Accidental Magic

Thank you again for everyone’s reviews, enthusiasm and lovely words. This chapter is a bit longer, I went back and added some more, to try and appease many who asked for a longer chapter.

Again, thanks Ayden for betaing.

And now, Draco and Hermione come to an impasse.

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The next month was pure hell.

Hermione was livid over having her appeal denied. Her husband was now home, the Wizengamot noted. They could now get on and live a happy life together, they proclaimed. Doddering old fools! When she’d read their decision, the need to scream in frustration nearly caused her office ceiling to crash.

In protest, she’d taken to avoiding Draco’s presence. She would rise early and get back to the Manor very late. She quadruple warded her suite, and on weekends ensured her schedule was brimming with seeing friends, family or working. She’d also begun enjoying lunches and brunches with Troy Davis.

The opposite of the blond baboon, Troy’s wavy jet-black hair was styled short. Lovely brown eyes were expressive and smiling whenever he looked at her. Nearly as tall as her good-for-nothing husband, Troy cut a dashing, lean figure in his Auror robes. He was attentive and kind; he made her feel feminine, pretty and wanted. Unlike the moron she was chained too, who only wanted to get into her knickers. Of that much, she was certain.

Draco was equally livid. While pleased he no longer experienced spurts of accidental magic; he was displeased at not experiencing spurts of another kind, which namely involved shagging his very volatile wife. He despised his state of chronic arousal with no relief – wanking just didn’t cut it. Drinking himself into a drunken stupor with Ogden’s Finest was rather tiresome and boring, plus it wasn’t working to keep thoughts of the irritable, gorgeous Gryffindor out of his mind.

Why did the damn minx have to be such a . . . minx? When did she grow up, looking less like a gangly colt and more like a seductive siren? Ugh, it’s why he just shagged and dated tall blonds. Curly-haired, petite brunettes just got his insides twisted and tangled.

Granger got his insides twisted and tangled.

He was relaxing in the Manor’s Solarium, plotting for the three hundred and seventy-second time how he could get into his wife’s knickers, when he heard his mother’s tone of disapproval. “You’ve only yourself to blame, Draco.”

Without looking at his mother, Draco let out an exaggerated and dramatic sigh. “Yes. I realize my colossal error. I’m a wanker and hurt her deeply. Blah, blah, blah.” He needed to get back to planning on how he could lure the tumultuous vixen to his bed without getting hexed or worse. Once there, he’d tie her down so she couldn’t go anywhere. He would ensure she would never want to leave.

Draco’s bored drawl only served to infuriate Narcissa further. Huffing in fury, she glowered at her idiotic son. “And it’s that attitude that will cost you Hermione’s affections.”

Glancing at his nails, Draco stretched his long legs and closed his eyes. All thoughts of trapping and baiting the chit flew out of his head. “Oh, Mother, I don’t want her affections. I just want to tie her to my bed and shag her into the next century.”

“Ugh!” Fed up, she prepared to exit but stopped and tried to reach her son one last time. “Draco.”

His eyes remained closed.

“DRACO!”

Sighing, he opened his eyes. “Yes, Mother?”

Shaking her head, Narcissa’s lips twisted into a scornful frown. “Is this how you plan on living? Don’t you wish to experience genuine love? Or do you want to be this cynical, apathetic excuse of a wizard, forever? You don’t see what’s right in front of you. Hermione is the kind of woman any wizard would be honored to call their own. And Marriage Law or not, you will lose her. You already are and don’t even realize it.”

Pausing, she squared her shoulders. “And no matter how much I love you, I won’t feel sorry for you when you realize what you wanted was within your grasp.” Narcissa’s gaze softened. “It’s not too late, Draco. Do something while you can.”

A deadly scowl flittered across his features as his mother departed, leaving him in dark turmoil.

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Two more weeks passed. Hermione continued to avoid and ignore Draco. Draco continued to prowl the Manor in frustrated agitation; all his schemes having failed thus far.

It all came to a head one bright, sunny Saturday morning.

Hermione was enjoying a bit of a lie in. It had been a long and stressful week and she’d gotten in late from a disastrous dinner with Troy. A sudden banging startled her out bed.

“YOU FUCKING SLAG! GET OUT HERE, RIGHT NOW!”

Confusion turned to contempt. “Get away from my door!”

“Listen Grang . . . Malf . . . Herm . . . BITCH . . . come out right now or, mark my words, I will blast your wards to high hell and drag you out by that bush you call hair!”

“Try it, ferret, and I’ll make sure your hair never grows back!”

“Bucktooth beaver!”

“Buckbeak’s bitch!”

“Worthless Muggle whore!”

“Shite-eating Pure-blood prick!”

“Mudblood!”

“Death Eater!”

“Open the door!”

“NO!”

“OPEN. THIS. FUCKING. DOOR!” He thudded both fists on the door in exasperation.

“NO. NO. NO. NO!” She pounded two teeny fists right back in indignation.

“I’m going to make you sorry you ever crossed me, you sanctimonious bint.”

“Ha, like you could ever do anything, you pathetic, weak coward.” Breathing heavily, Hermione added the final blow. “I would say go fuck yourself, but you can’t even do that, can you? Poor little limp-dick Malfoy, can only get it up for a dirty Mudblood! Well, guess what? You can’t have THIS Mudblood!”

Hermione was aghast at the filthy words spilling from her mouth but at that moment she only saw crimson. He pushed her buttons like no other, past boundaries of decency and reason, until she only felt boiling rage in her veins.

During their screaming match, neither noticed the walls around Hermione’s rooms begin to weaken and crumble. With ever insult, another crack formed. With every scream, a chunk was dislodged. There was a tremor under the floors and rumble over their heads, which neither noticed.

The next thing they knew, they were on their backs coughing up dust and shaking splinters of plaster from their bodies. The walls seemed to combust on their own and then finally collapse, leaving only Hermione’s door standing. Covered in white particles of grime, he strode around the door into his wife’s room. He found her on her knees, gasping and hacking amidst the rubble.

Draco stalked her, his movements deliberate and menacing. “So, you self-righteous bitch, I can’t have ‘this Mudblood’?” Draco’s voice was low. His face marred by a dangerous glower.

He knelt in front of her negligee-covered body and threw The Daily Prophet on her lap. “But you let HIM have you?”

Glaring at him, she picked up the paper and scanned its contents. Her eyes went wide as a small hand went to her mouth in shock. “That’s a lie! That’s not what happened. I’m going to kill Skeeter!”

Plastered on the front page of The Prophet was a damning article about Hermione’s alleged affair with Troy Davis. It was accompanied by a picture of him, apparently, kissing her.

“Really? Do tell?”

Clutching the paper, Hermione shook her head, chunks of plaster and dust falling from her wavy mane. “He kissed me but I pushed him away. I’m not cheating. I would never. I-I . . .”

The realization of what she was doing hit Hermione, she was trying to explain herself to the sod. She took a deep breath and . . . she swatted her chest as she choked on small particles . . . big mistake. Gathering her wits, she shifted her eyes to Draco. “I’m sure you bedded plenty of slags while you were off gallivanting, you inbred parasite. So, if I want to go off and shag someone, I will.”

He chuckled dryly, “Oh, hellion, I don’t think so. You’re my wife and as long as we’re married, you won’t be shagging anyone but your husband.”

“I’d rather be Crucio’d,” she spat nastily.

“That can be arranged,” he whispered.

They were nearly nose-to-nose.

He towered over her, staring at her pouting lips. She gazed up at him, staring as his sneering lips.

“Hermione? Draco?”

Hermione pulled away as Draco cursed his mother’s timing under his breath. At that point, his father joined them.

“What, in Merlin’s name, happened?” Lucius looked quite comical standing to one side of the wall, hands on hips glaring at the couple covered in soot. “Well? Care to explain?”

Draco shrugged his shoulders, casually. “Weak walls.”

Suddenly, the door creaked and thudded to the floor, kicking up a fresh cloud of dust.