Use Case

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Ministry of Magic
Employees (Harry Potter)
Additional Tags: Occlumency (Harry Potter), Legilimency (Harry Potter), Inappropriate
Use of Legilimency (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco
Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Fluff and Humor, POV Draco
Malfoy, Boring Ministry of Magic Meetings, Inappropriate Reaction to
Boring Ministry of Magic Meetings, Misunderstandings
Language: English

🖤❤️
Collections: god-tier dramione, The Golden Girl Makes the Rules, Dramioneotp,
short and sweet dhr, all-time greatest Dramione , fics that…
transcend
Stats: Published: 2022-02-02 Completed: 2022-03-01 Words: 11,048 Chapters:
6/6
 Use Case
by Storycat9

Summary

In the last decade, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have exchanged a few meaningless
pleasantries at prior Ministry budget meetings if they happened to sit near each other.

Rare, blandly civil, professional interactions.

Absolutely nothing in those interactions prepared Draco for Granger to abruptly hike up her
pencil skirt at this year's budget meeting, crawl across the conference table, and begin
flicking his shirt buttons open one by one.

Notes

I've got this one prewritten at five chapters, but it might end up bumping to six in edits as I
post. If Dramione experts out there want to help, I'm flying without a beta and would be
happy for a second eye.
 The Budget Meeting

Draco was slogging through hour three of the annual Ministry budget meeting the first time
Hermione Granger undressed him.

He had absolutely no warning. They’d spoken only a handful of times in the last decade, not
counting his somewhat stunned thanks and apology after the entire Golden Trio testified in
his defense after the war.

Granger had greeted him cordially at the first Ministry gala after he’d been hired at the
Department of International Magical Cooperation. But while he'd worked on projects here
and there with Potter in the Aurors office and Weasley in Magical Games and Sports, the
DIMC had precious little overlap with Granger's Unspeakables. Draco arguably knew less
about the final third of the Golden Trio now than he had known about her in school.

He could count their interactions on one hand. Draco had commiserated with Granger once in
line about the office cantina constantly running out of pain au chocolate. She’d traded her
Mexico City sightseeing recommendations for his about Oslo while they ladled out spiked
cider at an office Christmas party. And they’d exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries at
prior budget meetings if they happened to sit near each other.

Rare, blandly civil, professional interactions.

Absolutely nothing in those interactions prepared him for Granger to abruptly hike up her
pencil skirt, crawl across the conference table to him, and begin flicking his shirt buttons
open one by one.

Draco watched a perfect flush spread down Granger’s chest as she crawled off the table and
into his lap. There was a strange doubling sensation, but when she ground down against
him–-when she twisted her fingers into his hair and tugged-–the view down Granger’s navy
blouse was so clear, the heat of her clever fingers so intense, that Draco gasped audibly …

… before he blinked, hard, and the woman in his lap vanished.

Wait, what?

He surreptitiously glanced across the table to Granger, who was nodding along with
McGillicuddy’s Floo-overhaul plan and taking notes as diligently as ever. Draco swallowed
hard and delicately reached a thought toward her again.

Almost immediately, she was back in his lap. Granger’s mouth took his with a deep, hungry
kiss and her nails scratched lightly over his nipples under his dress shirt and Salazar, it felt
pretty real to his cock, which twitched with interest.

Merlin fuck, the witch was filthy. And loud.

Draco shouldn’t be able to hear someone else’s thoughts so clearly, much less pick up mental
sensation.

He’d never been as good at legilimency as occlumency. Aunt Bella had only taught him
offensive mind magic in passing to help him understand the underlying magical theory of
defending against it.

(Bellatrix was madder than a March hare but in her prime she’d been brilliant enough to give
Granger a run for her money.)

“But don’t even think about trying legilimency on our Lord or any of our brethren, nephew,”
Aunt Bella had warned. “Any master of mind magic can tell when it’s being used against
them, and it would be unwise for the Dark Lord to catch you trying to take liberties.”

Narcissa, who continued to help him improve his skills throughout the war, likewise focused
on helping her son guard his increasingly treasonous thoughts. But unlike her sister, Draco’s
Mum had also quietly drilled him in what she called defensive legilimency: a wandless,
nonverbal spell that allowed him to take the emotional surface temperature of those
specifically thinking about him without alerting anyone around him. His best friend Theo
could do it too, though he’d had no instruction except a lifetime of living with his psycho
father.

While not as crucial as occlumency, the passive legilimency had saved him and Theo once or
twice during the war. And at the Ministry, a few gentle pushes had helped him separate the
colleagues willing to work with him--Potter and Weasley surprisingly among them--from
those who wanted to spike his tea with venomous tentacula goo.

And sure, a small push at a bar could give Draco a pretty decent sense of the witches he could
pull. But someone had to be truly livid for Draco to actually pick up their thoughts of
murdering him, and even when he was in bed with someone, he’d never had a woman who
wanted to jump him so badly that he could see it.

Well. Until now.

Draco glanced across the table again. No flush, not even a fluttering pulse at the real
woman’s throat; she looked perfectly normal, damnit: classic Ministry-swot Granger the way
she’d been classic Hogwarts-swot Granger for years …

Wait, every time she’d looked so attentive in class, had Granger really been thinking of
something like this?

Granger had no mental shields at all, and she’d probably been pulling this attentive-swot
cover for so long that she’d never thought someone could catch her at it. Draco wondered
idly if she did this often, just fantasized about a random wizard–-or witch?--every time she
was in a boring meeting. It was an intriguingly illicit thought.

Or … even more intriguing … did she fantasize about him in particular?

The thought made his cock swell insistently against his trousers.

Draco kept his mind to himself for all of 15 minutes before he had to push again. He
pretended to look down at his notes and raised his right hand to hide his eyes, before closing
them to focus better.

Immediately, he saw Granger slide off his lap and onto the floor, busy fingers moving from
his shirt to his belt. Draco bit the inside of his lip, concentrating as hard as he could.

At the podium, the Minister asked the real Granger a question, and she rattled off a
parchment’s worth of statistics that Draco couldn’t follow, because in her ongoing fantasy
Granger was also answering Shacklebolt–-from the floor between his knees.

The budget conversation moved on, and meeting-Granger made a few notes while mental-
Granger’s mouth parted over the head of his cock, her warm breath tickling him a moment
before wet heat lapped across his frenulum.

Draco’s breath hitched.

He couldn’t watch this. It was an invasion of privacy and she’d hex Draco into the wall if she
knew he was eavesdropping on her harmless attempt to zone out in the budget meeting.

No, he really couldn’t watch this, because if he saw, he couldn’t help but focus. And if he
focused he could feel … just barely feel the faintest echoes … of the truly memorable
blowjob that Hermione Granger was fantasizing about giving him at the conference table of
her fantasy budget meeting.

And all he wanted to do was interrupt the real meeting to beg Granger to do it for real. To let
him feel the real pressure as her cheeks hollowed out and the real vibration as she … Merlin-
fuck … as she moaned around him and his cock hit the back of her throat. His hand fell away
from his closed eyes and clenched his armrest so hard that his knuckles turned white and oh
… oh … oh bloody Salazar fucking fuck …

Draco choked, forced his eyes open, yanked his brain away, and threw up every occlumency
wall he could manage to keep himself from coming in his trousers like a randy Fourth Year.

Granger, curse her, actually turned at his coughing fit. She floated a cup over from the
refreshment table and muttered a quick aguamenti over it before passing it to him. Her eyes
held only collegial concern–-not a flicker of heat–-and Draco was utterly dumbfounded.

He coughed out a low thanks–-even more nonplussed by her friendly “you’re welcome”–-and
spent the rest of the meeting with his brain locked down harder than it had been since
Voldemort was a houseguest. He gritted his teeth after, as Granger gathered her files and
stood chatting with Padma Patil. She smiled and nodded to him as the two left, but no more
or less than she smiled or nodded to any of the other department heads.

Draco held it together. He nodded at his colleagues as she had. Strolled determinedly down
the hall to the lifts, rode up to his floor. Made it inside his office.

Shut and locked and slumped against the door …

… then cast a flurry of privacy wards and silencing charms with his left hand as his right
scrabbled at his fly.

He got a grip on himself, managed a single stroke down and back up with the vision of that
Unspeakable mouth taking him down. Then his entire body shuddered and Draco choked out
her name as he came.

Minutes passed. More minutes. Draco pushed off the door, chest heaving and fist smeared,
feeling like he’d taken a bludger to the head.

What. The Fuck.

 Weighing One's Options
Chapter Summary

Draco spirals a little.

Chapter 2. Weighing One’s Options

By the weekend, Draco was spiraling.

Hermione Granger was a brilliant, formidable witch, but she was no Slytherin. He had
watched her blush when George Weasley had told his brother a dirty joke in front of her.
Over the years of school he’d seen her expressive face flicker with every passing emotion,
from amusement to rage to boredom. While Draco could absolutely believe she could think
loudly enough to project her thoughts accidentally–it’s not like she didn’t project her real
voice even when she shouldn’t--he couldn’t imagine her keeping her expression so open and
casual while in the middle of a lurid sexual fantasy.

Ergo, she could not possibly have had that fantasy.

But if not, how had he seen it? Draco had never thought of Granger as sexy.

He was man enough to admit when he was wrong, and knew he had been wrong in every way
imaginable when it came to blood purity; Granger was easily one of the most magically
powerful witches he’d ever met, Pureblood or Muggleborn alike. He could admit she was
brilliant, could admit she was politically savvy and somehow deeply kind at the same time.
He had even, on one late night of aimless drunken pondering with Theo and Blaise, admitted
that Granger was one of those witches whose adolescent awkwardness proved inversely
proportional to their adult grace.

He could see, objectively, why his friends thought she was shaggable.

She just wasn’t his type. Not her endlessly untamable curls or her Ministry-basic dress sense.
Her forthrightness was gauche and her bossiness grating. All of it would be a disaster in the
bedroom, which was fine because she seemed like the type who would permit sex grudgingly,
and only under the martyrdom of Pure True Forever Love.

Only …

Only now …
Now Draco’s brain seethed with the idea that Granger’s Ministry-basic pencil skirts and
blouses concealed mouthwatering lingerie. Her forthrightness and bossiness now translated
into someone who needed no courtship before demanding what she wanted–- taking what she
wanted–-from a sex partner who need do little more than grab on for the ride. Her swottiness
now meant that she would study with absolute focus every single erogenous zone of his body,
would practice and practice until she had earned an Outstanding in every single way to make
his eyes roll back in his head. His fingers itched with the need to bury themselves in those
endless curls and wrangle them into order by main strength.

He needed to wank again.

He held off irritably, knowing it would be his fourth time in three days–not even counting
that insanity in his office after the budget meeting, in which he nearly came entirely
untouched.

Could this be a misfired spell? Someone’s idea of a prank?

That might make sense. Blaise would pull something like this–he’d thought Draco’s
dismissal of Granger’s alleged sexiness a few months back was ridiculous hair-splitting.

It would be a highly sophisticated bit of magic for a prank, though, which might argue in
favor of Theo. But Theo and Potter were stupid for each other, and surely he wouldn’t put his
lover’s best friend in an embarrassing position vis-à-vis her childhood bully? Would any of
the department heads benefit from making Draco look like a blithering idiot in front of
Granger? But then, no one could possibly think he had any farther to fall in Granger’s esteem
after the war …

Draco was spiraling.

He knew he was spiraling.

He just couldn’t get the pieces to line up. He had felt the activation of his passive
legilimency, but there was nothing, nothing to suggest Granger did, had ever, would ever
think about him that way. It could be his own brain, but why would blazing lust come out of
nowhere? It had to be a prank, or a miscast lust spell, or … or …

Spiraling.

With an exasperated groan, Draco shoved his hand down his pajama pants and gave up. He
let himself see Granger again, the flush spreading over the tops of her breasts and the precise,
insistent way she had pushed button through button hole, over and over again, before sliding
her hands under to run over his bare skin.

Goosebumps broke out over his chest and arms.

It had all been so light, as though her caresses were on some magical frequency that could
barely come through. The fact that he had strained so hard to feel her touch during the
meeting had somehow painted echoes across his skin now; Draco closed his eyes and canted
his head to the side, easing access to the memory of her lips moving along his jaw, his throat,
his chest, his … ohh … oh bloody- fuck .

In the shower, after lying in bed disgusted with himself for nearly 10 minutes in the
aftershocks, Draco laid out his options.

The Gryffindor Option : He marches into Unspeakable Granger’s office on Monday

morning and asks her what the bloody hell she was playing at, trying to seduce him mentally
during the budget meeting. Or, if he wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, he asks her if
she knows she’s broadcasting sexual fantasies at top mental volume when she gets bored.

Draco pictured her expression, incredulity or embarrassment–or even fear of his obvious
lunacy–melting into terrifying rage in the moments before she hexes him into oblivion.

That’s a no, then.

The Hufflepuff Option : He calls out his friends to see if they pranked him and, if not, he
discretely susses out her friends to see if she’s ever shown any signs of wanting to crawl
across conference tables for him or anyone else.

His balls shrivelled up in anticipatory mortification at the merest thought of asking the
Chosen One if the Golden Girl might like him …

… no, like -him-like-him …

… no, like want to jump him in a crowd, like him. And while we’re at it, does she ever
randomly project daydreams?

Nope. All the nopes.

The Ravenclaw Option : Swing by Malfoy Manor and reread the classics: “Protection
Charm Your Mind,” “Living With Legilimens: Choose Your Minds Wisely,” and every other
mind magic book on the shelves, to see if there are any spells that either create random sexual
hallucinations or unknowingly project one’s deviant unconscious into the minds of hapless
wizard bystanders.

That option was promising, actually, save that going to the Manor would inevitably mean a
visit with Lucius and Mum, who would want to know if he’s planning to get on that heir-
begetting thing anytime soon, and that may actually be worse than hexing and mortification
combined.

So it came down, as he’d known it would, to the Slytherin Option : Ruthlessly repress and
ignore everything until he breaks down and wanks himself blind at 3 a.m. (Call that a dream
he had no control over so he can continue to ignore everything) and wait to see if he picks up
fantasies from anyone else, preferably blonde and appropriate to bring home to his mother.

Perfect plan.

Salazar would be proud.

 Party Inter-lewd
Chapter Summary

Draco manages pretty well until Theo's birthday.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The second time Hermione Granger mentally undresses him, it’s three months later and his
own bloody fault.

After some very careful questioning during a drinking night out with the lads, Draco
tentatively accepted that none of his mates had pranked him, nor did they know anyone with
a grudge at the Ministry–-or at least, no one with more than the usual grudge, anyway.

After even more delicate dancing around on the third drinking night after that one, Draco had
gotten Theo to agree to ask his husband and Blaise to ask his Weasley girlfriend if Granger
ever seemed like the quietly kinky sort. Or if she’d ever mentioned finding Slytherins
attractive.

“Sooo,” drawled Theo. “You going to tell us why you are suddenly interested in Hermione
Granger’s kinks?”

Draco scowled. “Nott, I am nowhere near that desperate.”

His mates found his questions amusing enough to pass on to their relative Gryffindors.

“Harry told me he would rather wash his brain out with bleach than think about his near-
sister having kinks,” Theo relayed gleefully a few days later. “But for what it’s worth,
apparently Hermione enjoys breaking rules without getting caught. Take that as you will.”

Ginny’s answer was more blunt: “If the ferret wants to get into Hermione’s knickers, he can
bloody well chat her up himself. Let me know if he tries; I'll bring popcorn and watch.”

Without much evidence one way or the other, Draco decided to stuff the Granger Budget
Incident into a box labeled “Weird-but-Harmless Stuff I’ll Not Think Too Hard About.” He
did this a lot; the same mental box had worked perfectly that one Hogsmead outing when he,
Crabbe and Goyle had been chased by Harry Potter’s disembodied head, before he found out
about the invisibility cloak.

He dedicated himself to two weeks of daily occluding practice–-not to mention three

inadvisable one-night stands with witches who projected nothing mentally toe-curling, even
in the middle of sex. It was painful, but it reduced Draco’s Granger burden to only a couple
of guilty, early-morning wanks per week, which finally tapered off after a month.

After two months, Draco had a couple of successful dates with Astoria Greengrass and felt
like the whole Granger Budget Incident could become one of those entertainingly salacious
stories he’d pull out for the lads in a decade or so.

That approach worked reasonably well until Theo’s birthday.

Draco hadn’t considered that Granger might show up for Theo’s birthday. Granger, to the best
of his knowledge, worked evenings and weekends and socialized at semi-formal cocktail
parties that also counted as work. Theo, by contrast, threw parties where everyone drank aged
firewhisky and three-year-old Australian Souvignon Blanc while playing Cards Against
Wizardry.

Case in point: Draco was four drinks in and trying to decide how to answer Blaise’s prompt:
“The secret to a lasting marriage is communication, communication, and ______.”

Theo: Amortentia.

Ginny: An orgy with the Holyhead Harpies.

Lovegood: Wearing an octopus as a hat.

Harry: A 38-page contract signed in blood.

Potter snorted wine up his nose at Draco’s eventual choice, “Imperio.”

“Too soon?” Draco quipped, and heard a snort of laughter behind him.

Granger.

In an off-the-shoulder indigo sweater-dress that fell to mid-thigh, with knee-high boots.

Looking far from Ministry basic.

“Deal me in,” Granger crowed, firewhisky in hand. “I love this game.”

Draco choked on his firewhisky.

Theo shot Potter a smug look.

Draco did not peek into Granger’s mind.

For one thing, he was already well on his way to blitzed by the time she showed up, and
didn’t have the concentration for even passive legilimency. For another, playing Cards
Against Wizardry with her was already more insight to her mind than he needed. Her prompt
answers ran to both awful and true.

Draco: “What’s making things awkward in the Prefects’ Bathroom?”

Granger: All of this blood.

Harry: “Behind every powerful wizard is ____”

Granger: A constant need for validation.

Theo: “In return for my soul, Voldemort promised me immortality, but all I got was _____
and _____.”

Granger: Moderate-to-severe joint pain and fucking my therapist.

Draco winced at that one.

“Too soon?” Granger quipped.

The card game eventually broke up and the party devolved into more drinking and gossiping.
By 1 a.m. most of the partygoers had cleared off or snuck out to different rooms to snog.
Granger snickered at Draco's expression when they spotted Luna Lovegood blithely ducking
out to join Blaise and Ginny, and it was around that time Draco realized he and Granger were
the only ones left unattached.

“Have you ever seen Theo’s library? I could show you,” he offered suddenly, before mentally
kicking himself for an utter, un-Slytherin lack of subtlety.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, could you? Do you think Theo would mind? Harry said it’s huge.”

A defensive huff--“well, I mean, the one at Malfoy Manor is bigger”--slipped out before
Draco's drunken brain could stop it. Granger laughed at him again, and Draco hoped for a
random Dark curse to hit him and put him out of his misery. He downed a half-dose of Sober-
Up potion before leading her out of the game room.
Draco gave her a mini-tour as they wandered the winding halls, privately thankful he'd spent
so much time at Theo's as a child. He pointed out the mural-sized photos from Dennis
Creevey’s gallery and the muggle-made Bösendorfer Opus 50 piano in the conservatory as
they passed.

“You know, Theo’s manor is so different from what I expected,” Granger said, sliding her
fingertips admiringly over the warm light wood of a chair rail. “It’s so light and welcoming.
Not at all like–”

“Like Malfoy Manor?” Draco guessed, and Granger had the grace to flush.

“I’m sorry, I’ve only ever been there in … trying circumstances,” she said. “I’m sure it’s
lovely, normally.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, Salazar, no, it’s every bit as grim and ostentatious as you remember, and
by rights, Nott’s place should be just as bad,” he said. “The Notts go back nearly as far as the
Malfoys and Blacks do, and they were easily as steeped in Dark magic. Worse, actually.
Theo's father was a drunken old bastard, with lips surgically attached to Voldemort’s backside
for Theo’s entire life. Even He found Thaen Nott unbearable. The difference is Nott, Sr.
didn’t last six months in Azkaban, even without Dementors, and Lucius is still Lord of
Malfoy Manor.”

Years ago, Theo’s first act as the new Lord Nott was to ask the Ministry to help him turn over
every last Dark artifact on the estate. He and Potter had gotten to know each other over the 18
months it took for the auror team to break down all the curses, traps, and deadly or noxious
antiques. Theo had celebrated the final gutting of the manor by asking the Chosen One to
marry him in his mother’s garden.

“So, now Nott Manor is awash in caramels and creams and natural light like something out of
a Witch Weekly design spread, while my ancestral home still looks like it was decorated by
generations of Purebloods who believe comfort is déclassé. As it was.”

“What will you do differently when you inherit, then?” she asked.

“I don’t know, fiendfyre?” Draco said, only half joking. “The land in Wiltshire is beautiful,
but I’d give up all my galleons rather than live in that place again. The library and the hedge
maze are probably the only things worth keeping.”

Granger smiled wryly. “So I’m not the only one with nightmares about the garish decor in the
drawing room?”

Draco barked a surprised laugh and shook his head, and the silence that fell was less tense
than Draco would have expected for mentioning the night Aunt Bella had tortured Granger.
He had come to grips with her forgiveness when she and the other two had testified for him,
but even a decade later, her ability to laugh at it shocked him a little. He never would have
credited Granger with such a dark sense of humor.

He had never credited Granger with a lot of things he should have, apparently.
And that thought, coupled with her slight smile and his returning sobriety, led Draco to push
the slightest tendril of passive legilimency toward her, hoping to get a sense of underlying
warmth rather than hidden bitterness.

The effect was immediate and almost unbearable.

Granger wasn’t standing in front of him with a wry smile; she was shoving him against a
bookshelf, ripping his robes from his shoulders and climbing him like a tree. His hands slid
from her hips to her bum and he hauled her up against him, panting into her neck. Granger’s
mouth dropped open with breathy moans he could see but not quite hear, and Draco
desperately wanted to feel the full force of the fingers twisting into his hair.

He spun them, bracing her against a shelf and rutted against her, watching her head fall back
in ecstasy as he yanked down her already low neckline and thumbed at her nipples over a
green lace bra.

Her brows pulled together in adorable concentration as her lips shaped his name over and
over: Draco … Draco … Dra–

“--co? Draco, are you alright?”

Draco shook himself like a crup shaking off water and stared at her, dazed. He braced his
hands on a reading chair, grateful for the high upholstered back hiding his raging erection.

Granger looked worried. “I’m so sorry, Draco. It was just a joke. In poor taste, obviously. I
didn’t mean to trigger bad memories for you.”

Draco searched her face desperately. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“It’s nothing, Granger,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s … ah, let’s get back to the party, shall we?
I’m sure Theo and Potter will be wondering where we are.”

Granger’s face fell, but she nodded and allowed him to guide her back to the party.

Draco decided that sobriety had been a mistake and set out to rectify it as soon as possible.

Long after Granger and everyone else had left, Draco continued to down firewhisky like
butterbeer and stare into the middle distance until Theo nudged him with concern.

“You alright, mate? Wanna grab one of the guest beds and crash?”

“Hmmm,” Draco answered, still staring. Then, an idea striking him, Draco looked up at his
best friend. “You and Potter hang out with Granger, right?”

“Sure, from time to time. She doesn't come out to parties like this much.”
 “You ever …?” Draco waggled a hand suggestively near his temple in their long-recognized
sign for mind magic.

“A couple of times,” Theo huffed. “No blackmail, if that’s what you’re looking for. Actually,
from what I can tell she thinks a lot about sweets–-Harry thinks she grew up deprived, what
with teeth healers for parents? I dunno. ... We share a love for chocolate frogs, I can tell you
that. Just seeing it gave me such a craving for Honeydukes.”

Draco blew out a breath in frustration. He supposed it made sense that Granger wasn’t
drooling over Theo, considering he was gayer than Dumbledore at a drag show and married
to her best friend, besides. But he’d been hoping Theo would have caught a glimpse of
something lewd, anyway; it was all she seemed to think about around Draco. Salazar, he
hadn’t even known she’d liked chocolate frogs; Granger had always carted around sugar
quills in school.

It left him with the unnerving conclusion that Granger really did want to peel his robes off
with her teeth and devour him–-but she was exceptionally good at hiding it.

Chapter End Notes

Wizards Against Humanity is, of course, modeled off of the rather obscene party game,
Cards Against Humanity. I changed the real prompt and answer cards as little as
possible. There are even some specific Harry Potter related cards like the prompt,
"Harry, your father was a great wizard and he left you this powerful ___ when he died."
I think all the kids on both sides who lived through the war would develop a certain
amount of gallows humor over time.
 The Manor Fiasco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Forgetting both the Budget Incident and the Party Interlude was apparently not an option. His
productivity at the office had gone to shite since Theo’s party and likely would continue to be
shite for as long as he worked in the same building as Hermione “I can’t keep my brain to
myself” Granger.

Not to mention, Draco thought he could actually damage himself if he kept on wanking at
this pace. When an interoffice memo prompts a discreet trip to the men’s room, you know
that you’re getting a little unhinged.

Worse, he knew that while Granger wasn’t admitting to anything, she had become quite
chummy since Theo's party. She became a regular at both Theo’s and Blaise’s homes with
Potter and the Weaslette. She started running into him at the Ministry cantina more
frequently, and joining him for lunch instead of just exchanging pleasantries in line. She
asked his department for help securing for the Unspeakables steady supplies of several rare
potions ingredients from Iceland and Indonesia.

And Draco … found himself embarrassingly eager to take her up on her overtures.

She took him to the Tate Modern–by subway. They argued heatedly over whether Francis
Bacon had brilliant insight into raw grief (Hermione) or had a tendency to spill water on his
unfinished paintings and pass them off anyway (Draco).

He showed her a second-century scrying site hidden on one of the Malfoys’ many private
properties that showed clear evidence–-including a detailed carving of a rite involving an
occamy–-of an ancient Indo-European wizarding sect with ties to both the Druids and the
Hindu Brahmin wizards in Northeast India. On that outing, Granger looked around with a
manic, covetous expression that Draco was more used to seeing on witches eyeing his
Gringotts balance. It was both intimidating and arousing. He’d never been wanted for his
archeology access before.

Draco was frustrated to find he could easily read every flicker of emotion on her face.
Granger showed open appreciation of his wit, irritation with his relative conservatism, pride
in his exploration of the Muggle world. Mischievousness. Empathy. Wistfulness. Her face
seemed like an open book.

Meanwhile, Draco knew Granger fantasized about Draco taking her on the grand spiral
staircase of the Tate; bending her over the scrying stone; rocking on his lap with the sway of
the subway cars. He couldn’t use passive legilimency anywhere around her, as her fantasies
about him were constant when they were together and so loud she drowned out anything he
might have picked up from anyone else. Yet not a twitch of lust touched her face in the real
world.
She was driving him mad.

He tried actively occluding around her, just to keep himself from being tempted to use not-so-
defensive legilimency. Which didn’t really work, because when he looked glazed over,
Granger thought he had come down with a bug and tried to ply him with Pepper-Ups and
chicken noodle soup. And after occluding, Draco just ended up lying in bed at night,
wondering what he hadn’t seen.

Draco couldn’t even whinge about it to Theo, because his best friend would absolutely chew
him out and demand he stop poking around her fantasies.

He knew he needed to stop.

It was just … nice … to be Hermione Granger’s secret crush. After years of being dismissed
as a failed Death Eater or courted for his Pureblood lineage and wealth, the forthright desire
of an intelligent, sought-after witch was a balm to his ego. And months of shared fantasies
made his fingers itch with the need to touch her for real.

Going on seven months, it was more than even his Slytherin reticence and instinct for self-
preservation could take.

It came to a head when Granger finally accepted his invitation to the Malfoy Manor library. It
was a show of trust on her part, even with his promise that his parents were away at the Black
holiday cottage in Alsace.

Granger even gave him a brief hug when she stepped through the Manor floo. Draco
scrutinized the length and strength of her embrace, coming to the conclusion that his hug
certainly outstripped those she regularly bestowed on Theo and Blaise, and might have
rivaled the ones she gave Potter. He had no recently observed embraces between Granger and
her ex-Weasley, but surely his hug beat out the Chosen One’s hugs for relative square inches
of skin-to-skin contact?

Of course, once in his family’s atheneum, Draco knew his true rivals for Granger’s affections
were his rare books and scrolls. She fairly floated up and down the aisles, her eyes huge. She
gave him a wide, exuberant smile, the kind he’d only seen a few times, and never directed
him. Draco watched her stroke the spines of obscure tomes of magical theory, and felt an
echoing prickle along his own spine. He didn’t have to brush against her daydreams to think
of brushing a curl back from her face and leaning in to snog her senseless.

“Malfoy?”

Granger peered up at him with wide, startled eyes. Draco realized he was looming rather
close. “So, what do you think of my library?” he purred.

That gorgeous smile. “I think it’s amazing, Malfoy. I’d stay here all night if you let me.”

And was that breathy? Was that … flirting? For real?

Fuck it.
Draco leaned even closer, murmuring against her ear, “Stay as long as you like, Hermione.”

Her eyes dilated as he drew back to look at her, just the encouragement he needed to brush
his lips against hers.

Fantasy shag, it was not. Their noses bumped against each other and she froze up long
enough for Draco to start to panic before her lips parted beneath his and she kissed him back.
He traced her lower lip with his tongue and she took him in almost shyly. The kiss was slow,
exploratory rather than aggressive.

Yet as they went along, she focused, puzzling him out like a difficult rune, making pleased
little hums as she explored his lips and jaw and throat. Her fingers curled up the nape of his
neck and scratched lightly over his scalp.

Still absently comparing his mental Granger to the real one, Draco confirmed that yes, her
curls really were that soft, and yes, the slide of her knee hooking up against his hip made him
achingly hard. Why yes, she does nip a little as she works her way down his collarbones. And
here, she does arch her back as his own hands slide down, pressing her pebbled nipples
against his palms–except the softness and weight of her breasts fill his hands more than he
had seen in her dreams.

He’d spent so long with the muffled touches of her fantasies that the feel of her real mouth,
hands, body against his made him lightheaded and hypersensitive. It’s giddy: he wanted to
touch her everywhere at once, wanted to feel her body sliding against his own. Granger
smiled against his mouth, and Draco could feel himself doing the same.

Granger finally broke off, gasping for breath and half laughing. “Well, that was a surprise. A-
a good one,” she said.

He felt ridiculously pleased with himself. “A dream come true, perhaps?” he said archly.

She flushed, then snorted as she looked around them. “I can honestly say I have never wanted
to snog in Malfoy Manor.”

He gave her a predatory smirk. “Oh, I know. Nott’s library is a little more to your fantasy
taste.”

She shot him an amused glare. “Oh, you know, do you? Because I’m a little swot who wants
to do everything in the library?”

All told, Draco felt it best to come clean before he fucked her against the potions shelves. If
she wanted to hex him, promising to make her every fantasy come true would surely buy him
amnesty, right?

“I’ve … seen it. Seen you fantasize about it, I mean. Purely an accident, but I’d be happy to
act out anything you want.”
Granger pulled back, bewildered. “You’ve seen me fantasize about it?” she asked, “When?
What are you talking about?”

“A few months ago, at the budget meeting,” he said. “And then again last month when we ran
into each other at Theo’s birthday. And … a few other times.”

Granger’s brow furrowed. “But I–”

“I’m sure everyone has daydreamed at one of those monster meetings,” he said, trying to pass
it off as quickly as possible. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. No one noticed but
me, and there’s no way you would have known I would see it.”

“See it? Wait … You used legilimency on me?”

Cringing internally, Draco talked a little faster to get ahead of any urge to hex him. “Not on
you specifically,” he hedged. “I’ve kept up a very low-level defensive legilimency since the
war. It’s second nature by now; I swear, I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I usually only
get a sense of strong emotions, not actual details. You have very … powerful … thoughts.”

He kept his mental hands politely behind his back, so to speak, but even without legilimency,
Draco could see pieces clicking together behind her eyes. Her hands twisted around each
other, and she asked, too casually, “So, ah … which fantasy did you see in the meeting?”

His throat ran dry. “The one where you crawled over the table to me. … You were using your
mouth …”

Her mouth-–that mouth-–dropped open and she flushed scarlet. “And at Theo’s party?”

“We were …,” he swallowed and stepped closer again, demonstrating. “I had you up against
the wall of his library, moaning my name.”

“So that’s why you looked so gobsmacked,” she said.

She hadn’t hexed him yet, which was promising. Draco kept his eyes on hers, because he
could see the pulse in her throat and the flush spreading down to her chest and knew if he
looked down he’d be done for. But looking at her face wasn’t much better, because in spite of
the flush, Granger didn’t look embarrassed or angry. She looked … speculative.

Draco took the risk of reaching out to tuck one stray curl behind her ear, and leaning in to
say, “Hermione Granger, you have a vivid imagination.”

A sly grin tugged the corners of her mouth. “I definitely do,” she agreed.

Draco smirked. He couldn’t help it; this was going better than he’d imagined. Remembering
her fantasy at Theo’s, he slid a hand up into her curls at the nape of her neck–-Gods, they
were so soft-–and started to bend down to her mouth again.

Just before his lips brushed hers, Granger whispered, “Not as vivid as yours, though.”

“Mmm … hmm?” he rasped.

Granger leaned back from his kiss. Her hands slid up, thumbs splaying over his collarbones
as she looked at him. Her smile grew wider. “Do you know where I work in the Department
of Mysteries?”

“… What?” Draco blinked at her tone.

“The Brain Room. I started out studying memory, after the way I lost my parents. But the
occlumency and legilimency team lead went out on maternity leave, so I stepped in to help.”

His stomach flipped.

She stroked down his left arm, over the faded Dark Mark. “You know, your occlumency
skills are incredibly impressive. Aurors are trained, of course, but they rarely reach the
occlumens mastery of someone like you or Severus Snape.”

Draco stepped back, not liking where this was going.

“I’ve been working on anti-legilimency charms,” she went on. “Protection for agents
undercover who don’t have that level of skill.” She pulled out a small, flat, rune-inscribed
silver pendant from her décolletage. “I’ve been wearing the latest one for the last six months
as a use case.”

Draco could feel the blood drain from his head.

“What does it do?” he asked hoarsely.

She hesitated. “It’s entirely defensive, of course. It doesn’t do anything unless someone
attempts to use legilimency on the wearer. And even then, it’s supposed to be noninvasive–
much weaker than something like a confundus …”

He croaked out, “So it shows …”

Granger interrupted, but gently. “It rebounds and projects a distraction hex. Rather than
repulsing the legilimency, it makes it seem as though the spell has gotten through, and then
shows whatever the legilimens would find most distracting without being harmful, to
convince the caster not to probe deeper.”

Like Theo thinking she liked chocolate frogs and getting hungry himself.

Merlin, he was fucked.

Granger cleared her throat awkwardly at Draco’s ashen face. “So … I mean, good to know
how it’s worked in real life,” she went on brightly. “Obviously the charm still needs
tweaking, to make sure it doesn’t react to purely defensive legilimency. And, um … maybe
some sort of limits on the kind of distraction?”

Her brows knitted and her eyes got faraway. “Though, to be fair, sex is a universal
distraction, isn’t it? … But then again, it might draw more attention, as this whole affair
shows …”
 “Granger,” he broke in. She blinked at him, coming out of her academic pondering.

“Yes?”

“So what you’re saying is you were not fantasizing about having sex with me in the budget
meeting?”

“Well, no.”

“Or at Theo’s party?”

“No, but–-”

“And rather, you are saying your magic decided that the best way to distract me was to make
me think about having sex with you?”

Granger’s face scrunched into a swotty, obstinate expression.

“That’s not what I’m saying. For one thing, it would be your magic picking what you saw,
not mine. Two, it wasn’t distracting you by making you fantasize about me; it was distracting
you by making you think you had uncovered me fantasizing about having sex with you.”

She bit her lip, suddenly looking unsure. “It’s understandable that that would discomfit you–-
I mean, I’m sure if I thought someone I would never … I mean, if Argus Filch was lusting
after me, for example, I’d want to look away in a hurry, too. …”

Granger stopped rambling to gulp air like a nervous goldfish. “I’m sorry. I promise, I was not
trying to insert somethi– … no, that sounds awful. I just, I wasn’t trying to get you to
fantasize about me. Circe, that’s got to be against the Ministry coworker harassment policy, I
would never …”

Draco’s ears buzzed, loudly. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again.

“Right, then,” he managed. “I’ll be off.”

Draco turned and strode right out of the room. He heard Granger call after him, and for a
moment felt guilty for abandoning her in his family's library. Not guilty enough, though:
Draco picked up the pace to the main floo parlor, hastily tossed in a handful of powder, and
made for his flat with his tail between his legs.

Chapter End Notes

Well, that escalated quickly!

Final chapter will post in about a week.

 Budget Meeting, Redux
Chapter Notes

Here's the final chapter, guys, only a few days late. If this seems cleaner to anyone, you
have my wonderful new beta Fidget to thank for it!

So.

Mystery solved.

Golden Girl Hermione Granger was not secretly pining over Draco Malfoy. She was not
losing time at work to fantasize about riding him on his office chair. She was not waking up
in the wee hours of the night throbbing with the need to feel his mouth on her skin, or making
a mess of her sheets for the third bloody time in one day.

Hell, he’d probably gotten it right the first time: Hermione Granger wore white cotton
knickers and was more likely to get off on magical theory than sexual practice. She was a
bossy little know-it-all who would never in a million years lower herself to lust after an ex-
Death Eater.

Draco, on the other hand, was now forced to acknowledge that he wanted Granger all on his
own–wanted her quite literally to distraction. Wanted her wild curls and her sweet mouth and
her dry, sometimes gallows humor. Wanted her during boring budget meetings and in
stereotypical libraries– had that one been buried from Hogwarts days? he wondered. He
wanted to have over-steeped tea with her in the cantina and to fight with her over the last
pain au chocolat.

Draco wanted her to want him. He didn’t quite know how to cope with the fact that she
didn’t.

Granger had sent him a handful of owls asking to talk, which he had ignored. She was still
showing up with the Slytherindor horde, which had drastically curtailed his own socializing;
he couldn’t even think of facing her without blushing so furiously he gave himself
migraines.

For his friends, this rapidly went from amusing to irritating.

“All right, out with it, you mopey muppet,” Theo announced as he came through Draco’s
Floo after the third time Draco begged off a meet-up. “Why are you avoiding everyone?”

Draco heaved a put-upon sigh. “I’m not avoiding everyone, Theo. I’ve been busy at work.”
“When Granger is showing up at more parties than you are, you are working entirely too
hard,” Theo said. “You look like a fwoop nested on your hair, and while I appreciate the
effort to match your suit to the circles under your eyes, it’s not the best look.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned to his bar, grudgingly pouring them each three fingers of
firewhisky. Theo waited until Draco passed his drink over, then slumped on a club chair next
to Draco, kicked his long legs up over the armrest, and gave his oldest mate a canny look.
“So … what happened with Granger?”

Draco was glad he had only sipped at his drink, and thus was saved from snorting it up his
nose. He blinked aggressively. “What about Granger?”

“Oh, come off it, you git. You hung out with Granger more often than Harry did for a couple
of months, and now in the last two weeks you won’t speak her name? At the last game night
she asked if you were out of the country, because she hasn’t been able to reach you.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t sent a howler,” Draco muttered.

Theo’s eyes lit up at the lure of good gossip. “Tried to cop a feel, did you?”

“No! … Well, yes, but that bit wasn’t the problem. Or rather, it was, but she wouldn’t send
me a howler because I copped a feel, but more because I thought she wanted me to cop a
feel? Or …,” Draco flailed.

Theo stared at him as though he was a lunatic, which seemed about right, actually.

“Mate, take a breath and try again.”

Draco took a breath, held it, then let it all out in a woosh because he couldn’t figure out what
to say. He gulped down his firewhisky, refilled it, and gulped that one down too for good
measure.

“I rather thought Granger was … er … fantasizing about me … but, um, it turned out she had
some sort of wonky legilimency protection amulet on?”

Theo’s eyebrows rose in one direction while his jaw dropped in the other. “Wait … you tried
legilimency on Granger? Didn’t you know she’s a mind scholar for the Unspeakables? She’s
probably as good at occlumency as we are at this point.”

Draco growled. “Well, I know that now . And you could have warned me, you bastard.”

“I would’ve if I thought you were a berk who’d actually try to tap the swottiest witch ever to
swot … Was this the business about her chocolate frog daydreams a few months back?
Because that’s some kinky shite right there, if you were thinking of chocolate frogs during
sex."

Draco muttered something about sugar quills and got up to pace. Theo watched Draco spiral.
The corner of his mouth twitched but he kept himself from snickering for the sake of their
long friendship. At length, Theo finished his drink and leaned forward, tapping his glass for a
refill.
“But, you do want to snog Granger, right?”

Draco gritted his teeth and poured another round for both of them. “Ugh ... yes, alright? Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Theo said reasonably. “She’s been trying to find you, but not so
much in Granger-on-a-rampage mode as Granger-ferreting-out-a-puzzle mode. She’s not
nearly as irritated now as she will be if you keep avoiding her. Just apologize for being a prat
and throw yourself on her mercy. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

Draco groaned. The only thing worse than being the object of Granger’s stinging hex would
be being the object of her pity. He needed to vomit–-which he supposed in this context was a
step up from needing to wank. He slumped onto a chaise and dropped his head into his
hands.

“No. Not a chance,” Draco said. “We just finished the potions project and there’s no reason I
should bump into her at work. I just plan to stay out of her way until she forgets my
humiliation. Three or four months … or years. Decades at most.”

Theo did laugh at that. He shook his head, finished his firewhisky and set the glass down
with a clink before standing up. As he passed on the way to the Floo, Theo put his hand on
Draco’s shoulder and said, “It’s adorable that you think Hermione Granger would give up
after only 40 years. Good luck with that.”

But what did Theo know? Draco had not survived a house full of Voldemort, his creepy snake
and a dozen Death Eaters without learning to skulk rather effectively.

Very effectively, he thought, as the Golden Girl did not even glance his way at the next
Ministry-wide Quarterly Progress and Strategy meeting.

He watched Granger present on the Department of Mysteries’ new screening process for
Seers, as well as several "newly declassified protection devices" for the Auror and
Ambassador departments. The latter developments earned her gushing appreciation from
Potter and his bunch and a tight smile from Draco, who thought of her amulet and focused on
keeping the flush on his ears from spreading to his face.

Granger concluded her presentation and sat down across the table from him, turning away to
face the next presenter and diving into her notes.

Status quo resumed, Draco thought hollowly.

He tried to concentrate when Potter followed her, discussing the need for investment in better
extendable ear technology, and then when McGillicuddy gave an update on the status of the
Floo overhaul (rolling outages to be expected in a quarter of the Ministry-connected hearths
over the next four months). Draco glazed over during Magical Disasters’ presentation on its
new service advert campaign “Dark Magic ‘Accidents’ Can Be Prevented!” He actually
nodded off a few times during the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department’s
ongoing veela census-–even though the presentation included pictures that could’ve graced
the summer bikini issue of Wizards Quarterly.
Then came a languid purr in his head:

Hey, Malfoy, are you as bored as I am?

Draco twitched in his seat as though he’d been pinched. He shot a guarded look across the
conference table and caught Granger’s quick glance at him as she paged through a stack of
notes. Her lips kept their severe line but her eyes crinkled mischievously.

Granger’s voice came again in his head, throaty and coy: Want to know what I’m thinking
about?

Draco ground his teeth.

As slow and light as fingertips brushing through his hair, a vision opened in his mind.
Granger perched on the conference table just in front of him, long legs crossed and one
dragon-leather heel dangling off the end of the toes of her top foot. Mental Granger smirked
at him.

Not funny, he thought at her.

Real Granger closed her eyes and opened them again in a slow, fluttering blink. Meanwhile,
behind his eyes Mental Granger’s smirk widened into a grin as she let her shoes drop and
braced one stocking-clad foot on each of his thighs. Draco determinedly kept his eyes on a
pile of mental parchments next to her on the conference table, but couldn’t help but glimpse
the emerald green strap of a garter belt as her skirt rucked up.

Her body on the table in front of him toppled the stack of mental notes, which Draco realized
to his dismay were covered with detailed descriptions of how this scenario had played out in
his dreams before. Frantically, Draco rolled them into tight mental scrolls, stuffing them into
a satchel on his lap.

Granger had to have seen at least a little of what was written, but she made no move to reach
for the months of fantasies and moping he wanted to hide. Instead, she gently pushed the
satchel off his lap, replacing it with herself.

Draco sensed the distant drone of colleagues talking and shifting around him, but he couldn’t
bring himself to pay attention to them. Unlike his previous fantasies, this time Draco could
fully feel Granger’s heat against his lap. She unclasped his white-knuckled hands and
kneaded her thumbs into his palms, working at the tension. Then she pressed his left hand to
her hip and raised his right to her lips in an obscene reversal of typical Pureblood courtesy.
She sucked his pointer and middle fingers firmly into her mouth, laving them with her warm
tongue. Under his closed lids, Draco’s eyes rolled back. He bit the inside of his cheek hard
enough to taste copper to keep back a groan.

Granger hollowed her cheeks as she pulled off his fingers and began to slide his hand down
to her blouse. He knew in the real world his breath had gone ragged, but he didn’t move to
unbutton her.

She floated at the surface of his mind, waiting.

Isn’t this what you wanted? her mental voice cooed after a moment.

Sweat broke out along his brow.

What … what are you doing right now, Granger? Draco’s mental voice rasped, with a sharper
edge than he had planned. I admit I’ve made a fool of myself, but you don’t have to rub it in.

Abruptly, the vision of Granger disappeared, but her voice remained, now huffy: I’m only
teasing you a little, you prat–-and you deserve it. You wouldn’t even let me finish before, and
you’ve completely avoided me for two and a half weeks.

Draco gusted a sigh. What more is there to say?

I didn’t fantasize about you at the budget meeting or at Theo’s party, she responded. I didn’t
say I’d never fantasized about you.

For the second time, Draco burst into a red-faced coughing fit at a Ministry meeting. For the
second time, Granger summoned a glass of water for him. This time, though, when she
passed it over, her eyes were warm and shining, and a faint blush touched her cheeks.

Wait, you have? His mental voice choked out.

I have, Granger said, as firm and confident as if he had asked her for five-year financials.
Many, many times.

Oh, he said.

Yes.

Draco wasn’t sure how one word managed to be impish and vulnerable and smug at the same
time, but the purr of it shivered down the back of his neck and made him sit a little farther the
conference table to hide his reaction. Draco looked down at his useless notes and took a slow,
shallow breath. Perhaps his Gryffindor plan would have been the best option after all: Just
ask.

Would you show me? he asked.

Show you what I’ve dreamed about you?

Yes. Draco tried for his usual bantering tone, thankful that his mental voice couldn’t shake.
You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.

Across the table from him, Granger gave a tiny smirk. This is an awfully boring meeting. I
could use a distraction.
 Epilogue: You Know You Were Both Thinking It
Chapter Summary

A little HEA

“I’m telling you, they’re faking,” Harry confided to the little crew around the table. “They’re
awfully restrained for a couple that’s been dating two months. Hermione, at least, is usually a
little more handsy after a few drinks, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Ginny nodded, surreptitiously eyeing Draco and Hermione as they waited to collect
the next round of drinks. The couple chatted with Pansy and Neville, standing
companionably close. Draco’s arm draped gently around her waist, but his hand never
dropped lower for a flirting squeeze. Hermione absently stroked Draco’s wrist once or twice
as she laughed over something Pansy said, but otherwise, she could have been working a
Ministry networking function with Draco rather than hanging out with her boyfriend on a
Friday night.

All told, the combined Slytherin-Gryffindor gang had seen Granger more affectionate with
Theo than Draco. And Draco had been an absolute PDA menace back when he’d dated
Pansy; they’d barely kept their hands out of each others’ pants. Over the weeks, Hermione’s
and Draco’s decorum had frustrated their friends to no end.

“But what’s the point of them pretending to date?” Ginny asked. “They are both going to
hang out with us all, anyway.”

“That is the point, Gin,” Harry said with tipsy concern. “They’re the third wheels! For all of
us, I mean. So, seventh wheels, maybe. Or something. But you know what I mean; they’ve
become the only singles in our little social group. So why wouldn’t they pretend to be
together, just to stop feeling awkward?”

Theo laid a quelling hand on his arm. Harry’s boyfriend looked over at the couple.
Hermione’s gaze was focused on Pansy, but she moved slightly in front of Draco to rest her
back against his chest. Draco’s gaze was a bit distant, but he bent to drop a small kiss to her
curls.

Theo focused for a minute, then gave a long, slow blink and smiled at Harry. “Just because
they aren’t banging on the bar table doesn’t mean they aren’t doing it one the one at home.
You’re just mad that we had to put up with months of them moping and snarling and don’t
get to make fun of them for being sappy and twitterpated.”

“Who’s twitterpated?” asked Hermione brightly, as she, Draco, Pansy and Neville returned
floating an array of drinks.
“You are, duckie,” Theo crooned. “We were all just commenting on how disgustingly over-
the-top you and Draco are with all your wanton sexual displays.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Hermione grinned, then rose on tiptoe to give Draco’s jaw a chaste peck
.

To Harry’s surprise—though not Theo’s—a flush burned down the tips of Draco’s ears and
across his cheeks. He abruptly downed the shot of firewhisky in his hand, set it down, then
clasped Hermione’s hand in his own.

“Right, well, it’s been fun, but Granger and I have an early meeting tomorrow on the … uh
… potions agreements with Bulgaria. Ta!”

Hermione gamely waved as he hauled her toward the Floo. Blaise and Ginny snickered and
Harry sputtered, “—but, tomorrow’s Saturday!”

Theo grinned at his flustered boyfriend. “On that note, love, I say we head out, too. If we go
soon we can catch Honeydukes before it closes. I’m suddenly craving chocolate frogs in the
worst way.”

“Fucking hell, Granger, do you want to kill me?” Draco growled as they crashed through her
Floo, barely making it five feet to tip over the arm of her couch as they pawed at each others’
clothes.

Every time she’d given him an innocent little smile or touch in front of others while she
flashed something kinky behind his eyes, he thought he’d lose his mind. Tonight’s slow
torture had involved Granger mentally sliding him down her throat over and over while he
tried to maintain a pleasant conversation with Neville bloody Longbottom, of all people.

“I thought I was going to come in my fucking pants. And Pansy would have recognized that
expression on me, I’ll have you know.”

Granger shot him an arch little grin. “Weren’t you the one who said meeting up for drinks
with the gang didn’t have to interfere with our date?”

“That was before I knew my girlfriend was planning to suck me off in the middle of the
Leaky Cauldron,” he said.

Granger giggled wickedly as she hiked a leg up around his hip. What they could do to each
other with legilimency was unholy, but it could only edge—neither could get to actual release
without real touch. The more he felt that sweet and phantom suction along his length, the
more acute and intense the feeling of Granger’s oh-so-casual circles along the back of his
hand. The contrast wound him tighter and tighter all night, until Granger had to step in front
of him to keep their friends from seeing how fiercely his cock pressed against his trousers. It
was all he could do not to grind against her plump arse just in front of him.

She widened her eyes and batted huge dark lashes at him. “Why Malfoy, I have no idea what
you are talking about. You must have a degenerate imagina—oh. Oh, right there.”

She purred approvingly and ground up against him as Draco scooped one breast up out of her
low-cut dress and squeezed lightly. Her puckering nipple teased his palm and made his mouth
water. He bent down, dragged her nipple between his teeth and sucked hard.

Granger whimpered and Draco smirked around her nipple, enjoying the way gooseflesh
shivered up across her chest and arms. “Oh yes, absolutely deranged.”

She helped him lever her dress up over her hips and head in one swoop, and Draco groaned at
everything she was not wearing underneath. She grinned, that perfect, impish grin, and he
needed more of her mouth, immediately. He kissed her deeply, enjoying the little shivers that
ran down his spine when she twisted her fingers into his hair and tugged.

“You would be horrified to know—” he growled against her mouth, “—all of the indelicate,
unseemly, salacious …”

He punctuated his words sucking tiny bruises along her throat and collarbone on the way
back to her tits—“indecent”—nipping the underside of one breast—“lewd” — rolling her
other nipple between his teeth and —“... positively filthy things I’ve imagined doing to you
tonight,” Draco concluded as he laved his way down her stomach to her ticklish hip.

Her breathless laugh fell off into a moan. “Ahh, oh, oh Merlin, Draco, please.”

This, this was why the fantasies could never take him all the way. He missed the scent of her
skin and the salt of her sweat as he laved at her. He could have fantasized about sucking her
breasts until she moaned, but he could never have dreamed up the little surprised choke she
made when he bit down on her flank or the feeling of the muscles in her thighs flexing and
straining against his shoulders and chest as he slowly lowered himself down her body.

Granger’s fingers twisted harder in his hair as her eyes rolled back. At the tiny sting of her
nails in his scalp, he rocked against the velvet of the couch, then hissed as his balls tightened
dangerously.

Draco cupped his hands around Granger’s thighs and pressed them apart. “So pretty, love,”
he whispered. “I’ve been wanting to open you up like a present all night.”

His thumbs gently traced up and down along the edge of her cunt, just above her clit but not
quite touching it. He leaned close until his breath tickled over her, smirking as she gasped and
twitched.

Draco stroked along her folds and whispered little profanities against her clit, echoing them
mentally so she heard and felt them at the same time. Her thighs trembled and her breath
turned ragged. He lapped at her once, and again, and again–discreet licks that made her
freeze and hitch beneath him. Draco hummed and sucked her clit lazily, laving the flat of his
tongue over the nub.

“Please. More, please,” she panted.

He curled two fingers into her and stroked languid and deep, pressing the soft place inside
her each time he sucked her clit against his teeth. After a few more strokes, as Granger
whimpered and writhed, Draco pulled his fingers out and lifted his head to watch her eyes as
he slid his fingers into his mouth with a smirk.

“So sweet, I could eat you just like this all night. Let you come sometime around dawn,” he
told her.

Granger keened and shoved herself up against his mouth, impatient. Draco chuckled, letting
her feel that, too. Draco loved that Granger never tried to temper or contain her reactions to
him; she let him know what she wanted, begged and demanded shamelessly, and rewarded
him with the roll of her body and all the myriad wails and whimpers of her pleasure. Edging
Hermione Granger was wildly good for his ego.

It was dangerous, too, though. Draco huffed in surprise as Granger arched herself up, pushing
him back against the couch with both hands splayed over his chest. When he tried to sit back
up she slid her hands up to his wrists and rocked forward, using her body weight to push his
wrists to the bed beside his head. Draco grinned impudently at her. “Somebody’s getting
bossy.”

Granger’s eyes flashed at him, flush burned over her cheeks and down her throat, and
Salazar, she was gorgeous when she was riled up.

“I think that’s quite enough foreplay, thank you,” Granger hissed, letting go of one wrist and
reaching down to position him. With one long slide, she impaled herself on his cock.

Velvety wet heat engulfed him and Draco’s brain fritzed out a bit.

Ohh fuck.

Granger rocked down again, moving to brace her hands on his shoulders for leverage. Those
mouthwatering tits bounced close enough to his face that he felt himself go a little cross-
eyed. Draco leaned forward to catch one of them in his teeth and she whined, threading one
hand around to the back of his head to hold him to her as she rode him. He gripped her hips
and thrust back against her, canting up so that her clit ground on him with every stroke.

The pace picked up, her nails digging little pinpricks across his shoulder and neck. He tilted
up to capture her mouth and pressed one hand between them, adding just that little bit more
friction to her core. Granger’s rhythm broke, turned frantic, her curls crackling with magic as
she howled, and came. The combination of tight, rippling pressure on his cock and the tiny
static-shocks of her magic where her hair cascaded over his skin made his whole body
shudder as he let go.
Granger slumped over him, her breath warm and rasping against the side of his neck. Draco
wrapped his arms fully around her and held her to him, nuzzling into her insanely mussed
curls. She smelled of sex and sweat and the faintest hint of strawberry body wash. Every
bone and muscle in him felt heavy with relaxation. He wanted to stay wrapped around and
inside of her until he fell asleep, woke up and got to do it all over again.

Merlin, Circe and all the bloody founders, that was good. Let’s have more of that.

Let’s have more of that forever.

As Draco lay, forehead pressed to Granger’s, he wasn’t even sure which one of them had
thought it. But they both smiled.
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