Dirty Hands

Disclaimer: Simply borrowing your characters for a moment, JKR. I promise to return them in the same condition I found them.

Warning: This is an AU story. It was when I received the request and was when I delivered it.


Author\'s Notes: Dedication: The plot for this story was provided by a vigilant crusader of all things Draco/Hermione. Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen. Always encouraging, Raffy, this one\'s for you.

Dirty Hands

There were few men who could afford Hermione Granger. She was beautiful, intelligent, witty and charming. She spoke several languages; she often served as interpreter during meetings between Steven and the Italians. Steven could afford her. He could afford anyone.

She sat on an antique carved oak corner chair, Victorian and dainty. Steven was generous when she pleased him. She read a novel quietly as Steven discussed business with some of his less savory associates. Hermione never liked being around them. She understood that Steven was a criminal. She was a criminal too, for that matter. However, these other men had dirty hands. She realized that it made her a snob, but she refused to feel guilty about it.

The door opened and she glanced up from her book. It was him. Draco. She looked at Steven, engrossed in his conversation, and then back at Draco. He nodded.

She understood and returned to her book. She read the same paragraph four times before closing it softly. Jane Austin wasn\'t that difficult to understand. She couldn\'t bear it any longer.

There were many things she couldn\'t bear since Draco entered her life.

Staring at Steven\'s gray thinning hair, she remembered the first time she saw Draco. She remembered him standing in the foyer, a starched white button-down, green tie, black jacket. He was very handsome. She had programmed herself to look past physical appearance. In her profession, it was irrelevant.

Everything about him was different. He was tall, slender, quiet. His hands weren\'t dirty at all. And they were soft, although it was months before she knew that for herself. His nails were manicured. Handsome. She recalled the night, some five months ago, when Steven was on top of her and her climax was real. She came for Draco, before she had ever had him. In hindsight, she cursed herself for doing it. After that night, Steven had developed a new obsession with her.

She and Draco knew that their relationship had to be a secret. He knew how Steven worked when an enemy threatened him in anyway. He knew it well. He was often the one called on to \"resolve\" the matter. Draco said that had no real moral objection to his job. Most of these targets were scum. Hermione agreed. Just look their hands.

She stood and smiled at Steven sweetly. He motioned for her to approach. She complied. She always complied.

\"Gentlemen,\" she said, looking around the table as she arrived at Steven\'s side. He ran his hand up the back of her thigh, pausing to stroke the top of her stocking. \"Would you care for a drink?\" she asked him quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder gently.

He removed his hand and nodded. She knew what he liked. Scotch. Neat.

She sauntered to his bar. She knew Steven liked to watch her walk away. She smiled at the notion that this would be the last time. She reached up to the bodice of her dress, and with two fingers reached into her cleavage and removed a small vial that had been hidden in her bra.

She poured the drink, like she had a thousand times, and added a kicker, like she never had. He would drink it. He had never doubted her loyalty. She was well paid, after all.

Hermione knew that it would take some time. She returned to her book while Steven sipped his poison. Draco acted uninterested in her, in Steven, in the accountant that made small talk at his side. He excused himself not long after Steven finished his drink. He had business to attend to, he said to the suddenly nervous man. The truth was Draco was getting ready to run. He had everything ready--everything except her.

\"I think I\'ll have a bath,\" she whispered in Steven\'s ear, running her hand across the back of his neck. It wasn\'t unusual for Hermione to excuse herself in this manner. No one suspected a thing.

She was careful not to leave too flirty. She didn\'t want to risk him cutting short his meeting. She needed him to stay, so that she could leave. Remain calm, she told herself as she made her way to east wing of Steven\'s posh penthouse.

She had no personal items to pack. She left the jewelry. Her own flat had been packed up for hours. She stood at the window and watched Steven work across the precipice between them. She waited for a sign. Draco would be back soon, she hoped.

The light went out. Hermione jumped. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she reached out but didn\'t speak. He had taught her that. He taught her how to live. She didn\'t know he was behind her until his hand was on her throat, a gentle caress that preceded his kiss.

\"There isn\'t much time, my love,\" she whispered desperately.

\"He\'s a pig.\"

Hermione nodded and looked out once more. \"I know it\'s hard for you to watch him touch me.\"

\"Never again,\" he replied as he inhaled the aroma of her long curly hair. He moaned softly and she closed her eyes. They were so enthralled with each other. Enchanted, actually. Draco was like no man in the world. Magic saturated everything when he was near. There was no denying it.

He pulled her skirt up to her waist slowly. \"Tomorrow, I want to see you in plain white cotton knickers. I\'ll buy them for you.\"

Hermione laughed softly and met his hands as they traveled across her thighs. Within seconds, he had managed to pull her light thong to the side and delve into what he considered his and his alone. Hermione grasped the long curtains in front of her.

She had learned to hide her feelings early on in her career. Draco undid it all. Through her silk shirt, he teased her left breast and nipple. Her eyes were heavy with lust. She thought that she could sink her teeth into him and still not have enough.

He whispered in her ear, words that held meaning for the first time. \"I love you.\" She felt the truth in it, not because of their sexual attraction, but because she never felt so exposed as in his eyes. She didn\'t have to hide; he knew everything. And he still loved her.

\"I want you to take me dancing,\" she said as she turned her head sharply. \"I want to do normal things.\"

He kissed her softly. She could feel the smile form on his lips. \"Half way through the first dance, I wouldn\'t be able to walk.\"

She turned back and watched Steven. Her hands found his hips and belt. Blindly, she pulled the buckle. His hands left her for only a moment, and when they returned he was pushing into her. She grasped the curtains again.

Steven was shaking dirty hands.

\"We have to hurry,\" she whispered. Draco was certainly not watching. But after a moment, he pulled away. Hermione turned around with a curious expression on her face. Was something wrong? Her heart sunk.

\"Never. I\'ll never hurry with you again. The next time I make love to you, we\'ll have all the time in the world.\"

She smiled and shook her head. \"I love you.\"

\"Of course, you do.\"


Hours later, Steven\'s breathing was labored and Draco and Hermione were running. They abandoned her car in a small village on the outskirts of Paris. A few hours later, they hopped a train to Geneva. In Geneva, their flight plans spanned the globe.

She had no idea when Steven actually died. Ironically, it was very near the moment that Draco slid the engagement ring and wedding band on her finger. She had a new name, not Granger or Malfoy. Her passport proved her new identity. Sandra Wilcox. Newlywed. On her honeymoon. With her husband. John. He promised her that he would make it permanent when they found a place to settle.

Hermione looked at the diamond constantly. Draco, when he caught her staring, only smiled and hugged her. They looked like a hundred other couples in the airport, in love and enamored.

At thirty thousand feet, they finished their champagne but didn\'t accept a second glass. It was a long day. It was a day long from being over.

They navigated the sky by the light of the moon. Blue light illuminated the blanket of clouds below them. She woke suddenly, unaware that she had dozed off. Everyone in the cabin was asleep, except Draco. He was watching her as he always had.

She smiled slowly and he winked and beckoned her silently. It was her honeymoon, sort of. In his arms, she felt safe. It wasn\'t familiar territory.

She kissed his throat softly and unbuckled his belt under the blanket that covered them. He smirked slightly and nodded. And before she had his trousers open, she knew he was as hard as he ever had been. He turned away from the aisle, masking Hermione\'s precarious position as she sunk out of sight.

His cock in her mouth made her feel things that a professional shouldn\'t feel. Her heart raced as her tongue traversed the length of him. This was almost as good as getting it for herself, something she never allowed clients to do. But Draco did it; he did it perfectly. It stood to reason, seeing how he was perfect in every way. Well, except for the fact that he was a paid killer, but that was a different matter.

He always had a clean odor about him. Like sun dried linen, he was pristine. She was in too confining quarters to manage his favorite treats, but she would most certainly attempt it. His thighs pressed together, stacked, but she slowly pushed her fingers between them and tickled the pleasurable spot he loved her to notice.

Her mouth lingered, breathing hot onto wrinkled flesh that was firming under her hand. Hermione could nearly bring a man to orgasm before the first stroke of his cock. The tip of her tongue found the shallow valley that marked the separation of masses beneath his skin. He shifted his hips slowly. She knew he was ready.

Opening her mouth only slightly, she took his velvety cock to the back of her throat. Her pace was slow, at first; Draco liked a lot of suction. His wasn\'t the only hiss. The crotch of her pants was soaked. As she increased her rhythm and vigor, she tingled. And with the help of an exercise she hadn\'t used in months, with no physical contact, she came as his semen coated her mouth.

She could only pant.

She returned from the hidden depths and kissed him slowly. He sighed as their lips met. Hermione loved him more than ever. Only moments before the sun rose behind them, she insisted that she return to her own sleeper. He held on to her as she tried to pull away. She reminded him that they didn\'t need to garner notice. He said no one in the world could not notice her. She kissed him sweetly for that.

It took Hermione a month to learn the accent. Even her English was affected, purposely so. She tanned, her hair lightened in the sun, she made friends of locals. In a month, she could have passed for a native Brazilian. Draco couldn\'t blend so easily. She assured him that there were plenty of blond European families hiding here and that no one would suspect he was anything but that--the grandson of a German dissident. He nodded and reflected on the association quietly; Hermione knew that he deserved more than that. Only three months after they arrived, they moved on.

Dirty hands weren\'t far behind them. It wouldn\'t be the last time that Draco\'s pride saved them.