Second Time Around
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
18
Views:
49,039
Reviews:
192
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
2
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
18
Views:
49,039
Reviews:
192
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
I do not make any money off of this story, nor do I own any rights to Harry Potter. All of it's characters are property of the magical J.K Rowling.
The Prophet Affair: Part Two
A/N: Here is her dinner dress. I tried to find one for her last dinner but couldn’t find the right one. All well. Here’s this one :) http://cn1.kaboodle.com/hi/img/2/0/0/119/8/AAAAAkbSVloAAAAAARmHdQ.jpg
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They aparated to the point a block from the hotel. Malfoy told her to stay where she was while he scoped it out and Hermione felt it was a highly ridiculous situation. They were paparazzi, not Death Eaters! But she did as he asked and when he beckoned her forward she allowed him to take her by the elbow and lead her across the dingy parking lot, his disgust etched in his face with every pothole. She was just glad it wasn’t raining.
He cursed loudly when the flashes came. Hermione was used to them, used to the blinding light, the puffs of purple smoke. Used to being shoved aside by reporters trying to catch a story about Ron’s latest win. He always let them and would find her later acting as if nothing happened. But Malfoy, well, he steered her right through, covering her from the worst as if they were in battle. A battle against the press.
“Give me your key,” he said as they climbed the staircase which was quickly being jammed up by the witches and wizards aparating in. Hermione dug in her purse, withdrawing the small gold key. He shoved it in the lock and Hermione wondered vaguely how he even knew how to use one. He pushed her gently inside and shoved the door shut against the screaming reporters.
“Get your stuff, quickly,” he said, stepping forward to pull her suitcase onto the bed.
“Malfoy, they’re just reporters. There’s no need to get so worked up,” Hermione said, disappearing into the bathroom and scooping her items into her makeup bag.
“It’s Draco, and they’re not reporters,” he growled. “They’re vultures and they can make our life hell. If you ever want to get through this I suggest you keep yourself in a position where they can’t get to you. If they ever question you just say ‘no comment’ like you did today. Do not answer them. Ever. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you!” she snapped, zipping up the little case and throwing it into her larger one. Crookshanks leapt onto the bed and meowed at her loudly. Hermione cast a glance at Malfoy and was pleased to see a disgruntled look on his face.
“What the hell is that? Is that the cat from Hogwarts who used to chase me across the grounds? That is! That’s that fucking devil cat!” He stared at her incredulously. “He’s your cat?”
Hermione couldn’t help but grin. “Crookshanks wouldn’t hurt a soul,” she cooed, picking him up. “But that, of course, only applies to those who have one.”
His features darkened. “Watch your step, witch.”
“Crookshanks never lies.”
Hermione didn’t know why she was taunting him so. Malfoy snapped the lid of her case shut and hefted it easily.
“That thing is staying here,” he said, nodding to Crookshanks.
“I don’t go anywhere without him.”
“Merlin, Hermione! He’s a terror! I’m not having him in my home!”
“Then go ahead and put down the suitcase, Malfoy. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
He cursed again. “The name’s Draco. Hermione, this is insane. It’s a bloody cat!”
“And he’s all I’ve got so if you have a problem with him, go ahead and clear off!”
They stared each other down, his steely grey eyes a foot above her own. They flashed with blue fire and he grabbed her arm, turning on the spot. A tug around her navel led to the telephone booth entrance of the Ministry. They took it down and hurried across the silent corridors, nodding to the security personnel patrolling the dark building. They didn’t talk, Crookshanks tried multiple times to get away but Hermione held tight and when they got to his office he practically shoved her in his fireplace. When she landed she started for the door but he was there, pulling her back, whipping her around.
“You’ll use any excuse, won’t you?” he said in a low voice, his face far too close. She could smell the minty warmth of his breath, could feel it against her cheek like a lover’s caress.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was proud she had kept out the quiver. But apparently, she didn’t do as well as she thought because he smirked. Stupid beautiful bastard.
“I think you do. Why is it you don’t want to take my help? Hmm? Is it because you’re too stubborn and prideful? Well, that Gryffindor streak doesn’t help the matter. But I think it’s something else.” Malfoy peeled Crookshanks from her arms and threw him onto the sofa where she protested but he quieted her by pulling her body flush against his own. His grip was hard, but not painful. She didn’t fear him as she had Ron; she simply feared the reaction she was having to him.
“Why did you come to me that night?” he breathed, his thumb brushing the tender inside of her arm causing her to shiver. “You should have gone to Potter, but you didn’t. You came to me. You haven’t talked to me in years, and yet there you were, in my office at four in the morning, soaking wet. Hermione,” Gods, she loved when he said her name… “Why did you come to me?”
Her breath was constricted in her throat. What could she say? Because she’d watched every single case he’d ever done? Because she’d put in an anonymous good word in for him at every road block he’d ever encountered? Because she felt closer to him without saying a word, without catching a glance, than she did to her own husband?
“You never lose,” she stated simply.
“That’s not why,” he whispered. He was closer, how was that possible? Her heart was pounding so hard she thought there was a good possibility it might vacate her chest. “Tell me, Hermione.”
“I did,” she said stubbornly. He’d been right about something. “If you don’t want to take it for an answer, that’s your problem, not mine. Now please let go of me so we can get to work,” she said, her voice even, more calm than she felt.
His eyes bore into hers and she nearly cracked. His golden blonde hair fell over his eyes, their hurried flight having knocked it out of place.
“I will this time. But there will be a next time and you won’t be getting away so easily. You can’t run forever.”
He let go of her slowly and she wrenched away from him, her knees weak, her skin cold where it was no longer touching him.
“Go get into something nice for dinner, we’ll go over the papers afterward,” he told her and then strode from the room. Jadie hurried in and grabbed her suitcase and, with the help of three others, ran to the room she had used the other night and Hermione summoned a ticked-off Crookshanks from under the couch and carried his growling arse to her new residence.
Dumping the cat on the soft, deep bed she dismissed the house-elves and strode to the closet. Flipping through the dresses she scowled at each one, scantier than the last. Finally, she settled on a long, strapless, forest green dress with two gold flowers at the high waist. She slipped her toes into strappy matching heels and went to the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She managed to get it into some semblance of order, a high, clipped pony tail with a feathered top and her side swept bangs down. She applied some light makeup, not wanting to look as if she were overdoing it, and noticed that her hand was shaking. She dropped the lip-gloss she had been holding and it fell with a clatter onto the vanity counter. She grabbed her hands and looked at herself hard in the mirror. She looked different. She couldn’t see herself anymore. Who was this imposter with the pale face and the purple bruises and the bags under her eyes? Who was that woman in a too-expensive dress wearing ridiculous heels about to go down to dinner with Malfoy?
It was then she realized that she liked this person much better than the one she had seen a week ago, in an old, ratty t-shirt, waking up to an empty bed again. Wishing there were more she could do to the bruises, she gathered the folds of her dress and clicked down the glossy stairs to the dining room. Malfoy met her outside the doors in a black slack pant and dark green vest with a creamy shirt underneath, the texture of butter. He looked so good she wanted to just dive in and forget the world. But she held her composure as he scanned her body.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, taking her hand and laying the softest kiss upon her knuckles. Her heart fluttered as he tucked her arm into his and led her through to the low lit table that was already set, piles of steaming Greek food filling the table. Swordfish, briami, spanakopita, shrimp soulvlaki, dolmades, biftekia. Most of this Hermione had never tried but Malfoy bullied her into sampling all of it and she found it much to her liking. The talk was light and shallow and yet he still made her smile and laugh with his witty remarks. He filled her wine glass and she drank it, knowing she would pay for it later. She always did lately. Afterward, he urged her onto his balcony and she gasped as he pulled her through the glass doors.
“Draco, it’s beautiful,” she whispered, walking slowly to the railing, her hands clasping the gleaming dark wood. The moon was huge and bright, the stars sparkling. The sea beckoned below, dangerous, sexy, overwhelming, it crashed gently against the rocks. The night had begun to turn cool and the soft breeze wafted over her skin, creating goose bumps. Malfoy appeared beside her, both their glasses of wine in his hands. He handed her one and she sipped, loving the smooth, supple taste as it ran down her throat.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “You’re the reason I have this. You’re the reason I have anything, Hermione. Everything I have is at your disposal, anytime, anywhere, for any reason.”
“Malfoy…Draco…you did all this on your own. You built your life, not me. I can’t accept that-,”
“Accept it or not, it’s there.”
They were silent. Hermione watched the ocean but her mind was focused on the man standing beside her, the man who stirred feelings she’d never had before, not even with Ron. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body, could move her hand sitting on the railing six inches to her left and touch him.
But she didn’t. She tore her eyes away from the scene before her and backed towards the light of the house, towards safety.
“We should get started,” she said. He turned to her and she could see every line of his lithe body. Gods, but she wanted him. She blamed it on not having sex in longer than she could remember, but it wouldn’t have matter if Ron had screwed her every night since they’d been married. Nothing would quell the primal need she had for the overly sexy man in front of her. No man had the right to look like that and it grounded her to remember how out of her league he was. She was a fraud. This wasn’t her life; this was one she was borrowing until she could figure out what her life really was.
He walked towards her and her brain screamed at her to retreat, to go down to the office, to the light and away from this romantic balcony with the moon shining overhead and the sound of the waves breaking against the shore in the background. He stopped just in front of her and ran the back of his knuckles across her cheek. She didn’t dare to breathe. He smiled, smiled, not smirked and dragged his fingers down her neck, to her collarbone, over her shoulder and down her arm to her fingers which he enfolded in his own, warm, large hand. He led her, eyes locked on her own, back into the upstairs parlor. He didn’t look away from her when he flicked his wrist and the doors shut of their own accord. He didn’t look away when he used that hand to pull her to him, nor when he set down his wine glass on a table and took hers, placing it next to his with a small clink. He took her other hand in his free one and brought both of them up to his lips as he had when he’d led her into the dining room. She watched, disbelieving, with bated breath. Every touch of his lips turned her legs to jelly and made her stomach flutter. He turned her left hand over and nibbled on her wrist, causing her to gasp. A corner of his mouth twitched upward and he bit and kissed his way back up her arm, making the little hairs stand on end. She was so turned on she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, her entire body a mass of nerve endings. Her breath stuttered from her lips when he reached her shoulder, nipping his way to the smooth skin connecting her shoulder and neck. His face was there, right there, she was staring at every glistening strand of blonde. His soft lips fluttered higher, ever higher. He was going to kiss her, oh gods, he was going to kiss her. The thought raced through her brain, jarring her awake. She jerked out of his grasp and backed away from him as fast as she could, hitting the table with their wine on it and sending the glasses crashing to the surface. She turned to pick the pieces up but he stilled her hands with his own and she ripped them away from his touch. What was she doing? What was he doing? She was MARRIED! He was approaching her as he would a frightened animal and she knew she must resemble one, eyes wide and terrified, her entire body trembling. She gripped the material of her dress and backed away from him, towards the parlor door. He didn’t follow but she turned and ran anyway, not stopping until she made it to the safety of her chambers. She slammed the door and dove for her wand, locking it with several spells. She sank to the floor, the thick carpet swallowing her up. She watched the door, shaking until she saw the shadow beneath it signaling his arrival. A knock sounded at her door but she said nothing, just sat there, wand in hand, until the shadow left. She let out a shaky breath and lay upon the floor. She was married. And gods how she wished she weren’t.
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He’d moved too fast. He felt like kicking himself but instead he brought the glass of Ogden’s Old to his lips and drank deeply. What the fuck had he been thinking? He hadn’t. He’d seen her in that dress and his brain had gone mad. She was driving him there fast.
She’s off limits, he told himself. She’s too good for you, she deserves better. You know what you did, you don’t deserve someone like her. Rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, he stared at the skull and snake upon his white forearm, evidence of his cowardice, of his treachery. He might as well have sentenced her to death. He’d wanted her dead for so long, he’d spent so long knowing he was better and now he had to spend his life making up for his stupid mistakes.
But it was hard to remember such details when she’s standing in the moonlight, her green dress flowing about her beautiful body, her soft hair blowing in the breeze. He wanted her; he’d wanted her for so long. He’d spent six years watching her, waiting, wanting. And he couldn’t have her. He would do what he could to help her, she deserved his best. She didn’t deserve to be mauled by him because he hadn’t been laid in…a long time. As soon as he’d noticed a change in Hermione around the Ministry he hadn’t been able to accept a date. He’d sickeningly hoped for something like this, though this exact circumstance was better than he could have hoped for. And here he was, fucking it up because he was acting like a teenager in heat.
Draco pulled off his vest and flung it over a chair, unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up his other sleeve. He needed to get his mind off things; he needed to get back to his other cases. People out there needed him to be at his best and he was allowing this little slip of a witch to steal his senses away from him. He settled down at his desk and got to work, his quill working overtime drafting a will for a witch in Kent who owned three estates and a complicated family tree in which he had helped her to configure what went to whom. He didn’t look up when the door opened, knowing Jadie would get to work silently, but he did look up when someone cleared their throat. He saw Hermione standing there, pretty as ever in a light jumper and sweats she must have brought with her.
“I hope I’m not intruding…”
“No, come in, come in,” he bid, standing until she waved him back down.
“I was just wondering, if you’re not too busy, that is…if we, er, could go over those papers.”
She looked so sweet and enticing standing there, twisting those tiny hands into knots.
“Of course. Take a seat, we’ll get started.”
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They’d worked well into the night and now Draco was stumbling to his bed, the clock reading a ghastly 3:30. He groaned and scrubbed his face. He had to be in court in six hours. Stripping off the rest of his clothes he started to flop onto his bed when something stopped him. The moonlight was just enough to highlight an envelope sitting in the middle of his bed. It was not addressed and the red seal on the back was not one he’d ever seen before. Curious, he slit the envelope open and waved on the candles in the room so he could read the writing. He needn’t have worried about the candles; the enormous writing could have been easily seen in the dark:
STAY AWAY FROM THE WITCH OR YOU BOTH WILL SUFFER.
THIS IS A PROMISE.
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XOXO
RynStar15
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They aparated to the point a block from the hotel. Malfoy told her to stay where she was while he scoped it out and Hermione felt it was a highly ridiculous situation. They were paparazzi, not Death Eaters! But she did as he asked and when he beckoned her forward she allowed him to take her by the elbow and lead her across the dingy parking lot, his disgust etched in his face with every pothole. She was just glad it wasn’t raining.
He cursed loudly when the flashes came. Hermione was used to them, used to the blinding light, the puffs of purple smoke. Used to being shoved aside by reporters trying to catch a story about Ron’s latest win. He always let them and would find her later acting as if nothing happened. But Malfoy, well, he steered her right through, covering her from the worst as if they were in battle. A battle against the press.
“Give me your key,” he said as they climbed the staircase which was quickly being jammed up by the witches and wizards aparating in. Hermione dug in her purse, withdrawing the small gold key. He shoved it in the lock and Hermione wondered vaguely how he even knew how to use one. He pushed her gently inside and shoved the door shut against the screaming reporters.
“Get your stuff, quickly,” he said, stepping forward to pull her suitcase onto the bed.
“Malfoy, they’re just reporters. There’s no need to get so worked up,” Hermione said, disappearing into the bathroom and scooping her items into her makeup bag.
“It’s Draco, and they’re not reporters,” he growled. “They’re vultures and they can make our life hell. If you ever want to get through this I suggest you keep yourself in a position where they can’t get to you. If they ever question you just say ‘no comment’ like you did today. Do not answer them. Ever. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you!” she snapped, zipping up the little case and throwing it into her larger one. Crookshanks leapt onto the bed and meowed at her loudly. Hermione cast a glance at Malfoy and was pleased to see a disgruntled look on his face.
“What the hell is that? Is that the cat from Hogwarts who used to chase me across the grounds? That is! That’s that fucking devil cat!” He stared at her incredulously. “He’s your cat?”
Hermione couldn’t help but grin. “Crookshanks wouldn’t hurt a soul,” she cooed, picking him up. “But that, of course, only applies to those who have one.”
His features darkened. “Watch your step, witch.”
“Crookshanks never lies.”
Hermione didn’t know why she was taunting him so. Malfoy snapped the lid of her case shut and hefted it easily.
“That thing is staying here,” he said, nodding to Crookshanks.
“I don’t go anywhere without him.”
“Merlin, Hermione! He’s a terror! I’m not having him in my home!”
“Then go ahead and put down the suitcase, Malfoy. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
He cursed again. “The name’s Draco. Hermione, this is insane. It’s a bloody cat!”
“And he’s all I’ve got so if you have a problem with him, go ahead and clear off!”
They stared each other down, his steely grey eyes a foot above her own. They flashed with blue fire and he grabbed her arm, turning on the spot. A tug around her navel led to the telephone booth entrance of the Ministry. They took it down and hurried across the silent corridors, nodding to the security personnel patrolling the dark building. They didn’t talk, Crookshanks tried multiple times to get away but Hermione held tight and when they got to his office he practically shoved her in his fireplace. When she landed she started for the door but he was there, pulling her back, whipping her around.
“You’ll use any excuse, won’t you?” he said in a low voice, his face far too close. She could smell the minty warmth of his breath, could feel it against her cheek like a lover’s caress.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was proud she had kept out the quiver. But apparently, she didn’t do as well as she thought because he smirked. Stupid beautiful bastard.
“I think you do. Why is it you don’t want to take my help? Hmm? Is it because you’re too stubborn and prideful? Well, that Gryffindor streak doesn’t help the matter. But I think it’s something else.” Malfoy peeled Crookshanks from her arms and threw him onto the sofa where she protested but he quieted her by pulling her body flush against his own. His grip was hard, but not painful. She didn’t fear him as she had Ron; she simply feared the reaction she was having to him.
“Why did you come to me that night?” he breathed, his thumb brushing the tender inside of her arm causing her to shiver. “You should have gone to Potter, but you didn’t. You came to me. You haven’t talked to me in years, and yet there you were, in my office at four in the morning, soaking wet. Hermione,” Gods, she loved when he said her name… “Why did you come to me?”
Her breath was constricted in her throat. What could she say? Because she’d watched every single case he’d ever done? Because she’d put in an anonymous good word in for him at every road block he’d ever encountered? Because she felt closer to him without saying a word, without catching a glance, than she did to her own husband?
“You never lose,” she stated simply.
“That’s not why,” he whispered. He was closer, how was that possible? Her heart was pounding so hard she thought there was a good possibility it might vacate her chest. “Tell me, Hermione.”
“I did,” she said stubbornly. He’d been right about something. “If you don’t want to take it for an answer, that’s your problem, not mine. Now please let go of me so we can get to work,” she said, her voice even, more calm than she felt.
His eyes bore into hers and she nearly cracked. His golden blonde hair fell over his eyes, their hurried flight having knocked it out of place.
“I will this time. But there will be a next time and you won’t be getting away so easily. You can’t run forever.”
He let go of her slowly and she wrenched away from him, her knees weak, her skin cold where it was no longer touching him.
“Go get into something nice for dinner, we’ll go over the papers afterward,” he told her and then strode from the room. Jadie hurried in and grabbed her suitcase and, with the help of three others, ran to the room she had used the other night and Hermione summoned a ticked-off Crookshanks from under the couch and carried his growling arse to her new residence.
Dumping the cat on the soft, deep bed she dismissed the house-elves and strode to the closet. Flipping through the dresses she scowled at each one, scantier than the last. Finally, she settled on a long, strapless, forest green dress with two gold flowers at the high waist. She slipped her toes into strappy matching heels and went to the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She managed to get it into some semblance of order, a high, clipped pony tail with a feathered top and her side swept bangs down. She applied some light makeup, not wanting to look as if she were overdoing it, and noticed that her hand was shaking. She dropped the lip-gloss she had been holding and it fell with a clatter onto the vanity counter. She grabbed her hands and looked at herself hard in the mirror. She looked different. She couldn’t see herself anymore. Who was this imposter with the pale face and the purple bruises and the bags under her eyes? Who was that woman in a too-expensive dress wearing ridiculous heels about to go down to dinner with Malfoy?
It was then she realized that she liked this person much better than the one she had seen a week ago, in an old, ratty t-shirt, waking up to an empty bed again. Wishing there were more she could do to the bruises, she gathered the folds of her dress and clicked down the glossy stairs to the dining room. Malfoy met her outside the doors in a black slack pant and dark green vest with a creamy shirt underneath, the texture of butter. He looked so good she wanted to just dive in and forget the world. But she held her composure as he scanned her body.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, taking her hand and laying the softest kiss upon her knuckles. Her heart fluttered as he tucked her arm into his and led her through to the low lit table that was already set, piles of steaming Greek food filling the table. Swordfish, briami, spanakopita, shrimp soulvlaki, dolmades, biftekia. Most of this Hermione had never tried but Malfoy bullied her into sampling all of it and she found it much to her liking. The talk was light and shallow and yet he still made her smile and laugh with his witty remarks. He filled her wine glass and she drank it, knowing she would pay for it later. She always did lately. Afterward, he urged her onto his balcony and she gasped as he pulled her through the glass doors.
“Draco, it’s beautiful,” she whispered, walking slowly to the railing, her hands clasping the gleaming dark wood. The moon was huge and bright, the stars sparkling. The sea beckoned below, dangerous, sexy, overwhelming, it crashed gently against the rocks. The night had begun to turn cool and the soft breeze wafted over her skin, creating goose bumps. Malfoy appeared beside her, both their glasses of wine in his hands. He handed her one and she sipped, loving the smooth, supple taste as it ran down her throat.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “You’re the reason I have this. You’re the reason I have anything, Hermione. Everything I have is at your disposal, anytime, anywhere, for any reason.”
“Malfoy…Draco…you did all this on your own. You built your life, not me. I can’t accept that-,”
“Accept it or not, it’s there.”
They were silent. Hermione watched the ocean but her mind was focused on the man standing beside her, the man who stirred feelings she’d never had before, not even with Ron. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body, could move her hand sitting on the railing six inches to her left and touch him.
But she didn’t. She tore her eyes away from the scene before her and backed towards the light of the house, towards safety.
“We should get started,” she said. He turned to her and she could see every line of his lithe body. Gods, but she wanted him. She blamed it on not having sex in longer than she could remember, but it wouldn’t have matter if Ron had screwed her every night since they’d been married. Nothing would quell the primal need she had for the overly sexy man in front of her. No man had the right to look like that and it grounded her to remember how out of her league he was. She was a fraud. This wasn’t her life; this was one she was borrowing until she could figure out what her life really was.
He walked towards her and her brain screamed at her to retreat, to go down to the office, to the light and away from this romantic balcony with the moon shining overhead and the sound of the waves breaking against the shore in the background. He stopped just in front of her and ran the back of his knuckles across her cheek. She didn’t dare to breathe. He smiled, smiled, not smirked and dragged his fingers down her neck, to her collarbone, over her shoulder and down her arm to her fingers which he enfolded in his own, warm, large hand. He led her, eyes locked on her own, back into the upstairs parlor. He didn’t look away from her when he flicked his wrist and the doors shut of their own accord. He didn’t look away when he used that hand to pull her to him, nor when he set down his wine glass on a table and took hers, placing it next to his with a small clink. He took her other hand in his free one and brought both of them up to his lips as he had when he’d led her into the dining room. She watched, disbelieving, with bated breath. Every touch of his lips turned her legs to jelly and made her stomach flutter. He turned her left hand over and nibbled on her wrist, causing her to gasp. A corner of his mouth twitched upward and he bit and kissed his way back up her arm, making the little hairs stand on end. She was so turned on she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, her entire body a mass of nerve endings. Her breath stuttered from her lips when he reached her shoulder, nipping his way to the smooth skin connecting her shoulder and neck. His face was there, right there, she was staring at every glistening strand of blonde. His soft lips fluttered higher, ever higher. He was going to kiss her, oh gods, he was going to kiss her. The thought raced through her brain, jarring her awake. She jerked out of his grasp and backed away from him as fast as she could, hitting the table with their wine on it and sending the glasses crashing to the surface. She turned to pick the pieces up but he stilled her hands with his own and she ripped them away from his touch. What was she doing? What was he doing? She was MARRIED! He was approaching her as he would a frightened animal and she knew she must resemble one, eyes wide and terrified, her entire body trembling. She gripped the material of her dress and backed away from him, towards the parlor door. He didn’t follow but she turned and ran anyway, not stopping until she made it to the safety of her chambers. She slammed the door and dove for her wand, locking it with several spells. She sank to the floor, the thick carpet swallowing her up. She watched the door, shaking until she saw the shadow beneath it signaling his arrival. A knock sounded at her door but she said nothing, just sat there, wand in hand, until the shadow left. She let out a shaky breath and lay upon the floor. She was married. And gods how she wished she weren’t.
====================================================
He’d moved too fast. He felt like kicking himself but instead he brought the glass of Ogden’s Old to his lips and drank deeply. What the fuck had he been thinking? He hadn’t. He’d seen her in that dress and his brain had gone mad. She was driving him there fast.
She’s off limits, he told himself. She’s too good for you, she deserves better. You know what you did, you don’t deserve someone like her. Rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, he stared at the skull and snake upon his white forearm, evidence of his cowardice, of his treachery. He might as well have sentenced her to death. He’d wanted her dead for so long, he’d spent so long knowing he was better and now he had to spend his life making up for his stupid mistakes.
But it was hard to remember such details when she’s standing in the moonlight, her green dress flowing about her beautiful body, her soft hair blowing in the breeze. He wanted her; he’d wanted her for so long. He’d spent six years watching her, waiting, wanting. And he couldn’t have her. He would do what he could to help her, she deserved his best. She didn’t deserve to be mauled by him because he hadn’t been laid in…a long time. As soon as he’d noticed a change in Hermione around the Ministry he hadn’t been able to accept a date. He’d sickeningly hoped for something like this, though this exact circumstance was better than he could have hoped for. And here he was, fucking it up because he was acting like a teenager in heat.
Draco pulled off his vest and flung it over a chair, unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up his other sleeve. He needed to get his mind off things; he needed to get back to his other cases. People out there needed him to be at his best and he was allowing this little slip of a witch to steal his senses away from him. He settled down at his desk and got to work, his quill working overtime drafting a will for a witch in Kent who owned three estates and a complicated family tree in which he had helped her to configure what went to whom. He didn’t look up when the door opened, knowing Jadie would get to work silently, but he did look up when someone cleared their throat. He saw Hermione standing there, pretty as ever in a light jumper and sweats she must have brought with her.
“I hope I’m not intruding…”
“No, come in, come in,” he bid, standing until she waved him back down.
“I was just wondering, if you’re not too busy, that is…if we, er, could go over those papers.”
She looked so sweet and enticing standing there, twisting those tiny hands into knots.
“Of course. Take a seat, we’ll get started.”
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They’d worked well into the night and now Draco was stumbling to his bed, the clock reading a ghastly 3:30. He groaned and scrubbed his face. He had to be in court in six hours. Stripping off the rest of his clothes he started to flop onto his bed when something stopped him. The moonlight was just enough to highlight an envelope sitting in the middle of his bed. It was not addressed and the red seal on the back was not one he’d ever seen before. Curious, he slit the envelope open and waved on the candles in the room so he could read the writing. He needn’t have worried about the candles; the enormous writing could have been easily seen in the dark:
STAY AWAY FROM THE WITCH OR YOU BOTH WILL SUFFER.
THIS IS A PROMISE.
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XOXO
RynStar15