Who Trumps Who?

This was written in response to the following prompt challenge on Owl Post: Malfoy hated the stupid freckled freak. And so he decided to take away the one thing Weasley had that people were jealous of.

My premise in writing this was "Patience is a virtue, especially when it involves revenge." It's a bit dark for me, I'll admit, but I feel Draco is very canon and lives up to his Slytherin heritage to the fullest. Look forward to your thoughts.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, t_stevenson. If you want to see the banner by draconis23, go to: http://i601.photobucket.com/albums/tt99/margaritaabate/WhoTrumpsWho.jpg

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It was a well-known fact throughout the Wizarding world that Malfoys hated Weasleys, and Weasleys hated Malfoys, based on general principle alone.

It all began ages ago.

If one bothered, they could trace the rift back several generations. Some ancestral uncle insulted some ancestral cousin, fight broke out, curses and hexes flew; familial feud established. Blah, blah, blah.

Draco Malfoy could care less. Truth be told, he didn’t think the Weasley family was all that bad. So they procreated like rabbits? So they didn’t have two Knuts to rub together and wore hand me down clothing? It didn’t affect him; therefore, he didn’t deign to give it all that much attention.

While at Hogwarts, he found the twins’ pranks rather amusing. It was with a modicum of respectful sadness and surprising sense of loss that prompted him to send an anonymous arrangement of flowers to Fred Weasley’s funeral after the war, rather similar to when a well-known personality passes.

Everyone, including the Weasleys, despised Percy. The idiot was an uptight, pompous, self-inflated git. Not surprising really, he had been like that at Hogwarts. He didn’t really know Bill or Charlie, although he found their professions intriguing and somewhat cool.

As for the youngest Weasley, well, she was quite the pretty little bird and he’d fuck her in a heartbeat, if ever given the chance. Of course, Blaise would likely kill him, so Draco wouldn’t actually attempt to lay a hand on the bint while she was involved with his best mate.

Finally, there was Ronald Weasley.

Draco didn’t hate the oaf because it was ingrained in his DNA due to a centuries old feud. No, he hated the youngest male Weasley because The Weasel was a self-righteous, smarmy, asinine, idiotic and bumbling mess of specimen. He didn’t even deserve to be called a Wizard.

The earliest memory he could recall of The Weasel was at age seven.

His father had arranged for Draco and some of his closest mates to attend the World Quidditch Cup. It was the last day of the event; the Vratsa Vultures were playing the Chudley Cannons. All week, they’d been enjoying a luxurious tent in a prime spot designated to his father. They watched the game from their exclusive box seats and Draco was thoroughly relishing the entire experience along with his two best mate’s families, Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott.

In between the games, while relaxing in their tent, Draco asked his father if he, Blaise and Theo could venture out and explore a bit. After promising not to go too far, they strolled off down the thoroughfares taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the venue. Vendor carts hawking wares from team shirts to charmed pins to spinning hats were all lined up along the edge of the stadium next to portable stalls overflowing with food. The air was ripe with the scent of minced pie, doughnuts, kebabs, fish and chips, hot parched peas, roasted nuts, candy floss and ice cream.

It was a wonderland for three young boys who were happily indulging in all the treats being offered.

Draco, Blaise and Theo were just beginning to enjoy some sweet candy floss and Curling Caramels purchased from the Honeyduke’s cart, when Draco was violently bumped. He lost his footing, causing him to fall hard onto the ground, his bag of candy spilling everywhere.

“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy!” A high malicious voice growled out.

Draco looked up into the hate twisted face of a boy his own age. The boy had flaming red hair, a gazillion freckles splattered across his face and piercing blue eyes. Draco noticed the clenched hands at the sides of his shabby, and obvious, second-hand robes.

Jumping up quickly, Draco’s anger bubbled up. Who was this boy who had the audacity to smash into him? “Watch where I’m going? Who do you think you are? You bumped into me, on purpose.”

Draco was livid. He had no clue as to the identity of this boy, who clearly knew Draco – at least by sight. Granted, the Malfoys were always in The Daily Prophet but Draco hated feeling at a disadvantage towards this freckled freak.

Theo and Blaise stepped up so they were now flanking Draco, ready to take on the stranger but Draco motioned for them to stay back. This little idiot was his! No one – and he meant no one – messed with Draco Malfoy!

Straightening his shoulders and drawing to his full seven-year old height, the blond boy eyed the other menacingly. “I don’t know who you are, but you’d better move along.”

The red-haired boy glared back, giving him a dirty look from head to toe. “I’m Ronald Weasley and you don’t own the place, Malfoy. I can be here if I bloody well want.”

Draco smirked. Oh, this one would be easy to rile. Draco had no clue as to what he’d done to make an enemy of this boy but he had a talent for honing in on other’s weaknesses. This boy’s was clear – he was jealous of Draco’s wealth. “Sorry, Weasel did you say? Well, Weasel, I may not own the place but I could buy it if I wanted. Judging by your looks, you’d be lucky to be able to afford a Sugar Quill. I’d make you replace the treats you made me drop but I doubt you have a single Knut in your holey pocket.”

Blaise and Theo chuckled behind Draco as he continued to verbally attack ‘The Weasel’, as he’d now dubbed the boy in his mind. “Got a problem with me, then? Something you want to say? Well, I would say that I care but I don’t. You’re a nobody – a poor nobody. Hey, since you’ve got no money, go ahead and help yourself to the candy on the ground. You can wipe the dirt off before you eat it; then again you’re probably used to being dirty, considering your smell.”

He watched as The Weasel’s face flared as red as his hair. He looked ready to combust. It always amazed Draco how mere words could inflame and aggravate others – it was a skill his father possessed and one that he longed to perfect.

Laughing along with his two best mates, Draco turned to walk away when a rock hit his face. He howled in pain and brought his hand to his cheek. Shocked, Draco turned and looked into the smug face of one Ronald Weasley and saw only red. Without further thought he rushed the red-head and rammed him right into a fruit cart.

Chaos ensued. Punches were thrown, kicks were leveled, and tearing of robes resulted from the violent fight between the two boys. All onlookers could see were flashes of fiery red and blinding white as neither boy gave an inch, refusing to let up in their unrelenting onslaught upon flesh and bone.

Draco was in a state of unrelenting fury when he felt himself being pried and pulled from Ronald Weasley’s body. Draco had triumphantly finally managed to pin Weasel to the ground and was steadily pummeling him with both fists.

“DRACO!”

Savagely trying to escape the grip of whoever was holding him back, Draco ignored his name.

“DRACO ABRAXAS MALFOY!”

Draco ceased his struggles and looked up into the nearly expressionless face of his father. Breathing heavily and wincing from the pain inflicted on his body and face, Draco silently straightened himself and shook the dirt off from his, now, filthy robes. He followed his father’s grey gaze to see The Weasel still on his knees, two twin boys trying to help him stand but he just shook his head as he struggled to his feet on his own.

Draco smirked maliciously when he saw the other boy’s swollen and bleeding lip, the gash across his left cheek, torn robes and bruised knuckles. Flexing his own fists, Draco relished the fresh wave of satisfying pain it brought.

A tall, lanky red-headed older man made his way through the crowd to the boy struggling to his feet, probably his father. The man glanced up and strode towards Lucius Malfoy, who stood in unconscious grace, one hand resting on Draco’s shoulder while his other hand held his ever present snake-headed cane.

“Lucius,” he nodded.

“Arthur,” replied Lucius. Draco knew that tone, he sounded calm and collected, but Draco could detect the dangerous sliver of anger.

The man called Arthur flicked his eyes towards Draco. “Are you all right, young man?” he asked Draco, not too harshly.

Draco nodded curtly after shifting his eyes to his father for a silent assent.

The man named Arthur turned back towards Lucius, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Seems our boys got into a bit of a ruck.”

“It would appear.” Draco felt his father’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Well, not sure who started it but it would seem both boys are . . .”

Blaise stepped up to Lucius. “Sir, the other boy started it. He bumped into Draco on purpose then threw a rock at him.”

“There are other witnesses, if you don’t believe us,” Theo added quickly.

Lucius remained in quiet contemplation for a moment. “I believe you.” He turned back to Arthur. “I think we should just end this little demonstration of youthful hi-jinxes, Arthur.”

By now, another young man, also with red hair Draco noticed with disgust, had joined the adults with The Weasel firmly in hand. “Father, it appears Ron did start the fight.” He said this through clenched teeth.

Draco smirked smugly.

Arthur sighed wearily, “Thank you, Charlie.” He looked at Lucius. “It would seem Ron owes your boy an apology.”

Lucius smiled predatorily. “No need, Arthur. However, I would appreciate you speaking with your son about attacking other children without just cause. Have a good evening.” Nodding slightly, he turned to leave. “Draco?”

For Draco, it was as if time stood still. He stared long and hard at Ronald Weasley avowing his hatred of him right then and there. Exhaling a breath, the younger Malfoy took two steps back before sneering and then swirling on his heel to join his father and two friends.

On the walk back to their tent, Lucius sent Theo and Blaise to purchase more sweets to replenish the lost treasure now lying trampled in the dirt.

Lucius spoke first. “Draco, are you all right?”

Draco merely nodded stoically.

“You mustn’t allow others to bring you down to their level, son.” His father’s voice was soft and tinged with concern.

Everyone assumed his father was evil, unfeeling and money-hungry. Draco knew his father was a feared man and looked upon with suspicion because he had once followed the Dark Lord. But in private, he was very different – he was a warm, loving husband and doting father.

Despite how the Wizarding world perceived Lucius Malfoy, Draco knew his father loved him. “Remember, you’re a Malfoy and a Malfoy doesn’t brawl on the ground like a common Muggle.”

Lucius raise his hand as Draco was about to speak for the first time. “No need to defend yourself. I know you didn’t start the fight. Nonetheless, as your father, I need to remind you of who you are and how you should behave. Now, your mother’s going to fuss, so let her. She’ll give you the same lecture I just did, and you’ll allow it.”

“However, just between us boys . . .” Slowing his gait slightly to match his father’s, now, languid stride, Draco watched a small smile creep on to his father’s lips. Both Malfoys stopped just outside the entrance to their tent and Lucius stared down at his son, his eyes shining with pride. “I hope you taught that little bitzer a lesson he won’t soon forget. Don’t ever let him get the best of you. Malfoys trump Weasleys, any day.”

Draco never forgot that incident or lesson. From that moment on, he loathed Ron Weasley with every fiber of his being. He vowed to never let that freckled plank get the best of him, at anything.

Only Malfoys deserved the best.

And over the next four years, whenever their paths crossed, trouble followed. Ron Weasley was always the instigator. He enjoyed trying to push Draco around, physically. Draco never retaliated, his father’s words echoing in his mind.

There was the time he tripped Draco at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Draco said nothing.

Another time, The Weasal ambushed and pushed Draco as he was existing Flourish & Botts. The blond recalled hitting the pavement with a crack. Draco did nothing.

Small little things like this would occur throughout the years, yet Draco always held back. But what stood out in his mind was the spring just prior to leaving for Hogwarts.

Draco was showing his newly purchased pet snake to Blaise in front of the Magical Menagerie. Draco was holding the small reptile and just as he was going to pass it to Blaise, it was plucked from his hands. There stood The Weasel with his new pet. He had taunted and dangled the helpless creature until someone called his name. Deliberately keeping his eyes on Draco, he tossed the little snake into the busy cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

With a cry, Draco darted out to try and stop him, and then rushed to the spot where he saw the snake land. Time seemed to have ceased in the instant Draco reached his pet. Lying in the dirty street, broken, trampled and dead was his new beloved pet.

And it was at that very moment Draco Malfoy swore vengeance on Ronald Weasley.

He didn’t know when, he didn’t know how but Draco knew he would trump The Weasel, some day.

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“That fucking shite! I swear I’m going to murder him!”

A twenty-four year-old Draco Malfoy threw another glass against the wall shattering it into tiny splinters. He made his way towards one of the heavier high-backed chairs in his study to pick it up and throw through one of the floor to ceiling windows when Blaise blocked him.

“Stop it, Draco! You’re mother’s going to be beside herself when she sees this mess.”

At the mention of his mother, Draco seemed to lose steam. He paused in mid-rant and stood as still as a statue in the middle of the destroyed study. He took inventory of his rage. Shards of glass covered the walls and floor, books where piled and thrown everywhere, the contents of his desk along with the splintered drawers strewn around the room, parchment, quills and ink lay scattered at his feet and remnants of the shantung silk draperies hung in shredded tatters.

Merlin, his mother was going to kill him.

Draco dropped to his knees. “Fuck! Blaise, what am I going to do?” The young Malfoy heir never showed weakness to anyone, except to those closest to him.

Since the war ended, he had been resolved to restore the Malfoy name to its respectful splendor through honest hard work, philanthropy and positive deeds – all to repair his family’s tarnished image. Never mind the fact the Wizarding world staunchly ignored not only his mother’s saving of Harry Potter at Voldemort’s feet but his father’s spying for the Order of the Phoenix alongside his godfather, Severus Snape. The two men he loved and respected most in the world had perished in that war, leaving he and his mother behind grieving their loss.

Draco had also served as a spy during the war, assisting his father as much as he could. In the final battle, he’d not only saved Neville Longbottom from a very nasty hex that would have severed his nervous system but he’d fought alongside the fiery Hermione Granger, herself. Draco was also instrumental in swaying a handful of older Slytherins to the Order’s side including Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Greg Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode.

“Get up, Draco. Come on, mate.” Blaise leaned down and helped his friend stand. “Meena.”

At the mention of the name, a small pop was heard and there stood a tiny little female house-elf. “Masters, oh my! The messes. Meena cleans the messes.”

“Meena, thank you. Please do clean this up. I’m taking Master Draco to his suite, upstairs.” Blaise nodded at the elf and proceeded to guide his friend out the door and up the stairs of the newly renovated Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa and Draco had the entire Manor gutted and redone, removing all traces of Voldemort’s presence and taint. Just another effort, on their part, to show the world they were on the path of atonement. And were it not for the underhandedness of Ronald Weasley, the Malfoy’s could very well be enjoying a much more peaceful existence.

Ronald Weasley seemed to have made it his life’s mission to make the Malfoy family miserable.

Now an Auror, he had taken it upon himself to conduct investigations on former Death Eater families. For some reason, he targeted Narcissa Malfoy. Weasley would show up at the Manor during her tea parties, dinners with friends or when she was merely gardening. He would barge in with a list of dark artifacts claiming he had every reason to suspect the objects were housed in the Manor. The bastard would ramshackle their home, upsetting and embarrassing his mother, who’s health was shaky at best these days. The accusations were all bollocks, of course.

The harassment started while at Grimmauld Place, in the early days before the final battle. Weasley was the only one who had looked at Draco and his family with derision and suspicion after they defected and risked their lives to help the Order. The Weasel went out of his way to constantly humiliate Draco and his parents with snide comments and accusations, mumbling ‘Death Eater’ whenever they walked by or casting sly insults. It reached the point that even Hermione Granger finally had enough of Weasley’s taunts and jinxed his mouth shut. She’d reached the end of her tether with his immature and childish ways.

It was that very act which led to Hermione and Draco’s unlikely truce and beginning of a, somewhat, tentative friendship. She was the first person to speak to him upon returning to Hogwarts, after the war. Naturally, she’d made Head Girl while he was only a Prefect but she went out of her way to work with him when no one else would. Others shunned him but she was kind. Over the years, they’d continued to be friendly. The unexpected side benefit of their friendship was it irked the red-headed incompetent arse-face to no end, making Draco smile.

Truth be told, Draco found the little Muggle-born lovely, interesting and intelligent. She was sexy in an understated way, not flashy but subtle with a fresh-faced beauty that put most other women to shame. Unfortunately, she was dating The Weasel, a point that made Draco cringe in nausea. Draco refrained from making any romantic moves. He didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship, not to mention he was overwhelmed with managing his family estate and doing as much as he could on behalf of the Malfoy name. But at night, she was a constant ethereal presence in his dreams.

Now, years after the war, she was still with The Weasel, who had yet to propose. She was living with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, in a large flat in the residential section of Diagon Alley. Draco saw her occasionally at the Ministry where she worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She spent the bulk of her time on research and re-writing laws, petitions, articles and bills. She was quite influential in Ministry politics and was a regular figure at the dinners, galas and other important, high-profile events. More often than not, she attended them alone. She offered numerous excuses for her poor excuse of a boyfriend’s absence at these functions.

Draco had never wanted a single thing The Weasel had, except for Hermione Granger. She was worth her weight in gold, diamonds and just about every other precious jewel he could think of, and she was far too good for the uncouth and ill-mannered Ron Weasley.

In the meantime, Ron the berk Weasley was slowly trying to destroy everything Draco had built. Draco had gone directly to the Minister regarding the harassment at The Weasel’s hands. Kingsley promised it would stop. Apparently, Weasel had been going rogue on his little endeavors to Wiltshire and failed to mention his ‘visits’ to his superiors. True to his word, Kingsley had gone straight to Remus Lupin, head of the Aurors. Weasel had his hands slapped when he should have been suspended. Indeed, had it been anyone else but Harry Potter’s best friend, they would have gotten sacked.

The harassment ceased for a short period. Until Blaise began dating Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter started seeing Pansy Parkinson. It had been Granger who immediately noticed the sparks between the two and had done a subtle bit of matchmaking. The downside was now suddenly Weasel would be at the same public venues as Narcissa or Draco. He would make snide, rude comments loud enough to be heard not only by Draco and his mother but all within hearing range.

Sometimes, he would try to pick a fight with Draco, who would inevitably sneer and walk away from the confrontation, reminding himself he wanted Malfoy to be a respected name. Hermione had been witness to one occasion when Weasel had purposely spilled a pitcher of hot butterbeer all over Draco at the Leaky Cauldron. She had been shocked and mortified, apologizing to Draco before dragging Ron out of the pub. Pausing at the door, she turned to give Draco one last look of remorse before disappearing into the night.

Weasley’s latest stunt landed Narcissa in St. Mungo’s. The stress caused her to collapse. The Weasel spied her having lunch with Blaise’s mother, Mirza, in Diagon Alley. Just as Narcissa was giving Mirza a small box, he had rushed in, wand in hand. Without explanations, he attempted to force both older witches to accompany him to the Ministry for questioning about the contents of the ‘suspicious’ package. Narcissa suffered a minor stroke in the middle of the restaurant and was rushed to St. Mungo’s Hospital.

Draco was at the hospital in an instant. He couldn’t believe the git would ever cross this line and actually drive his mother to her near deathbed. Upon returning to the Manor, Draco proceeded to destroy everything in sight.

Blaise had shown up just in the nick of time.

Arriving at Draco’s suite of rooms in the East Wing of the Manor, Blaise led him through the doors and let his friend slump onto the couch. With the flick of his wand, Blaise lit the massive fireplace and then went over to pour them both two fingers of Ogden’s Old Reserve.

Handing the glass to Draco, Blaise spoke sternly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Blinking, Draco looked up at his friend in surprise. “Pardon?”

Sitting across from the blond man, the dark-skinned Slytherin continued in an even but stern measured tone. “I said, what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re sitting here taking this shite from Ron Weasley, of all people? He’s fucking running all over you, mate, and you’re taking it. You’re allowing it. And I don’t want to hear that he’s an Auror because that’s just an excuse. Stop making excuses and get that wanker. Your mother’s lying in St. Mungo’s because of him. Do you think your father would have allowed this?”

Rising to protest, Blaise stopped him with a single finger. “No. Listen. You’ve been working so hard to restore your name and do the right thing and where has that gotten you? Look at yourself, Draco. You’re alone; you do all you can to please the Wizarding world and where has that gotten you? What do you have to show for it?”

Blaise took a swig of his drink. “Weasley has everything: the job, the war recognition, the respect and, oh yes, the girl.” Narrowing his eyes, he leaned forward. “I’ve seen how you look at her. You want her. It’s quite amusing, actually, to see you so enthralled. But here’s the rub, my friend, what’s stopping you?”

Draco didn’t say a word; he merely stared at his friend.

Taking another sip, Blaise kept adding fuel to the embers of what was slowly turning into a very heated blaze and, eventual, roaring bonfire. “Where’s the Draco Malfoy who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted? Just because Voldemort is dead, doesn’t mean we’re not at war, Draco. Our war is a bit different; it’s a war about respect. Why do you think I pursued Ginny, so methodically? The same for Pansy with Potter?”

That caught Draco’s attention. “I thought you cared for the girl. And Pansy always had a crush on Potter, you know that.”

“Oh, Draco,” his friend chuckled. “Where’s your inner Slytherin? Of course, I care for Ginny, I bloody well love her. And Pansy’s head over heels for Potter. However, don’t you think we both knew what winning them would mean? Respect, mate. I don’t give a flying fuck about blood but I care about my name, and Zabini will be a name to be venerated and valued.”

Taking a slow sip, Blaise looked at the fire. “Can you imagine the regard you would have if the gorgeous Granger were on your arm, instead of Weasley’s?” He turned to give his friend a hard stare. “He doesn’t deserve her, you know it and I know it.”

Silent, Draco’s mind began whirling, plans were formulating, wheels set in motion; a long-dormant part of him slowly began to wake up.

Seeing his friend’s reaction, Blaise pressed on. “Destroy that little fucker, ground him into the dirt. Take the one good thing he has in his life. Think of the suffering and agony and jealousy he’ll feel every time he sees her on your arm. Imagine the fury he’d feel knowing you’re fucking her good and hard, she’s begging for you, calling your name over and over as she comes. You deserve her, Draco. Malfoys only get the best and Hermione Granger is the best. More importantly, you’ll get Ron Weasley where it hurts the most.”

By this point, Draco was smiling evilly. His thoughts alive with the layout of a plan to make Ron Weasley suffer in a way he’d never suffered before.

Smirking, Blaise delivered the final blow. “You’re Draco Malfoy, aren’t you? Do what you do best. Be Draco Malfoy.”

“Owl Theo and Pansy, tell them to get over here, now. That little freak is going to wish he never crossed me.” Downing his drink in one fell swoop, Draco grinned maliciously. “Hermione Granger is mine.”

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“Malfoy?”

The soft, feminine voice caused Draco to turn and drink in the sight before him. Petite yet curvy, mahogany curls tinged with golden-honey highlights framed a heart-shaped face; she was the epitome of loveliness. Draco towered over the tiny witch and he could barely contain his thoughts of having her writhing under him. He pulled himself together to greet her; concern clearly etched in every line of her delicious body, Hermione Granger strolled up to him clutching a piece of parchment.

“I came as soon as I received your owl. How is she?”

Though part of him felt a twinge of guilt at using his mother’s collapse to lure the lovely brunette into his trap, Draco knew that his mother would approve. Narcissa actually met with Hermione once a week to review the existing laws that favored Pure-bloods to assist in revising them. His mother noticed his interest in Hermione and pushed him to pursue her. Well, she was getting her wish, ten-fold. “Thank you for coming. She’s resting. She likes you, you know.”

Smiling shyly, Hermione shrugged. “She’s very helpful in my work.” Suddenly serious, she asked him point blank, “What happened?”

‘Show time,’ Draco thought.

Sighing dramatically, he turned away. “You don’t want to hear this, Granger.”

“Of course, I do. Ron said she just fainted and he called the Healers at once. He said it was a good thing he was nearby to help.” She placed a small hand on his arm.

Controlling his temper, Draco seethed inwardly but outwardly portrayed a hurt demeanor. “Is that what he told you? I can’t believe he actually admitted to being there. Doesn’t surprise me, of course, he wouldn’t tell you the truth.”

“What truth?” Hermione walked around to look up into Draco’s handsome face. Wide chocolate eyes stared up at him. “What truth? Tell me.”

Looking at her, Draco raised one hand and let his fingers caress her cheek. Expecting her to pull away, he was pleased when she closed her eyes and shivered. Well, that was quite an interesting reaction. Could it be his little Muggle-born wanted him? How serendipitous, indeed. The Weasel was never going to know what hit him.

Taking a deep breath, allowing his voice to break at just the right moments, he let tears shine in his eyes; as he detailed the truth behind his mother’s trip to St. Mungo’s. When he came to the point of her collapse, he deliberately sought Hermione’s hand for support. He noticed how she held onto him with one hand then reached up with the other to push the fringe from his face.

He fought the urge to jump in glee.

She listened to him with empathy; all the while he could sense her anger growing as understanding dawned about Weasel’s role in Narcissa’s condition. “I had no idea. Ron told me he stopped harassing you and your mother. He promised me he would leave you alone. This is despicable. No one deserves this. Gods, that man can’t stay true to his word.”

‘Can’t stay true to his word’ – interesting. Of course, it wasn’t surprising The Weasel was untrustworthy.

A carefully formed frown marred his features. “I don’t care about myself. Its mother, her health isn’t what it used to be.” He took a deep calculated sigh. “I know she looks forward to seeing you every week; she finds your work meaningful and important.”

“Oh, my work. She’s integral to it.” Hermione closed her eyes and then opened them, shaking her head. “I’ll have to put it on hold until she’s better.”

Pressing his lips together to stop from smirking, Draco spoke softly, “I could help . . . I’m not Mother but I’m quite familiar with those laws you’re working on as well as Ministry politics.”

“Really?” Hermione looked grateful and relieved. “That would be fantastic. But you’d need to catch up on our project and then meet with me weekly. I know you’re busy with your own work, do you really think you have the time?”

“Granger, this is important work you’re conducting. One that impacts the entire Wizarding society, I think I can make the time.” He paused, schooling his voice into an innocent tone. “In fact, I’d like to suggest that we meet in the evenings to review how far you’ve progressed and plot out how I can help.”

Excited, Hermione smiled. “That’s a wonderful idea. Where would you like to meet?”

“I was thinking my study, at Malfoy Manor, at six o’clock every evening. At least until I’m caught up and we’ve outlined next steps. We can work in peace and quiet. I’m sure we can accomplish a lot in very short amount of time.”

“Mr. Malfoy.” The voice of the Healer interrupted their conversation. “Your mother is asking for you, sir.”

Draco stood up and muttered a ‘thank you’; he proceeded to his mother’s room. “Coming, Granger? She would love to see you.”

“Yes, of course.” Grinning, Hermione took hold of his arm.

His plan was executing swimmingly.

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


Draco was nothing, if not patient. Over the next three months, Draco unrolled his plan into full effect.

He had Pansy prod and ply Hermione with information about Draco, while playing up his positive attributes. Pansy made sure to speak highly of him in Potter’s presence, to soften him up – to help give Draco a bit of an edge. It always helped to have Potter on the winning side.

Blaise planted the seed with Ginny that Draco was slightly infatuated with the Muggle-born witch and was going out of his way to show Hermione what a good man he was. Though she was Weasel’s sister, Blaise confided to Draco that Ginny was a romantic at heart and, in innocent fun, would undoubtedly drop the hint to Hermione about Draco’s ‘interest’.

Theo was digging up as much as he could on The Weasel. He memorized and reported on his schedule, where he went, who he saw and what he did. Draco wanted the most opportune moment to plant certain evidence and destroy the git’s career. Ironically, it was discovered during this little investigation that Weasel had a standing appointment with one Ms. Lavender Brown every Thursday afternoon. They would meet for lunch then walk to the Leaky Cauldron and disappear into Muggle London. To the casual observer, it seemed like two friends merely having a good time, but to Draco it was crystal clear the arse was getting a bit on the side. Oh, yes, Weasel was definitely not keeping his word.

Draco noticed a slight change in Hermione’s body language whenever he brought up Weasel’s name. She would stiffen and mumble she didn’t wish to discuss Ron. Draco wanted to dance for joy – a vulnerable, upset Hermione Granger would pave his way much more easily. While she was a formidable witch with considerable power, Hermione’s one weakness was her own low self-esteem and lack of belief in her own beauty.

When he had her, he’d fuck her daily to ensure she always felt wanted and never doubt her own appeal again. Perhaps, he’d send the memories to Weasel as a little gift.

Thoughts like these were simmering in the dark recesses of his mind, nightly. Late at night in his study, he indulged in one particular fantasy where his future bride was riding him hard while Weasel was bound, gagged and forced to watch. It would end with Draco reveling in the post-coital aftermath, muttering a simple spell slicing the stupid berk’s cock clean off before having his Gryffindor princess suck Draco off while Weasel screamed. It was during moments like this when Draco felt there was merit to having dreams come true.

A gentle feminine voice broke through his reverie. “Pleasant thoughts, Draco?”

“Mother, what are you doing out of bed? The Healers said you needed your rest.” He quickly rose to help her to one of the settees in the room.

Narcissa had been released after a two week stay in St. Mungo’s. Hermione had visited her everyday, with Draco at her side. Though her health was much improved, she wasn’t fully recovered. He knew his mother suspected he was up to something regarding Hermione but never said anything. Undoubtedly, she was pleased.

“So, were you thinking about Ms. Granger?” There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Draco laughed, “Honestly, Mother. Granger and I are merely friends.”

“Really? Is that why she’s here nearly every evening? Is that why she lights up whenever you’re around? The girl is in love with you, Draco. When are you going to do something about it? I know you want her, I’m wondering what you’re waiting for. You’ve got a little plotting going on, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Sitting cross-legged, opposite his mother, Draco shrugged. “You were always way too perceptive.” He knew she was waiting for him to elaborate. “Yes, I’m pursuing Granger, in my own way. In a very short amount of time, she’ll be mine and Weasel will have nothing. No friends, no job, no respect, no Hermione.”

A very deliberate, wide and genuine smile graced Narcissa’s face. “Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to lose faith you’d forgotten who you were. You’re a Malfoy. Malfoys trump Weasleys, any day.”

Draco stared at his mother, his smile mirroring hers. “Quite right, Mother.”

“I do so like Hermione, as well. I’m quite pleased; she’ll not only restore our family honor but I think she’ll make you very happy. Nicely done, darling. Now, help me back to my room.”

**********************************************
It began innocuously. No one could ever have foreseen Ronald Weasley’s downward spiral.

First, it was an anonymous inquiry into past cases. Rumors of planted evidence, abuse of power and forceful harassment hung over the young Auror like a dark cloud. Over the course of a week, a simple inquiry had become a full blown inquest.

During this time, he lost his best friend when it came to light the red-head was blackmailing Pansy Parkinson. A private Gringott’s account full of Galleons was unearthed under his name. Pansy tearfully admitted she allowed it under fear of her family’s name being besmirched further, as he had done with the Malfoys, and losing Harry. She confessed the cad had tried to elicit sexual favors from her and it was the catalyst which finally broke her down into seeking Harry’s help, hoping he would believe her. Harry’s response was quick and decisive. He severed all ties with Ron, refusing to speak to him.

But that wasn’t all. Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Adrian Pucey, Marcus Flint, to name a few, all came forward claiming Weasley had been blackmailing them for years. He was trying to punish them for being Pure-bloods, the hypocritical irony of Weasley being a Pure-blood was not lost on the gossip-loving Wizarding world.

It was a domino effect after that. A pregnant Lavender Brown publicly claimed Ronald Weasley was the father of her unborn child. The shock of his infidelity to the paragon of all Muggle-borns, Hermione Granger, was the final nail in his coffin. A tearful Lavender made the front page of The Daily Prophet under the damning headline “He Wanted Me to Kill Our Baby!”

The Weasley family was horrified and ashamed at the actions of their youngest son, proclaiming they tried raising him to be a good and kind man. They took in Lavender Brown as no grandchild of theirs would go unloved and unclaimed. Ron was banned from attending Sunday dinners at The Burrow; his mother couldn’t abide to look at him since his refusal to acknowledge his own child. Until he did so, he was not welcome. He resorted to staying in a dingy hotel in Knockturn Alley after coming home to his flat and having his landlord kick him out stating he wanted no criminals in the building.

In the midst of the melee, Draco became Hermione’s knight in shining armor. He shielded her from prying reporters, escorted her to and from her home, offered her comfort and solace for her tears, listened to her rants and, in essence, made himself indispensable. She came to rely on him, seeking his advice and general thoughts. She confided that her relationship with Ron had been rocky for some time, particularly after finding a lipstick stained robe one evening after going to his flat. He had denied any illicit affairs but she distanced herself from him after that, eyeing him with suspicion. Eventually, they had stopped having sex, their relationship in name only.

Hermione was horrified when Pansy had admitted the blackmailing. She didn’t want to believe it but the evidence was formidable and damning. Then there were the memories themselves.

Pansy submitted to a round of Legilimens and what they found in her mind was disgusting – Ron attempting to force himself on Pansy. Fortunately, she managed to push him off and hex him. Her fear of him was palpable. It explained why Pansy left the flat whenever he was expected and why she would tense at the mention of his name.

Draco had done his best to soothe Hermione’s guilt-ridden tears.

Ronald Weasley was a monster. At least that’s how The Daily Prophet painted him. He fervently denied any wrong doing, attempted rape, blackmail and illegal procedures in case work. When it came to Lavender Brown, he denied knowledge of her pregnancy despite the numerous returned owls and memories the pregnant woman presented.

Weasley fought to maintain his innocence, particularly when faced with the threat of Azkaban.

Of course, no one believed him. And why would they? Draco had paid to guarantee that every single accusation was true. Granted some were factual, others were border line, at best, but what did it matter? The Weasel had it coming for years. It was amazing what a few dark spells, Polyjuice Potion, calling in a few favors and lots of Galleons could accomplish.

And the best part? None of it could be traced back to Draco. He could just sit back, watch the unraveling of Ronald Weasley’s life with malicious glee and, oh, yes, get the girl.

**********************************************
“Sweet, you need to eat something.” Draco sipped his wine and watched the curly-haired woman toy with her food.

It was two months after exposing Ronald Weasley, and nearly a year since Draco set his plan into motion. As was her custom, Hermione was having dinner with him and his mother at Malfoy Manor. She sometimes spent the night and had her own set of rooms near Draco’s in the East Wing.

Narcissa clucked motherly. “Yes, Hermione darling. You need to keep your strength up.”

With a wan smile, Hermione nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. Ron’s sentencing was difficult, today. I still can’t believe he did those things. I feel as if I didn’t know him, at all”

“Hermione, he fooled everyone. Clearly, the fame got to his ego and he placed himself above the law. Be thankful you found out, now.” Narcissa spoke gently, glancing at Draco with guarded eyes.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione looked up. “Five years in Azkaban is going to destroy him.”

The tiny witch missed Draco’s smile hidden behind his wine glass as she continued. “But look at those he hurt. I feel terrible for his family, for Lavender and that little baby, for Pansy – so many people. And he still refused to admit to his machinations. He wouldn’t take responsibility.”

Draco spoke quietly, “And you, sweet. He hurt you most of all. He betrayed you in the most heinous way by taking your trust and abusing it. I’m sorry; I know you still care for him.” His face was careful façade of concern.

He didn’t miss the flicker of confusion in Hermione’s eyes at his last statement. Biting her lip, she nodded slightly and resumed eating.

Leaning forward, Narcissa took hold of the younger witch’s hand. “Hermione, spend the week here at the Manor, dear. It’s been a trying day, you shouldn’t be alone. I’ll ask one of the house-elves to collect Crookshanks, I’ll even pay them overtime.”

Hermione chuckled at that statement. Hermione knew her S.P.E.W. campaign was futile as house-elves didn’t want to be liberated but she still fought to ensure they were treated properly. Narcissa was a champion in that regard. The two women enjoyed sharing quiet, silly jokes – Narcissa teased Hermione about S.P.E.W. and Hermione teased Narcissa about playing lady of the manor.

A knowing little grin on her lips, the older woman pressed further. “I think Draco has a new stack of books that he’d like to share with you.”

With a dramatic sigh, Draco interjected. “Mother, please don’t put push. If Granger doesn’t want to stay, she doesn’t have too. I’m sure we can look . . .”

“Oh, no, Dra . . . Malfoy. I would love to stay the week. And I would love to see your new books.” She was blushing furiously.

“They’re in my private library in my suite; we’ll go up after dinner, yes?”

She nodded shyly, he smiled devilishly.

**********************************************
He studied her. She was leaning against the wall of his library, thumbing through one of his books. He could read her so well now and knew she was going to speak soon.

“Malfoy?”

“Yes?”

Taking a deep breath, she continued to peruse the book in her hand. She was tentative and nervous. “Why do you think I still care for Ron?”

And so it begins. “Don’t you?”

“No. I mean, yes, but not like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well . . . you know, romantically.”

“Ah, I see. And who do you like? You know . . . romantically?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t”

“Yes, you do.”

“Put that book down and get over here.” He waited. “Now, Granger.”

She smiled seductively at him. “No. You come here, Malfoy.”

Setting his wine glass down, he stalked her. He placed his hands alongside her mass of curls and caged her in with his six foot frame. “Here I am . . . Hermione. So, who do you . . . like, romantically?”

A lovely shade of pink blossomed on her cheeks. “You know.”

“Say it.” He edged closer.

He could see her breathing speed up, the pulse in her neck began to beat madly and her skin flushed at his close proximity. “You, Draco. I think it’s always been you.”

Leaning down, his lips ghosted lightly over hers. “No more games. I’m tired of waiting.”

The soft thud of the book falling to the ground was followed by her small hands tangling themselves in his hair. He was kissing her savagely. Tasting and branding her as his. After tonight, she would be his. He lifted her and pressed her body against the shelves, pushing up her robes and digging his hands into her flesh.

He heard her hiss then moan. He kissed his way to her ear, nipping it gently. “Do you want me?”

She ground her hips into him in response.

“No, I want to hear you say it. Tell me you want me, Hermione.” He held her fast.

Breathless and sweet, her voice floated through his hazy fog. “I want you, Draco.”

Draco was hard and ready but he wouldn’t take her like this the first time. However, he did want to play. Grinding his cock into her already wet knickers, he whispered naughty, dirty words to his little wanton girl. “You know I’m going to fuck you hard, don’t you? You’ll never have it so good. I’m going to pound that sweet, tight pussy and brand you with my cock. Make you come again and again. You’ll belong to me, and only me, after tonight. I’m going to fuck that arsehole from your memory.” He thrust into her sharply to make his point. “Do. You. Understand.

“Mmm . . . yes.”

He bit her lip. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Draco.” Her hands tugged at his robes, trying to remove them.

Grabbing her wrists, he held her as he walked her to his bedroom, tossing her on the bed. He ripped off her robes and gave no thought to the lacey lingerie; his only thought was to get her naked. Quickly shucking his clothing, he smiled eyeing her nude form sprawled across his bed. A sensual feast spread out just for him.

“Are you wet for me, Hermione? Spread those legs and let me see how wet I make you? I know you like bad boys, don’t you, sweet?” Crawling up towards her, he smiled predatorily. “Guess what? I’m a very, very, very bad boy.”

She could only moan in response, her hands clawing at his skin. Draco ran his hands over her searing form. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? How I’ve had to watch that bastard touch you? Look at me, witch.”

Beautiful brown eyes shone with trust. Draco smiled while his fingers toyed with her sex. “Beg for my cock.”

A shy grin was his response. He pinched her clit gently. “Beg!” Slowly he rubbed her nub feeling her grow wetter with desire. “Beg.”

He slipped one finger into her glistening core.

“Oh . . . please, Draco . . .” Her breathing came out in uneven rasps.

Gods, he was so hard. “Please what, sweet? What do you want?”

Her hips bucked into his hand. “You . . .”

“I’m here.” His teeth nipped a pert nipple while swirling her clit in a maddeningly slow pace and pumping her with that single digit.

Her head thrashed from side to side. “Gods . . . I want your cock . . . please . . . just . . . ugh . . .”

Forgoing further foreplay, he grabbed her hips and sheathed himself in her with one powerful thrust. He swallowed her cry of pain mixed with pleasure with a harsh kiss and he began to move within her. “Mine. You’re mine, Hermione!”

“Yours . . . Draco, only yours!”

Buried balls deep in her moist pussy was nearly too much for him. She was tight, warm and wet. Perfect. He pumped hard and fast, his sac slapping against her flesh. This was raw and real, time for sensuous and sweetness would come later. Right now, he just wanted to pound into this woman he’d been craving for so long. He pinned her down, dominating their coupling – and he knew she welcomed it, welcomed him.

Her body was thrashing under him as he continued to take them both to nirvana. Draco could feel his release building – the tension crept slowly up and around his lower back as her walls clenched and fisted him. Fuck, it felt so good, so good, so good . . .

She came with a strangled cry.

Draco grunted, gripped her harder and doubled his efforts. The sweat was pouring down his body in thick, fat rivulets. He felt his heart beating faster and faster. His blood was pumping throughout his body but it all seemed to rush to the cock abusing the juicy pussy encasing him. In his mind’s eye she was sucking his cock, he was fucking her from behind while playing with those gorgeous tits, she was riding him roughly, she was tied up spread for his pleasure. Draco wanted his Gryffindor goddess in every deviant way he knew and those he didn’t.

Harder and wilder and . . . he came. His hot seed burst from him, and it seemed to go on forever, and still he continued to fuck her. Finally, he slowed down. Finally, he was no longer on edge. Finally, she was his.

He collapsed atop her. Small hands rubbed his back, lovingly. She was purring. Smart, beautiful and powerful Hermione Granger was purring and nuzzling him.

A smug, satisfied smirk spread on his face.

Ronald Weasley may have been her first, but Draco Malfoy would be her last, and best, lover.

All night he proceeded to live up to his promise and fuck Ron Weasley right from her mind, soul and body. By morning, he had exhausted both of them. She was covered with marks, love bites and bruises, evidence of their rough night of fucking. He had the rest of their lives to make love to her; this first time was about staking his claim.

Whispers of dark promises spurred his taking of Hermione. In the heat of passion, he’d made her swear her undying love; at the peak of climax, he’d made her promise fidelity; at the height of pleasure, he’d held back until she gave him power over her body, heart and soul. All these affirmations were tied to an ancient Malfoy spell of matrimony. This was old magic. Technically, by stating these assertions, she was now married to him. With the help of an obscure spell, he’d also made sure she was pregnant by the time they fell asleep. She was bound to him now.

But he didn’t tell her that, she didn’t need to know. He would do what society dictated and court her, ask her to marry him and live the rest of his days with her by his side. Draco would get what he wanted, and have the happiness he deserved.

Her final words before drifting off to sleep filled him not only with glee but justified satisfaction. “I love you, Draco.”

Tucking her closer to him, he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Hermione.”

**********************************************
Four Years Later

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust as he passed cell after cell.

He could hear screams and yells coming from behind the dark bars, strengthened with ancient magic only known to the Unspeakables who cast them.

“This is the cell, Mr. Malfoy.” The guard paused and nodded to the last cell on the block.

Approaching it stealthily, Draco spoke to the guard. “May we have some privacy?”

“Sir . . . are you sure?” The guard was hesitant.

Draco smiled reassuringly. “You know my arrangement?”

The guarded nodded.

“Then, I’ll be fine.”

The guard stepped back and watched Draco cast a Privacy Bubble Charm and Shielding Spell surrounding Draco and the last cell. Both spells prevented anyone from listening in on the conversation and seeing the interaction. The guard knew this man had special permission to carry his wand into Azakaban.

Smirking, Draco approached the bars. “Weeeeseeeaaaaal. Oh, Weeeseeealll? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Shuffling could be heard in the darkened cell before a hoarse voice called out. “Come to torture me again, Malfoy?”

“Tsk, tsk, now Weasel, have I ever touched you? How could I torture you? You should be careful of making such accusations about the future Minister of Magic.”

Silence greeted his announcement. Draco could hear the other man breathing heavily in the dark. “Speechless? Couldn’t fathom why that would be the case. Last time I was here, last year, I told you Hermione was campaigning for me to run. I did, I won – can you believe it? I’m being sworn in next week. Granted, she was worried it would interfere with my duties as husband and father. Of course, I set those at ease after I tied her up, spanked her for being saucy then fucked her long and hard. What a night!”

A clanking of chains was accompanied by a fierce growl. “I’m going to kill you, Malfoy. I swear, when I get out of here, I’m going to kill you. Just one more year.”

Draco didn’t flinch. “Hmm, yes, well, about that, I do have a bit of bad news. About you getting out. Your paperwork seems to have gotten lost in the Ministry archives. I wouldn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. After all, who knows when it will turn up?”

“You can’t do that,” said the voice of Ron Weasley. “You can’t do that . . . my family, my friends, they won’t allow it.”

“Of course, they won’t allow it. Merlin, I won’t allow it. And I shall be there to ensure justice is served. However, unfortunately, by the time your paperwork gets sorted, you’ll have murdered another inmate during your hourly walk around the perimeter. Terrible. He was a former Death Eater, you’ve been unstable. All the reports will corroborate that, and you just snap! Kill him with your bare hands, honestly Weasel, how barbaric! Of course, murder means a lifetime sentence, and possibly the Dementor’s Kiss.”

“You can’t . . . you’ll never get away with this, Malfoy.”

Draco marched on as if Weasel had never spoken. “Hermione will be disappointed. Of course, as her husband, I’ll be there to console her. It’s my duty, after all. I love my wife and my two beautiful children; I would never want to see them upset.”

“Malfoy, no . . . I-I-I can’t stay here . . .” He was crying now.

“Sorry, Weasel, you’ll just have to get used to the accommodations.”

Draco cast a wandless Lumos and peered into the cell to find a dirty, disheveled and demoralized Ronald Weasley. His once flaming red hair had dulled to a premature gray, his skin was a sallow-yellow color and his body had become so thin to the point of emaciation. Those once vibrant blue eyes were dulled to a watered down murky blue, his spirit clearly broken.

“This is my last visit here, Weasel. You’ll never see me again. In fact, you’ll never see anyone again. In less than two years, you’ll be dead. I guarantee it. Now, remember our Unbreakable Vow, no telling our secret or bye-bye little Weasel. Lavender is doing well; she’s married to Terry Boot, now. Terry’s a good man to take in your bastard. Thank Merlin, he takes after his mother.”

Backing up, Draco ended the Lumos spell. “Well, its time I head off. Hermione, Scorpius and Cassiopeia are waiting for me take them for some ice cream. Though, I think I’d like to lick my delicious wife’s own cream before we go. Mmm, she’s exquisite, Weasel and, gods, do I love to hear her beg for my cock just before she comes, calling my name.”

The sobbing continued in the dark. “I hate you, Malfoy.”

“Oh, I think I hate you more, Weasel.”

One word gave Draco pause as he turned to walk away. “Why?”

Smirking, he gazed into the cell and laughed evilly. “Why? You still don’t know why?” Draco laughed harder, the Weasel was amusing. “The answer’s simple. Because you never deserved a woman like Hermione. Because you’re weak, pathetic and stupid. Because I can. Because I’m a Malfoy.”

Draco stilled, his face twisting in a demon-worthy grin. “Because Malfoys trump Weasleys, any day.”

Turning on his heel, Draco cast an Infinite Incantatem ending his two spells. The guard walked alongside him, escorting the future Minister of Magic to the Apparation point. Before leaving, Draco would Obliviate this meeting from his mind, as he’d been doing for the last four years.

Yes, thought Draco, not sparing the cell a second glance; Draco trumps The Weasel, always!

- fin -