Accidental Magic

Go Ayden for betaing! All mistakes are mine.



Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of your support and kindness.



I do want to say, again, that the chapters are meant to be short. As I noted at the top of the story, this was a personal experiment and challenge to see if I could write a multi-chapter story in a certain number of words.



I am working on a very long piece now, though I’m not sure when it’ll post as I want to finish it first. I do hope you enjoy this next chapter, albeit short. Shall we see where Draco’s been? That bad, bad boy!



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The annual Malfoy summer ball was a success.



Hermione mingled with guests and acted the perfect hostess. Dressed in a navy blue Muggle designer gown rather than Wizarding robes, she cut a sexy and elegant figure among the crowd. The design had an alluring deep V-neck both front and back, defined by twisting details at the shoulders and center front.



She was about to accept Troy’s invitation to dance when Narcissa’s hand stopped her. “Please, excuse us Mr. Davis, but I must borrow Hermione.”



Narcissa grabbed Hermione’s hand and tugged her towards the ballroom exit. “Merlin, he’s back.”



They made their way to the family’s private library. As they entered, a confused Hermione blurted out, “Who’s back?”



A deep masculine sneer was the reply. “You’re husband, Granger. Or should I say, Malfoy.”



She spun in the direction of the voice and was stunned into silence by the male figure standing next to Lucius. Was that . . .? No!



No, no! Fuck, no. Not now, when she was submitting her appeal. Hermione could feel the magic in her body start to boil and bubble. She didn’t notice the teeny sparks innocuously bursting throughout the room, like tiny bells tinkling in the wind.



It was Draco bloody Malfoy, in the flesh. The insensitive, self-centered, on-the-run, worst husband in the history of husbands was standing in front of her holding a glass of Firewhiskey. Not looking one bit remorseful.



And the bloody wanker looked so damn good. He stood six feet tall, his platinum blond hair shorn in layers with front bangs that settled over his eyes, strong chiseled features graced his handsome face and his body was one long, muscular frame. His deep grey eyes held her rooted to the spot.



Hermione could barely see from the pure fury coursing through her. “YOU!”



The bastard had the audacity to smirk. “Me.”



There are moments when words just don’t suffice. When actions seem to have a mind of their own. When the rage of a woman scorned is not only justified but warranted. This was one of them.



Lights flickered. Furniture scraped the floor. Walls reverberated. Glass tinkled. The very air seemed to crackle.



A worried Narcissa placed a hand on the trembling witch. “Hermione . . . the Manor.”



The tumbler in Draco’s hand cracked and splintered, the amber liquid coating his hand. At first he appeared shocked but then his gaze narrowed as he nodded his head. “Allow me, Mother.” Clearing the shards from his hands before wiping them on his robes, Draco walked up to the fuming witch, gripped her tightly and kissed her.



Forcing her mouth apart, Draco savagely tasted her over and over again. He was angry and frustrated. And for the first time, in a very long time, he was aroused. He wanted to throw this slip of a woman on the ground and make her scream his name. He knew exactly what her magical display was about.



Upon discovering his match, he’d been flabbergasted. The idea of being married to bookworm Granger was just not something he could abide. The chit was annoying, not to mention she was much too short for his liking and not blond – everyone knew he preferred blonds.



Quite frankly, the fact that she was Mugggle-born was the last of his issues.



Meeting with her had seemed a waste of time, there was no way she could hold any appeal for him. Well, maybe once in Third Year and at the Yule Ball during Fourth Year, in Fifth Year her hair seemed more tame; Sixth was a blur and he recalled that by Seventh Year she had a decent arse. Since seeing her in Seventh Year, when he’d also returned to Hogwarts, he’d resigned to only dating blonds. Brunettes were too Granger-ish, damn it!



Therefore, he’d tried to run from this Marriage Law long enough to have it null and voided. He thought he’d succeeded until he’d started having little magical accidents. It was small at first, glass breaking, and minuscule explosions but then it had escalated – turning a nearby Muggle blue in Italy, popping all the wine corks from an entire cellar of expensive elf wine in France, waking up naked in a field in Spain and having no recollection of how he’d Apparated there. Then, the most embarrassing of them all – he’d been unable to have sex. It didn’t matter if she were witch or Muggle, blood be damned when you needed to get laid.



The results, with all of them, were deflating.



So, he had come crawling back home seeking answers. Reluctant, bitter and ferociously angry.



Then adding insult to injury, the minute this infuriating woman he hated with a passion, and was absolutely not attracted too, walked into the library he was immediately hard. His knees nearly buckled in relief knowing his cock worked, thank Merlin. But then he realized who he had a hard-on for.



Granger, the bushy-haired, know-it-all bitch.



Except, she wasn’t bushy-haired. She was a like a miniature goddess standing there in her glorious, righteous anger, her hair loose around her shoulders and wearing a dress that showed off delectable skin and curves he had no idea she possessed.



Oh, he couldn’t wait to fuck her! She wouldn’t be able to walk by the time he was done. She wasn’t going to leave his bed for days.



Hermione couldn’t breath. Dear goddess, he was kissing her and then his hands were on her skin and she couldn’t think. All the welled up anger, pent up resentment and, yes, sexual frustration seemed to bubble to the surface and she was kissing him back. Tugging and tearing at his clothes. His hard body felt deliciously right. All she wanted to do was drown in him.



Neither noticed the elder Malfoys’ shock, and discreet exit.



Draco was pulling down the straps of her dress baring both breasts to the air. His mouth descended on her nipples, hot and demanding. He had backed her against the wall and one hand was bunching up her long skirt, creeping up her silky flesh towards her knickers.



Hermione’s hands had pulled his shirt from his trousers. She caressed him over the fabric before unzipping them. Nimble fingers met the burning skin of his steel-hard cock.



This was unadulterated lust. She couldn’t explain it. He didn’t care.



Fingers delved into her slick folds while lips traveled back to up her neck. “I hate you,” came the dark growl.



Hermione gasped then blinked. What had he just said?



Those words electrified Hermione to her senses. What was she doing with this man who had humiliated her? He had demeaned her, ruined her wedding day; and even now, in the heat of passion, insulted her.



Mustering as much strength possible, she shoved the pig from her body. As he staggered back, she raised her right hand and slapped him hard across his prattish face. “HOW DARE YOU!”



Straightening her dress and patting her hair, she gave him a withering glare. “Don’t ever touch me again.” Turning on her heel, she returned to the ball to dance with Troy Davis, leaving a stupefied husband in her wake, cradling his face and jaw.