for a shag with the Rockstar himself?” Her voice had thinned, and pitch heightened.
“I didn't mean it like that,” he reiterated. “You know I didn't mean it-”
“Oh, no, I don't know that,” she scoffed, being really truthful, even though she was ashamed of the quivers travelling through her voice, just as much as she was of the burning sensation in her eyes. “Is that all it was to you, Draco?” Vulnerability spilled off her voice, and almost winced, even more so when his face immediately turned guilty.
“No, Granger, that is not what I meant!” he said, evidently desperate as he ran a hand through his mussed hair. “What I - hell… I meant that you'd come to see me on your own; I didn't force you to sleep with me. So, now-”
Hermione cut him off with a hissed intake of breath between clenched teeth as her eyes watered. He was still not considering the words she'd said?
She took a deep breath, knowing that she'd overstepped the common boundary in their professional relationship. There was literally no way they were going to attain the sort of playful, competitive rapport that they'd built up after much difficulty, before.
“I'm done,” she stated in a confident voice, glancing out of the window to check if it was broad daylight, yet, as she planned her exit. She'd come here in her nightwear, which didn't contain proper pants, after all. Thankfully, it still seemed to be very early in the morning. “I'll be handing over my two weeks notice, tomorrow.”
She heard him inhale sharply through the mouth, and she grit her teeth when he sputtered in response.
Then she shut her eyes and focussed on her magical core to perform a wandless, summoning spell. Because, searching for her knickers without her wand seemed much better than looking for her wand without her knickers. “Accio underwear,” she whispered, trying to collect the remains of her dignity by avoiding saying 'knickers’, even though that was the more common term on her tongue.
Her blue knickers flew up from the floor, from somewhere near the foot of the side-table, and she clutched her fist over the cotton.
He was still to speak, she realised, and glanced over her shoulder again, and-
Caught her breath. He looked so broken with his sorrow filled eyes looking at her through a mask of guilt and hurt and pain, that her own eyes widened.
But, the next moment, his face was blank again and, with a sniff, he turned away to frown at his hands. She could make out his clenched jaw through the pale, translucent skin of his face. She reddened a bit when she noticed two perfectly purple marks dotting the expanse of his throat.
“Fine,” he breathed out, shutting his eyes as he nodded. She felt her heart clench in her chest. He didn't even protest? “I'll await your owl.”
vi. spasm
The Brazilian Ministry of Magic had two branches over the country, contrary to most of the other places of the world which had only one. This one, in Rio de Janeiro, was undoubtedly more beautiful than the one in Brasilia, Hermione determined.
She and Draco had arrived in Brasilia when they'd come to Brazil, a month back, and had travelled to five different cities before landing here, in Rio.
Hermione sighed, clutching her wand tighter as she realized that she was faltering again. No. She'd made a decision, she was going to stick to it!
Taking a courageous breath, she stepped out of the elevator and made to move towards the Portkey office, when a flurry of black hair and yellow dress robes bumped into her.
Wincing, she pulled back and knelt down to help the person collect their belongings when she came face to face with Parvati Patil. Eyes widening, Hermione beamed at her ex-Housemate in joy.
“Hermione!” the Indian girl exclaimed, quickly piling up the scrolls scattered over the floor with a swish of her wand. “How are you?”
Hermione smiled, brightly. “I'm good, Parvati, you… Wait. Why are you here, in the first place?” she asked, eyebrows hiking up when she noticed the green, 'MoM’ crest over the lapel of her robes. “You work here?” she squeaked in surprise.
Parvati ducked her head, cheeks flushing as she shrugged. “Not... exactly. Lavender’s boyfriend works here, and, well I'm doing his shift, today.”
Hermione actually chuckled at that. “Goodness, Parvati, that is really, very generous of you.”
Parvati grinned, then, obviously relaxed on not being judged. “What are you… Oh!” She tilted her head to a side, squinting at Hermione. “You work for Malfoy, don't you? He's on a tour, I'm guessing?”
Hermione gulped, debating what to tell her. She did, technically, work for him until she'd at least handed over the Two Weeks Notice. Then she thought better of it, and, haughtily, snorted. “I did, yes. But I don't even know what I was thinking when I took that job up, you see? So… I've quit.”
Parvati let out a whistled breath. “That's… fascinating to know. So. Any future plans?”
There weren't, and she suddenly felt silly because there weren't. And because she hated feeling silly, Hermione took a quick decision. “Your father's book has inspired me beyond words.” That was true, and she passed her a genuine smile when Parvati's face lit up with pride. “And so, I've decided to pursue a career in writing. I have some really good ideas in my head, that I cannot wait to put on paper,” this time, she lied.
“Oh, Krishna!” the girl exclaimed, mouth falling open. “You should see James, then, because he's planning to pursue writing, too. According to what he told all of us, last month, during the birthday party we threw him, at least.”
Hermione coughed out in shock. “James? As in, Harry's dad James?”
“How many other James do you know, Hermione?” Parvati rolled her eyes.
“No, but… He's planning to pursue writing? Oh, Merlin,” she breathed out, dazed. “I haven't been quite in touch with Harry, since longer than I thought, then.”
Parvati cleared her throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “No? Then, you probably do not about Lily's condition, too, I suppose?”
Her head cleared of all thoughts at that. Her condition? Was there some improvement? Parvati's discomfort stated otherwise, but Hermione dared not to think too much into that. “No,” she choked out.
“Well… Parkinson,” Parvati emphasized and Hermione did a double take at the misplaced name in this conversation, “tried something, and, eventually sent Lily to St Mungo's.”
“WHAT?!” Hermione yelled in outrage. “That - that cow, how could…” She trailed off, the lump in her throat suddenly increasing in size. “Oh, Merlin.”
When no response came from Parvati, she looked up to find the black-haired witch squinting at something past Hermione’s shoulder. Frowning, she turned in place, and-
“Draco!” she gasped, taking an involuntary step back as the sprinting blond rushed into her direct direction.
Sweat had beaded his upper lip and brow, by the time he paused before her to draw in a long breath over his panting. “Grang… Granger, I-” He broke off, heaving again.
Blinking, Hermione registered a throat being cleared next to her. Her head snapped to a side to find Parvati eyeing her suspiciously. “I thought you'd quit?”
Hermione bit her lip, her brain busy in processing far too many things to produce a proper response to that. Then, all of a sudden, Parvati’s words echoed about her brain and she grit her teeth. Draco was Parkinson's best friend, wasn't he?
“Draco,” she deadpanned, ignoring the squeak of surprise that the other witch let out at Hermione's sudden change of demeanour. “Do you have any idea,” she snarled, without waiting for him to straighten from his hands-on-knees, hunched position, “what mess your best friend, that cow, Pansy Parkinson has managed to create in Harry's life? She has-”
She staggered back as Draco rose in a swift motion and silenced her with his lips over hers.
“Oh. Merlin.”
Parvati sounded decidedly woozy - or maybe that was a side-effect of Draco's tongue gliding smoothly over her lips? Hermione didn't know, she didn't care, as long as this human being kept kissing her the way he-
Wait.
Wait!
What the hell was she doing?
Placing both of her palms against his chest, she pushed him off. “What are you-”
“I'm sorry,” he breathed out, desperately, searching her face with his molten silver orbs. “I'm so, so sorry, Granger, for mucking it all up the way I did. I - I am an arse, really, who…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze dropped to his feet. “You'd told me something very important, last night - and that is important to me, trust me, okay? And - and your confession meant so much, Granger, I… I mean, I was-”
“Draco,” she cut in, awed at the sight before her. “You're rambling.”
His cheeks turned pink and his tongue came out to sweep over his lips. “Hermione,” he said and her breath hitched, heart racing as she recalled the explanation he'd given her about using people's first name-this means something, her mind conceded-“would you like to go out with me?”
Her knees gave away, and she swayed into his arms, breath leaving her lungs in an elongated sigh. “I… really?” she whispered.
He chuckled, pulling her closer with his arms wrapped firmly around her waist. She, tentatively, wrapped hers about him. “Yes, really.”
Sighing in contentment, she shut her eyes and nodded. “Yes, yes, a hundred times, yes. I've wanted to hear that for years - of course I want to go out with you, Draco.”
His sigh washed over her face before he hummed with mischievous intent. “Now that this is settled,” he said in a feigned, condescending tone, “let's get out of here and get back to work, shall we? You've got tonnes of planning to do, sweetheart, and I've got three more cities to bedazzle, before we leave for that month-long vacation on the beaches of Brazil that I've planned for us.”
She giggled, nodding against his chest.
Writing a book could wait. Being an Agent to Draco Malfoy was better.
THE END
Author: mere_whispers
Characters: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, brief Parvati Patil, mentioned Harry Potter, mentioned James Potter, mentioned Lily Potter, mentioned Pansy Parkinson.
Prompt number: #218
Word Count: 9,050
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Alternative Universe; Strong Profanity; Explicit Sexual Situations; Voldemort Free AU, where things tend to seem baffling at times.
Summary: Hermione abhors working for the Wizarding World's singing sensation, Draco Malfoy, more so on tours than ever. But after Brazil, are things going to change?
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Author’s Notes: This is an AU, where Voldemort was defeated during the first Wizarding War, before he could kill Harry's parents. I know the entire back-story to this; feel free to question me about any, pesky, little detail you feel like. Including Lily's "condition," though that isn't of any importance with regards to this story.
A really HUGE shoutout to K, my incredibly talented beta, who has not only brushed this up in record time (three hours, y'all!), but has also tutored me about many things related to formatting, along the way. Oh, honey, thank you so much! You're a blessing!
There's smut, in here, and I'm not an expert of that steamy stuff. Kindly be gentle. *hides under the bed*
And then there's a bit of conversation in Brazilian Portuguese, which I'm not giving translation for. Use Google Translate, if you're curious, or simply let it be because it isn't too important. And, anyway, Draco doesn't understand it, either.
That's about it. So. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did, dear prompter!
Binocular Vision
noun
“vision using two eyes with overlapping fields of view, allowing good perception of depth.”
i. repertoire
It was one of those days, again, Hermione realized with a grimace - the days when she was furious at herself for showing Harry’s worth of impulsiveness at tender moments.
Such days were the ones when she was found regretting, in abundance, her kicking away of the glorious Ministry job she’d once had-days when she was tailing her ‘boss’ on ‘tours’.
Well. That was the official statement.
Because, in reality, ‘tours’ implied that the jock of her employer would roam the world, doing concerts that would gross enough to pull the Weird Sisters off their pedestal, and making Hermione follow after him with her hands full of ‘to-do lists’ that she’d have to spend innumerable sleepless nights in compiling, and that the idiot would never-never-take any notice of!
But then, he never did take any notice of her, either, did he? There was something wrong with his head. Apparently.
And then there was his enamoring the entire crowds by merely flashing one of those toothy, dazzling grins of his that she had never had the fortune of being at the receiving end of. He got privilege at every bleeding occasion, just because-
Okay, so he was a superstar-and what? That didn’t make him super-human.
And, not to forget, those huge-massive-groups of girls - females, really - that were always blocking his way; jamming the entire path! The sod, however, would merely smirk and wink, and wave over, and get his track cleared - leaving behind and impossibly pissed off Hermione to elbow her way out of those hellish impasses!
The absolutely shameless git that he was, she didn’t really believe that he even thought about the kind of troubles she faced. Well, why would he? She remembered - clear as day - those times in Hogwarts when he, along with a buggering huge lot of other boys, never saw Hermione Granger as a girl, a female-a person who’d, someday, grow up to become a woman. He didn’t, and he never missed an opportunity of rubbing it in her face, either. His, “oh, Granger, get yourself a girlfriend, already, man,” and, “why’re you using the girls’ loo, Granger?” and-
Hermione stopped her thoughts from wandering off, not wanting to indulge too deep into those painful memories, that were always going to remain sore. He’d said a lot of vulgar, highly inappropriate things to her, all his life. And he hadn’t - ever - seen her as a female, all his life, either.
She was pretty sure that he did not, now, as well. Something was brain with his wrong, right, according to her earlier conclusion? Right.
Hell, he would have given some indication if he did, wouldn’t he? She’d have caught something. Such an arsehole of a flirt, and his eyes hadn’t ever strayed down to her legs, had they? That was saying something, after she’d revamped her entire wardrobe and stocked up bundles, above bundles, of skirts and shorts and buggering sundresses when she’d accepted this position of his Agent.
The trouble was - she liked the git. A lot. It wasn't her fault, really, that she'd seen that cute, smiling blond boy in the Hogwarts Express, and developed a crush on him. Crush at first sight?
Hermione grunted in agony, rolling her neck and throwing her head back as she gazed up at the star-lit, night-sky.
She was seated, on a rickety, little chair, waiting for the clock to strike ten - which would be the indication of her shift ending for the day, as was the norm on tours - outside of his trailer. Well, outside of his carriage, really, which was an advanced and a fairly better-complete with an Undetectable Extension Charm to make its interiors unbelievably large-adoption of Muggle Trailers, and was driven by ‘Thestrals’. Merlin knew what they were! Luna Lovegood had told the lot of them, in their fifth year, that the carriages they’d thought moved themselves, were actually pulled by Thestrals. Knowing how loony the girl was, they had all hoped that ‘Thestrals’ weren’t as difficult to spot as Wrack-spurts. Though, Luna had clarified, in a rather conspicuous manner, that no objects existed that could make the beings visible. And that the only means that did allow a person to look at them was something rather ‘horrific’. They hadn’t mulled over much-
“Damn, yes!”
The girly, high pitched shriek jolted Hermione out of her musings. Well. Hermione’d almost forgotten that he’d taken a guest - or ‘guests’, even; she hadn’t really looked - with him, tonight.
She groaned. “I hate you, Draco Malfoy…”
ii. gyves
“Granger!”
Hermione swore under breath, deftly ducking her head, and tucking her chin into the collar of her peacoat, she prayed to Godric that the book in her hands would conceal her face and she won’t be spotted.
Her prayer, however, bounced back to smack her over the head when the chair opposite to her was dragged, and another person plopped down to share her-previously-peaceful sprawl under the patio umbrella.
“My head fucking hurts, Merlin!” Draco Malfoy grumbled, running a hand through his already, badly mussed up hair.
Of their own accord, Hermione’s eyes darted lower, gaze skimming the bruises, love-bites on his neck before gliding up to his kiss-swollen - and bruised - lips, and her chest clenched painfully. Ugh.
“I need breakfast, Granger, why the hell are you not-” he snapped, stopping, abruptly, to frown at her book. “What… what are you reading, fuck, Granger - it’s morning, Salazar-”
“Senhor!” Hermione cut the blond idiot’s rants to gesture over to a spot-boy lurking nearby; albeit in a pathetically accented Portuguese.
“Senhorita?” The younger boy did an old-fashioned bow, smiling at Hermione.
Hermione envied his accent. “Could you-um… eh, você poderia nos trazer ... café da manhã?” she stuttered in her hastily learnt, really broken Portuguese.
The spot-boy grinned at her, eyes alight with fascination. “Certamente, senhora!” He looked at Draco, then, with comparatively less excitement. “E você, Senhor?”
“What?” Draco snapped, looking appalled. “I don’t know your language, kid. Talk to the lady!” He brushed the boy off, arrogantly leaning back in the chair as he folded his arms.
Hermione scowled at him before looking back at the flustered boy. “Obter-nos um pouco… de café, por favor. And, ah - a refeicao… é para ele.”
The boy’s smile drooped a bit. “E você, minha querida senhora?”
Hermione cleared her throat, uncomfortably, at his address, but shook her head. “Nao, eu sou-”
“Oh, come on, Granger!” Draco growled in irritation. “Order the fucking breakfast, and get rid of him!”
Hermione fumed at his outburst. “I’m your Agent, Malfoy, not your personal assistant!”
“You, boy,” Draco hissed at the spot-boy, making him startle at the viciousness in his tone. Then he flicked a finger, indicating ‘leave’ in the clearest sign-language possible. “Get lost.”
Half stumbling and half running, he disappeared.
Hermione took in a hissing breath through clenched teeth as she looked back at a yawning Draco. Her blood was practically boiling. How dare he?
“Listen, here, Draco-”
“No, you listen here, Granger,” he sneered, and she flinched away from the venom dripping from his voice. Her throat suddenly felt clogged. “We’re here on business, okay? I’ve - I’ve got a fucking job; this ain’t a holiday trip I’m taking with you! We’ve got a horde of workers appointed to us - can you not restrict your interactions to them? The ones who understand English?”
“Look,” Hermione icily said, reaching across the table to jab a finger into his bicep, which-
Mother of Merlin, but it was firm as rock! Hermione swallowed past a suddenly dry throat, her words forgotten as her eyes dropped to the muscles she’d accidentally prodded.
“What?” Draco barked, oblivious to her awestruck, appreciative gaze on his upper arm.
That snapped her out of the reverie, though. “Nothing.” She sniffed, jerking her hands away from him and taking a sip of her especially modified Earl Grey-added with really strong headache-soothing potions, that is; this job hadn’t granted her a single night of proper sleep-and proceeded to look for the passage she’d been on before this dunce disgraced her with his company.
But just as she had kept her cup back on the table, a pale hand was dragging it away, and before she could react, Draco had taken two hefty sips from it. From her tea. Her special tea!
“Glaring at my head won’t kill me, you know,” he told her, without looking away from the contents of the teacup he was currently swirling in his hand; amusement spilling off is tone.
She sniffed in disdain. “One can dream, yeah?”
“Thanks, anyway.” He shrugged, giving her an exaggerated, toothy grin.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Ugh!
She cleared her throat, looking back into her book. She should have brought some unread book along, this morning, she thought with a frown.
“Why didn’t you take breakfast in your trailer, like you do every day?” she mumbled, the side of neck practically prickling where she could feel his gaze lingering at.
“They’re asleep in there.” He sounded really disgruntled. But he didn’t have the right to, Hermione reflected, because he certainly hadn’t seemed less than enthusiastic when he’d spent the previous evening indulging in shameless flirting with that girl-
Hermione grimaced. Had he said ‘they’? “Uh, they?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, squinting into space. “The two of them.”
How can he be so bloody nonchalant about having threesome sex, on a tour with his Agent sticking close, on his heels, all the time? Hermione's cheeks felt hot.
He took a sip from his-her-from her tea. “What’re you lost in, by the way?”
Hermione feigned a nonchalant shrug. Well, he isn’t some certified pro at nonchalance; if he can pull it off, so can she
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how excitement lit his eyes up as he gave an appreciative glance to the cover of her book. Merlin, the two of them had so many similarities! Her pride felt stroked at his slight, little nod of admiration.
“The War, is it called?” he asked, eyes narrowed at the cover.
Hermione’s tensed shoulders relaxed a bit. This was Bookworm Draco at work, right now. She could tell. She’d spent quite a lot of time with him, years back, during their last two years at Hogwarts. He’d been the only other student to have spent as much time in the library as she had, this Bookworm Draco. And, Bookworm Draco, she could deal with. Bookworm Draco was someone she could share her tea with. Bookworm Draco was someone she could have decent, intelligent conversations with, for hours on end. Bookworm Draco was-
“Why’re you smiling, Granger?” His mercurial eyes twinkled with amusement.
Something akin to longing twisted deep, down in Hermione guts.
She quickly cleared her throat, straightening in her seat to shut her book and flash him the cover. “Yeah. The War by Sikander Patil.”
He cocked a brow at that. “Patil? As in, the Patil twins’… daddy?”
“Parvati and Padma’s dad, yes.” She smiled at his joining of dots. “He’d been a part of the War.”
He must have been piqued, for he leisurely dragged the book to him, flipping it over and perusing the back cover. Then his eyebrows arched. “My father hasn’t given me every single, little detail about those days, but… he’s-he’s told me quite a lot. But, a… horcrux? Nah, never heard of it.”
Hermione squinted at the sunlight reflecting on his platinum-blonde hair. “They’re… objects that one uses to keep the pieces of one’s soul in,” she provided, knowing that it wasn’t mentioned on the back cover. “And, if you read this book, you’ll find out how much Dumbledore’s researched on them. He’d been the key to destroying them all.”
He hummed in response, already engrossed in something. “See this, ‘He’d been too ambitious-and that had been his breaking point. He trusted the wrong people; took them to be what they weren’t. Looking at it from my side, I’d say that they were people who were entirely powerless before Voldemort. And, despite the risk, their conscience turned out to be a hurdle they couldn’t hop past, when it came to supporting Voldemort the way he wanted them to. They’d been of help to us, the way nothing else had.’” He looked at Hermione with a wistful smile. “My father had been one of those people.”
Hermione’s heart stuttered. “Draco, I’m-”
“No, Granger,” he cut her, his voice thick, and-oh, crap, were those tears shining in his eyes? “I’m not asking for pity, here. I’m just - ah, informing you, you know, that whatever you’re reading is probably really close to truth. This… Sikander Patil? He seems to have done a good job.”
Hermione snorted. They’d been study-mates, once upon a time, she was practically his assistant, now; it wasn’t like he would be sharing things with a nemesis! “You know, you can-”
“Can I borrow this?” he asked, flipping through the pages and completely ignoring her words. “I’m guessing that you’ve already finished it off.”
Hermione scowled, crossing her arms against her chest as she let out a petulant harrumph. “Yes, I have. And yes, you may take the book.”
He gave her an absent-minded nod, evidently not paying much attention.
Hermione sighed. “Borrowing it is meaningless if you’re intent on finishing it off, just here, Draco.”
He chuckled, not taking his eyes off whatever had caught his attention. “I’m just leafing through, witch. And, anyways, I cannot exactly-”
Smirking deviously, Hermione cut him, “Wait! You cannot read, right now, can you?” He scowled at which she grinned. “You wore glasses, didn’t you? Back at Hogwarts, during the last year?”
Pink tinged the top of his cheeks, his eyes narrowed as he scoffed at her. “That was ages ago, Granger. Hell, woman, things’ve changed, ever since! People have changed; revolutionized, even. Feelings have changed-I’m cordial with Potter, ain’t I?” He scoffed again, rubbing a hand down his face. “And you're talking about a disparity in my eyesight? I'm not Potter; and my father, sure as hell doesn't wear specs! I got my eyes healed by Blaise’s mum.”
Hermione’s heart felt heavy.
People have changed; revolutionized even. Feelings have changed.
Maybe she was reading too much into his words, but this made that slightest smidgen of hope that she held, about him being interested in her, all those years back, shatter before her.
She took a breath. Not that she’d ever expected reciprocation from him, anyway; such insanity was better off unrequited.
He got up. “Alright, Granger. Thanks for the gift. And, tell that-that… whoever you’d ordered my breakfast to - tell him to drop it off at the trailer.” He stretched, muscles rippling as his t-shirt flexed against his torso. Hermione’s mouth dried up. “Got to deal with those two sleepyheads,” he mumbled around a yawn, walking away.
Suddenly, she wanted to throw-up.
iii. fluke
Hermione ran as fast as her legs could manage. Sprinting across the little village that they’d made up with innumerable tents - Merlin knew why these were even required! - she ducked past those huge, weird things that were born out of modifying Muggle sound systems and applying ridiculous charna on them. And, really, what was their requirement, anyway? Sonorus would’ve come handy-
“Excuse me, little one!” She elbowed her way through an impossibly huge group of kids that had gathered around the carpeted path laid down to connect Draco’s trailer with the backstage. She dashed down the navy blue velvet, that little package in the inner pocket of her jacket bobbing as she rushed towards the backstage, and-
Collided straight into him.
“Granger!”
Hermione swayed, panting, while Draco grabbed her by the shoulders to straighten her. She was too out of breath, to speak.
“Have-have you… Did-did I… Granger, I-” he sputtered, freezing when she stepped away from his grasp. Hermione snaked a hand into the inner pocket of her denim jacket to extract the little item he'd forgotten with his dress designer, today. A little brooch in the shape of a peacock that Draco had always carried on his person, since it was gifted to him at the age of five, and considered a lucky charm. “The brooch!” he gasped; his happiness was infectious as he looked at her with a relieved grin. Then he was crushing her into a hug, and mumbling, “I love you-I love you so damn much, Granger! What would I ever do without you?”
And then he was gone, running down the stairs that led to the dais that faced the audience-audience that awaited their favorite rockstar’s arrival.
Hermione took in a shuddering breath.
I love you-I love you so damn much, Granger!
“Stop it,” she hissed to herself, wrapping her arms about her stomach in the suddenly cold changing room. “That was his relief talking, Hermione, stop looking for fucking reciprocal!”
iv. sublime
Hermione hugged her knees closer to her chest, rocking back and forth as she looked about the make-shift bedroom she’d been provided with, in one of the numerous tents spread over the area. Her head felt heavy with the three pints of Firewhiskey she’d consumed after dinner. She took a deep breath.
Hermione had always been known to be a practical person-someone who always kept her wits about her. Over the years, she had come to agree, too, to some extent. And all she wanted to do, now, was to believe in that fact with all of her heart - channel that practicality, and think of all the possible, plausible, probable reasons that weren’t despairing, despondent, depressing, and yet managed to explain the current state of her mind.
But-she couldn’t.
She couldn’t, because despite all what she’d heard about herself, she wasn’t as invincible - as hopelessly practical - as the people who knew her, supposed her to be.
She wasn’t.
Hermione let out a shuddering breath. She wasn’t not brooding, exactly; she’d deny if she was asked, though.
Oh, well. There lay the trouble, didn’t it? Nobody would ask. Nobody gave a damn. Not Draco Malfoy, of all people, at least, because that was what almost all of her aggression was focused at.
“Oh, fuck it!” Hermione hissed to herself, yanking the covers off her as she got up.
She was done-completely over with his shit. She wasn’t going to stay around anymore. It wasn’t healthy for her heart.
Grumbling obscenities under her breath, Hermione pocketed her wand and stalked out of the peaceful quiet of her tent.
His trailer was in her direct line of sight, and she had half a mind of blowing off a Bombarda in its direction. But, controlling her anger and taking calming breaths, she resorted to jogging down to it, physically.
She hadn’t seen him since this afternoon. After that terribly puzzling behavior of his before his performance, Hermione hadn’t been enough of a Gryffindor to face him, again. Because, despite all of whatever the hell she’d told her foolish heart - whatever excuses she’d stuffed into her head - about his words from this afternoon, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something-some tiny, little speckle of something-that was veiled from her sight. And that made her uneasy; had done so for the entirety of this evening.
To top her ire off, she’d had a glimpse of him when he’d made a quick departure after the concert. And? Well, he’d had three girls hanging on his self like leeches. Three, Merlin!
And, now, at some hour past-midnight, she was rushing over to his trailer - which would still be occupied by those three twats.
Hermione grimaced at her brain’s filthy language.
She huffed out a breath as she came to a stop before the gate to Draco’s trailer. She struck her hand against it, twice, hard.
Three heartbeats passed before the door was pulled open by a furious, red-faced, tousle-haired, bare-chested, boxers-clad Draco Malfoy. Hermione suddenly wasn’t sure if this had been a good idea. For the life of her, she didn’t know if she’d be able to refrain from throwing up when she saw the state his bedmates were in.
Blinking repeatedly, she took a step back, and - almost involuntarily - raked her gaze down his awfully sexy torso, gazing heatedly at his heaving chest-though she had nothing to do with the strenuous activities that had left him out of breath, much to her chagrin-following the clenching-unclenching muscles of his abdomen that weren’t too prominent despite being adorned with six, almost perfectly chiseled abs, down that delectable, tapering ‘V’ that ran along his hips, and-
Shut her eyes as a shudder wracked through her body. Belatedly, she noticed that it was, actually, drafty, out here. Nevertheless, she admitted to herself that her shudder had nothing to do with the cold. His, though-that did.
Guiltily, she swallowed back the emotions lumping in her throat and opened her eyes. “I was just-just… Sorry to, you know-I - I - I didn’t know you had, um, company, just, you know… I’m leaving.”
Her cheeks were burning as she twisted in place. His eyes were molten silver, Merlin, she could probably-
“Granger,” he breathed out in what felt like exasperation. So he was frustrated? Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the patch of grass before her. “I don’t have company.” She gasped in surprise. “You can quit throwing a tantrum and spill out whatever you’re here for. And,” he urged, just as she looked back at him with her eyes wide in incredulity and rage, “for Salazar’s sake, come inside before I freeze to my untimely death.”
She gave him her dirtiest scowl, even as she stomped her way into his gigantic trailer that she faintly remembered Colin Creevey had contributed in building up. That poor kid. How hard must he have worked so that a git like Draco could be held in comfort?
She jumped at the sound of the trailer’s door banging shut. Then, she turned around to look at her companion.
Draco was squinting at her with indecipherable expressions on his face. “What?”
Hermione gulped. He was really pissed at something, Christ! There couldn’t have been a worse time to see him about what she was here for! Hermione wondered if she’d woken him up-if his anger was accredited to her. Then she frowned. Her knocking hadn’t been that rigorous! He won’t have acknowledged if he was asleep.
“Granger!” he snapped, irritably, clicking the fingers of his right hand before her face as he flexed and twisted and fisted his left, at his side.
And that action caught Hermione’s attention. His arms were strong, Merlin, he really did work-out! Her gaze slid past his muscled upper arms to his stiff, sinewy forearms. Was she drooling? Probably. Did she care? Her alcohol-addled head did not.
“Are you going to speak, at all, woman?” Draco grumbled, running a hand over his face as he walked past her to settle into a, seemingly, really plush couch.
Either he was deliberately overlooking her lustful admiration of his body, or Draco had gotten accustomed to women gaping at him, all the time. That thought left a sour feeling in Hermione’s mind. Was he really - really, really - accustomed? Too accustomed?
He sighed, after a few more moments. “Granger?”
Hermione cringed, finally deciding to speak. “Why d’you still call me by my last name?”
He choked on a cough of laughter. “Why do I-really, Granger? That’s what you’re here for?” he asked, laughter evident in his tone.
His laughter, God-she’d never been this aware of his attributes before, had she? Firewhiskey had done a number on her, Godric! Coming here to see him after having consumed three pints, suddenly didn’t seem like the brightest of ideas she’d ever had. Hermione licked her lips. “Among other things.”
He shook his head, smirking at her in amusement, before he shrugged. “Given names feel… intimate… to me. I can't get myself to use them as casually as people usually tend to.”
Hermione’s breath stuttered out of her lungs. Intimate? What was this guy?
“Stop gaping, Granger, it’s unbecoming.” He rolled back his neck, shutting his eyes as he rested his head on the low back of the couch. “It’s middle of the damned night, Merlin… What do want, Granger?” he mumbled after a pause.
Hermione took a deep breath. “You.”
“I? I, what?”
His brows were furrowed, and Hermione knew that it won’t be a minute before he caught on. Squaring her shoulders, she repeated, boldly, “You.”
His eyes flew open, jaw dropping as he fumbled to sit up. “What?” he almost squeaked. “Granger, I-I never… oh, Merlin… You-you-you’re not drunk, are you?”
Hermione scoffed. Yes she was drunk, but not in the sense that he thought she was. “No.”
He let out his breath in a resounding whoosh. His eyes were so far wide - blown, really - in horror, that Hermione felt a misplaced sort of hurt spanning across her lungs, up through her vocal chords and finally lodging like a lump in her throat. He was horrified by the prospect of her wanting him? Did he really find her that despicable? And he didn't even have the complete idea of how deep her feelings ran…
“I-I… Granger, I don’t-”
Hermione cut him off with a wail of anguish. “Of course, you don’t, Draco!” she shrieked. “You think I don’t know that? Hah! Funny you’d think so, after having made your hatred so obvious to me, all through the school years!”
Draco was gaping at her like a goldfish. His pink, plump, wet lips opened and closed without forming words. Then his eyes widened further, and Hermione knew that he’d noticed that hers were brimming. She had to bite down on her lower lip to prevent it from quivering.
“Since the day I kept my foot in Hogwarts, you’ve been crystal clear about your disdain for me,” she continued in a softer, more humanly and less harpy-like tone. “You’ve been pretty direct, up till the very last year - even after we’d been put in the same group for the group-study program Dumbledore had set up before NEWTs - about how I wasn’t even a girl, least of all one that wasn’t an eyesore.”
Draco winced, looking away with shame on his face. Then he rose, slowly, and raked a hand through his hair. Hermione had a faint idea that he was about to jump into a rant of apologies. She couldn't have that.
“After seven years of listening to those humiliating words,” she continued, overlooking the way he clenched his eyes shut as if in pain, “one would think I’d get a hang of them. But, guess what, Draco? I haven’t.” She took a breath to clear her windpipe and wiped the corner of her eyes. “Do you really not think of me as a woman, Draco?” She hated how vulnerable she sounded, but - she couldn't take it back, could she?
“I have!” he exclaimed, taking Hermione by surprise. “Goodness, have you forgotten about our last year at Hogwarts, completely, Granger?”
Hermione blinked. “No, I haven't, but… Is there something I should remember?”
Draco's eyes widened in incredulity. “Are you kidding me, right now? I was - I was fairly interested in you, Granger, back when the five of us used to meet in the library, before the NEWTs!”
Hermione gasped, taking a step back. “You were? You've got a funny way of showing it, Malfoy!” she yelled.
Draco clenched his jaw shut as he looked at her with a glassy, cold stare. “Yeah? How do you suppose should have I shown it, then? Tell me, Granger, do you take me for someone who'd sit through nights with someone, discussing Muggle literature, for fun?”
Hermione swallowed, looking at him with wide eyes. “You could… could've been more… vocal?” she stumbled on her words. “A-and how was I supposed to know that you w-weren’t being a f-f-friend?”
Draco sneered, taking a menacing step towards her. “Is that so? Or, is it that you weren't interested, back in those days, when I was a bloody, spoilt, nobody, Granger?”
Hermione flinched at his accusation before squaring her shoulders, for the second time that night. “Don’t you dare antagonize me, Draco,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes and she walked towards him. “And, because you've obviously forgotten about the power that your surname holds, let me remind you, mister, that you've never been a nobody, as far as my memory goes.”
Draco's viciously tightened expressions loosened a bit, at that.
“And, anyway, I'm going to be audacious enough to presume that I haven't become uglier as I've aged”-she studiously ignored the slight lowering of his eyelids at her words-“which implies that your ‘interest’ in me shouldn't have waned, the way it did.”
His eyebrows blew off his forehead at that. “Well, my career caught up with me, Granger,” he said, his voice rising with every word, “because I wasn't simply following my father's lead into the Ministry and actually making a name for myself!” He smirked, then, flashing her a front of his that he wore in his teenage years. “I'm sorry,” he stated smugly, although playfully, “for not caring much about having a girlfriend when I had so many people, out there, who loved me.”
Hermione reared back in shock. “They're your fans, Draco, not lovers,” she retorted, foolishly.
Draco, though, waved her off and crossed his arms against his chest. Then, as if struck by a thought, his condescending gaze on her softened and his puffed out chest deflated. “Do you… You, uh - you feel something for me, Granger? Something deep?” he asked in a soft whisper.
Hermione, almost involuntarily, licked her lips at that, her gaze drifting down to his chest. Oh, she felt a lot, alright. “I don't know how deep does your definition of ‘deep’ go,” she muttered, self-consciously, “but I have felt something for you, since…” She hesitated, looking up, momentarily, into his eyes that were looking at her with intense, rapt attention. She took in a small breath. “Since I first saw you,” she finished in a really small voice.
For moments, the echo of his stunned silence bounced off the walls, and fell back to her eardrums with thumping sounds that were perfectly aligned with her heart's nervous flutters.
“No, fucking way,” she heard him growl, then, before she was being hoisted up by a pair of lean arms around her waist, and being wedged between something that wasn't exactly flat, against her back, while her front pressed up against the smooth expanse of his chest.
“Draco, what-”
“Fucking shut up, Granger,” Draco growled before his lips covered hers in a rough, bruising kiss.
Her back arched off the wall, breasts meshing into the warm firmness that was his chest, and her eyes slid shut as she basked in the feeling of the pull of his soft, full lips on hers.
His hands, no longer clutching at her waist, raced down the flare of her hips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Hermione's lips parted against his when he gripped her butt, and-
She groaned into his mouth at the feeling of his soft, lush tongue gliding past her lips, then sweeping over the inside of her lower lip - making her thighs tremble in want - before it expertly curled against her upper jaw, skimming, strongly, over the ridge it found behind the row of her shapely, pearlescent teeth.
Desperately, her hands flew up from their resting place at her sides to grip at his shoulders, and he moaned with her at the contact of her frozen fingers and his blazing skin.
“Damn, Granger,” he breathed into her mouth, finally slowing down the explorations of his tongue with a final, parting lick to hers - making her emit an embarrassing squeak - and pulled back to plant smacking, sloppy kisses against her bruised, still parted lips. Then he laved them with the flat of his tongue, and Hermione’s entire body convulsed.
Inhaling deeply, she tried to ignore the pure masculine scent of fresh mint and leather that assaulted her senses, and opened her eyes. She raked her heavy-lidded gaze along his flushed cheeks, his wet, kiss-swollen, reddened lips, and finally, finally those grey, fathomless eyes that weren't much short of turning entirely black from dilation. His breath fanning over her face brought her back to earth, and she blinked.
Draco, though, having different plans, hefted her back up in his arms, still gripping her rear, and dipped his head to smack another kiss against her lips. She rocked backwards with the force. “You taste heavenly,” he, then, growled from somewhere low in his throat.
Hermione caught her breath. He was talking about her taste? Did no one ever tell him about his?
Gaining confidence from his appraisal, she slid her palms up his shoulders, gliding them against the back of his neck, and - relishing his hiss of shredded self-control - pushed her hips against the support behind her for leverage to heave her legs up over his narrow hips. His eyes darkened further.
Then she fisted the hair at the back of his head and pulled him down for another, searing kiss. His response was instant as he took her lower lip between his and sucked, and - daring as she felt - Hermione took the opportunity and nudged his lips, almost hesitantly, with her tongue. Between his mindless suction of her lip and the sinful way his hands were kneading her butt cheeks, Hermione had to concentrate really hard in slithering her tongue through his parted mouth, and entwining it with his gloriously talented one. He groaned, then, his abdominal muscles clenching against her stomach, and-
Hermione whimpered into his mouth when she noticed that her initiated position had placed the semi-hard, manly length of him directly against her - undoubtedly - wetting crotch. And then she realized that there were merely two, flimsy layers of underwear preventing the two of them from direct, intimate contact.
Draco's teeth lightly grazed her tongue, then her lower lip, as he pulled away from her mouth and descended south. Her heavy pants echoed about the silent room when he dragged his lips over her chin and down the expanse of her throat.
“Draco,” she gasped as the wizard in her embrace slipped his fingers past her knickers and palmed the heated flesh of her arse, just as his lips latched onto the hollow between her collarbones.
With each suckle, she mewled in pleasure, clawing - uselessly - at the sinewy arms wrapped around her. Her blunt nails dug into his chiseled upper arms, leaving crescent dents. She sighed in contentment when his tongue flattened over her protruding collarbones, soothing the bites his teeth had administered.
One of his hands left her bottom, then, to rub against the hem of her panties before sliding, round her waist, to stroke the burning skin of her abdomen. His index finger rimmed her navel, once, before he fisted the material of her oversized, button down shirt, and yanked it up. She let go of his biceps, tightening the trip of her legs around him, in the process, and stretched her arms above her head to let him rid her off the garment.
Then his eyes dropped to her bared chest and Hermione's gaze lowered. She was certain she hadn't ever been examined with such blatancy before, and could feel her cheeks heating up by the intensity Draco's gaze held.
“You've got beautiful breasts, Granger.” Draco's voice was a breathy whisper, too hoarse with arousal, and Hermione nearly lost her mind.
“You're going to fuck me… aren't you?” she whispered back between laboured breaths, collecting as much of her senses as she could, and fought to keep her eyes open as his palms began sliding up her sides.
His eyes never left her breasts as he nodded.
With a stuttered inhale, she went on. “Here? Against a…” she trailed off, gesturing behind her with vague hand movements, looking at him, expectantly.
His eyes snapped up to meet hers, a ghost of a smirk tilting his lips. “Against a bookshelf?” She gasped, eyes wide, and felt her arousal - and firewhiskey - addled brain give her a jerk. But then his face grew serious, and hungry, and Hermione bit back a whimper as he leaned down to her ear; her conscience profusely shutting down. “Only if you're up to it. We could use a bed; mine is big enough.”
She let out a breathy chuckle which caught in her throat, not a moment later, when the warmth of his mouth engulfed the taut peak of her breast. His tongue pressed against her sensitive flesh, rubbing and licking and flicking at her nub, and-
“Draco!” she cried out when he sucked hard.
An incoherent mess of whimpers and sighs and moans, Hermione had almost no knowledge of what happened in the world, for the next five minutes, except for the exquisite treatment that her breasts received, and, so, jerked in surprise when cool, soft, satiny bed covers came in contact with the back of her damp and really heated body.
She tore her eyelids open to find Draco straddling her waist, his hands clutching her wrists, next to her head, with a mesmerized look on his face. The next moment, though, he was on her, fusing their mouths together, and Hermione, sighing at the feel of his hard body crushing her breasts, slid her eyes shut again.
The male hardness of him complimented her soft femininity in a very captivating way, and Hermione could hardly wait to feel that with him inside her.
While his tongue swept to uncharted crevices of her mouth, she rocked her hips, humming in pleasure when the length of his shaft poked rubbed against her inner thigh. She heard him swear against her tongue, before he sat up and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her pale blue knickers and dragged them down. His mouth lowered to her breasts, then, and he sucked on her left peak with all of his might as he quickly kicked off his own boxers, and she bit her lip in pleasure.
His panting breath over her face made her look up into his silver eyes. “You're really wet,” he breathed out, pink lips parted in awe-
“Dra-co!” Her hips jumped when she felt two, lean fingers exploring her folds. She gasped. Wet, she was.
“But,” he continued, “this may hurt.”
Hermione had no doubts that it wouldn't, but a smile still flitted across her face at his concern. All thoughts, though, fled, when he filled her with one, powerful stroke.
Her breath tumbled out of her open mouth, in a rush, and eyes rolled back in pleasure. God help her, this man felt entirely, too good. She purred her assent, raking nimble, shaky fingers through his hair, and bucked her hips, slightly, to indicate that she wanted him to move.
He did, without delay, and lowered his lips to her throat with a groan of his own. Her high pitched whimpers reverberated about them with every piston-like jerk of his hips, and she threw her head back, soaking up all the sensations when his lips sucked - feverishly - on the flesh of her throat.
His hands, slowly, slid up her torso; one stilling at her hip and the other reaching up to cup her breast. She cried out when he timed his mouth's suction on her neck with his fingers squeezing of those swollen, aching tips of her breasts. His other hand, then, loosened its grip in her hipbone and travelled south, down to her feminine core, and his thumb expertly found her bundle of nerves - situated, not too far from where his body was mated to hers.
“Dra-” She broke her groan off with a shriek to high heavens when the coordinated sensations on her throat, over her breasts and between her legs sent her unravelling around his member; her walls clenching and unclenching around him as her nerve-endings lit up.
She thought she heard him grunt with his own release, but was too far lost in her blissful, post-coital unconsciousness to be certain.
v. mediocre
This was a bad idea.
Hermione sighed, barely out of her deep slumber, when she registered a soft palm tracing the flesh of her lower abdomen. Her naked lower abdomen.
She woke up with a jerk.
This was a very bad idea.
A chuckle sounded, muffled into her hair, and the last night's events rushed to her mind - just as blood rushed to her cheeks.
This was a stupid, fucking lapse-in-your alcohol-dazed-judgement sort of bad idea!
And, just like that, the words echoing about her conscience made sense.
“Morning, sunshine,” Draco murmured into her hair, nuzzling the back of her neck as he pressed his palm against her navel to pull her back. She bit back a gasp at the prominent erection that he fit snugly against bum. “Missed me?” he whispered, breath ghosting over her bare shoulder.
Hermione gulped. “I…” she croaked, trailing off as the gravity of her situation dawned upon her.
She had not only had sex with Draco Malfoy - technically, her employer at the moment - but also gone out and spewed out all of her deepest secrets to him, last night, and she wished to die, right at this moment - for the earth to open up and swallow her, honestly-
“Oh, Merlin.”
Draco's sigh sounded a bit surprised, tired and more than a little bitter. She felt his body stiffen behind her, for a moment, before he quickly extracted the arm he'd casually flanked upon her naked hip and sat up.
“You regret last night.” It wasn't a question.
She swallowed through a parched throat, not ready for the onslaught of emotions that suddenly overwhelmed her at the resignation in his tone. Shifting uncomfortably, she leant slightly and grabbed the piece of clothing lying before her, on the floor, and almost sighed in relief on realising that it was her shirt, in fact.
She swallowed again, even as she sat up with her back to Draco, feeling - more than she saw - her gaze on her bare back. After last night, there really was no point in getting all self-conscious around him, but she'd been inebriated, and alcohol was usually found to give more courage-
She stopped short at that thought, sucking in a panicked breath. She was drunk!
“Are you going to wear that,” Draco growled in a low voice from behind her, making her squeeze her thighs together, “or are you deliberately waiting for me to act?”
Exhaling a stuttered breath, she quickly slipped the shirt on, without bothering with the buttons, the way they both hadn't while taking it off. She shivered at the memory.
“So - what now?” she asked in a broken whisper, looking at his slumped form - which was covered, from the waist down - with a comforter, over her shoulder.
“You know,” he suddenly hissed, narrowing his eyes menacingly at her. “You were the one who came to me”-she gasped in indignation at that, but he didn't seem to have noticed-“and hence you don't get to have regrets about this!”
It felt as if everything was closing in on her. From what broken recollection she had of their conversation from the previous night, she'd pretty much opened up her heart and confessed about nearly everything to him. And all he'd gathered from all of that, was that she'd come to him? Like, some sort of a wanton whore who'd needed a night of passion with his surname and profession?
“I came to you?” she uttered in disbelief, and her ire shot up further when he clicked his tongue. “What, for a shag with the Rockstar himself?” Her voice had thinned, and pitch heightened.
“I didn't mean it like that,” he reiterated. “You know I didn't mean it-”
“Oh, no, I don't know that,” she scoffed, being really truthful, even though she was ashamed of the quivers travelling through her voice, just as much as she was of the burning sensation in her eyes. “Is that all it was to you, Draco?” Vulnerability spilled off her voice, and almost winced, even more so when his face immediately turned guilty.
“No, Granger, that is not what I meant!” he said, evidently desperate as he ran a hand through his mussed hair. “What I - hell… I meant that you'd come to see me on your own; I didn't force you to sleep with me. So, now-”
Hermione cut him off with a hissed intake of breath between clenched teeth as her eyes watered. He was still not considering the words she'd said?
She took a deep breath, knowing that she'd overstepped the common boundary in their professional relationship. There was literally no way they were going to attain the sort of playful, competitive rapport that they'd built up after much difficulty, before.
“I'm done,” she stated in a confident voice, glancing out of the window to check if it was broad daylight, yet, as she planned her exit. She'd come here in her nightwear, which didn't contain proper pants, after all. Thankfully, it still seemed to be very early in the morning. “I'll be handing over my two weeks notice, tomorrow.”
She heard him inhale sharply through the mouth, and she grit her teeth when he sputtered in response.
Then she shut her eyes and focussed on her magical core to perform a wandless, summoning spell. Because, searching for her knickers without her wand seemed much better than looking for her wand without her knickers. “Accio underwear,” she whispered, trying to collect the remains of her dignity by avoiding saying 'knickers’, even though that was the more common term on her tongue.
Her blue knickers flew up from the floor, from somewhere near the foot of the side-table, and she clutched her fist over the cotton.
He was still to speak, she realised, and glanced over her shoulder again, and-
Caught her breath. He looked so broken with his sorrow filled eyes looking at her through a mask of guilt and hurt and pain, that her own eyes widened.
But, the next moment, his face was blank again and, with a sniff, he turned away to frown at his hands. She could make out his clenched jaw through the pale, translucent skin of his face. She reddened a bit when she noticed two perfectly purple marks dotting the expanse of his throat.
“Fine,” he breathed out, shutting his eyes as he nodded. She felt her heart clench in her chest. He didn't even protest? “I'll await your owl.”
vi. spasm
The Brazilian Ministry of Magic had two branches over the country, contrary to most of the other places of the world which had only one. This one, in Rio de Janeiro, was undoubtedly more beautiful than the one in Brasilia, Hermione determined.
She and Draco had arrived in Brasilia when they'd come to Brazil, a month back, and had travelled to five different cities before landing here, in Rio.
Hermione sighed, clutching her wand tighter as she realized that she was faltering again. No. She'd made a decision, she was going to stick to it!
Taking a courageous breath, she stepped out of the elevator and made to move towards the Portkey office, when a flurry of black hair and yellow dress robes bumped into her.
Wincing, she pulled back and knelt down to help the person collect their belongings when she came face to face with Parvati Patil. Eyes widening, Hermione beamed at her ex-Housemate in joy.
“Hermione!” the Indian girl exclaimed, quickly piling up the scrolls scattered over the floor with a swish of her wand. “How are you?”
Hermione smiled, brightly. “I'm good, Parvati, you… Wait. Why are you here, in the first place?” she asked, eyebrows hiking up when she noticed the green, 'MoM’ crest over the lapel of her robes. “You work here?” she squeaked in surprise.
Parvati ducked her head, cheeks flushing as she shrugged. “Not... exactly. Lavender’s boyfriend works here, and, well I'm doing his shift, today.”
Hermione actually chuckled at that. “Goodness, Parvati, that is really, very generous of you.”
Parvati grinned, then, obviously relaxed on not being judged. “What are you… Oh!” She tilted her head to a side, squinting at Hermione. “You work for Malfoy, don't you? He's on a tour, I'm guessing?”
Hermione gulped, debating what to tell her. She did, technically, work for him until she'd at least handed over the Two Weeks Notice. Then she thought better of it, and, haughtily, snorted. “I did, yes. But I don't even know what I was thinking when I took that job up, you see? So… I've quit.”
Parvati let out a whistled breath. “That's… fascinating to know. So. Any future plans?”
There weren't, and she suddenly felt silly because there weren't. And because she hated feeling silly, Hermione took a quick decision. “Your father's book has inspired me beyond words.” That was true, and she passed her a genuine smile when Parvati's face lit up with pride. “And so, I've decided to pursue a career in writing. I have some really good ideas in my head, that I cannot wait to put on paper,” this time, she lied.
“Oh, Krishna!” the girl exclaimed, mouth falling open. “You should see James, then, because he's planning to pursue writing, too. According to what he told all of us, last month, during the birthday party we threw him, at least.”
Hermione coughed out in shock. “James? As in, Harry's dad James?”
“How many other James do you know, Hermione?” Parvati rolled her eyes.
“No, but… He's planning to pursue writing? Oh, Merlin,” she breathed out, dazed. “I haven't been quite in touch with Harry, since longer than I thought, then.”
Parvati cleared her throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “No? Then, you probably do not about Lily's condition, too, I suppose?”
Her head cleared of all thoughts at that. Her condition? Was there some improvement? Parvati's discomfort stated otherwise, but Hermione dared not to think too much into that. “No,” she choked out.
“Well… Parkinson,” Parvati emphasized and Hermione did a double take at the misplaced name in this conversation, “tried something, and, eventually sent Lily to St Mungo's.”
“WHAT?!” Hermione yelled in outrage. “That - that cow, how could…” She trailed off, the lump in her throat suddenly increasing in size. “Oh, Merlin.”
When no response came from Parvati, she looked up to find the black-haired witch squinting at something past Hermione’s shoulder. Frowning, she turned in place, and-
“Draco!” she gasped, taking an involuntary step back as the sprinting blond rushed into her direct direction.
Sweat had beaded his upper lip and brow, by the time he paused before her to draw in a long breath over his panting. “Grang… Granger, I-” He broke off, heaving again.
Blinking, Hermione registered a throat being cleared next to her. Her head snapped to a side to find Parvati eyeing her suspiciously. “I thought you'd quit?”
Hermione bit her lip, her brain busy in processing far too many things to produce a proper response to that. Then, all of a sudden, Parvati’s words echoed about her brain and she grit her teeth. Draco was Parkinson's best friend, wasn't he?
“Draco,” she deadpanned, ignoring the squeak of surprise that the other witch let out at Hermione's sudden change of demeanour. “Do you have any idea,” she snarled, without waiting for him to straighten from his hands-on-knees, hunched position, “what mess your best friend, that cow, Pansy Parkinson has managed to create in Harry's life? She has-”
She staggered back as Draco rose in a swift motion and silenced her with his lips over hers.
“Oh. Merlin.”
Parvati sounded decidedly woozy - or maybe that was a side-effect of Draco's tongue gliding smoothly over her lips? Hermione didn't know, she didn't care, as long as this human being kept kissing her the way he-
Wait.
Wait!
What the hell was she doing?
Placing both of her palms against his chest, she pushed him off. “What are you-”
“I'm sorry,” he breathed out, desperately, searching her face with his molten silver orbs. “I'm so, so sorry, Granger, for mucking it all up the way I did. I - I am an arse, really, who…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze dropped to his feet. “You'd told me something very important, last night - and that is important to me, trust me, okay? And - and your confession meant so much, Granger, I… I mean, I was-”
“Draco,” she cut in, awed at the sight before her. “You're rambling.”
His cheeks turned pink and his tongue came out to sweep over his lips. “Hermione,” he said and her breath hitched, heart racing as she recalled the explanation he'd given her about using people's first name-this means something, her mind conceded-“would you like to go out with me?”
Her knees gave away, and she swayed into his arms, breath leaving her lungs in an elongated sigh. “I… really?” she whispered.
He chuckled, pulling her closer with his arms wrapped firmly around her waist. She, tentatively, wrapped hers about him. “Yes, really.”
Sighing in contentment, she shut her eyes and nodded. “Yes, yes, a hundred times, yes. I've wanted to hear that for years - of course I want to go out with you, Draco.”
His sigh washed over her face before he hummed with mischievous intent. “Now that this is settled,” he said in a feigned, condescending tone, “let's get out of here and get back to work, shall we? You've got tonnes of planning to do, sweetheart, and I've got three more cities to bedazzle, before we leave for that month-long vacation on the beaches of Brazil that I've planned for us.”
She giggled, nodding against his chest.
Writing a book could wait. Being an Agent to Draco Malfoy was better.
THE END