I posted this on Hawthorne & Vine way back in 2012, with no intention of posting it here... and now I've changed my mind, lol. One year and (almost) three months later. Well, it was curiosity mostly. I suddenly decided I wanted to see what people thought of it here, on ff. No matter where else I post, I always seem to come back here. Anyway, enough of me. Enjoy. ^_^
Nobody had ever accused Draco Malfoy of being a saint. It just wasn't who he was. But despite his selfish, arrogant nature, he was not a killer, a loyal Death Eater, or his father's lackey. He wanted nothing to do with any of that bullshit. He considered himself apart from and above every one of his fellow Slytherins and pureblood fanatics.
He was not a fanatic.
And his plans always went awry whenever he tried to do something all by himself.
Currently, he was being 'escorted' through the dungeons in what he could only surmise was one of the many command centres for the Order of the Phoenix. His newest wand had been forcibly taken from him, probably snapped in half by now, and despite his dishevelled appearance, the Aurors half dragging him along the stone floors had recognised him immediately.
Apparently, he was famous: well, infamous.
Draco smiled slightly, his head turned away from his captors as they tossed him forward. His body hit the stone floor awkwardly and he rolled over immediately, his eyes blurry at the renewed spasm of pain this had caused him. The fight that had landed him here had broken several ribs, fractured his left femur, and torn the ligaments in his left arm. He was pretty sure he was bleeding internally as well. Not that they cared.
But a fatally injured prisoner had nothing left to lose, and therefore no reason to divulge whatever information they thought they were getting from him.
That had to be why, not five minutes later, a medic witch was ushered into his cell (after he'd been shackled and anchored to the floor of course). The woman worked quickly, a guard of sorts hovering around, making sure he didn't try anything funny, and was out the door in the fastest time on record. He had no idea people feared him that much.
If it wasn't so funny, it would be insulting. What the hell had he done to deserve that? Yeah, they didn't trust him – understandable – but fear?
'My god damned father's fault, no doubt.'
Draco murmured incomprehensibly, cursing his father's name.
"What was that, Death Eater scum?"
Time had gotten away from him; his torturer had come back several times before he realised they'd already started on him, and he'd been dwelling on the numerous curses he wished to inflict on his pathetic excuse for a father for a good ten minutes. It felt that long anyway.
Draco spluttered, fighting the presence now invading his mind. They would get nothing off of him this way; he was skilled at Legilimens, they had to know this. He closed his eyes, throwing up images and drawing away from the invader. Eye to eye contact was essential to maintain the non-verbal Legilimens being thrown his way and he pushed the invader out easily.
He allowed himself a small smirk before tentatively reopening his eyes. His jailer waved his wand and Draco forced himself not to cry out; his suit jacket tore open, hanging loosely and the warm trickle of blood brought a shiver to his body. The non-verbal spell had been a shallow cut, not enough to make him bleed out, but it felt like a knife slashing along his chest. The black shirt underneath the jacket ripped open with the curse: his skin was enflamed and he groaned involuntarily, making the wizard in front of him smile for the first time.
"Didn't like that, did ya?"
Draco was no stranger to pain, and no, he didn't like it, he wasn't stupid. But the cut was going to scar if it didn't get healed anytime soon. He liked his chest hair-free, flab-free and definitely scar-free. Once it imprinted itself on his skin, marred his perfect form, there was no taking it back.
He growled, shifting as his torturer responded with a harsh riposte, in the form of some unknown spell he was certain wasn't ministry approved. The chains around his wrist stopped him from falling backward and he merely slumped to the ground. The man had not interrogated him, just thrown curse after curse, attempted to invade his mind and made the occasional snarky comment.
"What will it take?"
Draco looked up at the frustrated wizard, realising this Auror was different to the one who'd first shackled him.
'Did I black out again?'
Draco groaned. "Granger."
"Huh?" The Auror narrowed his eyes at him. "What did you say, freak?"
"Hermione Granger," Draco said softly. "I'll only tell her."
It really was a killer.
The man grunted in reluctant acquiescence and stormed out of the cell. The only girl in the Golden Trio was here – she had to be.
Draco pulled himself up off the floor and into a seated position; his intention was to retain what little dignity this place had left him, but all it did was make him wince and shudder. Being shackled to the floor would not afford him any kind of comfort. He was starting to get nervous, wondering how Hermione had reacted to hearing about his capture. He was in this hellhole because of her after all. He fiddled with the shredded buttons on his expensive suit jacket nonchalantly, wishing he had a mirror to assess the full extent of the damage over his face as well. His thoughts surrounded his appearance, the imminent arrival of the Gryffindor he'd tormented for years at Hogwarts and the insanity that his thoughts were surrounding his appearance, and the imminent arrival of the Gryffindor he'd tormented for years at Hogwarts.
He was nervous, he hadn't seen her since the inception of this newest war, and Draco Malfoy was going crazy worrying over it.
A sweet, sinful voice; he hadn't heard her entrance, so caught up in his thoughts. He was starting to think that Auror had cast some sort of charm to confuse and bemuse him.
Hermione looked as devilishly gorgeous as the last time he'd seen her. But instead of the soft, concerned girl who'd asked him if he was okay shortly after his mother's funeral, the woman standing tentatively in the doorway to his cell was devoid of emotion.
"Hermione," he whispered, eliciting a fleeting look of surprise from her.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked, schooling her features and stepping further into the room. There was a guard outside and he contemplated how quickly the man would burst into the room and kill him if he were to attack the queen of bleeding hearts. "Why did you ask for me?"
"You're not an idiot," he said evenly, keeping his eyes trained on hers.
She immediately closed the door behind her and came forward to crouch in front of him. "Really?"
"Hm." He smirked – another flash of surprise: she wasn't as good at hiding her emotions as she believed. 'You know all the better spells."
"You want me to torture you?"
"Would you have come down here for any other reason?"
"I'm not a sadist Malfoy. Just tell me what you know and I won't let them hurt you again."
He scoffed, pulling on his shackles, emphasising his role as her prisoner. "No, I think you like it rough, Hermione. I wonder what you taste like… I could ride you… I could fuck you so hard you'll never walk straight again… hm?"
She gaped at him, the shock at his boldness rendering her speechless. It took her a few moments to find her composure and he patiently waited for her to make the next move. Hermione stood up, stepped backward, and aimed her wand at him. "Tell me what the Dark Lord is planning."
He smirked again. After Harry 'Saint' Potter defeated Voldemort at Hogwarts, the world rejoiced… until he was spotted in a Muggle community several months later. The Death Eaters now controlled most of Britain and were getting ready to make one last attack that, if Draco's father wasn't lying to him about, would completely devastate the Order as well as what was left of the ministry. The light side was getting desperate, and apparently, Potter was making a last stand of his own.
"I'll tell you what," Draco said mischievously. "You do a couple of some things for me, and I'll tell you what's going on with the Dark Lord."
She swallowed heavily, her wand hand lowering slightly. 'What is that Malfoy?"
"Well, for one thing, call me Draco."
"And the other?"
He smirked. "Kiss me."
Her eyes widened. "K-kiss you?"
"Uh-huh. And none of that pecking bullshit: I want a full on snog."
"Probably." He shrugged. "Do we have a deal?"
"You spill first."
"Nuh-uh, it doesn't work that way, Princess."
How could he still be like this, calm and detached, after he'd been tortured? Hermione ran through the possible ramifications in her head. If she kissed him, he'd tell her what he knew… if she didn't… well, it was just one kiss, so there was nothing to worry about, right?
She sighed, nodding in acquiesce. Hermione kept her grip on her wand tight and knelt down in front of Draco again, her heart hammering in her ears. He looked calm, with only a gleam in his stormy eyes hinting at the desire within. She swallowed heavily and leant in toward him her eyes closing at the last moment; she was startled slightly at the force of his kiss – even bound he retained such… passion.
He licked her lips teasingly and murmured into her mouth. 'Let me in Hermione.'
And she acquiesced, parting her pink lips; he devoured her immediately. She couldn't believe she was doing this – Hermione reciprocated, pushing into him as Draco bit down on her lip. She moaned, her free hand falling to the front of his torn shirt. She kept her wand directed at him, but was fast losing the will to keep it steady.
Hermione tasted iron a moment later, realising too late that Draco's mouth was bleeding. But something was compelling her to continue kissing him. It felt like the Imperius Curse… but that was impossible! With a mind of its own, her body shuddered and she raised her wand, casting a non-verbal Relashio at Draco's shackles.
'What the hell?'
His arms came crashing down and embraced her waist as he intensified their kiss – she could feel the beginnings of bruising along the delicate skin. Hermione couldn't stop herself – he tugged on her wand, and she didn't struggle. And all awhile, she continued to snog Draco Malfoy. He was waving her wand and in the next few moments, as she heard distant voices, Hermione moved mechanically to grasp her wand. Her own mind betrayed her and she apparated them out of the building.
A cold wind rippled through her body and Hermione lost consciousness, falling into Draco's arms.
He lifted her up, bridal style, and turned around, his smile becoming more pronounced as he spotted the manor his family used every Christmas while he was growing up. Italy was his favourite country after England and France – the former being more obligation as the country of his birth, but a favourite nonetheless. A house-elf greeted him at the entrance.
"The guest bedroom is ready Master Malfoy," he squeaked.
"Master bedroom," Draco corrected him.
"Of course Master Malfoy."
Draco nodded to the house-elf and continued on, finally laying Hermione down and pulling off her shoes. She looked so peaceful, on his bed and smiling slightly. He pushed hair out of her face and kissed her forehead as she slept. "You're my prisoner now Hermione Granger."
It was only a few hours before he heard her moving around. Draco waited in the study, indulging in firewhiskey and carnal thoughts, for her to find him. He'd taken her wand, but they both knew she wasn't helpless. His house-elf, Lurio, escorted her in, bowed, and then Disapparated away.
Hermione was furious, it didn't take a skilled Legilimens to see that.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She snapped. "I‒"
"I thought this would be a better place to continue our conversation," he said, walking toward her slowly.
Her eyes appraised him, despite her fury; she had to admit that he cleaned up nice. But instead of his usual black suit, he wore black pants and a grey polo shirt; if she didn't know any better, she'd almost mistake him for a Muggle. Her eyes inevitably rose to those stormy grey eyes, and not for the first time in her life, she was mesmerised. For a few minutes, she forgot that she was his prisoner, and focused now on the fact that he was now inches away from her.
She inhaled his scent deeply. He was as intoxicating as ever.
Hermione shuddered. "How‒"
"‒did I get you here?"
"Granger, think about it for a minute, and then ask me again."
She nodded again. Only authorised personnel could apparate out of headquarters, and even though she'd been somehow bewitched, Hermione had done just that. Draco had no wand on him at the time, but he could've used a non-verbal spell. Then she remembered the blood in his mouth – it hadn't been as a result of torture… he'd bitten himself maybe? That meant that the entire thing, from his capture to tricking her into kissing him, had been planned from the beginning.
"You got captured on purpose?" She asked, shocked. He nodded and she swallowed heavily. "And… you had something in your mouth."
Draco smiled. "A capped tooth: ingenious really, if I do say so myself."
"So it wasn't the Imperius curse?"
"No." He finished off the firewhiskey bottle in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder; he ignored her disapproving frown.
"And the blood?"
"Not important," he said. "But you were compelled to free me – the potion I had made merely left your mind open to me."
He smirked. "Don't look so disappointed Hermione; after all, I did it all just to get you here."
She blushed profusely, turning her head too late to hide it from him. "And now?"
His eyes roamed her body. "I think we both know what happens next."
Hermione glared up at him. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"I want to fuck you Granger – that's what it means."
"I will not‒"
"But you haven't even asked the most important question," he interrupted, trailing a forefinger up her arm.
He wasn't about to admit he'd never have gotten close to her if it wasn't for Theodore Nott. His old friend had believed the rumours and distanced himself from him, eventually finding a place on Potter's side. But after Draco convinced him he wasn't out to harm Hermione, he agreed to manoeuvre the fight that had ended his freedom (albeit temporarily) around him, so he could be brought to the safe house she was in. Working with him again had been unavoidable – doing things on his own never worked out after all.
And Theodore had always had a soft spot for 'romantic fantasies'. Draco inwardly scoffed. When he admitted to being in love with the Gryffindor princess his friend had rattled off corny line after cliché idiom, just to tease him.
"The Dark Lord…" Hermione mentally scolded herself for forgetting. She licked her lips, unconsciously gripping the front of Draco's polo shirt as she did. "Tell me what you know, Malfoy."
He sighed, disappointed. "I'd rather just apparate you up to the master bedroom."
"So you won't tell me?" She asked. "You're going to go back on your word?"
Why wasn't she surprised?
"Can't tell you about the Dark Lord," Draco said, smirking when her eyebrows rose majestically. "You didn't call me Draco."
That was the deal after all.
She groaned. "Draco."
It was after two more bottles of firewhiskey, some Muggle chardonnay, and a beverage that Hermione was pretty sure was liquid gold, that her 'host' finally fulfilled his side of their agreement. He was running his fingers over her outer thigh (somehow, in the middle of trying to out-drink each other, she'd toppled down onto the oriental rug that sat in front of the fireplace, and he'd happily collapsed next to her in a fit of laughter).
"The Dark Lord is dead," Draco whispered, licking his lips. "He's dead."
Hermione blinked heavily, her alcohol befuddled brain taking in what he was saying. "What?"
"Voldemort is dead," he murmured wistfully, admiring the way her body trembled under his touch. "My father has someone impersonating him to incite fear while he moves to take over Wizarding Britain."
She processed that… it didn't register. She looked down at the glass in her hand and decided she would worry about it in the morning. Hermione emptied her glass, threw it across the room, and sighed deeply. She let Draco pull her into his arms; before either of them had the chance to wonder at the absurdity of their current position, light snores filled the room.
"I have to go back."
"Because you'll just get yourself killed."
Hermione frowned. "Why are you doing all this? Why have you kidnapped me and brought me half way around the world?"
"Instead of torturing you?" He asked evenly.
Draco had not enjoyed being tortured by the Aurors, but the moment Hermione had aimed her wand at him, something inside of him had been turned on... and she hadn't even fired a single hex. His heartbeat quickened and he felt a throbbing in his loins. She was always going to perplex him, even without trying.
She shook her head. "I'm not going to apologise for what happened to you." 'Though I am sorry.' "But last night you told me that the real Voldemort is dead, and then this morning you said your father is using an Imperiused scapegoat to pretend to be him, and that he'll be making a move soon on the Order and he has a spy in the Auror department! How the hell did you expect me to react to that?"
He leant forward, resting his chin on his hands as he surveyed her; his desk was large enough to accommodate them if he decided to take her in here... The possibilities were tantalising. "There's nothing you can do about that," he said.
They were in his private study, and the Gryffindor was killing the mood, standing in the doorway after her sixteenth failed attempt to escape. She'd spent the better part of the morning looking for ways to leave the estate, but no matter how far she walked, somehow she wound up back in the manor. This place had to have some serious protection on it for this to happen – she wasn't surprised that the Malfoys would design a spell to keep someone here against their will.
Hermione struggled to control her anger as she felt her anxiety intensify. She strode into the room, slammed her fists down on his desk and growled, very un-Hermione like. "Are you with him?"
'And why the hell do I care if he is?'
Draco stood up, walked around his desk, and grabbed her chin as she moved to face him, his eyes intense on hers. She found herself lost in those grey blue eyes, unable to turn away. Her pulse quickened and she tried unsuccessfully to force her body to move away from him. What was he doing to her?
"I would never follow someone so cowardly," he said, almost as quietly. "He just can't accept that he lost, he can't just admit he was wrong. I can see it," he added, tracing his thumb over Hermione's jawline. "I can see the folly of the old ways. Purebloods are going to die out, and we only have ourselves to blame. I don't want to be a part of that. I want to stay away from them all." He slid his hand behind her neck. "I just want you."
Hermione's eyes went wide, feeling herself being pulled toward the Slytherin, and then closed as her lips crashed onto his. He was using her obvious attraction to him to distract her again, and Merlin it was a good one.
She mumbled "fuck" into his mouth as he ran his forefinger down her shirt, pausing at her clothed breasts to rub his thumb over her nipples. Her legs turned into jelly; taking the initiative, Draco apparated them into the master bedroom. She was barely aware of her surroundings as he tugged her toward the bed. She only realised what he'd done once she was on her back, the most comfortable duvet in the world cushioning her fall as he pushed her down. But she didn't resist; his hand slid down from her breasts, and quickly found her inner thigh, heading straight for her womanhood. She was already wet, and squirmed as he bypassed the cotton material of the shorts entirely. In one swift movement, his fingers were thrusting in and out of her; his thumb pressing heavily against her nub, causing her to cry out as her orgasm fast approached.
He held her gently, eliciting moan after orgasm after scream from the beautiful woman writhing underneath him. His name fell from her lips more times than he could count, bringing on his own painful reaction. He wanted her to want him, and not to let the throes of pleasure make the decision for her. So he eased her back to earth, kissing her slowly, gently and without asserting his obvious control over her.
Hermione had never come like that before; she'd orgasmed on one other occasion, but it hadn't blotched her vision, sent sharp, shattering convulsions through her body, or left her without her mind and common sense. She was glad, once she realised Draco was easing her out of it without taking advantage of her, that he wasn't pressuring her ‒ perhaps he did think it was inevitable…
"Hm…" She gulped, looking up into those stormy grey eyes as he watched her intently. The silence dragged out between them and finally, her body caught up with her mind. "This changes nothing."
He smiled. "I know."
"What do I have to do to get you to let me leave the estate?" She asked. She knew the answer – it was staring her in the face. He wanted her body, and only an idiot couldn't see that.
Draco gave her an 'as if you don't know' look and then smirked, trailing her body with his eyes wantonly. "Give yourself over to me."
She swallowed heavily. "Just this once?"
He didn't answer, but his smirk deepened. She watched his eyes become heavy lidded, the lust emanating from him intensified, as if with a mind of its own.
"I told you to call me Draco." His hand drifted back toward her inner thigh as he stared into her eyes – she couldn't pull away. "Do we have a deal?"
"Answer my question first," she said breathlessly, gasping slightly as his fingers slipped back under her shorts (they were his actually, as she'd showered and had nothing else to change into) and danced over her clit. "Draco…"
He bit his bottom lip, rubbing her jewel and fighting his urge to jump her before she'd acquiesced.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. "Draco… hm."
He found her entrance and again, he was thrusting his fingers into her hard and fast. Her arms flew up, gripping his shoulders tightly as she screamed with every shudder of her body, orgasming over and over again. She wouldn't have believed she had so many more in her, but he was coaxing them out of her insatiably nonetheless.
"Hermione," he whispered, finally removing his fingers. "Do we have a deal?"
She was coming back to earth again, gasping, flushed, and thoroughly satiated. She knew it was nothing compared to what would happen if she let him inside of her… she swallowed heavily... if she moved from oral to penetrative sex. The thought had her blushing like a school girl. But Hermione wasn't stupid – she wasn't going to enter any verbal contract with him until he answered her question and stopped trying to distract her.
She licked her lips. "Answer my question."
His failure at distracting her marred his features – his smirk twisted into a frown. Draco hadn't been expecting the bookworm to have a clear head when it came to sex.
"Fine," he said, now absentmindedly tugging at the bottom of her shirt as though it would magically disappear and give him an unencumbered view of her breasts. "For the rest of the day."
She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "That's what I'm offering Hermione – we both know I'll wear you down eventually, so don't waste any more time."
She groaned and he chuckled. "Fine," she snapped.
He kissed her swiftly. "You're not going to regret this."
"One last thing," she said quickly and he struggled not to roll his eyes at her. "I just want to know why," she asked. "Why me?"
He sighed. 'Let's save the emotional bullshit for the after sex pillow talk, shall we?"
"Granger, let's just do it."
She opened her mouth to complain some more, perhaps tell him what a sick bastard he was, when he took advantage of her slip and kissed her again; he slid his tongue in quickly, before she could stop him, and pulled her flush against his body. And Hermione couldn't help herself, she moaned. That snog in the Order Headquarters dungeon was one thing ‒ intense, hot, and completely uninhibited ‒ but this…
He was continuing to surprise her. Hermione felt wholly inadequate compared to him.
She removed his shirt, shifted under him as she returned the favour and he paused, noting that she had no bra on under the shirt she was borrowing. Draco then reached down, pulled his shorts off of her, knowing there would be no knickers to impede his efforts, and took a moment to survey the naked, glistening woman.
But she wanted this more than he knew, pulling him down to her, kissing him as she rocked against him, inviting, and teasing him.
Hermione was slightly sore from his previous ministrations, but he had her wet again in seconds, running his fingers up and down her folds, his thumb running slow circles around her nub. She shivered, lifting her knees and curling her toes; moaning and grinding against him, she quickly came again. But Draco wasn't done yet. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, letting out a surprised hiss as she recovered enough from the last high and shoved her right hand into his pants, fisting his member.
It was Draco's turn to lose track of his thoughts, pausing as the witch underneath him shed him of the last of his clothing and rolled him onto his back to better access his throbbing dick. He growled as she took him into her mouth, not wondering why she was so enthusiastic, not worried in the slightest that she was now the dominant one.
He bucked, arched painfully and a spasm tore through his body as she swallowed his seed. Hermione wiped her mouth, and kissed her way up his toned body, licking his abs before crashing her lips into his.
"Merlin," he growled into her mouth. "I'm going to fuck you now, witch."
He wanted to push her onto her back, but she took control again; in her mind, she was paying him back for all the teasing he'd done before now. Hermione pushed her hands against his chest, and began lowering herself down on him with the patience of a saint.
Draco Malfoy was not a saint.
He bucked his hips up roughly, and she screamed as he buried himself to the hilt. He paused; a strange shudder of horror at the meaning behind her painful cry hit him hard and fast. But she was already moving, not giving herself time to acclimatise. Hermione was tight around him, hot, slick and unconsciously clenching and unclenching as she rode him. Her movements started out slow and methodical; when he growled, about to pull her down faster in his impatience to increase the friction, she picked up the pace.
And here he was, thinking she was the one being seduced. The fucking vixen ground her hips, milking him and all concerns about that unrestrained scream of hers fled his mind as his body took over. She came again, and he threw her onto her back, thrusting in and out of her like a man possessed until he too found his release. She shuddered underneath him and he slumped, exhausted. He would wait it out, and go again soon, but for now, he was content, rolling off of her and smirking as Hermione snuggled into his chest.
"Draco?" She murmured a few minutes later. "Why me?"
He inhaled the smell of their mixed sweat and sex. "Because I love you."
The battlefield execution of Lucius Malfoy was front page news for months. The ministry was finally getting back up on its feet around the time that Draco's name was cleared. It took a lot of convincing that the lies his father had perpetrated, with the help of Polyjuice Potion, memory charms, the Imperius Curse and a host of other underhand methods, were just that – lies. He had never raided Muggle villages just to kidnap the women and trap them in his summer home as sex slaves. He'd never tortured a five year old boy so bad that even his own parents didn't recognise him. And he had certainly never prowled the streets of London, hexing every woman that caught his interest, raping them, killing them, and then leaving their naked bodies on the doorstep of their family with only a note that said, 'I had fun, now it's your turn.'
Hearing these and many more angered him – even Theodore Nott hadn't believed the rumours until he actually spotted who he thought was Draco apparating away with some unsuspecting Muggle woman.
His time at the ministry was exhausting, and it irked him even more that it was the chosen one himself who did the interrogation. That freckle faced Weasley best friend of his stayed in the shadows of the better man, but offered his input nonetheless. Potter politely suggested he leave the room after the fifth time that rat smelling weasel suggested rounding up a few Dementors just to have some fun with him – he was interrupting just for the sake of it by then.
Hermione was let in then, against Potter's wishes and it was Draco's explanation for his father's actions that finally had the 'scarred one' stumped.
"And why would your father deliberately twist you into an image to be feared, like that?" Harry asked, sceptical.
Draco sighed. "He knew I didn't agree with what he was doing, so to give me nowhere else to run, he fabricated a whole Death Eater persona for me so that your lot wouldn't trust a word I said if I decided to turn on him."
"It makes perfect sense Potter. Don't be daft."
"And it doesn't bother you?" Hermione asked softly. "That your own father did that, I mean?"
Yes it did, but with Potter staring at him curiously, he wasn't about to admit that. Instead, Draco shook his head. "No, that was nothing, just his way of trying to pull me in line."
"It didn't work though."
Draco chuckled. "Guess he didn't really know me after all."
Hermione entwined her hands with his, her show of affection bringing a genuine smile to his face. "I'm glad."
Harry cleared his throat. "Uh yeah, about that... Um, what made you decide to‒"
"You know what Potter?" Draco said, standing up and pulling Hermione with him. "I have a few questions of my own."
"I think he means of me," Hermione said.
Before Harry could complain that the interview wasn't over, Draco was propelling Hermione out the door, through the ministry halls and straight into the nearest Floo. Harry pulled a face, realising his best friend was about to be thoroughly shagged. He didn't want to know what kind of questions Malfoy asked mid-coitus.
The interview was over.
X X X
God that was good, lol. The inspiration for this came from the initial "Draco gets caught on purpose then proceeds to bribe Hermione with sex". Yep, that's my reasoning right there. Lotsa love as a head's up to everyone who will read/review, whatever, this.