The Spy Game

Hermione remained disorientated for a few seconds before realising they were outside a building in the rain. By the time she inhaled even one breath, her hair and clothing had moulded to her body like a second skin. Perfect, they were standing in a torrential downpour.

Inhaling deeply, Hermione caught a hint of the unmistakable saltiness which came from being near the sea. Before she could ask Draco where exactly in the world they stood, her entire vision spiked as a burst of light flashed behind her eyes. Within a second Hermione found herself up against a well muscled chest. God’s had she fainted? Her ankle throbbed; and the beginnings of a migraine pressed in on her temples. Draco was looking down at her, face pinched with worry. The rain had plastered his blonde hair against his scalp, and rivulets of water made pathways down his chin; which then dripped onto her chest. As soon as he saw she was awake, his whole demeanour turned indifferent.

“Granger, I had no idea you were so frail. The Firm is obviously letting their training department flounder, especially if you’re the level of stamina which comes out of it.”

Hermione felt her face flame red. “Put me the hell down then, you boorish oaf, I can damn well walk.”

Draco deposited her back on the sidewalk; where she promptly fell on her butt. Sharp pain stabbed up her leg from her swollen ankle. Hermione managed to hold in a grunt of pain, but Malfoy had seen her face.

“Stupid stubborn witch.” Within a flash, she was back in his strong embrace; heading into the dryness of the buildings foyer. Water still dripped off Draco’s hair, and Hermione watched in fascination as a drop hit his neck then trailed into the top of his t-shirt. The insane urge to trace it with her fingers flew through her and she stiffened.

“It’s okay, Granger. You only have to suffer my touch for another few moments.” His voice was terse; yet she detected a note of something else within it, hurt - not quite, but close. She wanted to explain it wasn’t his touch which made her react, but she didn’t want to admit the real reason either.

They travelled to the twenty first floor; where Draco managed to open the door of a large apartment with his hip. Looking around, Hermione surmised he was living quiet well for somebody on the run. Windows ran from floor to ceiling and took up the entire length of the lounge. The city was spread out beneath them, and the ocean was a blue wink in the distance. On a sunny day, you’d be able to see for miles. The entire room was a designers dream; subtle pieces of furniture were dotted around, each one beautiful; but not enough to detract from the view.

“It’s not mine.” Draco remarked casually.

Hermione looked up at Draco as he deposited her on a huge leather couch, her forehead gently knocking his cheek. Before he moved away, he grabbed her leg just behind the knee. She flinched. Scowling, he placed it up on the cushions; so it was elevated.

Hermione blushed; she didn’t mean to be so sketchy. But he was making her nerves scream; mainly because she found him rather disarming when being chivalrous. She sank into the sofa’s softness for a moment, before realising she was soaking it from her wet clothes. Draco motioned for her not to worry, so she immersed herself back into it; while he moved to lean up against the breakfast bar. To her dismay he looked gorgeously unkempt; unconsciously she reached up to her hair and almost gasped. It was a birds-nest. How did she always end up looking a fright; while Malfoy looked like a rugged action hero? Focus on the now, Hermione – not how delectable Malfoy looks.

“Sorry, what’s not yours?”

“The apartment. It’s not mine. It belongs to Peter Francis; he’s an Australian art dealer who sells magical pieces. He fly’s into Ireland every other month.” Draco turned around and rustled about in a small cabinet, he emerged with two small shot-glasses.

Ignoring her protest, he made her skull down a Fire-Whiskey. It would apparently help stave off a cold; she hoped he didn’t want to get her drunk. She wasn’t used to alcohol. Hermione passed on his offer for a second glass; so Draco poured himself a fresh one with ice and positioned himself back at the bar.

“How do you know this Peter guy then? Plus, why would he help a fugitive if he’s part of the magical community? Surely he must know who you are? Oh God’s, you didn’t lie to him did you? Use a spell? Confound him?”

Draco smiled at her wryly. “You’re full of questions, Granger. To answer all of them in one go - not exactly. He doesn’t know I use it.”

“What! He doesn’t know you’re here drinking all his alcohol? No, we can’t be here. You’re trespassing, Draco. That’s…that’s…unethical. My god, I’ve probably ruined his sofa.” Hermione flailed her arms around, and leapt off the couch. Immediately she regretted her brashness as she found herself once again on the floor. She was completely hopeless when it came to remembering her many injuries.

“Granger, you’re up on two murder charges, and currently hanging out with one of the most wanted wizards in England. Somehow I don’t think having a shower and changing into clean clothes is going to add any more bad karma to your life.” Draco skulled the rest of his drink, then walked over and hefted her back up onto the arm of the couch.

For some unfathomable reason, Hermione saw red at his flippant words. It was her damn life which was in turmoil, not his. Logically this made no sense, since his life definitely wasn’t peachy; but she was beyond reasoning capabilities.

“Hanging out? Is this what you call it? Bloody hell, Malfoy, you practically kidnapped me against my will. Now they probably think we’re working together. All of my studies and hard work completely down the drain because of my damn association with you. Ever since that first day in Hogwarts you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side. My life is now officially a…a…cluster, and it’s your entire fault. Oh, you’d better add break and entering into the list of sordid deeds now.” Hermione finished on a yell, not even sure where her tirade came from. Oh yeah, not sleeping for three days and being accused of murder could do that. Plus a half-friendly Malfoy was not something she could handle anymore; it made her insides all squiggly.

Malfoy’s silver eyes narrowed. “There’s the shrew we all remember from Hogwarts. Right, Granger, I’ve tried being nice. But Merlin you’re a damn difficult spoilt witch to deal with. I thought Pansy was demanding, she was nothing compared to you. Oh and I think the correct term is – cluster-fuck, your life is a cluster-fuck. Welcome to my world, Granger. Showers on your left, you stink to high heaven.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped in disbelief and she almost toppled off the couch again. The front door slammed as Malfoy left the apartment.

“You, freaking pig.” She yelled at the empty hallway. How dare he, Hermione huffed and swore under her breath. “Yeah, I smell, not as bad as you, you smell of deceit and bullshit.”

She should walk away now - well hobble; it was the perfect escape. Hermione had wanted to find Camille by herself anyway. But now she was accused of murder, everything had changed. She couldn’t use The Firms staff or resources, and she was at a loss on what to do. She was technically alone in the world; not even able to contact Ron or Harry without putting them in a sticky situation. And what did Malfoy know about it? He’d said he was there to save her. How could he possibly have known she would need help; before she knew it? Was it his excellent gut feeling? Possibly not. Was he psychic? Not likely. Maybe he was part of the conspiracy to frame her for murder – most probably.

Hermione distrusted him to the nth degree. But damned if there wasn’t some pull of attraction to him, a pull of wanting to believe him; but she wasn’t sure what to think. And up to this point he was acting in her favour, not against it.

Shaking it off, she jumped into the shower, and not because of anything Draco said. She was showering purely on her terms. Hermione wanted to desperately think on all the deceitful things Malfoy could be up to as the hot water hit her. Yet, his grey eyes full of compassion swirled before her. He’d tried to be nice and she’d thrown it back at him – well could he blame her? She refused to feel bad.

Washing out her tangled hair felt heavenly, and she absently wondered whether Draco had used the shower before; it was huge. She stopped the thought immediately; Hermione didn’t want to know if she stood naked where he had. She felt an unwelcome tingle in her lower abdomen. Then as she soaped herself up with a very masculine body wash, she realised it was his smell. Hermione dropped the bottle to the floor with a clatter - her nipples hardening instantly. The thought came unbidden – she was rubbing the same shower gel over her body as he did.

Against her screaming logical brain, Hermione leant up against the shower wall and let her traitorous imagination run free. It couldn’t hurt for a few seconds could it? She had seen how spectacular Draco looked with wet hair stuck to his scalp; it wasn’t a hard fantasy to move into the shower.

Suddenly she could picture him – every feature perfectly proportioned. He was pink and warm from the shower; trails of bubbles ran down his taut stomach into the coarse hair of his groin. As she imagined lower; she saw he was hard and ready for her. His cock bobbed from the blonde curls which she suddenly needed to run her fingers through. He was huge, it would definitely be a tight fit…well it was a fantasy.

Hermione gasped as she slid her hands over her aching breasts, the gel making it slippery and hot over her sensitive nipples. She let out a ragged breath, it felt so good. She lightly pinched a nipple and moaned as her other hand slid towards her own brown curls. Her thoughts ran off again.

Hermione grasped Draco’s thick cock, and squeezed tightly; relishing in the complete hardness he had - for her. She watched as he shut his eyes and leant in towards her. Hermione’s daydream had gone into overdrive, and she let her fingers slick with wetness run over her taut clit. She gasped at the contact – it was electric. Dream Draco then spun her around and pushed his hardness against her buttocks, she wriggled invitingly.

Hermione leant one hand against the shower wall and planted her feet wide apart so she could slide two fingers into her tight pussy. She let herself take the pleasure. Damn it, she deserved to feel something good on such a crappy day. Her fingers made a wet slapping noise as she pumped her fingers in and out. The pace she’d set began to send shivers through her body as the feeling in her pussy grew heavy and intense. It had been so long since she’d had a wizard, that even her fingers felt phenomenal.

She flicked her clit quickly as she struggled to keep her pace. What brought her over the edge was the thought of Draco, wandering around the apartment; having no idea she was fantasising about him. In her thoughts Draco thrust once and deep, it was enough. White light hit her eyes, and she cried out his name as her knees buckled at the intensity. It really had been too long.

Within a second of her orgasm, Hermione felt a blanket of embarrassment swamp her. How could she think of him whilst coming? Of all people, Draco was the one she desired the least. Liar. Hermione firmly told her inner-voice to be quiet as she thought about it logically.

Granted, he was unbelievably good looking – border-lining on obscene. So by all rights why shouldn’t she fantasise about the hottest man she knew? Using her common sense, Hermione concluded her brain had given her a hot forbidden tryst to keep her rage at bay. Anger and lust were closely entwined after all – weren’t they? She’d always found him physically pleasing, but personality wise he was just a conceited double crossing pig.

Her fantasy was to stop her actually acting on the ludicrous attraction she felt for him. That’s all. Hermione felt better after reasoning it all out, she wasn’t losing her sane mind after all. The fact she spent an inordinate amount of time reasoning it out in the first place; should have been an indication of how she truly felt. Instead, she blocked it out with the intention of never letting Malfoy touch her in the first place. The little voice yelled out – methinks the lady doth protest too much. Hermione had every intention of killing the voice at the nearest convenience.

Wrapping herself in one extremely thick fluffy towel, Hermione stuck her head out the bathroom door and called Malfoy’s name. When she garnered no reply, she padded out awkwardly to the kitchen to find antiseptic for her palm. She might even find strapping for her ankle. She was bent over looking in the bottom drawer when a noise behind her startled her.

Malfoy stood as still as a statue, an open look of desire on his perfect face. His steel grey eyes were dark and slitted. Hermione gulped when she realised she had been giving him a first class view – right up her towel. When had he returned? Oh gods was he in the apartment while she… - no, she couldn’t even think it. She felt a flush of arousal at his hooded gaze.

He strode over in two steps, grabbing the knot of her towel which was nestled between her breasts. Hermione held her breath. Was he going to rip it away from her body? She hated that her mind screamed for him to do just that. She moved slightly and his wrist came in contact with her breast. Hermione shivered in lust; Draco dropped his hand like he’d been bitten.

“I suggest you find more to wear in future than just a scrap of towelling. I warn you, Granger, don’t mess with me. It’s been longer than you could imagine since I’ve had the pleasure of a witch. If you’re going to flaunt your body to me, expect consequences - one’s that will have you screaming my name for hours on end.” He let that particular thought swirl through her mind for a second. His expression never changed. “Though, we shall no doubt both regret our actions the next morning. A Malfoy still has pride, but I’m struggling to hold onto it at the moment. So I say again, watch your step, Granger.”

Hermione squeaked and ran for her room, her insides knotted and a feeling of shame washed over her. She had let him get to her, damn it, she was hopeless. His words rang through her ears, did she flaunt herself? Not on purpose anyway, she squashed the damn infuriating voice which was telling her; maybe she did. Hermione hung her head, hiding her face in her hands. She then realised she was sitting on a bag. Opening it she found new clothes, all in her size. Damn it, she had just messed up his peace offering.

Rifling through her old jeans she found the shrunken file that she’d grabbed from the safe house. This was the ace up her sleeve, yet she couldn’t find out what it was right now. She needed a wand. And to get one - she either had to steal the bootlegged one from Malfoy, or trust him. After dressing, Hermione lay back on the bed and hoped sleep would help make the decision.

A loud rapping on the door; and Draco calling her name woke her. It only felt like ten minutes after she lay down. But, she knew by the warmth of the bed it had been much longer.

She flung open the door, ready to do battle with the master again, but what she saw made her gasp. Draco had blood on his shirt and his face was red; it looked like he’d been punched.

“What the…?”

“No time – grab what you need, we’ve been compromised. They must have traced the wand back to us here.” Draco ran back towards the lounge, where Hermione heard a bang.

Hermione’s heart raced and hammered loudly in her ears. Throwing on a tight black leather jacket over her new jeans and t-shirt, she pulled her well worn boots on. Patting her pocket she felt the file. Time to go.

She raced into the lounge to see a masked ninja complete with nun-chucks fighting with Draco. The ninja was winning; he rained down blow after blow. Without thinking, Hermione grabbed a large cylindrical stone vase and lobbed it. It struck the ninja on the temple and he fell back, not unconscious but stunned. Draco shot her a thankful look which made her chest tighten; then they were running from the apartment.

Fortunately the elevator doors were open, almost welcoming them into its small steel embrace. It was only after they were inside, that Hermione wondered whether the fire escape might have been a safer option.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. We need a game plan, Granger.” Draco ran a hand through his hair violently. It fell back into place with a softness a shampoo company would crave. Hermione scowled, knowing if she ever tried running a hand through her hair it would stick up like static.

“Well saying that word a hundred times, won’t help.”

He smirked down at her, grey eyes crinkling at the edges. “Prude.”

“I am not; I just have other words I like to use better.” Hermione looked up at the descending glowing numbers - twelve floors left.

“Yeah like; friggin, diddums, crap and my personal favourite - shite. That one is almost worthy of a swear jar deposit.”

Before Hermione could come up with a suitable retort about how she would be a millionaire if she had a Sickle for every time he swore, the elevator jerked; then stopped.

“Oh, shit, Granger. If you want to start using a decent word, now’s the time. They are going to drop us to the basement.” Draco was frantically patting himself down. “The damn wand is still in the apartment.”

“What!” Hermione all but screamed at him. Panic and fear choked her, and she gasped for a breath. Draco smacked her on the back as the elevator shook again. Right, panic later; she had watched countless Muggle action movies with an ex-boyfriend. She could get them out - hopefully.

“Up there, boost me.” Hermione pointed to the man hole. Draco crouched and she jumped on his neck, legs wrapped around his head. In any other circumstance she would feel uncomfortable, but the elevator dropped a foot so she punched up with her good hand. The puny lock snapped as the door flung open.

Reaching up, Hermione grasped the edges, managing to manoeuvre her body up into the hole. She was now on-top of the elevator, surrounded by gears, grease and a loud whining noise. She saw Draco jump up and grasp the lip of the hole. Hermione went to help drag him through, but he pulled himself up with no problems. She gaped at him for the longest second at his impressive strength.

“Merlin, that is so hot.” Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth; where the hell did that come from? Her mind was screaming at her to use her inside voice.

Draco pointed at his ear, shrugged and mouthed ‘what’. Hermione shook her head as if to say ‘doesn’t matter’, her face going beet red. Thank the gods he didn’t hear her over the engine. The steel contraption jerked again, she looked up and saw sparks flying. Man-made steel and thick wire cables were obviously giving their attackers wands a little trouble. It gave her and Draco more time. He pointed to the ladder built onto the wall; Hermione made her way to him, climbing over cables. Draco had one hand on the ladder and held his other out towards her.

At that precise moment, the elevator gave one last groan and shook like an earthquake. Hermione stumbled over her bad ankle, falling to her hands and knees. Her brain screamed at her to get up, get to safety. But, her response time was lagging. She knew without a doubt within seconds she would be flatter than a piece of plywood.

Suddenly a large arm looped around her stomach, yanking her upright fiercely. Then there was nothing under her feet as the elevator dropped away. Hermione free-fell for a nano-second before being jerked to the side of the shaft. She heard a grunt of exertion from above her. Grasping Draco’s arm tightly, she saw he had looped a foot around the rung of the ladder. It gave him just enough leeway to grab her. But, the position put him in a lot of pain.

Hermione grabbed the ladder, letting him readjust without her weight to hamper him. They ended up next to each-other; one side of the ladder each. Hermione looked down as the elevator sparked and squealed to the ground. But it was the whipping sound above her, which made her freeze. The thick oiled cable was thrashing through the air. If it came into contact with them, they would be sliced in half.

“The cable.” Hermione screamed at Draco. They were out of time. She took one last look at Draco’s mercurial grey eyes; then slammed her lips against his. If she was going to die, she was dying in style. Draco stilled in shock against her parted lips, but only for a second. The whirling sound became deafening as his tongue slid into her mouth. She bit his tongue playfully, and she felt burning heat against her back. Then a crash bellowed through the shaft, shaking the ladder so hard, it shook her away from Draco. Hermione’s knuckles whitened with the force of her grip on the steel rung. The elevator had hit the bottom. By some miracle the cable hadn’t come anywhere near them. Hermione let out the deep breath she wasn’t aware of holding.

“So…Granger. Your last desire in life was to kiss me. Good to know.” Draco was smirking at her from the other side of the ladder. If she wasn’t holding on for dear life, she would have slapped him. Conceited prick.

“Not at all, Malfoy. I was almost killed. I can’t be held accountable of how my body responds to a near death experience. I’m sure anyone would have sufficed; actually, I would have much preferred that. Your kisses lack spark.” Hermione lied through her teeth, the kiss was incomparable.

Draco’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened. “Well, if that’s the case, I hope they would have bothered to save your life – again. It must be terribly frustrating having someone as uncivilized as me saving the high and mighty, Miss Granger.”

Hermione’s smug satisfaction ebbed as the feeling of being thoroughly chastised hit. He had just saved her life – again. But before she could apologise, or thank him, he had begun to ascend to the elevator doors on the next level. She felt ashamed; her parents had brought her up better than that. Yet, there was something about Malfoy that bought out her snide defensiveness.

“Hurry up, Granger. They won’t have given up. We need to get out of here, save your partner and clear both our names. And the way things are going, the sooner the better.”

Using brute strength, Draco forced open the elevator doors. After ascertaining there were no bad guys in the immediate vicinity, they scrambled out and headed for the stairs.

“Look, Draco. I’m sorry…” Hermione was halted by his sharp look and liquid grey eyes full of anger.

“Don’t, Granger. Don’t say anything. I don’t need or want to hear you blathering on about nothing. You’ve made it blatantly clear I’m not one of your allies. We help each other now; then we don’t have to have anything to do with each other. I just want my life back, and I’m sure you do too. We are using each other as a means to an end, nothing more.”

Hermione watched the back of his head as they descended the stairs rapidly. What could she say to that? It was exactly how she should be feeling. He had betrayed her by lying to her years ago. But, within the space of a day, she had felt like they were partners again - like nothing had changed. Even though Hermione dished out harsh words, she felt a renewed kindle of excitement in her stomach. Working with Draco was an experience she had never been able to duplicate with Camille. The rash decisions, the rush, the tension of never knowing what would happen next. It all added up to something Hermione craved, yet would never admit to wanting.

She burned to know exactly what had happened all those years ago, almost as much as she wanted to know what he’d been doing since then. More importantly she needed to find out what he knew about her current situation. Because it was obvious he knew things, and he was holding out on her. Hermione thought about the file in her pocket, and knew he wasn’t the only one with secrets.

Her mind was jumbled by thoughts of right and wrong; her instincts yelling to trust him. But could she? She had held onto her hatred of him for so long, could she just sweep it aside? And was it truly hatred, when she had to keep reminding herself to hate him?

They burst into the foyer and stopped dead in their tracks.

“Ah, Hermione, it seems you have picked up an unwanted stray on your adventure.” Franklin Lawson stood before them, in a pristine floor length Armani coat; looking like he’d just stepped from the latest issue of GQ. He was the head honcho at The Firm and at this moment looked the part of a smarmy agent to a tee.

Draco sneered, holding his arm out to curve Hermione close into his back. He was shielding her, and it confused her to no end.

“You’re here alone, Franklin, I never pegged you as the heroic daredevil type. Especially one who would go up against operatives such as Granger and myself.” Draco’s voice was full of contempt, Hermione frowned. Why did he hate Franklin? Maybe he was here by himself, to help them out of this fiasco.

“If you choose to believe that, then do. I wondered when you would show up again, my rogue agent. A killer of those who he worked beside...”

“You know damn well I killed no-one.” Draco’s voice cracked like a whip across the room. His arm continued to push her behind him. Was he still trying to keep her safe after everything she had said to him?

As Franklin laughed derisively, Hermione saw a small exit door behind the front desk. If they needed an escape it would be the only one. They had no wands or weapons, just their wits. Hermione tried not to despair. Instead, she watched Franklin closely, he looked different. It hit her - he never sneered, never at her anyway. His whole face had transformed from pleasant to a barely concealed maliciousness.

“Granger, I want to make a deal.” Franklin’s voice was sugary sweet. Hermione shivered, and Malfoys arm tightened around her. She now knew something was wrong. No-one except Marcus and Malfoy called her by her last name. What had happened to Franklin?

“I’m listening.” She felt Draco stiffen and did the only thing she could think of; she slid her hand under his shirt and rubbed him gently on the heat of his lower back. Crap, it made her lose focus for a second. He loosened up slightly, understanding her intention.

“Give us Draco, and all the charges against you will be dropped. He’s the one we want. If not, you will be sent to the tribunal again - after a lengthy wait in Azkaban.” Hermione shivered in revulsion as Franklin continued speaking. “He’s the reason Isabelle and Marcus are dead, you couldn’t leave well enough alone…”

“Enough!” Draco shouted across the space. “I promise you, Franklin - the truth will come out. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m sure you will, Draco. But who will explain to Miss Granger here, how you used her again? She won’t forgive you a second time.”

Hermione looked up at Draco sharply, his cheek twitched faintly. What was Franklin talking about? What did Malfoy think he knew? She had much to ask him when they were safe and had a moment of time. Hell, even if they had no moment, she would tackle him and force some form of information from him.

Deep inside, Hermione knew she would regret her next decision, but it seemed like she had to throw her lot in with Draco. Well for the immediate future anyway. Franklin had made it clear she wouldn’t be walking out of here a free woman, even if he had promised her freedom – she knew it was lies. The thought of Azkaban was a huge incentive to stay away from The Firm until she knew what was going on.

Having nothing to lose, Hermione jerked Draco’s arm as she sprinted for the door she spied earlier. Bursting through, a young wizard looked up in shock. He obviously didn’t expect them to be brazen enough to try and escape Franklin. Hermione took one look at him and punched him square in the nose. He grabbed his face as blood spurted every which way; she felt a pang of regret at hurting a fellow agent, but knew it couldn’t be helped. They sprinted across the room, and hit the fire escape door. Cold air and rain greeted them as they started down the alley, Draco running slightly ahead of her.

“I will collect what’s mine. I know you took it from Dubai, Hermione.” Franklin’s voice trailed after them, almost unintelligible over the pounding of their feet.

“What did you take?” Draco’s voice came from over his shoulder.

She struggling to keep up, limping as she was. “His favourite tie,” was her response.

Draco half turned and shook his head. He knew she was lying, but there was no time to get into it. They had to get away and fast.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked curiously, they were both knackered and sore. She hoped another ten rounds with The Firms guards would not be on the cards.

Draco turned to her, and smirked. She knew instantly she would disapprove of the new plan. “We are going to see a man about a wand.”