Hermann/Hermione

“Draco?”

“No.”

Hermione frowned. “But Draco-“

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

Draco snorted. “You were going to ask the same thing that you asked this morning,” he replied without looking up from the papers through which he was shuffling at his desk.

Opting for a new tactic, she wedged herself between the desk and his body, dropping into his lap and looking up at him with wide, sorrowful eyes. “I just want to go out to dinner.” She reached out to straighten his tie, allowing her hand to glide down his abdomen and finally land on the waistband of his trousers.

His eyes narrowed for a moment as he attempted a glare before he sighed and sat back in his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Look, Hermione, I’d love to take you to dinner. I’d love to flaunt you about town; take you to lunch, take you dancing and to the theatre, and everywhere else that normal people go, but we, at least for as long as you continue to maintain the persona of a notorious drag queen, are not normal people.”

Hermione pouted. “Would it really be so terrible for you to be seen in my company? Does it honestly matter whether or not there’s speculation as to your sexual orientation?”

He laughed bitterly. “Speculation? You think I’m worried about speculation?” There was a wild gleam in his grey eyes. “Hermione. Count Hermann is a cabaret performer. He’s notorious. There isn’t a soul in wizarding London who wouldn’t recognize you, or me, for that matter. Furthermore, that sort of gossip only invites further digging into the mystery of the Count’s background and his private life. Is that honestly what you want? Because I guarantee that your identity will be out sooner rather than later if that happens.” He paused. “Frankly, I’m amazed that no one has figured it out yet.” She’d been spotted with Potter and Weasley on numerous occasions. Given the flimsy alibi that they’d concocted – Hermione touring America with a light opera company for the next few months – he’d have expected someone to do the math by now.

She broke eye contact and sighed softly. “You’re right,” she admitted quietly, “I know, I just hate being cooped up like this, feeling like I’m your dirty little secret.”

He watched her silently, unsure of how to react. “It’s not my dirty little secret, Hermione,” he answered finally.

She stiffened in his arms and glared up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He was rapidly growing frustrated. “It means that I’m not the one who stands to lose everything here. I won’t deny that I’d rather not appear to be dating a man. I’d absolute abhor the idea. But that is not my main concern with the situation.”

She continued to glare for a moment before sighing and settling against his chest once more. “I know.” He watched her silently for a moment before nodding and turning his attention back to his desk.

And for the first time since the birth of the Count, Hermione began to seriously question whether it was all worth it; all the secrecy and fear. She couldn’t deny that she’d been enjoying the acclaim; the ovations, the flowers, the money, the obvious adoration. Her happiness was always a bit dampened, though, by the fact that none of it was for her. She was a fraud, and Hermione had never been comfortable with deception. More to the point, she’d worked too hard to give up on her dream, and her dream had never included singing the most provocative and flamboyant songs ever written to drunk and randy wizards who were convinced that she was an exceptionally beautiful man.

Additionally, what had started as a game had turned into what felt like the beginning of something very real. She knew that Draco was not giving her an ultimatum. He was actually being surprisingly reasonable about the situation. She did wonder, however, whether their fledging affair could survive this sort of secrecy and intrigue for more than a few short weeks.

She shot a covert glance up at Draco, studying him discreetly as he continued to pore over documents. His brow was furrowed in concentration and a bemused expression crossed his face. He scratched his head in confusion and Hermione felt her heart swell with affection. She reached up to smooth the crease in his forehead and he turned his gaze on her, giving her a lazy smile. She felt her pulse flutter slightly.

Stretching up to meet his lips with her own, she realized that she’d already made her decision. It was time to start taking auditions again.

***********************************************



“They’re ready for you,” the guard gruffly informed Pansy, holding the heavy door open for her. She smiled tightly and walked through stiffly, keeping her eyes forward at all times. She could feel the gaze of every man in the room on her as she entered and walked directly to the designated cubicle.

“Miss Parkinson.” The voice was as icy and reserved as it had it always been. Pansy felt a shiver run down her spine. She had always had a bit of a fascination with Lucius Malfoy. Years in Azkaban had demolished the refined beauty he’d once possessed, but nothing could touch that indefinable attribute that made her tremble slightly in his presence.

“Mr. Malfoy.” She gave him what she hoped was a charming smile as she removed her cloak. His eyes widened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he noted the scraps of fabric she was wearing and she leaned forward, smiling coyly. He coughed discreetly and averted his eyes.

“I understand that you wish to discuss the matter of my son,” Lucius began slowly. “I must warn you that I hold little influence with him in recent years. It is unlikely that I will be able to assist you with your,” his eyes flickered down to her prominently displayed cleavage, “agenda.”

Pansy threw her head back and laughed, completely missing the grimace that crossed Lucius’ face at the shrill sound. “Mr. Malfoy, you make it sound as though I’m plotting! I just thought that, as the eldest surviving Malfoy, you have a right to know exactly the sort of disgrace that your heir has brought upon the family name.”

Lucius let his eyes fall closed and took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his temper. He was, quite frankly, amazed at the young woman’s audacity. “Miss Parkinson. It is unlikely that I will ever be released, even on parole. I will live out the rest of my days in a cell in Azkaban. What is it that Draco has done to bring disgrace upon the Malfoy family?” he asked mockingly. “Other than abandon your obvious charms for another woman, I’m guessing.”

Pansy’s eyes, which had been widened with shock, now gleamed with cruel delight. “Another man, actually,” she corrected, smirking. “Well, it’s debatable, I suppose. Does it count as a man if he’s famous for his performances in drag?”

Lucius looked as though he might faint. “My son is…” he stared at her in horror. “With a… a drag queen?”

Pansy gave him a sympathetic smile. “An extremely famous drag queen, actually. We went to see him perform one night and Draco went absolutely crazy about him. He hasn’t been the same ever since and I’m so worried,” she wailed, bursting into tears.

Lucius watched the display skeptically. “Are you feeling quite well?” he asked finally, tiring of the overwrought screeching, sobbing noises.

Pansy sniffled and peeked through her fingers at him hesitantly. “I only wanted to do what was right for your family,” she whispered dramatically.

Lucius barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Of course. I shall send an owl to Draco, reminding him of his obligations.”

“I’ll take it to him!” Pansy replied instantly. “I mean, it will be so much faster that way.”

Lucius sighed. “Very well.” It would be magically sealed anyhow, he reasoned. Whe wouldn’t be able to get into too much trouble with it and it was easier than arguing with her.

Twenty minutes later, Lucius had been returned to his cell, where he sat rubbing his temples, and Pansy was back in London, sealed scroll in hand, where she sat plotting her next move.

************************************************************

Hermione finished her last song of the evening, bowing and flashing the audience a brilliant smile as they whistled and stamped. Over the sea of faces, she caught a glimpse of a shock of white-blond hair and met Draco’s eyes. He grinned and raised his hands to his mouth, letting out a very uncharacteristic catcall. Laughing, she pulled a rose from one of the bouquets that she’d been handed and tossed it through the crowd to him.

The look of shock on his face was priceless as his cheeks turned pink and he quickly sat, glaring at the whooping audience. He flushed more deeply as he caught sight of the clusters of people whispering to each other, watching him speculatively.

“Friend of his?”

Draco turned in his seat. There was a tall, dark, lanky wizard standing to his right, smiling warmly at him. “Sort of,” he answered a bit tersely.

The stranger, evidently undiscouraged, fell into one of the vacant seats at the table and beamed at Draco. “I only ask because I was wondering whether you were available.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Available?”

The wizard laughed heartily. “You’re absolutely delicious. I’ve been working up the nerve to approach you all evening.”

The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place as the man reached across the table for Draco’s hand. Draco snatched his arm away and sent the man a withering glance. “I am most certainly not available, nor am I interested in men.”

The stranger looked pointedly from Draco’s face to the rose lying on the table. “Right,” he answered slowly, obviously unconvinced.

Draco sputtered angrily. It wasn’t so much a surprise as it was the final indignation. That was the fifth man to proposition him that evening alone. He pushed his chair back from the table and stormed over to the bar where Crabbe and Goyle were perched. “Tell Hermione I’ll catch up with her later,” he muttered, marching determinedly past them and out the door. He continued his pace for several blocks, unsure of exactly what he was looking for until he finally saw it.

“It” was, in this case, gloriously seedy-looking pub; dark, dingy, and noisy. A large band of brawny Muggle men were singing some sort of raucous drinking song in the corner. Draco couldn’t have been more delighted. He pushed open the door and strolled up to the bar, ignoring the suspicious gazes that followed his movement.

He signaled one of the bartenders. “I’d like a glass of milk.”

The burly bartender stared at him. “Cow’s milk?” he inquired slowly, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“How about your mother’s?” retorted Draco, sneering.

The response was immediate. Shocked whispers quickly developed into cries of fury as the crowd grew rowdier. It took only moments before the first punch flew, meeting Draco’s nose with a sickening pop.

That was faster than he’d expected.

Draco met the punches with relish and even managed to work in a few of his own. It the end, however, one angry wizard looking for a testosterone fix was no match for a posse of burly, angry muggles determined to protect their turf. By the time the police arrived, he was bloodied, bruised, and beaten, and considerably more comfortable in his own skin.

*****************************************

“Down by the riverside,” Draco crooned, swaying dramatically from side to side and raising his flask to conduct his compatriots as they responded to his call.

“Down by the riverside,” they echoed, bellowing happily.

“That’s it,” Draco crowed in delight, taking another swig of firewhiskey. The men burst into cheers. Draco shushed them before continuing with the verse.

After a few more choruses and several more songs, the group fell quiet as the beginnings of exhaustion set in. Draco lay back on his bench and let his eyes drift shut.

So this was a Muggle jail. Considerably more tolerable than Azkaban.

“So, Drake-”

“Draco,” he corrected instantly without opening his eyes.

“Right. You’re not a bad sort,” the man began amiably. “What got you so wound up?”

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled himself up into a sitting position to relay his tale of woe, leaving out, of course, the bits about the magically created male genitalia. He found a receptive audience; punctuating all the necessary points of the story with appropriate gasps and exclamations. Ten minutes later, everyone within earshot was riveted, staring at him with expressions of gaping horror. The room fell silent for a few moments.

“So what’s your plan?” one of the guards asked, unabashedly peering through the bars of the cell as he listened. “Don’t imagine I’d fancy a bird like that,” he added with a grimace. Several murmurs of agreement spread through the crowd.

“That’s what I’d have said too,” Draco sighed, dropping his head forward into his hands and slumping forwards. “But you haven’t met my girl.”

“How romantic,” a deep voice commented dryly from behind the guard. “I’m sure she’d be touched.”

Draco sat up with a start, looking into the cross green eyes of Harry Potter.

“That her?” one of the men whispered loudly, looking Harry up and down in confusion. Draco snickered in spite of himself as every eye trained on Harry, apparently attempting to determine his gender.

Harry gave a huff of indignation. “Let’s go. It’s four in the morning and Hermione’s worried sick.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as Draco’s cellmates determined that this grumpy little man with messy black hair was not, in fact, Draco’s girlfriend. With that, they wished their new friend luck and reminded him to stop by next time he was in the neighborhood.

“How’d you find me, anyhow?” Draco finally asked, once they were well on their way to the nearest Apparition point.

“Boy-Who-Lived, remember? There are occasional perks. Such as being able to help when my best friend shows up in hysterics because her wayward lover never came home at night,” he finished with a stern look.

Draco felt a stab of guilt. “She must be a bit angry, huh?”

“Angry?” Harry stopped in his tracks, looking at Draco with disbelief. “How well do you know Hermione, Malfoy? She was panicked. I made a few Floo calls, found out you’d been thrown in a Muggle jail, and then she became absolutely distraught. When she sees you,” he continued, indicating the multiple bruises, cuts, and bumps adorning Draco’s face, “I expect that she’ll alternate between complete hysteria, blinding fury, and overwhelming relief that you’re all right.” He paused. “So yeah, I guess that anger plays a part in that.”

“There’s something else that you should know before we go,” Harry continued slowly. Draco felt his stomach plummet. The expression on Harry’s face indicated that the news wasn’t good. “Pansy came by the club tonight looking for you. She brought a letter from your father and said she’ll be by in the morning to discuss it. Hermione hasn’t opened it yet, as it’s addressed to you, but combined with your disappearing act, she was pretty worked up about it.”

Draco cursed inwardly. A letter from his father, borne by Pansy, could mean only one thing. As if the situation needed any further complications.

Lucius now knew about Count Hermann.

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A/N: Thanks for reading - all feedback is very much appreciated!