Title: Masquerade

Author: literaryspell

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Warnings: explicit het

Word count: 1497

Author's Note: Huge thanks to kazfeist, Krystle Lynne and astopperindeath for the betas!

Summary: Draco Malfoy sets his sights upon the lovely slave girl at the Malfoy costume ball.

There wasn't another word for what Draco was doing as he stalked across the crowded dance floor.


Manor parties were hideously tedious, but they were all a part of the 'improve our name' campaign started by his father and picked up by his mother.

It didn't seem to matter to them that there could be no improvement, and a very different set of people attended the Malfoy parties these days… and there was not a gods damned thing his parents could do about it, because discrimination against unsavouries was frowned upon by Potter, which was as good as a hanging crime.

The situation was worst on Hallowe'en, of course, when his parents didn't even know who was gracing their ancient halls. They could only peer around with tight smiles, squinting at glittering eyes beneath circumventing masks and wish they had enough clout to tell the Mudbloods to get the hell out.

Not that Draco thought like that anymore, of course. No, near-death was a lesson learned. A lesson in shut up if you know what's good for you, that was.

Well, well, he thought, eyeing the official belle of the ball from his vantage point by the balcony doors.

A slave girl. Surely that was a sign, as Draco was in the mood to own somebody.

Though the Malfoy costume parties were little more than an excuse to wear as little and act as licentiously as possible, this outfit was even pushing the limits of propriety. Several men and a few women were eyeing the Egyptian slave with uncensored interest. Draco would have to make a move before one of his father's inebriated colleagues scared her away.

Adjusting his own fourteenth century (authentic, of course) wizarding robes, Draco made a move toward his quarry.

But he was thwarted by Blaise fucking Zabini, and Draco had just known he shouldn't invite the thieving, greedy Slytherin, though he'd had to. They were best friends, after all.

The entrancing slave agreed to a dance. Draco took the time to watch her, calculating how he would proceed.

She was wearing a white sarong that tied at the hip, exposing the gleaming length of an entire leg—not overly long or even all that shapely, but all the more appealing because it was so deliciously on display. The sarong stopped around her knee, but there was nothing modest about it. It was just one step away from transparent, and he could easily see her golden knickers through the material. Her feet were bare but adorned in glittering anklets and even rings for her toes.

Tearing his eyes away from her lower body, Draco tasted her torso with his eyes. Only a wide neckpiece shielded any remaining modesty. Draped in gleaming jewels gaudy enough to rival his mother's jewellery box, the collar covered her breasts but left her belly and entire back bare—a back that Blaise was currently taking liberties with. Prick.

Of course, a mask hid most of her face, sparkling just as did the jewels on her chest. Her hair was covered in them as well, tightly wound with ropes of gold and silver.

The song ended and Draco's grin was feral, but Theodore Nott was faster, and Draco cursed. He turned and opened the balcony doors abruptly, glad for the cool air—it had become almost unbearably hot, and he hadn't even noticed until now.

A moment later the doors opened again, and Draco's eyes widened as the slave girl swept past him and down the stairs to the maze beyond the garden. She turned at the bottom and smiled at him before walking slowly beyond the hedge.

Smiling broadly, Draco recognised the challenge. He gave chase.

When he found her in the centre of the maze, she was smiling with only half of her mouth. One finger held up her gold underwear, glittering in the moonlight.

Draco growled and moved toward her, grabbing the knickers and tossing them aside. Feeling beyond himself with need, set upon him so quickly he was panting, Draco took her face in his hand and kissed her deeply. She eagerly responded, opening her mouth almost instantly under his insistent tongue.

"Who are you?" he whispered, feeling clichéd and not at all embarrassed about it.

But the tease only shook her head and smiled, and Draco knew that smile, though he hadn't seen it often. And never… directed at him.

Draco watched, astonished, as she gracefully sank onto the ground before him, stretching her legs out before her, leaning back on her elbows. He was frozen, unable to comprehend this gift—sure, he'd always felt entitled, but this was something entirely different.

For the first time in his life, Draco felt undeserving.

Then her legs slowly opened, and Draco remembered that thinking was for Ravenclaws. He dropped to his knees and ran his hands reverently up her calves and over her thighs. How he ever could have them her legs unshapely was a mystery—they were, quite clearly, the most perfect legs in existence, all the more so because they led to… this.

Draco's fingers brushed her core, and her head fell back as she bit off a moan.

He shook his head as he slid two fingers inside. "You don't have to speak, but let me hear you. Make the sounds you need to make—I need to hear them."

As the girl stretched out on her back, Draco was sure he saw the wickedest of grins on her face. But then his eyes fell on a pink nipple protruding between the strands of her neckpiece, and he quite forget to admonish her cheek.

He leaned forward to take the peak into his mouth, and her hands found his trouser placard, expertly manoeuvring the ancient garb. His cock fell hard and heavy into her hand, and Draco moaned as her fingers tightened over him.

She immediately guided him between her legs, and Draco's body automatically took over, sinking into her almost without thought; it was primal and instinctual—there was nothing more natural than him inside her.

From ancient Egypt to the fourteenth century to modern times, there was only this.

She raised her arms above her head and quirked an eyebrow at him, as if daring him. Draco couldn't turn his back on such a challenge; his grabbed her wrists with one hand and pinned her down, his other hand gripping her thigh and pulling it up around him. When her legs wrapped around his waist, Draco moved his hand to her face.

He kissed her as he fucked her, his tongue moving quickly as his cock went slowly, all contradictions. He panted hotly against her mouth, looking into her eyes for a clue, even now, even when all he wanted to do was pound into her until they were both boneless and sore.

But her gaze revealed nothing, though there was a determination that belied her teasing seduction. As he went to remove her mask, she cried out sharply in ecstasy, and Draco almost startled. He'd barely given a thought to her pleasure, so set was he on his own and on the mystery of her identity. But apparently he hadn't been needed.

He wasn't distracted, though. His hips moved through her orgasm, her body clenching and drawing him in deeper, and though his release was imminent, he needed to know

Draco's hand touched the edge of her mask, a question in his eyes. But the slave girl tore her hand away from his half-hearted imprisonment, putting her hand over his and shaking her head. The message was clear. Don't touch the mask.

But Draco was oh so bad at following orders.

He reached out again, and the girl hissed, pushing harshly at his shoulders until he was on his back.

The position was reversed as she pinned his hands beside his head and straddled him, sinking onto his cock with a deep sigh. Her body was flushed and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and Draco wished he'd thought to touch more of her.

She rode his body to another climax, which set off his own—or maybe it was her incredible noises of abandon and pleasure, because Draco knew he was good but no one had ever made noises quite like that. He felt like a god.

The slave girl slowly moved away and stood up. She fetched her knickers from the ground some distance away and put them on. Draco felt primitive glee at the way his come was trapped inside her.

"Wait," he said predictably. "Just tell me your name."

"Malfoy," she said, speaking for the first time. "I don't think you want to know."

"Please," he said, and she had to know a Malfoy never begs.

"See you around," she said sweetly, and he almost, almost knew that voice.

But then she was gone, and Draco was left wondering if it would look strange to throw another costume party so soon after this one.


Author's Note: This fic is complete and no sequel is planned. Thank you for reading!