Vengeance

Vengeance
Chapter Three


By: Vashka


000


Disclaimer: These characters still belong to J.K. Rowling! The song “I Just Wanna Make Love to You” is performed by the amazing Etta James (download it now!), and I admit one of the scenes here was inspired by a scene from the movie True Lies (eek, what have I done?)


000


\"Eroticism is like a dance: one always leads the other.\"
-Milan Kundera

000


‘Helena’ left the stage to a thunderous ovation, and came back on stage for two curtain calls. Holding flowers given to her from an admirer, she smiled and waved. No one but Draco seemed to notice that the smile never quite reached her eyes.


Still in a state of semi-shock, Draco was silent and withdrawn, thinking about all the time wasted, all the effort wasted, when Granger was here all along. But who would have thought the prudish, bushy-haired, mini-McGonagall could actually be sexy?


A persistent nagging memory tried to surface in the wake of these thoughts, but Draco ruthlessly squashed it.


“…Mate? Draco? Oi!!”


Draco, coming out of his dazed stupor, finally noticed Blaise speaking to him.


“I have been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. What’s on your mind?” Blaise slanted him a sly glance, “Or perhaps I should say who’s on your mind?”


Draco gave Blaise a self-deprecating smirk, “Now Zabini, although… Miss Gardiner… is quite an intriguing specimen; she certainly wouldn’t preoccupy me to such a degree. Women just don’t seem to have that effect on me. I can love them one minute, and forget them the next, you know that.” Draco nonchalantly leaned back in his seat, “Although I would love to hear more about this woman. Why isn’t someone of her caliber married yet?”


Blaise poured himself another glass of wine, and swirled it around a little before answering. “I suppose it is because she is a half-blood. Rumor has it that her mother was a famous muggle entertainer in Romania, and her father fell head over heels in love with her. So, due to her unfortunate heritage, no upscale family will have her. She is supposedly decent with a wand, but nothing special. Her real talents lie on the stage there.”


Draco laid his head on his arms, and attempted to look casual, but the effect was ruined by the razor-sharp attention of his eyes. “Does she have any… protectors?”


Blaise, not fooled by Draco’s forced casualness, replied in kind. “None that I know of, past or present. I suppose there must have been someone who got her into the business, but it may have been her father or some such thing.”


“And is she actively looking for one?”


“She is always exquisitely charming in person, but never gives off any signals in that direction, much to the British male population’s everlasting regret.”


Draco’s eyes narrowed, “Yours too?”


Blaise looked at Draco carefully. After a moment he replied, “I suppose so, but she doesn’t interest me that much.”


“Good. See that it stays that way.”


000


Draco stalked down the corridors that led to the backstage dressing rooms of the entertainers. He had asked Roderick for directions, and the majordomo had been most gracious.


He grimaced at the effort it took to get rid of Blaise. It seemed that after the performance, Blaise wanted to talk more about the serious business of theft and intrigue, but Draco simply could not keep his attention focused on the task at hand. Blaise might have been reciting Seventh Year Transfiguration textbook for all he knew.


Finally, Blaise, sensing that something was amiss, decided to adjourn their meeting. They arranged to meet the next day at Malfoy Manor to discuss their options.


Contrary to Blaise’s appraisal, Draco was positively giddy. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he had ever felt this excited. Letting his mind wander, he had to resist the urge to laugh manically.


He was going to catch his prey.


At last, she was going to be his.


000


-Flashback- Five years ago, Hogwarts-


“Granger better be ready for this bloody meeting, or there will be hell to pay.”


Draco Malfoy, Head Boy and Slytherin extraordinaire, was marching through the castle to the Head Girl’s quarters, inconveniently stationed a brisk ten minute walk away from his own comfortable dorm. As the head students, they were required to meet once a week to take care of the weekly duties they were responsible for- prefect schedules, study groups and the occasional Hogsmeade weekend, etcetera.


Draco hated it.


Not that he hated the planning, mind you, as he was nutters about power and all its trappings, bureaucratic details be damned. It was Granger he couldn’t take.


Their weekly meetings were epic power struggles, each trying to one-up the other and seize control. He didn’t know what Dumbledore was thinking when he assigned the Heads for the year, but he must have been absolutely insane to think they would work well together. Hell, he must have been crazy to think they could be in the same room together without either one of them spontaneously combusting from pent-up rage.


So far no major disasters had ensued, but he wouldn’t put it past Granger to transfigure him into a ferret again one of these days. Last week, while quarrelling over the merits of Beef Wellington over Chicken Cordón Bleu for the Governor’s Lunch Buffet, he came dangerously close to hexing that haughty bint into oblivion. Or at least giving her a very bad case of hives. Heh. Would serve her right.


The meetings always took place in the sitting room of the Head suite, and they alternated the week when the other would have to take the laborious walk through the castle. As it was Draco’s turn to walk the ‘trail of tears,’ he contemplated grumpily that their ‘conversations’ would less resemble a battle in full fever if it was less of a bother to actually get to the other’s room.


He reached the portrait of a knight and his lady in a sunny meadow. Today, the knight was sitting with his head in the lady’s lap, and she was stroking his hair fondly. Totally absorbed in what she was doing, she was not paying attention to anything else, especially Draco.


“Ahem.”


The lady had moved onto kissing the knight’s forehead, and he was grinning most stupidly. Both completely ignored Draco standing impatiently at the entrance.


Not exactly the patient sort of fellow, Draco disturbed the tranquil scene. “A-hem. Is Granger in? We have a meeting.”


Startled, the lady looked up. “Oh yea, good Sir. The lady hath arrived but a few moments before yourself. Pray, what is the password?”


“Mnesomai.”


“Password accepted. You may enter.” As the portrait swung open, the two lovers resumed their addled absorption with each other.


“Lovesick twits.” Draco muttered under his breath as he stepped into Granger’s sitting room. As much as he disliked Granger personally, he had no qualms with the girl’s sense of style, as much as it irked him to admit. Thankfully, the room was not done in the garish gold and crimson of Gryffindor, but in soft matte shades of beige and cream with accents of dark green. The tall windows at the end of the room let in sufficient light, and with the tasteful, elegant furniture, the room was almost up to Malfoy standards.


He settled himself in his usual chair by the fireplace, and immediately Granger’s huge monstrosity of a cat jumped on his lap and settled in. As he idly stroked the orange fur, he noticed that there was no tea service waiting. This was highly out of character for Granger, as she was usually perfectly proper in keeping the charade of their ‘working relationship.’ He briefly considered ordering it himself, but decided against it. It would be much more entertaining to watch Granger squirm when she emerged from her room and realized that she had forgotten their meeting.


As the minutes ticked past, he started to grow restless, and glared at the door, willing Granger to come out so he could berate her for this waste of time.


Finally, running out of what little patience he owned, he sat up, dislodging an angry Crookshanks, and stomped towards the door. Haughty bitch. Making me wait. Me! The heir to the Malfoy fortune. My father will hear of this! As he reached the door, he simultaneously reached up his sleeve for his wand with one hand, and eased the door open with the other.


He was hit with a blast of sound.


That was all he could describe it as, sound. He supposed it was just very loud music, but it was unlike any sort of music he had ever heard. As he blinked a few times and his ears adjusted to the decibel level, so he could make out a woman’s voice singing.


… I want you to be true
And I just wanna make love to you


love to you
ooh-ooh
love to you


The woman’s voice was more throaty and raw than any he had ever heard before, and when he understood the lyrics, a telltale flush started to spread over his pale cheeks. The song was more suggestive, musically and lyrically, than any he had ever heard before. Father was right! If muggles have music about women begging for sex, they really must be sicker than I thought.


He was about to sneer at Granger about the crassness of the song when he saw her.


And his wand fell out of his numb fingers.


There were no candles lit, the only light coming from the fire burning in the fireplace. There were strange shadows around the room that seemed to throb in time with the strange music. And there Granger was leaning against the bedpost of her large bed, with her eyes tightly closed, swaying lightly in time to the music.


Half of her form was in shadow, half bathed in golden light, streaking her wild brown curls with red. Her shoes had been kicked off, her tie was hanging around her neck, and her robe was draped on a chair that flanked the bed.


Hermione Granger was clad only in her school uniform. And Hermione Granger was leaning back against the bedpost, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, one button after one torturous button.


All I want to do is wash your clothes
I don’t want to keep you indoors
There is nothing for you to do
But keep me making love to you


love to you
ooh-ooh
love to you


Still with her eyes shut, she finished unbuttoning her shirt, and moved away from the bedpost, with her back facing Draco. Slender fingers played with the tie at her neck, then delicately took it between two fingers and threw it over her shoulder towards him. With Seeker’s reflexes, he caught the treasure, and quickly pocketed it. Then, hips swaying, she ran her hands up and down her torso, and slowly removed her shirt, exposing her golden flesh of her back, the slimness of her waist, to Draco’s ravenous gaze.


Her hands then traveled down to her hips, and with one smooth, practiced motion, she had it unzipped and down to her ankles. She kicked it across the room, baring the round curves of her bottom, covered only in a pair of tiny white lace knickers.


Clad only in her kneesocks, white lace bra, and panties, she turned around. Draco’s eyes quickly flashed to her face to see if her eyes were open, and was giddy with delight when he saw they were still tightly closed. He was suddenly struck by the beauty of her face when in the throes of passion, and not pinched in anger. He leaned back against the doorframe weakly, as he took in her body, hardly daring to blink for fear this illusion would disappear. His breath came in short, tight pants, and he clenched his hands tightly into fists to resist the urge to touch himself.


And I can tell by the way
That you walk that walk
I can hear by the way
You talk that talk
And I can know by the way
You treat your girl
That I could give you all the loving
In the whole wide world


Her hands were her phantom lover’s hands on her skin as she moved. Up over the curve of her breasts to her neck, then fluttering lower to skim down her flat stomach to the juncture of her thighs. Lingering there momentarily, lovingly, she then caressed her hips as they gyrated to the beat. Her hands crept up to her ribcage, and while her legs were swaying, her fingers deftly plucked the clasp in between her breasts open.


She slowly drew off her bra to expose her breasts. Draco felt his erection harden to a painful degree as he looked at her small, perfect bosom. Involuntarily, his hand reached out to grasp the firm mounds, but he remembered himself in time and quickly snatched his hand away as if burned.


As the woman’s voice wailed, Hermione slowly reached out and grabbed the post of her bed. She gyrated and swung around the post in time to the music, her body arching to the rhythm. Draco almost came as her shapely leg curled around the post and then bent her body backwards, giving him an exquisite view of her breasts and stomach.


All I want to do is bake your bread
Just to make sure you’re well fed
I don’t want you sad and blue
And I just wanna make love to you


Hermione put her hands back on post and swung around, over the mattress, to end up on both feet, with her torso swaying seductively, slowly scooting downwards, wiggling her bottom all the way. Draco’s eyes were glued to her arse, and his hands actually itched to feel it in his palms.


Hermione slowly came back up, leaned backwards on the post, and languidly opened her eyes.


Her slitted eyes met Draco’s, and for a few heartbeats, he could see lust shimmering in their depths.


He could see the exact moment the realization hit. Her eyes lost the look of lazy sensuality and widened in surprise. Her body froze as they stared at each other, the moment stretching longer and longer, forgotten music playing in the background.


love to you
ooh-ooh
love to you


Surprisingly, it was Draco who broke the spell. He moved fluidly from his prone position against the wall towards Hermione, making no effort to hide his raging erection. Gently, as if charming a wild creature, he reached out to caress her cheek with his fingers.


She closed her eyes, and leaned into his touch. His thumb roamed from her cheek to brush her mouth, once, twice. He licked his lips, and moved closer and closer…


Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she simultaneously knocked Draco’s arm away, and stepped backwards, trying to covering her breasts with her hands.


“No! No, I cannot, I will not do this! Leave!”


Draco stood frozen for a millisecond, and then a monumental rage exploded deep inside him. How dare she? How dare she reject him?!? A Malfoy!


“…Please…”


He was about to lay into her, but he noticed that she was trembling, her eyes dilated, skin still flushed, tears standing in her eyes. She is affected by me. She wants me, but is too ashamed to admit it. Fine then, if that’s how you want to play Granger, I can play with the best of them.


“I will come back tomorrow for our meeting.”


Oh yes, Granger this is not over.


ooh-ooh
love to you


000


-Present Day-


He never did get to finish what they started that night. The final battle had taken place a few days after that meeting, and except for a brief unsatisfactory encounter right before the battle, the matter was left unresolved. Unfinished business. Yes, that’s all it is. That’s all I want from her.


Just thinking about the one time he had seen Granger without her know-it-all façade made him hard. She could be incredibly sexy when she just kept her fat mouth shut. Take tonight for instance. If she had shown off that body a little more, and stopped acting like a walking, talking book, she might have gotten more attention at Hogwarts. Well, except from those who mattered in this world. She was still a mudblood. But it would have been more entertaining to watch those breasts heave while she was giving one of her inevitable lectures than looking at Potty and the Weasel.


What puzzled him was the obvious fact that Granger could have taken care of her appearance at any time. She obviously knew spells to fix that horrible frizziness, and as tonight demonstrated, she seemed to know how to put on makeup to show off her features. He vaguely recalled the Yule Ball during Fourth Year, and how she had transformed herself. When cleaned up she was stunning.


Why the hell would anyone want to be ugly?


Contemplating that sacrilegious thought, Draco strolled through the backstage corridors, looking for her rooms. When he finally found the door, he had to wipe the palms of his hands on pants, he was so edgy. As he reached out his fist to knock, he had a startling epiphany: she made him feel alive for the first time in five years, for the first time since Hogwarts. For the first time since the war.


And it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.


000


Granger was seated sedately in her dressing room, brushing that horrid blonde hair, looking for the entire world like a pampered, pureblood princess. Except for her eyes. Her eyes were hard chips of black ice, ruining an otherwise perfectly done disguise. He lounged against the doorframe and wondered how many she had been able to fool, and for how long. Must have been hundreds, he mused, to build up such a formidable reputation as an entertainer in only five short years.


He could pinpoint the exact moment that she spotted him. Watching her face so closely he barely seemed to blink, his body was coiled and hard, ready to strike at his prey. She put down her brush, and reached for a bottle of lotion, when she saw his reflection in the mirror. Their eyes caught, and he felt like he was suffocating. Her eyes widened marginally, and all at once, as if prompted by a tidal wave of feeling, the ice in her eyes melted.


They burned.


Suddenly, as if remembering where she was, and whom she was with, she jerked herself out of the staring contest. She opened the bottle and began to vigorously massage the lotion onto her hands, releasing the heady smell of jasmine into the air.


“Lord Malfoy, this is an unexpected… pleasure. How may I possibly be of service to you?”


Oh, she was good. Enough graciousness not to be offensive, but the subtle insult smacked him in the face. If he wasn’t aware of her identity, he might have missed it. So that’s how she wants to play, eh? I could have a lot of fun.


“Miss Gardiner that was a lovely performance. I wasn’t aware that anyone with your… talents… was in town.” Perfect. There was nothing offensive to that statement except the sneering tone.


Her eyes snapped to his, and he could see that indomitable will of hers override her instinctive need to shoot back a scathing retort. He smirked. Revenge at last. I have waited forever for this.


Just as he was about to deal the deathblow to her cover, there was a knock at the door. Granger, or “Helena” as he supposed he should call her, automatically set her face in a pleasant expression, then gracefully rose and answered the door.


From his vantage, he saw that the intruder was a young woman- pretty, but nothing special. Dressed in a short robe like Granger, he assumed she was one of the fellow performers.


“Helena, where do you want the giant feather fans? The stage crew has them crammed in Locker B. I tried telling them they were too delicate, but they insisted that the strengthening charms on them were strong enough to hold…”


As the girl babbled on, Draco tuned out most of her complaint. Know-it-all Granger to the rescue again. Oh, oh, let me do it!! Let me take charge! …Feather fans? Giant ones? Damn. Wonder what they are used for?


Lost in his lustful musings, Draco missed what Granger was saying to him. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he asked her to repeat herself.


“Lord Malfoy,” she said with still formality, “I need to take care of some equipment issues, but I will be back. Please make yourself comfortable.”


Draco smirked, “Oh, I will.”


He was rewarded by her nostrils flaring as she exited the dressing room with painful dignity.


With no Granger to distract him, Draco was finally able to take in his surroundings. Done in sedate blues and purples, the room looked like something out a showroom, with none of the personal touches that make a room seem lived in. Tasteful, uninteresting pictures of flowers, a cushy sofa, a small bar with mirrors- nothing about the room seemed to say anything about the occupant. Except for its extraordinary neatness.


After a show, which he assumed had many costume changes, Draco would expect the room to be a bit of a mess. But there was no evidence that there was any activity in this room at all, let alone frenzied changing.


Bored, Draco drifted over to her dressing table, and glanced at the beauty products lined up neatly on the counter. For a moment, he was baffled as to their organization, as the hair spray was far away from the Sleekeasy’s potion, and the eyeliner was definitely not near the mascara.


Staring at the products, his eyes widened, and he suddenly burst out laughing.


Granger had alphabetized her beauty products.


Still chuckling, he sent a sly glance at the door, and quickly switched around some of the bottles.


Satisfied, he sat down on the couch to await her arrival. Flipping through a stack of untouched Witch Weekly’s, he was satisfied when she stepped in after only a few minutes. She looked around the room, as if his presence would have somehow caused untold destruction on the perfection of her personal space. Apparently satisfied that no harm had taken place, she delicately sat at her dressing table, facing him.


Tired of her composure, Draco went right for the kill.


He leaned forward, smoothly, casually, until he was only a few handbreadths away from his true goal. “So… Helena… how have you hidden yourself from us all these years?”


A flicker of the eyes.


“I have no idea what you are talking about.”


Draco chuckled sardonically, “We looked and looked, every library, every university, wizard and muggle. Every bookshop across the globe. And here you are, a nightclub singer.”


A subtle movement of her hand into the pocket of the short purple kimono.


“Lord Malfoy, if you are going to spout rubbish at me, I will have to graciously ask you to leave.”


Draco suddenly stood up and caught her chin with his hand. Her eyes widened considerably, and her pupils dilated in fear. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her arm tense up.


Looking her straight in the eye, Draco snarled, “No more games. I know you have your wand trained on me right now, but you can’t do anything to me without exposing this cover you have here. Roderick and numerous others know I am in here, and will know if anything happens to me. Come clean. You are Hermione Granger. Admit it. Admit it.”


He watched her face go pale, and her breathing speed up with an almost detached fascination. His emotions were all trained on her answer; it seemed everything hinged upon her honesty.


Her eyes, spinning with fear and panic, suddenly snapped into focus with her decision.


“Get your hands off me Malfoy, or I will not be responsible for the consequences of my actions.”


Draco tightened his grip on her face convulsively, and with his other hand he grabbed her upper arm, and jerked her hand out of her pocket, revealing that she was clutching a common hairclip, not a wand. Puzzled, he looked into her dark eyes.


“Portkey. I say the word, and I am in a safe location of my devising, and you never hear from me again. I will slip into a different identity, and then another, and another. You will never find me, no matter how hard you search.”


Draco didn’t take his hands off of her, but his confidence was slipping. He had underestimated her will. They all had. If he moved now, he could possibly capture her, but most likely not. Stalemate.


Just as he thought she was going to spit in his face and portkey away from him forever, her eyes seemed to cool, and her rage collected itself to something different, something…


“Can we talk this over like civilized people, or must we act like barbarians? Let us talk this through, and perhaps reach an agreement?”


To say that Draco was surprised by this statement was an understatement. He was so shocked that almost lost his grip on Hermione, but he composed himself enough to get his bearings.


“Come again? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”


“You heard me, you insufferable prat. We need to talk.”


Draco looked into her eyes to try to gage her mood, but to his embarrassment, he couldn’t tell is she was going to hex him or if she was going to kiss him. Her eyes were fathomless, impossible to read. So, he settled himself back down on the sofa, got out his wand and trained it on her.


“If we are going to do this, I am asking the questions. First, how the hell did you escape the last battle?”


Hermione looked affronted and sneered, “Did you honestly think I would go into battle without preparing for the eventuality that we might lose?”


“Well, it didn’t cross my mind until we tried looking for you, and you were no where to be found.”


She smirked, “Well it looks like someone underestimated my intelligence. By the time you figured out that I wasn’t going to stay on the battlefield and be captured like a good little girl, I was long gone. I wasn’t called the smartest witch to ever come out of Hogwarts for nothing, you know. It also helped that I was declared dead to the public, so no one outside a select few were actively looking for me.”


“Yes, yes, you insufferable know it all.” Draco couldn’t resist poking fun at her, and took perverse pleasure in the tightening of her facial expression at the familiar jibe. “So why a dancer? Why not live as a librarian in some remote muggle village?”


Hermione turned from him to look at the beauty products lining her and seemed to stare through them for a few moments, taking time to compose her answer. She took a deep breath and began, still looking at the table. “When I was thinking of the alternatives I would have if Harry lost, I realized that I would be on the run from the Death Eaters forever. I don’t want to keep running, I don’t want to hide, and I definitely do not want to live in isolation in some cave in the middle of nowhere. I realized that the most obvious thing for me to do would be to go back to the muggle world. I am familiar with it, and most wizards are not. But even so, I couldn’t be safe there, completely cut off from the heartbeat of the Wizarding world, never knowing if someone was on my tail or if they were light-years away.”


Draco leaned forward, fascinated, “So you decided to become an entertainer?”


Hermione shrugged, “At Hogwarts, everyone seemed to think that I was sexless. I wanted it that way, to be taken more seriously. I was never a girl, much less an attractive young woman. So it was the perfect disguise really.” She was staring at her beauty products, but didn’t seem to really see them. While lost in the memories, she unconsciously began to re-arrange the beauty products that Draco had misplaced.


Draco smirked.


Coming out of her reverie, she smiled ruefully at him, “And when you room with Lavander and Parvati you could learn beauty spells without even trying- they certainly talked enough.”


“Obviously, you learned well if you could pull off the transformation of the century.”


“Thanks Malfoy, your compliments are so endearing. Do you talk to all women like this?”


“Only bushy-haired beavers. And you are not supposed to speak unless spoken to. Next question: why blonde?”


Hermione looked at him with an expression of comical disbelief, and suddenly burst out laughing.


Draco smirked and twirled his wand nimbly around his fingers, “It’s a valid question! I’m in control here, so answer it!”


Hermione pulled a face. “Still a spoilt brat I see. Very well then. I ‘went blonde’ because it seemed to be the last thing anyone would expect. Besides, no one ever seems to look beyond the hair to see the rest of my face. Glamour charms are very unreliable things. Only hair seems to be stable for long periods of time, so this gives me a decent disguise with little hassle.”


“It’s horrid.”


“Yes, I know. But such is life.”


Draco leaned forward to caress Hermione’s cheek and purred, “Final question: give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn you in. Beg me. I have you at my mercy, and you know it.”


Hermione went absolutely still. He could see her mind working furiously, “You mean besides the fact I would escape? Ah, but you want something else, don’t you? Something to lord over me, to say you got the great Granger.” She looked him straight in the eye and said, “Well, here’s something- you’re in some trouble, are you not?”


Draco was taken aback, “Pardon?”


“Someone is setting you up for a fall. And you don’t know who it is.”


“And you do?”


“I could find out.”


“How?”


Hermione smirked. “Easily.”


“That did not answer my question.” Draco felt irrational anger rise, and an impulse to hurt someone. “What other sort of business do you have here, Granger?”


Hermione’s eyes immediately hardened to chips of ice, and the relatively amiable mood evaporated. “Not that!” she said viciously, “I would die before I would sink that low. I am no whore, Malfoy, don’t you ever forget that!”


For some reason, Draco’s irrational anger was mollified. He let out a long breath and said, “Find out Granger. You have one week.”


A/N: In case you were wondering ‘Mnesomai’ means ‘I will remember’ in Greek (at least according to my Classics professor). Appropriate, no? Ugh. That last scene was so hard. Draco and Hermione wanted to be much friendlier than is appropriate at this point in the story. Grrr… characters with minds of their own… Hope it raised some questions in your minds though (there were some oddities you were supposed to notice - hopefully)
A/N2: Next chapter – the thief in action! Bwahahahahaha! And some Hermione perspective. (finally, Draco is taking over my story!) Ah, and to relieve some worries that I have had in reviews, not everyone else is dead! There are a few more survivors, and we will see what they are up to in a few chapters.
A/N3: Of course, thanks to all of my reviewers. It’s amazing how much more inspired I am when I get feedback… Maybe someone should do a study… hmmmm… (I am such a nerd ^_^)