31

Chapter 31

Monday 10 March 2003: AM

"Granger – please, try not to fret about it. The comment was directed at me, and I am big and ugly enough to let it slide right off me," Draco attempts to ease Hermione's perturbation for the third time in as many minutes.

He appeals to her pragmatism. "Besides, they didn't say anything that wasn't technically true… I was a 'dirty Death Eater', after all."

Nope. That did not help one whit, judging by Hermione's stony face and ashen complexion. Her rebuttal bursts from her sweet lips as she storms around the now-familiar confines of Interrogation Room Number Two.

"They have no right to say such things! Self-righteous, gutless wonders! Gleefully sneering from a distance – you shouldn't have confiscated my wand, I was only going to impart a warning shot," she snarls.

"Ma petite, the terrifyingly vengeful scowl on your face was punishment enough – and I refuse to allow you to endanger your employment by misguidedly defending my honour," Draco puts down his metaphorical foot. "Though I do appreciate your efforts on my behalf, of course," he hastily appends his statement after Hermione shoots him a glare that could ignite kindling.

Enclosing his broad body around her rage-quivering smaller one, he hugs her firmly, managing to peck soft kisses over her angry face as she tries to worm out of his embrace.

"Stop that – that's unfair, you know I have every right to be furious," Hermione's tone softens as she ceases wriggling and curls her own arms around her tall lover.

Draco pauses to answer sincerely, "I would never abnegate your right to your emotions, Granger. It pains me that you are suffering censure because of my disreputable past and infamous reputation." He loosens his hold as doubt stomps firmly into his consciousness.

"Perhaps… perhaps we should consider keeping our relationship private for a while," Draco stumbles over the words. This is exactly what I was afraid of – my beautiful lioness is already under attack because of my Dark past. My selfish need to be with her has already demolished my scruples and misgivings.

Hermione's face notably crumples. In a tiny voice, she woodenly asks, "You don't want to publicly acknowledge me? Even after – after everything we said to one another, on Saturday night?". Face averted, she stiffens against him.

"No, no – of course not, Hermione! I'd take out a full-page advertisement in the Daily Prophet to announce my elation to the world, if I didn't know it would only make matters infinitely worse for you!" Draco belatedly realizes he is shouting; he gentles his volume and concentrates on imbuing his words with all the sincerity of his tangled emotional state.

"What those two fools jeered, in the elevator? I'm afraid that will just be the tip of the dungheap, once the world knows you have lowered yourself to my level, Granger." Draco shakes his head as Hermione's curly head whips around to deny his assertion.

"No: as much as I wish it were possible, I cannot whitewash my history. But I refuse to let it taint yours by mere association."

The couple stare at one another in fraught silence for a few beats.

"I don't give a frosty fuck what anyone thinks of us – or of me – except the people I care about, and who care about me." Hermione's low vehemence shocks him to the bone (and makes him grin a little, despite the seriousness of their argument).

"I told you before: I choose you, Draco Malfoy. I know who you were, and I know who you are, and neither incarnation gives me pause to do anything but l–loyally support you, and our relationship," she continues, with the smallest of hitches mid-sentence. He has little time to puzzle over her slip before she launches herself at him.

Wrenching him back into their lapsed hug, Hermione stretches on tip-toe to fiercely kiss the living daylights out of his surprised but compliant mouth. Her capable hands aggressively grasp his tight buttocks through his black suit trousers, pulling him closer as she ravages his lips and mouth, her pink tongue licking deep and tangling with his as Draco groans his pleasure. She pushes her whole body against him and seems to be trying to leverage herself higher and closer.

Spinning them around, he regains some measure of dominance by gripping her curvy bum and hoisting the gorgeous woman onto the no-frills metal table, widening her agate-blue skirt to its full capacity as he jams his breadth between her spread thighs. They enthusiastically battle for the upper hand; Hermione's Mary Janes in the small of his back anchoring him to her front as she rubs her core against him with ragged thrusts.

"Tu es si incroyablement sexy, je ne peux pas en avoir assez de toi... I am crazy for you, my little witch," Draco growls as Hermione creates a mean hickey just above the stiff collar of his pristine white shirt. He lowers her to lie horizontally on the cold surface, cupping her nape to ensure she does not knock her head, before his spry fingers pry loose the top three buttons of her gunmetal blue business shirt.

Forgetting everything but the blood rushing to his head and groin, and his incendiary need to taste her, Draco roughly tugs down the cups of her plain blue bra, popping free both parfait-pink nipples to suckle greedily at them. Her supple back arches as she moans her delight.

"Malfoy – more, please… please," Hermione's supplication is music to his ears. He is blind to their surroundings and deaf to anything but her little pleas and expressions of her pleasure. Draco's lizard brain avidly wonders if he can bring her close to peak with just his mouth and hands on her high round breasts… Only one way to find out, yes? His own loins are blistering with need and craving as he increases the pressure of his lips and tongue. Her tender flesh will be marked by this; the thought makes him growl in possessive satisfaction, and nip a shade harder.

The closed door behind them swings open with a creak and swish.

"Oh, HELL NO!" It slams shut again, before a persistent knocking from the other side finally pierces their lust haze. Hermione freezes mid-whimper and looks up into Draco's face with a wide-eyed expression of mortification.

"Harry!" she squeals softly. "Harry just saw us – oh no, what were we thinking?!" She pushes ineffectually on his hard pectorals. "Malfoy, let me up – I completely lost sight of where we are – it's all your fault!" she rounds on him.

"All my fault?" Draco is incredulous, reluctantly acceding to her request by stepping back, pulling her upright on the table and deftly tucking her damp, reddened breasts back into her cornflower blue bra. He is unable to resist one final thumb flick of each swollen pink nipple. Draco re-fastens her shirt buttons as Hermione frets and tries to reset her low bun (once ruthlessly tamed but now hopelessly squashed and falling apart).

"Yes – I can't keep my hands off you, you dangerously sexy beast! I can't be blamed for that – I can't!" Hermione illogically accuses, even as her hands smooth down his rumpled blond hair and squeeze at his biceps.

"Ma petite, may I remind you that you just tried to climb me like a tree? And not moments ago, you passionately begged, 'more, please – please'?" Draco grins as he defends her silly, snarky attack. He helps her off the cold table and runs his hands down her hips to smooth out her creased knee-length skirt.

"'Begged' is rather strong… I prefer 'encouraged'," Hermione carps; but she sports a small smile. The rapping on the door is growing in volume and pace. Harry's voice is muffled but perceivable through the wood.

"Right – I'm coming in! You've got five seconds – you've had more than enough time to sort yourselves out! Five… four… three–"

Draco whips open the portal, catching Harry off balance; the Auror stumbles into the room with a face like thunder. He glares at the tall blond wizard before briefly catching Hermione's abashed regard; the two old friends synchronously avert their eyes to the side.

Moving to stand directly behind his girlfriend, Draco boldly wraps his arms around her, kissing the pink shell of her earlobe as he soothes, "Please don't feel discomfited, Granger. Potter didn't see you – my body blocked his view. I am sorry, I did not mean to embarrass you."

Harry must have overheard some of his reassurance, as he turns to look Hermione squarely in her troubled chocolate eyes. "He's right, love – I just caught a glimpse of your shoes digging into this git's back." He agitatedly rakes his hands through his jet black mop and huffs out an exasperated breath.

"Look, I support your relationship – you know that, OK? – but I would rather not witness the physical specifics of it with my own eyes… in one of the Interrogation Rooms, for the love of Godric…" he mutters darkly. "My eyes… my poor eyes…"

"Give it a rest, Potter," Draco snipes. "Nothing untoward happened here. There's no need to make the situation harder than it needs to be."

"Don't bloody talk to me about 'making things harder', Malfoy – not after what I just witnessed! What if I'd entered five minutes later? Like I need that in my head, too!" Harry fires back, bumping into the table as he drops his Operation Acromantula files atop it in a hasty heap.

"Guys – can we just move on? Please? Harry, I'm sorry… we got a little carried away," Hermione plays peacemaker. She attempts to move forward but Draco refuses to let her fully leave the circle of his arms. He presses an open-mouthed smooch on her neck (because he wants to – but also for shits and giggles).

Potter looks away again, but he appears mollified by Hermione's apology. The bespectacled wizard motions silently for them to take a seat opposite him; Draco sees Hermione settled before he sits down.

Hope he isn't waiting for me to excuse our recent behaviour – he'll be waiting for an eternity, Draco smirks to himself. Potter has one last crack at their inadvertent libidinous display before he gets down to the business of their meeting.

"You're going to be that couple, aren't you?" he questions rhetorically. "The pair who sicken everyone around them with their public displays of affection, and sickeningly sweet endearments, and non-stop touchy-feely gropings?" Harry pretends to bang his head on the table in despair.

"No – well, maybe… Harry, we're an acknowledged couple now, it's exciting… " Hermione blathers. "Um, we'll try to be more circumspect in public," she finishes in a rush, ducking her head and nervously tracing over a few of the many dents on the surface of the desk.

"I make no such promises," Draco arrogantly avers. "You should knock before you enter a room; that's on you, Potter. And you helped to push us together: you all but gave me your blessing in this very space not long ago – so be careful what you wish for," he concludes, thoroughly enjoying the brunet Auror's disconcertion.

"Malfoy!" Hermione playfully slaps at the lapel of his black suit jacket; he captures her little hand and raises it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles before holding her hand firmly within his own. He ignores Harry's groan.

"Get on with it, Potter – we don't have all day." Malfoy risks pissing off the other man a little further. Potter's jade eyes glower but he complies with the directive, pulling the topmost sheet of parchment closer.

"We are close to a breakthrough on the case," Harry announces, skimming his eyes across his cramped notes. "Technically, Scotland Yard have made the advancements; I went to them last week and asked for their assistance with tracing the computer communications made between the two criminals and their would-be victims," he expounds, frowning down at the paper.

Hermione leans forward. "What have they learned? Have they attacked other women since they tried with me?" she anxiously enquires. Draco rubs her tense back as they await Harry's information.

He shakes his dishevelled head. "Not as far as we're aware – and the other previously targeted women are being closely watched and guarded. But after examining the dating website chats, Scotland Yard have identified a Dark Web forum in which these arseholes have been swapping their rape fantasies, 'procedural tips' and hardcore pornography… you get the idea," Harry hastily sums up as Hermione blanches.

"The good news to come from this is that the Yard are confident they will be able to pinpoint a specific IP address within the next few days; and we have more insight into what their motivations are. There was quite a bit of encoded chatter about funding and planning, which leads us to believe that they have recently come into a significant windfall of assets and cash. While it's frustrating that we still don't know their true identities, all of these details will be vital when we do catch and prosecute them," Harry states grimly.

Gone is any trace of diffidence or mild-mannered bureaucrat. In this moment, Potter looks as he did during his final battle with Voldemort. Implacable. Powerful. Unswervingly dauntless. His eyes blaze behind his glasses. "We will find them, Hermione. You have my word."

Draco is relieved to note that Hermione has recovered her composure; she nods steadfastly. "Thank you, Harry."

"Right. I am concerned that the hiatus period between attacks is almost up, though… Hermione, would you consider working from home for the next week or so? Or just until we have made an arrest?" Harry asks quietly.

Her immediate head shake dismays both men. I could have told you she wouldn't go for that, Draco ponders sombrely. Maybe I'll have more luck.

"I want you to bring Macdolas to the Ministry with you. I know you believe that your work environment is safe, Granger – but you cannot be too careful. Mac would jump at the chance, and you could explain his presence as a research collaborative or suchlike," Draco adds.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione replies, "Absolutely not – and I've advised you not to order me about, Malfoy. I'm already in the company of one or both of you, and there is no need to set up extra security for me at work. Besides, Mac would be bored stiff here – would you have him perch atop my cubicle like a ruddy mascot all day?" she scoffs.

"Who's Macdolas?" a puzzled Potter chips in.

"Malfoy Manor's chief steward – he's our best house elf," Draco grits out, displeased that Hermione has shot him down so quickly. "Potter, would you agree that Hermione cannot be too careful when it comes to her personal safety?" Draco tries again to make the stubborn witch see sense.

Frustratingly, Potter focuses on the less important aspect of his explanation. "Wait – your house elf is Hermione's bodyguard? Wow." Harry reclines back into the unforgiving old chair, steepling his hands in a reflective gesture.

"Maybe you should give more thought to Malfoy's suggestion, Hermione. We're not trying to order you about – as if that's ever worked, anyway – but I would feel much less concerned if you did have someone with you at all times," Potter gently urges.

Hermione's pretty mouth is now an uncompromising thin line. "No. I have little enough personal space as it is, Harry. And much as I adore Mac, he wouldn't be happy just sitting around watching me research dull old legal texts and sitting in on boring Wizengamot court proceedings."

Her words engender an uneasy thought in Draco's mind. "Granger… have I been smothering you? Crowding you? I am sorry, I never meant – that is, I'll give you as much space as you need, ma petite," he ignores Potter's green gaze as strokes Hermione's hand.

"Of course not! I never meant to imply – I just meant, I'm used to spending a lot of time on my own. I love being with you, Malfoy," Hermione's candid smile and light palm squeeze help allay Draco's fears.

"Ugh. I called it. You two are revoltingly sweet. I think one of my molars fell out after that," Harry jokes. Draco scowls.

"Was that all you wished to tell us, Potter? Do you need to speak with Lucius again?" He keeps his tone cool and even.

"Not at this stage." Harry hesitates. "Malfoy, are you one hundred percent certain that your father has nothing to do with the men we seek? I am not trying to insult you – but it is difficult to get a read on his character these days. He gave me nothing but the bare facts when I questioned him at the Manor," Harry divulges.

Draco shrugs cynically. "Lucius is like that with everyone, except my mother. As to your query – he is capable of being involved in this pernicious plot, but I cannot comprehend how he would manage it, given his strict house arrest and state of wandless-ness.'

"I monitor his situation thoroughly and regularly, and I assure you that Lucius has not had contact with the outside word for almost five years, apart from a few rare visitors for my mother. While nothing is impossible, I would argue that Lucius's participation is highly improbable," he reckons.

Potter nods and scratches down something in his crabbed script. "Good. Well, that's everything… Hermione, please tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary? Even if it's not tangible?".

"I will. But honestly, Harry – I am currently under more supervision than Prince William. And I'm sleeping with this particular bodyguard most nights," she teases as she points to Draco and leans into his prompt kiss.

"Every night, if I have any say in the matter," Draco amends, planting another smacking kiss on her parted lips.

Harry holds up his note paper to cover his eyes. "Go! Just go! Don't sexualize my workplace!" But he is laughing as he protests. Draco doesn't bother to say goodbye as he sweeps up Hermione and hustles her outside.

She is giggling as he walks her the short distance to her pedestrian little cubicle, taking care not to stand to close to her; he is conscious of the curious eyes of her colleagues. The slurs aimed at him during their earlier elevator ride have reminded him that the wizarding public will strongly disapprove of their unexpected relationship.

"I'd best leave you to it, Granger," Draco allows himself just one featherlight stroke of her soft cheek as he turns to leave. She pouts, stilling his departure by sliding her hand around his left forearm.

"Won't you bid me farewell properly?" she petitions, tipping up her head and gazing deeply into his eyes. Her beautiful multi-hued brown orbs are bright and expectant. Salazar – it is killing me not to kiss her! But I will not draw more censure to her.

He shakes his head ruefully. "Best not to, not here," he murmurs, hands crimping into fists to stop himself reaching for her.

She scans the room; Draco sees the very moment when she realizes the reason behind his reticence. "You're worried about what my co-workers will think," she breathes. "I'll take care of that right now."

Hermione swivels and places her hands on her hips to address the room of gawking Ministry drones.

In a strident, clear tone (reminiscent of her many classroom expositions), she announces, "Since you're all trying so desperately not to notice – here you have it. This is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. If anyone has a problem with that, I expect to hear it straight from your mouth, and not in a series of muttered asides or nasty whispers. But know this: I don't give a fig what any of you think. Anyone who tries to interfere in our relationship will regret it – immediately."

She glares about the room with her famous Gryffindor spunk. "Well?". Nary a workmate dares speak. Draco would laugh at their uniformly gobsmacked expressions, if he weren't overcome with awe, and the strange feeling of his heart shifting in his chest at her uncompromising avowal of their connection.

By the stars – Hermione Granger just claimed me as her own. Unconditionally. Knowing full well word will spread like wildfire in this teeming rabbit warren. Draco decides to match her bravery with some of his own. He gathers his plucky little witch to him and theatrically dips her over his arm, kissing her with unrestrained fervour as her hands enthusiastically curl around his neck. The last stubborn tucks of her bun give up fighting the good fight as her splendid chestnut ringlets tumble down her back.

He returns her to vertical and slowly eases them apart when he hears soft clapping. Hermione's supervisor is standing in the doorway of her office, a huge smile adorning her pleasant face.

"Congratulations, Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy," Marilda pronounces. "I'm thrilled to hear the news; but perhaps you could settle into the day's work now, Ms Granger?".

Hermione blushes as they step back from one another. "Of course. I'll see you tonight, Malfoy?".

"You will indeed, Granger. Wild Thestrals couldn't drag me away." Draco nods his thanks to Mrs Sandore before he spins on his heel and makes his way toward Level Five.

She claimed me. The refrain runs through his elated brain like the chorus of a favourite song. Me.

"I'm not taking Astoria Greengrass to the Spring Equinox Ball."

Zabini folds his arms across his chest as he leans back on his desk. "Hallo, Blaise old chap! How have you been, buddy? There's a little matter I've been meaning to raise with you; mind if we have a quick word?" he mimics Draco's cool tones with disturbing accuracy.

"I've said my piece. Save your dramatics for amateur theatre." Draco turns to leave.

"Not so fast, my friend – you definitely owe me an explanation. Nay – you owe me an entreaty for letting you off the hook… IF I let you off the hook."

The dark-eyed blighter is already enjoying this too much, Draco thinks sourly.

"I told you. I'm not taking Astoria, and that's that."

"May I ask why?" Blaise is all (feigned) politeness.

"You strong-armed me into it; and I'm committed elsewhere," Draco grudgingly admits.

"A-ha!" Blaise crows.

Like the big brassy rooster he is. Don't let him bait you, he lives for this shit. Draco stays silent.

"I wonder… would your alternate date for the Ball be a lively little package whose name rhymes with 'Danger'? Blaise looks insufferably smug as he chuckles at his own lame humour.

"Do not call her a 'little package' ever again," Draco rumbles, forgetting his intent to remain unaffected by Zabini's antics. "That's Ms Granger to the likes of you."

"Oooh, 'the likes of me'! Seems I've hit a nerve, eh?" Blaise chafes his hands together gleefully. "So my plan worked? You finally located your shrivelled ballsack and asked Hermione to be your date? Damn, I'm good… just ask me," he cackles insufferably.

"No. Hermione asked me, actually." Draco scratches at the back of his neck, refusing to meet Blaise's laughing jet eyes.

"Blistering Bowtruckles, she's a treasure! Is it too late to steal her away and introduce her to the ultimate Slytherin experience, I wonder?".

"Fuck off – and what do you mean? What plan?" Draco paces toward his old classmate menacingly.

Zabini prudently skips behind his desk as he answers, "Why, I knew that you wouldn't invite Hermione to be your date unless someone gave you a tiny shove in the right direction – either that, or you'd leave the poor deluded witch free and available for a better wizard," Blaise smugly replies. "Win/win, really."

"You are such a meddling arsehole – do you have any idea how upset Hermione was when I told her you'd coerced me into agreeing to take Astoria? What if she'd run off then and there and I'd never been able to make things right with her? Did you think about that when you were merrily scheming on how best to ruin our lives?" Draco savagely yells, his voice husking as his deep-seated terror of losing Hermione threatens to catapult him into full-blown hysteria.

"No – you were too busy shifting us around like fucking pawns on your amusing little chessboard to consider that we are real people, with emotional ranges infinitely deeper than your thimbleful of shallow dipshittery!" He has to clutch the back of the leather visitor's chair to keep from throttling the other man.

Blaise's habitual personality of the charming court jester drops away, leaving him looking unusually chastened and humble.

"Look – I'm sorry, Draco – I didn't think – "

"No, that's your problem, isn't it? You treat life as if it's one giant game – which is all well and good until someone gets hurt!" Draco is trembling with rage and distress. He dimly accepts that he is just as angry with himself as he is with Blaise… for hadn't he failed to consider how his actions could have hurt Hermione? Hadn't he stubbornly ignored the signs that she had deeper sentiments for him than sexual attraction alone?

The epiphany of his own selfish blindness about Hermione's feelings dilutes his fury toward his friend. Draco stays silent as Blaise makes some weird stunted gesticulations; he comprehends that Blaise is experiencing a rare moment of speechlessness. Ha. Inscribe this date into the history books.

"I might have been a bit harsh," Draco offers, after the passage of uncomfortable moments. "I'm panicked at the thought that I may have lost Hermione… before I even could call her my own. Sorry, Blaise."

Zabini exhales a ragged sigh of relief. "Mate, I'm the one who needs to apologize. You're right – I didn't consider Hermione's reaction when you told her you were going with another woman… and a Pureblood witch, at that. She's probably a little sensitive, given the flak she copped throughout school, and… well, you know."

Blaise lays a tentative hand on Draco's hunched shoulder. "Can we both agree I'm a bloody idiot with good intentions and occasional poor timing? Sorry, mate."

Draco mimes a punch into Blaise's stomach as Zabini's eyes widen in alarm. "Apology accepted. But don't interfere in our relationship ever again – or I'll give you a hiding you won't soon forget," Draco's threat is only half-playful.

"It's official, then? Have you proposed yet? Did you go down on bended knee? I'm still the best man, right?" Blaise picks up his planning diary and pretends to rifle through its dates. "I can do a June ceremony; Saturdays work best for me," he nods.

Buffoon. Draco clicks his tongue against his teeth exasperatedly. "I won't dignify your utter ridiculousness with an answer. Suffice to say, Hermione and I had a long, productive discussion and she is officially my girlfriend." He can't stop his chest puffing in pride as he reveals their status. Bloody hell, I must look as goofily foolish as Macdolas when he raves about Ruibby. His smile broadens.

"Brilliant! I really am happy for you, Draco. You are one undeservedly lucky, slick bastard. Just make sure you don't fuck it up," Blaise advises.

"Thanks – that's the kind of unqualified support I know I can count on you for," Draco dryly observes. "Now that we've covered my fledgling histoire d'amour, what will you do about sourcing a date for Astoria?".

Blaise shrugs dismissively. "Already taken care of: Theo agreed to escort her last week. You were never going to actually partner the blonde virago. See what a nice guy I am?" he grins.

"I can't decide if that makes me feel better or worse about your ill-considered machinations, Zabini," Draco's mouth twists in response.

"Better, of course," Blaise confidently affirms. "I look forward to the opportunity to tease Hermione about all this; she's sitting in again on our next meeting with Flint on Wednesday. Don't worry, I'll play nice," Blaise pre-empts Draco's caution. "Promise."

"You'd better – or you'll answer to me."

"Pah – save your 'Dom' persona for Granger… I'd bet a thousand Galleons that she loves that side of you." Blaise cocks his head as Draco's ears burn as he gallops for the door of Zabini's office.

"You're an obnoxious putz, Zabini!" Draco throws the sneer over his shoulder as he beats a hasty retreat.

Blaise's knowing laughter follows him down the corridor.

Smug, obnoxious, perceptive putz, Draco corrects.

Monday 10 March 2003: PM

"Take off your skirt." Draco clenches his jaw as he takes a step back. His hands are aching to return to Hermione's lithe, warm body; but he controls the compulsion. He needs this, and he believes she does, too.

"Why did you stop kissing me? I was enjoying that… very much," Hermione's voice is passion-slurred and sulky.

"I said – take off your skirt, Granger. Slowly. Be good, and I will reward you." Draco watches in satisfaction as her pupils immediately flare and darken. Excellent. He has been anticipating this moment ever since that blockhead Potter interrupted their passionate clinch this morning.

"What happens if – if I'm bad?" Hermione rasps, her fingers freezing on the side hook of the garment under dispute.

"Punishment." The single word results in her legs shifting restively as she stands beside his substantial bed.

"Mmm… you like that idea, don't you? Ma petite minx coquine. Which will it be? Good or bad?" Draco makes an impatient 'hurry up' twirl with his left index finger.

"Both." She actually pokes out her tongue at him as she unhurriedly unhooks her blue skirt and inches down the zipper, two metal teeth at a time. He backs up into one of the grey armchairs that face his bed, dragging it forward until he is positioned a mere foot away from the sluggishly-stripping brunette. Draco sits and grips the arm rests until his knuckles are the colour of snow. His control will be sorely tested tonight… and he cannot wait to push it to its limits. He plants his feet wide and adjusts his posture to relieve some of the pressure as his groin thrums and abuts his suit trousers.

"Now the shirt. One button at a time. Start at the bottom."

Hermione begins at the top. That's two infractions. Draco conceals his smile, keeping his mouth uncompromisingly stern.

Quirking one straight brow at him, the cheeky witch coos, "I hope you intend to finish what you started this morning… I've been thinking of you all day. Thinking of you wedged between my legs… thinking about squirming against you again… " the tip of her tongue darts out of her mouth to wet her lips as she reaches the last button.

"Tonight, you have to say it." Draco precisely enunciates the directive, enraptured by that tiny pink triangle as she slowly traces the contours of her moistened mouth.

"Say what?"

"Say all the words. Pussy. Cock. Suck. Lick. Fuck. Or whichever words you prefer. But you must be explicit and direct; you must clearly state your needs, or I won't satisfy them. I do nothing without your consent. Do you agree?" Draco presses, his eyes now pewter pools of desire as her slate shirt gapes open.

"Yes." Her response is instant and uncompromisingly resolute; Hermione thrusts out her breasts as she widens her stance. His eyes map her semi-nude form, not missing a single glorious dip and plane and angle.

His fingers flex as he commands, "Undo the cuffs: drop the shirt. And tell me the words you missed, when you were describing our tryst in the Interrogation Room this morning."

A hesitation. Have I misread her readiness?

"All day, I've been thinking about your big cock… about how much I enjoyed wriggling my wet pussy against your thick, hard dick…" she pauses, letting the unfastened shirt fall to the floor at their feet. "Is that what you meant by 'explicit', Malfoy?" Hermione bats her eyelashes and smirks at Draco's indrawn breath.

"Keep talking. Unclasp your bra. Slide the straps down your shoulders and arms, but don't let it fall just yet." His voice is deep and dark with passion. She obeys, watching him watch her as she holds the plain blue bra cups in place with her hands; her respiration is shallow and rapid.

"Let go." The bra joins the shirt. Her rose nipples are already peaked, Draco's eyes zeroing in on them instantly. He shifts infinitesimally in the modern armchair.

"Tu es magnifique ... tu me coupe le souffle. Stroke your nipples," Draco croons.

Every light sweep of her lively fingers shoots straight to his turgid length; he has to strengthen his hold on the chair to stop himself from reaching for her and completing the action himself. Hermione's eyes half-close as her tugs become firmer and she keens in little pants.

"Remove your knickers. Hand them to me."

Hermione hooks her thumbs beneath the blue cotton elasticized sides and makes an exaggerated straight bend down to her toes, dragging them to her feet in one smooth movement. She lifts one bare foot to slide free the panties, dangling them in front of Draco with a small swish.

He points to his lap. "Drop them." They land on his straining lap as she saucily flicks her wrist.

"Sit down. Lie back. Open your legs."

There is not a trace of indecision now; Hermione obeys with admirable promptitude. Her slender legs spread until he can see every curve and crease of her thighs and sex; the wetness seeping through her soft brown curls causes him to growl in anticipation. Draco shuffles to the edge of his seat, hovering nearer until he could kiss her if he wished. Not yet.

Before he clips out his next dictum, Draco looks his fill. In the glow of the twin lamplight, Hermione's skin glows, warm tones that range from cream to olive to the occasional tan freckle. Her body is an Elysium of sensuality, youthfulness and health: matured, sexy, candid. He used to spend many pleasant hours guessing at the true shape of her pubescent form, surreptitiously stealing assessing glances to judge how much her school uniform and robes hid or delineated.

To be free to let his eyes drink her in like this is a boon he will never tire of. His male peers used to argue ceaselessly over which body part they preferred: breasts, legs, hair, bum, eyes; Draco couldn't narrow down a preference – except that he secretly admitted to himself that he was a 'Hermione man'.

To choose just one part of her physicality to worship is an abominable waste. He could write a sonnet on the shape of her pinkie toes (if his poetry weren't utter trash). Her brain is the sexiest part of her, in any case; he aches to know everything about her, every stray thought and memory and honed philosophy and belief that she chooses to share with him.

But for now, I will delight in exploring her body and sexuality to the bounds of both our control.

"Touch yourself. Show me what you like. Tell me what you like." Draco doesn't attempt to mask the hoarseness of his voice. He wants Hermione to know how deeply she affects him.

She gropes above her for a pillow and draws it down to prop beneath her head, allowing her to maintain eye contact. Smart little Gryffindor, Draco silently approves.

Her legs part a little more as Hermione draws up her knees and curls her toes into the white duvet. She places her right hand oh her right thigh as her left hovers above her breasts; she lowers her palm to skim across her stiff nipples, just grazing the tips as her back arches off the bed a little. She repeats the action in a side-sweep, occasionally pinching the reddened peaks with her thumb and forefinger.

"I like to work up to the nipple pinches becoming just this side of painful," Hermione's voice almost jolts Draco out of the chair. "My breasts are very sensitive… I like to grasp one hard when I'm coming."

She shuts her smoky cinnamon eyes for a heartbeat or two as her right hand moves to tease open the silky curls at the juncture of her thighs. Draco is transfixed by the sight of her index and middle fingers dipping inside her labial lips, stroking up and down vertically as she coats her fingers in the lower wetness of her tight channel.

"Sometimes I like to press my fingers to my clit and hold them there, before I start rubbing," her voice has dropped to a husky whisper. "But mostly, I like to rub up and down around my pink pearl… to take my time while I fantasize…"

"Tell me your fantasy." Draco can barely grunt out the words, given how desperately he is battling the overwhelming urge to replace her fingers with his own. He cannot look away from the erotic sight of his sexy little witch running her pink fingers around her inner lips and rolling her hips as she finds her rhythm.

"I have so many… hmmm… "

Bloody blue-balled hell. Draco wonders if his jittery heart is healthy enough to withstand this titillating torture.

"I like thinking about being taken…fucked… from behind," Hermione carries on, lips tilted at the corners as a bead of sweat rolls down Draco's forehead. He doesn't move a muscle as she picks up her pace and her breathing quickens, her toes flexing with each cycle of raised and lowered hips and taut buttocks.

"Being told to get on my hands and knees, hearing my man unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers as he positions me on the bed, just so… I'm grasping the sheets above me as he turns my cheek to the cool fabric and presses on my back, so that my tight nipples will brush against the bedding with each thrust as he shuttles his big cock inside my wet pussy… he fingers me, before his cock replaces his hand, and then he keeps working my clit as he pushes in, he keeps pushing until he bottoms out and then pulls back until just his mushroom tip is still inside me…"

Her amazing chocolate eyes are still steady upon his grey orbs; Draco can see his feral reflection in her blown pupils.

"He thrusts back inside, shoves in his cock to the hilt… it's almost too big, but I can take it, I'm dripping wet and I can feel every hard inch of him sliding against my pussy walls… he drags up my hips so that he is hitting my g-spot on every glide, and I'm shaking, I'm so close… "

Now. Draco springs up from the chair like a panther, looming above Hermione to wrap his hand around her busy wrist and drag it away from her swollen pussy lips. She whines her protest.

"Turn around. Get on your hands and knees. You disobeyed me twice; this is your first punishment." Draco fumbles at his belt buckle and somehow manages to undo it with one hand as Hermione pouts but quickly flips onto her front, at the bottom edge of the big bed. He unzips his trousers and shoves his pants and cotton boxers down to his knees, the metal of the belt jangling. He doesn't bother removing the rest of his clothing; her nudity in comparison with his attire is insanely arousing.

He knows that Hermione expects him to fuck her immediately, or possibly deliver a few sharp spanks to her naked bottom. The delicious thought of lightly reddening her pert little bum has him growling. Not tonight. He splays her legs until he is pushed up against her, his tumescent cock nudging between her outer folds as she boldly pushes back against his pelvis.

"Hold still."

Draco lays his hands on the sides of her smooth thighs, slowly running them up to her hips and swirling them around the rounded cheeks of her little arse, loving the texture of her skin and her incoherent moans and sighs. He pulls away to lower his face, rubbing his fine chin stubble against the curves of her rump and blowing on her sex from behind. Hermione startles as he chuckles and stands upright again. His left hand finds her damp core as his right pinches her nipple – hard. He slips two fingers inside her, adding a third as he realizes how soaked she is already. He tunnels them in and out carefully, upping his pressure and speed as her moans become louder and more urgent.

"Malfoy – please… please… " Hermione's voice and sex are both shaking. He takes away his hands before she can climax.

"Your second punishment," Draco intones. He holds her hips high as she growls her fury and disappointment. He waits for her to stop thrashing and gnashing. His balls are in danger of bursting and his dick may do the same at any moment, he is wound so tightly.

"Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me. Now. Please." With the last snarled word, Draco slams into Hermione's drenched pussy with a guttural yell, immediately feeling her sheath tighten and pulse around him. He pumps relentlessly, keeping his right hand clamped on her soft hip as he moves his left back to rub furiously at her clitoris.

He is lost to everything but the incredible feel of her, around and beneath him; his eyesight narrowed down to the curves of her back and tumbling hair and the salacious sight of his tumid cock thrusting in and out of her willing wet pussy.

Draco is dimly aware that he is babbling lewd things to Hermione in rapid French, while she repeats "please" and "yes"… until she simply screams "Draco!" as she begins to come apart underneath him. He manages to hold off his own roaring orgasm for mere moments as she milks his phallus in strong rolling compressions. He stutters, "Hermione!" as he finds his volatile peak deep inside her core.

Vision whiting around the edges, Draco keeps surging, gentling his thrusts as their pulses and spasms gradually recede. His knees are trembling as withdraws from her body and topples to the side, half-on and half-off the end of the bed.

I'm destroyed. Annihilated. Wrecked. Absolutely rapturous.

He crawls up the bed to check on his beautiful witch. "Granger? Are you alright?" Draco combs a thick swath of tawny curls away from her damp forehead.

Hermione cracks open one blissed-out mocha eye. Her joyful smile mirrors his own. She rests her hand on the twitching pulse in his neck.

"Malfoy… can we do that again, please?" she winks.

"I might need a few minutes," Draco rumbles as they laugh at their mutual states of euphoric obliteration. He feebly tries (and fails) to tug his white business shirt over his head as Hermione's mirth grows.

"You haven't even undone the buttons, sweetheart," the endearment slips from her lips without her seemingly noticing it, intent as she is upon correcting his fashion failings. Draco's heart leaps into his throat like a frog on a hotplate.

"And your shoes are still on!" Hermione clucks, her attempts to help him undress scuppered as he fiercely enfolds her in his arms and kisses the top of her head.

"Just let me hold you for a while, ma petite." She sneaks her own arms around his flanks and clings to him tightly as she utters a quiet, contented sigh.

"You are amazing, Draco." Hermione snugs her head into his neck.

"You are a miracle, Hermione. Never forget that."

For I never shall.

French translation:

Tu es si incroyablement sexy, je ne peux pas en avoir assez de toi - You are so unbelievably hot, I can't get enough of you.

histoire d'amour – love story.

Ma petite minx coquine – my naughty little minx.

Tu es magnifique ... tu me coupe le souffle – You are gorgeous… you take away my breath.