Her Shoes

Thank you to my fantastic beta t_stevenson – “nobody does it better, makes me feel sad for the rest!” LOL Hey, go check out her latest little invention: “Sandwitched.”



A million thanks for the wonderful support and reviews from everyone. Your response has been nothing short of wonderful and I’m ever so humble that you’ve deemed my story worthy enough to read and comment on.



There are many more shoes to come and I’ll post as quickly as I can. I appreciate your patience while Hermione and I shop for the right shoes to drive our dom Draco a bit over the edge.



This chapter is nice and long so I hope it makes you happy. 


Oh, someone asked if Draco was a veela, while the thought of that is yummy, the answer is no, he's just very determined.



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‘Get a hold of yourself, for goddess sakes.’ Hermione thought as she prepared for her third afternoon at Malfoy Manor.



After Draco’s odd and inexplicable outburst on Monday, Hermione had been worried about returning Tuesday afternoon. Nevertheless, she was both resolved and determined to not allow Draco to bully or intimidate her further. Sinful voice be damned! Sure of her equanimity, she arrived at Malfoy Manor at the appointed time like a gladiator entering the Coliseum.



Armed with her briefcase and professional demeanor, Hermione vowed to keep all discussion at a business level and not allow any derailments towards personal topics. She would avoid any and all discussions along the vein of yesterday and proceed as if nothing had occurred. “You’re avoiding.” Pansy’s voice echoed through her head. “Shut up!” She snapped back. Irritated, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her neat tailored robes screamed nothing less than polished, professional and poised, easing her trepidations.



To her surprise, Draco was waiting for her as she stepped into the blue sitting room. He greeted her wordlessly and they walked silently to the East Wing. Working diligently, the afternoon flew by with barely a glance or a word towards one another. Before she knew it, it was six o’clock. By rote, she began to gather up her paperwork to file into her briefcase. Silent and sullen, Draco escorted her back to the sitting room. Giving her a short nod, he left the room with no mention of her shoes or the prior day’s events.



Encouraged that she was projecting the right level of professionalism and in better control of her working partnership with Draco, Hermione greeted Wednesday with a little more enthusiasm. Yes, she was feeling somewhat like her old self.



Today, she would meet Adrian Pucey for lunch. Pucey, a year older than Hermione, was something of a flirt. She chuckled as she thought of him. While at Hogwarts despite his Slytherin affiliation, many a girl from all of the houses swooned at the sight of him. He was a distinct contrast to Draco’s Icelandic aloofness. Adrian’s jet black, wavy hair and forest green eyes accompanied a charming and witty personality. He had invited Hermione to lunch and dinner on several occasions. Though not remotely interested in any serious relationship with Adrian, Hermione always accepted his invitations. He was fun and a wonderful conversationalist. He made her laugh, never allowing her to take herself too seriously. She always enjoyed their time together and was looking forward to their lunch.



She had dressed with care choosing a hot pink, crepe shift that came just to her knees. A row of neckline ruffles extended to the shoulder straps emphasizing a sweet, simple silhouette. She had slipped on a pale pink sweater shrug and completing the look with a pair of stunning baby pink four-inch sandals, which accentuated her tone, bare, smooth legs. The sandals were made of pink crepe satin; silver tone hardware, and a buckle facet adorned the thin ankle strap giving the shoe a delicate, dainty appearance. The piece de resistance was the pale pink petal detail along the vamp that transformed the sandal into an ethereal work of art. Her curls fell loosely around her face. She felt pretty and feminine completely unaware of the innocent desirability she exuded.



After arriving at the ministry, Hermione had an owl waiting from Adrian. He had cancelled their lunch unexpectedly. Hermione was surprised; he had never cancelled before. A slight wave of apprehension settled over her which she quickly dismissed. Surely, working on a proposal to incorporate last minute client demands was something that occasionally happened and a task he wasn’t relishing. Having planned on an extended lunch, she now found herself with time to spare. Ever diligent and not one to waste found time, she sent an owl to Draco letting him know that she’d be arriving at Malfoy Manor early.



A flash of concern flashed across her features as she looked down at her definitely casual attire. She sighed. It was unlikely she’d remove her outer witch’s robes today, despite the warmness of Draco’s suite. No, she’d keep her robes on; she would feel too exposed to Draco dressed as she was. Not to mention that she wanted to continue to keep him at an arm’s length and all dealings purely professional.



She stepped into the sitting room and dusted off her robesas she looked around the room for Draco, but the room was clearly empty. Strange, Draco was usually poised by the door. Unsure whether she should wait or make her way to the east wing she opted to sit gingerly in one of the room’s fussy, high-back chairs to wait for either Draco or a house elf to arrive. She smoothed out imaginary wrinkles, admired her shoes, and silently waited.



Five minutes passed.



She frowned; perhaps Draco hadn’t received her owl. She stood up and made her way to the door, she opened it cautiously and peeked out before calling out softly, “Hello? Malfoy?”



She glanced up and down the foyer. She certainly couldn’t wait in the sitting room all afternoon nor stand in the doorway awkwardly. Eyeing the stairs nervously, she crossed the foyer, taking small, quiet steps as she climbed the stairs, sure that her internal compass would lead her to Draco’s apartments.



Making a right at the landing she entered the long, corridor that was home to the portrait gallery of Malfoy ancestors.



Hermione’s eyes shifted from right to left as the low tones and comments began to whisper.



“Oh, look who it is Cecilia.”



“My, she is lovely.”



“Psst, my dear . . . over here. No dear, here to your right.” Hermione turned to face a painting of an elegant woman dressed in Regency era garments. Blond and beautiful, her piercing blue eyes twinkled mischievously.



Confused, Hermione looked around the hallway then asked, “I beg your pardon, but are you speaking to me?”



“Why of course dear. Do you see anyone else in the corridor?” The painting chuckled wryly.



“Oh, no,” Hermione smiled at the woman. “May I help you?”



“Well, allow me to first introduce myself, I’m Cecilia Dominique Malfoy.”



“I’m pleased to meet you Mrs. Malfoy. My name is Hermione Jane Granger.”



At her name, there was a burst of low murmuring voices.



“Hermione, what a lovely name.”



“Wasn’t she Helen of Troy’s daughter?”



“Such manners.”



“A Spartan princess I believe.”



“Elegant.”



“Regal.”



Cecilia Malfoy rolled her eyes. “Would you all please be quiet?” Smiling at Hermione she added, “You must forgive us; we’re all so terribly excited to meet you. Draco is quite taciturn and never tells us anything. We have to hear everything second hand from either Narcissa or Lucius. We’ve heard ever so much about you. I’ve insisted that Draco introduce you to us but he is completely resistant and behaving rather childishly, in my opinion.”



Hermione couldn’t have heard correctly. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy discussed her with their familial ancestors? She could only imagine what the conversation must have been. Perplexed at this revelation, Hermione looked around at the other portraits surveying her. “I’m sorry Mrs. Malfoy . . .”



“Cecilia please, dear.”



“Yes, of course . . . Cecilia. I’m not entirely sure I understand. I’m of no consequence to the Malfoy family. I’m sure you must have me confused with someone else.”



Cecilia looked at her slyly, “Oh no, it’s you who are mistaken, Hermione. May I call you Hermione? No consequence, indeed!” She snorted.



Just as Hermione was about to ask her to elaborate on that mysterious statement, an icy, steely masculine voice filled the hallway ceasing all conversation.



“You’re late, Granger!”



Startled, Hermione spun around to see Draco stalk from the shadows, his face a mask of irritation. He seemed ready to snap at the slightest provocation.



Looking at the portrait of Cecilia Malfoy, Draco scowled, “What are you doing arrière grand-mère?”



“Bonjour Draco, mon garçon doux. I was merely speaking with la belle Hermione.”



Draco gazed over at Hermione and he drawled, “Really?”



“Yes dear. She was lost and asked how to get to your rooms.”



“Is that true Granger? Were you lost?” His voice was like velvet, causing her to shiver slightly. A jolt of desire shot straight to her pussy at the thought of that voice demanding her to beg for his . . .



“Granger? I’m waiting.”



Snapping out of her reverie, Hermione stuttered, “Oh, y-yes. I was lost.”



“Hmm. Well, now you’re found. Let’s go. Thank you arrière grand-mère.”



“Yes, thank you, Cecilia.”



“You’re welcome Hermione. Do come back and visit. You’re a breath of fresh air in this musty old ruin.”



As lovely as it would be to visit with Draco’s great, great, great grandmother, Hermione doubted she’d ever have the opportunity again. Not if Draco had any say. Making no promises, she merely smiled and nodded her head before following the broadly, muscled back of the man striding down the hall.



Shutting the door behind them, Draco rested his body against the wood. “Making yourself at home already Granger? A bit presumptuous don’t you think?”



“Hardly Malfoy. As if I’d ever call Malfoy Manor home. I know what you and your family think of me.”



“Really?”



“Yes, really!”



“Go ahead then. Do tell? What do my family and I think of you?”



Hermione drank in the sight of him as he leaned against the door frame. He wore form-fitting black trousers and a dark green v-necked jumper, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows emphasizing the long, hard lines of his body. Hermione knew if she looked closely enough she would see remnants of the Dark Mark, a faint outline on his left arm.



She lifted her chin haughtily. “As if I need to point out the obvious, given how many times throughout the years both you and your parents made it abundantly clear I was nothing more than a blot on wizarding kind.”



“Really?” Eyebrows rose at her words.



The man was infuriating. “Why else would your parents make themselves scarce when I come to your home? It’s clear they hold as low of an opinion of me as you do. Why you insisted I work for you, especially here in your home, is beyond my comprehension. You haven’t changed a bit. You can’t even hold a cordial conversation with me without spouting hateful, spiteful words.”



“Hmm.”



Hermione had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her though his face held no emotion.



“Well Granger,” he started after deliberating for a few seconds, “for an alleged know-it-all, you’ve just proven that you know nothing. My parents haven't been scarce because of you. They’re under special leave to go to St. Mungo’s in the afternoons. My father hasn’t been feeling well. The healers are running a comprehensive set of diagnostics to determine the cause of his illness. By the time they arrive home, my father is so exhausted they retire to their rooms to rest before dinner. And in case you weren’t aware, the war is over; blood status is no longer an issue. It only mattered when an egotistical, megalomaniac held lives hostage. Honestly Granger,” he snorted, “you think too much of yourself.”



Hermione’s cheeks flared pink with embarrassment. Goddess, they weren’t making themselves scarce because of her. She had naturally assumed they were purposely avoiding her. Never had the thought crossed her mind that something might have been amiss. She might not like Lucius Malfoy but she knew what it was like to lose parents, her own having died in an unfortunate car crash only two years ago. To hear that his father might not be well was a shock.



“I’m sorry Malfoy. I didn’t know your father was ill.” Concern etched across her brow.



“Spare me Granger, as if you care. No need to pretend that you don’t wish ill of my father. Probably wish him dead.”



“That’s not true. I would never wish anyone ill will, let alone dead.”



“Right. You’re Saint Granger. You say, think, and feel what everyone expects of you. You’re perfect.” He said with disdain.



“You arsehole. Why do you have to be such a bloody sadistic sod? Why do you have to twist everything I say into something ugly? Pansy said I should give you a chance; that you had reasons for behaving the way you do but you know what? I. DON’T. CARE. You’re an unfeeling, cold bastard and you will always be an unfeeling, cold bastard. It’s no wonder you’re alone. No one could ever love you because you don’t know how to be anything other than what you are; heartless!” Choking back a sob, Hermione rushed past him straight into the loo.



She locked the door and sat down on the edge of a massive bathtub, tears streaming down her face. Why the hell was she was crying? She shouldn’t care what he said to her. She told herself she wouldn’t care. He was never going to change his opinion of her and he’d continue to be derisive, distant and aloof. But care she did, so much she felt as if her heart would break. Merlin, did her heart hurt, she thought as she rubbed her chest in a futile effort to soothe the ache. She felt like a foolish schoolgirl hoping that the popular boy she had a crush on would notice her and invite her to the winter ball.



She stood up and walked slowly towards the vanity. “Rubbish Hermione!” She scolded herself as she looked into the mirror. “You don’t feel anything for Draco Malfoy. Stop crying, it’s completely unprofessional.”



She lightly washed her face then used f a spell to reduce the redness in her eyes. Feeling a bit more composed, she gathered herself together, ready to focus on work. Work always managed to give her a feeling of complete control.



She smoothed out her robes and adjusted the strap on her heels. With one last look at herself, she gave a slight nod then stepped back out into the apartments. She headed directly to her desk but was stopped by a wall of masculinity.



“Have you eaten?”



Hermione looked up completely at a loss for words. The man’s moods were sure to give her whiplash. “Pardon?”



His voice was low and soft. “Have you eaten? You arrived early today.”



“Oh, yes. I mean no, I haven’t eaten. My lunch date cancelled so I left my office to come here directly. I’m not terribly hungry, we do have tea scheduled for four this afternoon, and I can wait.”



“Why the hell would you skip lunch? Do you want to make yourself ill?” Draco scowled down at her.



“Uh, no . . . it’s just . . .” Why did this man have the ability to turn her into a stuttering mass of incoherency?



“When I received your owl, I had something prepared. Come sit and eat.” He motioned behind her towards the long table. When she didn’t move, he took hold of her elbow lightly and guided her to a chair.



“Here let me help you with your robes.”



Remembering her very feminine outfit, her eyes widened. “NO!” Hermione clutched at her collar. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”



Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Granger, it gets warm in here and you’ll be more comfortable without your robes. Take them off.”



“No, thank you.”



“I wasn’t asking.”



“I’m not taking them off.”



“Take them off or I’ll rip them off.”



“You wouldn’t dare!”



“Try me.”



“Beast.”



“You have no idea.”



It was clear they were an impasse, however all of Hermione’s resolve flew out of the window as Draco approached her with determination. She knew he would go through with his threat.



His voice seemed to drop an octave, he growled, “Your robes. Now!”



As if in a trance, her traitorous fingers obeyed his command. Shrugging out of her robes, she placed them in his outstretched hand while his gazed traveled over her body stopping at her dainty shoes.



“Pucey’s loss is my gain. Sit.”



Hermione plopped down immediately at the issued order watching him walk around the table to take the seat opposite her. Lunch was a sumptuous affair consisting of tiny assorted croissant sandwiches of roast beef, turkey and tuna nicoise. There was an accompanying Thai-style duck salad served with a warm vinaigrette and tri-color pasta tossed with bright orange peppers. Ice-cold butter beer and pumpkin juice were poured into beautiful goblin-made crystal goblets. Hermione’s pleasure apparent as they ate in silence.



Daring to wake the sleeping dragon, she looked at Draco from underneath her lashes. “This is lovely. Thank you.”



He smirked at her shy, softly spoken words. “It’s nothing. So, what else did Pansy say to you?”



Hermione’s eyes snapped up. “I don’t know what you mean.”



“Don’t play coy with me Granger. You said earlier that Pansy said you should give me a chance. Now why would Pansy say that? And to you of all people? Were you talking about me? Trying to see what makes me tick? Hmm?” His voice seemed to be laced with a tinge of amusement. Again, she had the remarkable feeling that he was laughing at her.



“That’s not how it happened.”



“No?”



“No!” Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice. Then took a bite of her salad, chewing very, very slowly.



“Granger? I’m waiting.”



Deliberating on how to elaborate, Hermione cleared her throat. “We were shopping in Muggle London last weekend.”



“For what?”



“Pardon?”



“Honestly Granger, you need to pay attention. What were you shopping for in Muggle London?”



“Oh . . . shoes. We were shopping for shoes.”



Draco paused, eyes twinkling as smirked softly and muttered, “Shoes.”



“Yes, I took Ginny and Pansy with me to one of my favorite designer boutiques. A pair of shoes was on hold for me from their limited edition collection.”



“Do tell?”



Hermione eyed him cautiously then continued, “Yes. We were discussing the venture you’re funding and your insistence that I work for you. I might have mentioned that I thought it might be difficult to work together.”



“Oh? And why is that?”



“Oh, please, you’ve made it abundantly clear of what you think of me.” Hermione saw the muscle in Draco’s jaw twitch slightly, but she continued on,” Pansy said that I shouldn’t be so quick to judge and give you a chance. She claimed you have reasons for behaving the way you do. She actually told me to ask you why you date Muggleborn witches now, why your company is so involved in the Muggle investments. Ginny brought up that you had also volunteered during your community service to work at the Muggle orphanage.”



Hermione knew she was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop. It was similar to an out of body experience where she was watching herself sitting at the table going on and on while Draco rested his elbows on the table, his head cocked to the side looking decidedly amused.



“I told Ginny and Pansy that I could care less. It’s neither my business nor theirs, thank you, whom you date and whom you decide to invest in. Ginny then suggested it would be better to make amends so we could work more easily with one another and I got rather irritated and snapped at her. Thankfully, at that point Todd . . .”



Draco’s eyes darkened. “Todd?”



“Yes, Todd, he’s the store manager. Where was I? Oh, yes, Todd interrupted us and showed me the most gorgeous shoes ever. And I mean EVER! Of course, I say that now, though I’m sure I’ll say that again next season.” Hermione was smiling widely by this point as she recounted the time spent with her friends, falling into complete ease with Draco. “But this design was just to die for and, oh Draco, I had to have them. Todd, knowing my particular tastes, had the shoes special ordered just for me in my size. How could I say no? And let me tell you, I didn’t say no, I bought them right on the spot. Pansy and Ginny nearly fainted at the sight of them, calling them ‘come-fuck-me-now’ shoes . . .”



Hermione’s voice died as she realized what she had just blurted out to Draco. Good goddess, had she just admitted to buying ‘come-fuck-me-now’ shoes? Oh Merlin, yes, yes she had. And had she actually just said ‘Draco’ aloud? Or more exactly, ‘Oh Draco’? Yes, by the gods, she had done that as well.



Eyes wide and round, mortified she gulped and looked up. Honestly, the man had the power to make her lose all modicum of propriety.



“Come-fuck-me-now shoes,” Draco echoed soft and low.



“Well, that’s what Pansy and Ginny said.” Was it hot in the room? Hermione thought so as she grabbed her glass and took another sip of juice.



“Have you worn them yet?” Draco sat back watching her closely



“Pardon?” Hermione squeaked, taking a huge gulp of her pumpkin juice.



“The shoes. Have you worn them yet?”



Blushing madly she replied, “Oh, no. I mean I’ve walked around my flat a few times but no, I haven’t worn them out yet. Haven’t found the right occasion.” Another sip of pumpkin juice. Right Hermione, what’s the ‘right occasion’ for ‘come-fuck-me-now shoes’? She wanted to Apparate anywhere right then and there, damn those Malfoy wards. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with Draco Malfoy.



Draco stared at her, a smirk gracing his gorgeous lips. He wore the same look as that day in her office when he hadn’t said a word throughout her presentation, just sat back and smirked at her. Desperate for composure and control, she took yet another sip of her juice.



Clearing her throat she asked, “Malfoy?”



“Hmm?”



“We should get to work now.”



He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He merely continued to stare . . . At. Her.



Oh gods, she could feel her heart start to beat rapidly, the pulse on her neck fluttered – what would it feel like to have his lips biting and sucking that pulse? His hands working their way up her shift to toy with the lacy edge of her hot pink thong? Dampness began to seep between her thighs. Oh goddess, the thought of his long, strong fingers playing with her very wet sex. His hard cock slowly grinding against her hips as his legs nudged her thighs wide apart, his velvet voice whispering to her to beg him to fuck her hard, long and deep. Then telling her even, if she begged, he wouldn’t satisfy her that he wanted to torture her until she was dizzy with desire.



Hermione downed the rest of her pumpkin juice in one huge gulp as she clenched her thighs tightly together, desperate to relieve some of the ache. Could she escape to the loo? Make herself cum quickly without him suspecting? Wait, what? What the hell was she thinking? She was clearly losing whatever sense she thought she had!



“Malfoy?” She croaked.



“Yes, Granger.” He appeared quite calm and collected.



“Uh, we should . . . work. Don’t you think?”



Draco’s smirk melted into a smile as he stood from the table. “Yes, of course. Let’s get to work.”



Hermione stood on shaky legs and made her way to her desk. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. Though she was so heady with desire that she had to re-read and re-write most of her work. Focusing was difficult to say the least. A wave of grateful relief washed over her as she hastily exited the suite. She slowed down in the gallery only to give a brief wave to Cecilia and the other portraits then made her way quickly to the sitting room fireplace.



She stumbled into her living room not even bothering to undress as she rushed to her bedroom. She sat on her bed, opened the top drawer of her side table, pulled out her silver vibrator and brought herself to a mind-bending orgasm while crying out Draco’s name.



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Hmm, I wonder if Hermione had that vibrator custom-made? *furrows brows*



Oh, and one of the lines above was re-worked from a movie. Virtual cookies to anyone who can guess.



Thank you again for all your kind words. Here is the link to these lovelies: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_C7L9ZUcxU94/SWKCvWuIyDI/AAAAAAAAAxE/Uy5qO8Xk2VI/s400/petal+2.jpg