Broomsticks and the Big Apple

Broomsticks and The Big Apple

Chapter 3

Draco shut the door too loudly and Hermione awoke, startled.

“Did you find the boys?” she yawned.

“Yes, babe, go back to sleep.”

“Draco, come to bed,” Hermione held her arms out, reaching for his hand and pulling him down. He struggled, but lost his balance and fell onto the soft, plush comforter. Hermione wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. Draco had wanted to hit the mouthwash to get rid of the cigarette smoke. He had been smoking for a while, ever since Scorpius’s antics had started at school. After his first visit to McGonagall’s office, when Scorpius had gotten into a wand fight in the third floor loo, and was suspended from classes for a week, Draco had lit up that first smoke. He felt his troubles melt away, and after that it had become an addiction. Draco craved that morning smoke, and that after sex cigarette, the most. The sex had been so damn good, that he literally jumped at the chance to go collect the boys, when Hermione requested that he find them and bring them home. He couldn’t wait to puff on that cigarette. Inhale smoke, exhale stress, is how he viewed the nasty habit of smoking.

“Draco…What’s that smell?” Hermione sat up and Draco quickly rolled out of the bed, landing on his feet, and high tailing it into the loo. He swirled the minty mouthwash around in his mouth and spit. He washed his hands to get the smell of smoke off his fingers and then did what any good husband would do…he played dumb.

“Don’t know. Don’t smell anything,” Draco shook his trousers off, wearing only a silky pair of boxers and slipped back into bed with Hermione. He kissed his wife goodnight and then Hermione flicked her wand and every light in the penthouse lit up.

“Draco Malfoy! Have you been smoking?”

“Wha….?” Draco said, as if astounded.

“Don’t give me that. You’ve been smoking!” Hermione leaped from bed and raced to the vanity where his jacket and robes were laying neatly over the plush velvet chair. Draco caught her arm before she had a chance to delve through the pockets.

“Get in bed Hermione. Stop what you’re doing.”

“Why? Hiding something, you don’t want me to see?”

“Let it go Granger,” Draco said.

“ Granger again am I? I will not!” Hermione dug through the pockets and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, in a white and gold box. She held them up in the air as if she had just found a winning lottery ticket and Draco turned his head away, like if he looked at them, they would speak out against him and incriminate him. “You will stop this disgusting habit at once. Do I make myself clear?”

“Excuse me?” Draco said, shocked that his wife would dare to speak to him in such a manner. Draco Malfoy, the Minister of Magic, the man who just pleasured his wife, giving her three, not two, not one, THREE mind blowing orgasm’s, and she had the NERVE to speak to him like he was a House Elf. No, since Hermione had freed all of the house elves, except for one that Narcissa Black refused to give up, Hermione spoke to House Elves far better then she did Draco.

“I believe those are mine. Give them to me and apologize for speaking to me like that,” Draco said, becoming irate, even though his voice remained steady.

“You want your cancer sticks back? Fine!” Hermione opened the door to their bedchamber and tossed the cigarettes out the door. “Go get ‘em!”

“Why are you being such a bitch?” Draco said, fuming mad.

“Bitch huh? Least I’m not a conceited, fucking liar!” Hermione stamped her foot and tossed her hair. She thought perhaps she went overboard with the conceited thing, but she was mad and she deserved to be mad.

“Really? Least I have something to be conceited about.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione said it as if she had a mouth full of marbles. She spoke in that, oh so prim and proper, British Grey Poupon accent, as if to make fun of Draco and his upbringing and all those he associated himself with on a daily basis.

“You know what it means. You little bitch,” Draco said in disgust.

“I’m Draco Malfoy. I get my nails manicured once a month, while I sit at my desk and order people around. I have more money then Elvis, and I can buy anything or anybody. I’m a little prissy boy, but hey… that’s just me,” Hermione said folding her arms and smirking at her husband. If she had her wand she certainly would have hexed him.

“Fuck you Hermione,” Draco left at that. He picked up his cigarettes on the floor outside the bedroom door and Hermione slammed the door in his face, locking it as she did so.

“She caught you huh?” Scorpius said, standing in his boxers in the living room, where Draco was restlessly trying to sleep on the sofa.

“Yeah. Go back to bed. It’s your birthday tomorrow and I’m taking everyone out to dinner after work to celebrate.”

“You can’t feel like celebrating after all THAT, Dad,” Scorpius sat down in the chair across from Draco. Draco leg’s hung off the couch by about a foot, making finding a comfortable position on the lavish but uncomfortable sofa, and exercise in futility.

“It was just an argument. A bad one, mind you, but still just an argument. We still love each other. It will blow over soon enough.”

“I’ve never heard you and Mum argue like that.”

“Yeah, well it happens sometimes. Been a few years though, I’ll admit. Your Mum and I have a passionate relationship. We have always fought to some extent, but it’s just part of what make it work for us. Love passionately, fight passionately. Goes with the territory,” Draco said, unsure though if he was lying to Scorpius or not. He and Hermione had never fought like that. He felt deeply hurt that she insulted him in the way that she did, calling him a prissy boy. It hurt. He didn’t want to upset his son though, so he smiled and again told Scorpius to go back to bed, that things would look brighter in the morning.

Things did not look brighter in the morning though. Both Draco and Hermione kissed their sons and wished them a Happy Birthday, but neither uttered a word to one another, nor did they even glance in each other’s direction. Hermione had shopping to do for the boys. Scorpius wanted a muggle playstation 3, and Luke wanted a muggle microscope, along with some books on magical potions and a few other things. They both needed clothes and Hermione had always wanted to shop on Park Avenue. Maybe a good long shopping trip would help her put her and Draco’s fight into perspective. Shop until she drops was on the agenda. She couldn’t remember what time Draco had made reservations, so she bit the bullet and yelled out to him as he was leaving.

“Draco, what time did you make the dinner reservations for?” Draco slammed the front door to the penthouse so loudly that Hermione heard something fall in the bedchamber.

“Hmmph!!” Hermione turned on her heels and stomped into the bedroom where she too slammed the door. Scorpius and Luke looked at each other sadly. It really sucked having their parents in a fight on their birthday no doubt.

Hermione picked the picture of a wizard with a long beard and flowing cloak, from the floor. It was a Pembrook original and she knew Draco had spent a fortune on it. Hermione had admired his work for years and now here was one of his originals. It was not a fluke. Draco had gotten it just for her. He could care less about art. Maybe she would pop into a rare antiquities store and see if she could find something to give to Draco too. She felt the innermost twinges of guilt surfacing. Big deal, he smoked a cigarette. She spoke to him like a dog and then the insults….Had she really said all of what she said? Called him prissy? Draco was all man. True, he had refined taste and he was fairly neat and organized, not a normal quality for a man, but that’s just because he was raised properly by his mother, and Hermione was gracious for Narcissa’s influence on Draco. Hermione sunk on the bed, regret filling her head. She fucked up. That’s when she noticed the wall behind the Pembrook painting. The wall was cracked open and ajar. She pried it open a little more and slid through the passageway. There was a set of stairs leading to a heavy door. She climbed the steps and pushed through the door.

Flowers were everywhere, pink,white,peach,violet lilies and roses and gardenias and tulips. The aroma was heavenly. Hermione found herself standing on a veranda overlooking the city. It was breathtaking. The rooftop was shielded by a transparent dome that let in the suns light and moon’s rays, but that diminished the high winds. The gentle breeze blew through her hair and Hermione smiled. This was obviously one of Draco’s surprises. There was a cascading waterfall that emptied into a calm lap pool. Lights lit the pool, casting hues of soft lavender and silver across the ripples of refreshing water. At the other end of the pool, was a clam shell that bubbled and churned with soothing hot water. Floating in the middle of the air above the clam shell hot tub was a perfect iridescent pearl. The pearl was the size of a basketball, and when Hermione looked into it, she could see her own reflection and suddenly she felt very alone. Draco should have shown her this. This was something he put a great deal of effort into designing and building. The whole rooftop was like something out of a dream.

“Oh Gods, what did I do?” Hermione said aloud. “Is it too late to get my husband back? When I fuck up, I fuck up big! Why didn’t I just ask him if he would consider giving up smoking for me and for his health?” Hermione could have slapped her own face, she was so mad at herself now. “Prissy…I called my husband prissy.” She mulled this over in her mind. That insult was not going to go away easily. She saw the hurt in Draco’s beautiful silver eyes when she said it. She would have to do something big to show her husband that she was sorry and that she meant business.

.

.

Draco sat at the oval table with all of the Minister’s. The Australian Minister and the Canadian Minister of Magic were squabbling over tarrif’s on non perishable goods. All extremely boring stuff. Draco’s mind shifted back to the fight the night before. How could she call him prissy? He wasn’t prissy, was he? Yes, he did get his nails manicured but he was the Minister of Magic, representing Britain in extremely important foreign affairs and business dealings.

“I saw that look you gave me. Are you holding your wand on me under the table?”

“Ridiculous you pompous windbag!” The Australian Minister said. She was a little spitfire and Draco chuckled. Who was he kidding? These Ministers’, were not any more evolved then The Weasel and his butt buddy brother that ran the Joke Shop. True, Draco had to shake a lot of hands and it wouldn’t be fitting for the Minister to have scraggly fingernails. Did it really bother Hermione that he got his nails cleaned and trimmed and filed? He did comb his hair in the mirror, probably a little more often then needed. Was he really as conceited as all that? Draco gulped, thinking about the prospect that his wife, the woman he loved with all his heart, thought him a pretty boy. Draco began to get pissed allover again.

“Pssst, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco turned to see Prunella Primstone, his long time secretary, inconspicuously sliding a piece of parchment into his hand. “Important owl just arrived from the Russian Minister’s assistant.” Prunella excused herself, while the Ministers at the table continued to argue, Draco slumping down in his chair feeling completely obliterated by Hermione’s words and so very small inside. He opened the parchment and read:

Mr. Draco Malfoy, Minister of Magic,British Division,

Requests meeting at The Wandless Soldier restaurant, on Third and Pixie at high noon. Business must be discussed in person. Paranoia rampant.

Don’t be late!

Natasha Novikov

Russian Liaison

‘What is it with bloody women?! They think they can just push you around,’ Draco thought to himself as he politely excused himself. He grabbed his jacket from his office in the WWWA Ministry building and popped into the loo. He opened a drawer and reached for his comb, before realizing what he was doing. He stopped and looked into the mirror.

“Are you prissy?” Draco set the comb down.

He set off towards the The Wandless Soldier, restaurant for his meeting with the Russian. What kind of wanker insists upon a meeting, but sends his assistant anyways? A bit presumptuous. Why couldn’t the Russian Minister show himself? The owl did mention that paranoia was rampant. Draco was cursing under his breath, feeling used and abused by everyone today, as he shuffled his feet down the cobblestone street of The Strip. The restaurant was upscale at least. He was sure Hermione would fault him for that. Suddenly his wealth was sickening, but it didn’t bother her any when she went on shopping binges or when she wanted to donate to some needy charity. The more Draco mulled over “the great smoke debate,” the angrier he got. Fuck her, he thought to himself. There is no way I am apologizing. Still, he knew Hermione had a long fuse when it came to holding onto grudges, whereas Draco did not. He would blow his top and then it would be over with, whereas Hermione could live for weeks if she wanted to, giving Draco the cold shoulder. Still, she was in the wrong, not him. Yeah, he smoked a cigarette, or many cigarettes, for the last two years, but so what? Who is SHE to tell him what to do?

“Ahh, Missur Malfoy. Miss Natasha has not arrived as of yet. If you will follow me missur.” Draco followed the Matradee to the back of the restaurant, almost laughing at the irony and the unmitigated gall of the Russian Liaison to demand he be on time and be late herself. His impression of her was growing less lofty by the minute. The rear of the restaurant backed up to a New York Brownstone. The space enclosed was tastefully decorated, with ivy and lush plants throughout. This must be where they held their private dinners and business meetings, Draco thought to himself. If the food were any good, he would keep this restaurant on his list. He had many lunch appointments coming up with various foreign Minister’s that could further his agenda. He glanced around, feeling quite lonely. It was a thin crowd as is on this day, but he was damn near isolated at the quaint little table in the back of the restaurant. The room was dimly lit, with candles hanging from antique Gothic style French chandeliers. The décor was expensive, but Draco barely noticed it. He wanted to get his lunch date over with. He had a stack of unanswered owls on his desk that he needed to get through before he met his wife and kids for dinner. Dinner should be interesting, he thought to himself. He wondered if Hermione would have her bitch face on, or if she would try to put her best foot forward, since it was their kids birthdays. A woman marched into the room with her head held high. Draco looked the woman up and down and then smirked to himself. She had on nothing but a black velvet cape, that barely covered her arse it was so skimpy. It was unbuttoned half way down her chest, her beasts nearly popping out of the cape. She had long, jet-black hair and wore enormous sunglasses over her eyes, that made her look like a beetle.

“Mister Malfoy, Natasha Novikov.” She extended her hand for Draco to kiss. He ignored the obvious gesture and rather stood from his chair and shook her hand instead. I vould like to dank you for accepting my date. I ‘ave vanted to meet you for some time Mister Malfoy. “

“ The pleasure is all mine Miss Novikov,” Draco said coolly. “So what’s this all about?”

“Do you not vish to get to know each other better first? Let us save the business talk for later. I vish to get to know such… a sexy man. I vish to find out vhat makes a man like the elusive Draco Malfoy….Vhat is the vord I search for? Tick, perhaps?” The woman lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in Draco’s face with her sultry lips puckered.” She offered him a smoke from her silver and jewel encrusted cigarette case. Draco declined the cigarette with a polite nod and wave of the hand. He smiled. She was hitting on him.

“What is it that you want to know, Natasha?” Draco leaned in closer. He suddenly felt her foot reach underneath the table. She was snaking her foot up his leg now, sliding it into his crotch. Draco coughed, spitting an ice cube across the floor. He thought he saw the slightest of smiles form Natasha but she continued on, ignoring what had just happened.

“Dere is more vhere dat came from… lover…” Natasha licked her lips, her red tongue lapping at her upper lip and a light moan escaping here lips. Draco loosened his collar. The room suddenly becoming very hot. “ Vhat I really vant to ask you is veather or not you like my body?”

“Very much so, though I should tell you that I am married.”

“Happily?” The raven-haired beauty asked.

“Most of the time,” Draco replied with a curled lip.

“Russian Ministry is wery good at keeping secret. From countrymen, from Alliance, and…even from vives.” With this the voluptuous Russian stood up, her legs bare, all except the black stiletto heel she wore on her foot. She put her leg up between Draco’s legs, her heel falling just beneath the obvious bulge in his pants. Draco slid his hand over her silky smooth skin, running his fingertips up the insides of her thighs. He leaned forward, his mouth dangerously close to kissing the woman, when she pushed him back and traipsed across the room to a dark corner, walled in with brick.

“Come show me why British vizard should have Russian trust?” Natashsa said in her thick accent. Draco slinked across the room, mindful of the waiters, which had not come even once to check on them or take their drink orders even. She swayed in lascivious motion, her back arching, erotically against the brick. Draco couldn’t help himself, she was pure unadulterated fire, and he wanted to put the fire out. His hands were roughly on her body now, everywhere, as he shoved his hands under her robes, one hand sliding between her legs. He seemed surprised when he found her pubic area almost completely shaved, but it didn’t stop him. He bit down on her neck and she moaned. He squeezed her breasts hard, rolling her nipple between his index finger and thumb and then he pulled back. He unbuckled his pants and yanked the Russian woman towards him, pushing her down on her knees, holding her around the shoulders and forcing his cock into her mouth. She licked and sucked, groaning as she blew Draco Malfoy. Draco pushed into her mouth now, feeling his cock at the back of her throat, the sensation causing goose bumps to erupt allover his arms. When he’d had enough, he pulled her up and lifted her around the hips, her legs clutching him tightly around the middle and then he shoved as hard as he could into her with his rock hard prick. She squealed as her back slammed against the brick on his first thrust. The woman thrust her tongue into his mouth as he fucked her against the wall. Draco’s tongue swirling ferociously around her mouth, until he finally broke off the kiss and whispered in her ear.

“I’ll fuck you like the good bitch that you are, but I won’t kiss you. I only kiss my wife.” He gave it to her harder now, pounding his meat into her harder and faster as she writhed in his arms. Her leg began to slip down from his waist and he held it up, locked under his arm as he grunted and grinded into her. He was fucking her like an animal and he knew it but her orgasms kept coming, wave after wave he felt the Russian woman’s wetness engulf his cock, and this time he let it all go. He came in her hard and then immediately pulled out.

“I hope that satisfies your curiosity about being able to trust the British, Natasha…” Draco zipped up and began to move away before he turned back.

“Or should I say…….Malfoy?” Draco raised an eyebrow and Hermione blushed. He leaned in and kissed her softly. “Thank you. See you at home later,” Draco said leaving, with a distinct bounce in his step and a new outlook on life.

"Wait! How did you know?"

"I know my wife's legs anywhere."

Review!?