Rights and Privilege
Summary: They won the war, but lost the power - Voldemort's dead, but things are still changing. Now, a fling from twelve years ago has come back to haunt Hermione, and she has to swallow her pride and ask the last person she would choose for help. Will he help? And what will his conditions be?
Chapter One: Conditions of the Deal
AN: I don't know why the Harry Potter fandom has been pulling at me so much lately, but this is something that came to mind while I was - again - trying to write the next chapter of NWAF, and I just couldn't let it go. I hope you enjoy it!
"You're going to enjoy school so much, Morgan," Hermione told her daughter as she folded up her brand new robes, scowling quickly at the 'M' embroidered on the chest before stuffing them into her trunk. All of her and Morgan's clothes had to be marked to identify them as Muggleborn. Under the laws that followed the war, anyone with less than third-generation wizarding blood had to have their clothes marked. Ron and Lavender had had a time explaining to their children why Harry, Hermione, and Morgan got to wear "those cool patches" and they didn't.
Harry, she knew, had it worse. At least she and Morgan both wore them, so it hadn't been hard to explain it to her. But Harry's children were technically third-generation, and Ginny was a pureblood, so Harry was the only one in his family to have to wear it.
"I don't want to go to Whales Academy," Morgan whined and Hermione sighed. Not this again. "I want to go to Hogwarts with Rose and James and Hugo and Albus and-"
"Morgan, none of them are even starting school this year!" Hermione explained, exasperatedly. "And anyway, I told you, you can't attend Hogwarts."
"Because my parents were muggles," Hermione said, gritting her teeth.
"What does that matter?"
"It shouldn't. But those are the rules."
"Uncle Ron says you broke all the rules when you guys were in school," Morgan pouted.
"Yes, well, your Uncle Ron is a big fat liar," Hermione retorted. "And anyway, those were very different times." She snapped the trunk shut matter-of-factly. "Listen, you'll get a wonderful education at Whales Academy, and you'll make new friends in no time. I bet I'll even have trouble getting you to come home for the holidays!"
"I'll be coming home every chance I get. I'm not staying there anymore than I have to," Morgan said, still pouting. Hermione sighed and sat down on the bed, patting the spot beside her for Morgan to sit down.
"Okay honey," she started, running her hands through Morgan's silky smooth hair. "Give Whales Academy a chance for just one year, yeah? And if you really don't make even one friend, or like even one class, or teacher, or have one nice thing to say about the school, I won't make you go back. Deal?"
She extended her hand to Morgan and she shook it firmly, seeming satisfied. Hermione was almost certain that she wouldn't have to deliver on that bargain. There was no way that Morgan wouldn't be able to find one thing she liked about the school. Not that she wasn't completely right in not wanting to go there. It was ridiculous that blood status was now marked on their clothes, and dictated where their children could go to school. But that was the way it was. It was degrading, but no harm had really been done. No one was dying - and for that, it wasn't worth launching a war over.
There was a way Morgan could go to Hogwarts, Hermione considered as she watched her flit around the room, gathering up the last of the things she was taking to Whales Academy. She stared at her straight, silky hair, swishing about her waist, and her sharp features. There was a way...
But she didn't want to think about that. It wasn't necessary. Whales Academy would be fine.
"Time to get to King's Cross, then," she said softly, grabbing the trunk and leading the way out of her daughter's room.
(Twelve Years Ago)
Hermione felt like she was about to burst. Everything they had been through over the last seven years - all of the pain, and trials, and tears, and danger - all of it was over now. She felt like screaming at the top of her lungs with joy. Everything about this moment was bigger, better, and brighter than anything she had experienced before.
She knew that some had been lost, but at this moment she could only feel relief. She would worry about that later. She would mourn the dead later. Right now, she felt happy and free.
In that moment, Hermione Granger did something she hadn't done since she was a very small child: she threw her arms out and spun until she was so dizzy that she collapsed, her chest heaving with exertion, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.
And then the crying began. Still, she was happy. These were tears of relief. She felt lighter than she had since this whole ordeal had started. She could literally feel the burden of the last few years lifting from her shoulders.
"You've gone mental, Granger," a cool voice sounded from a few feet away. Hermione stopped, sitting up abruptly and whirling to face the person. It was Draco Malfoy, a look of smug bewilderment covering his face.
"Sod off, Malfoy," she sighed, flopping back down on the ground and closing her eyes against the slight glare of the rising sun. As a death eater, Malfoy was a coward. As a bystander, he was useless. As an ally, he was dubious. All in all, he was very little threat to her. Especially now.
"Manners, Granger," Malfoy tutted and she inwardly rolled her eyes.
"Go away, little boy," she said in a bored voice. "You're ruining my mood."
"Little boy?" he asked indignantly. "I assure you, there is nothing little about me."
"Please, you're still a child," Hermione said. "All you do is hide behind others. But it's okay, we took care of the big bad Dark Lord for you. Now run along and play. I don't feel like dealing with you right now."
She could tell her blatant dismissal was getting to him.
"You think all I do is hide behind others?" Malfoy asked, sounding as though Hermione had hit a nerve.
"Please. You hid behind your father, then Snape, then Voldemort," Hermione answered. "Name one time in your life when you haven't been using someone else's name or influence."
"Now," he said, and Hermione scoffed. "No, really. Who do I even have now?"
"I'd say that's your own fault."
"You know something?" Malfoy continued, as though she hadn't spoken. "I wanted the Order to win. I wanted Voldemort to die, and for my father to be imprisoned, and all of those people out of my house. I wanted everything that was going on there to stop, but what could I do?"
"You could've done the right thing."
"But it's not that simple," Malfoy said. "And now I've finally gotten what I wanted, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Who do I have anymore?"
Hermione sighed and sat up. Malfoy was really killing her mood.
"And I'll be blamed for all of this," he continued, now seeming to be talking more to himself than her. "I'll be brought up, just like them, to face what happened."
"And I'm sure you'll worm your way out of it, as usual. Especially as a minor," Hermione spat. Draco hung his head. "What exactly is it that you want, Malfoy?"
"Just for a while, I want to be treated like this never happened... Especially if I'm going to spend the rest of my life paying for it." He raised his head and looked out over the Great Lake. "I want to get to celebrate my freedom from him, like everyone else."
"Sit down," Hermione offered begrudgingly, hoisting herself up to sit and patting the spot beside her. Malfoy obeyed hesitantly. "What are you on about?"
"Well, what are you planning, now that this is over?"
"For the long term, or right now?" she asked.
"Well, I was going to watch the sun come up, then join in the celebrations with the Order, I suppose," she said. "The usual, music, food, drink."
"You don't seem much for drinking," Malfoy said.
"But I can, so I might," Hermione said with a shrug. "And then maybe some alone time with Ron." Why was she telling him that? Secretly, it gave her great joy to point out that she had someone when he, the great Draco Malfoy, had no one.
"The Weasel?" Malfoy scoffed. "Gross."
"He's twice the man you'll ever be," Hermione snapped.
"Well, he had about one hundred times the freckles, about twenty times the siblings, and about half the brains, but I think that's about where the comparison ends."
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"No, seriously, though," Malfoy continued, enjoying the rise he was getting out of the witch. "Have you actually shagged him? I mean, you can't have, if you're so eager to do it. He probably lasts about five seconds, and has no idea how to get you off."
"And I suppose you think you're better at that, too?" Hermione sneered.
"Granger, I know it. Panties were dropping all over Slytherin house at the mere mention of my name."
"Yes, well, everyone knows Slytherin girls are whores who will open their legs for anyone," Hermione taunted.
"Maybe," Malfoy conceded. "But I was the only one they begged for."
"You are so full of it."
"Am I?" he asked. "I bet I could have you practically gagging for it from just one kiss."
"Oh, I'm sure I'd be gagging for it," Hermione said. "Gagging for it to stop."
Before she could continue, Malfoy's lips had covered hers, pressing gently, his hand cupping the back of her head. A strange jolt ran through her as he licked her bottom lip gently, coaxing her to open her mouth, his tongue massaging hers gently when she did.
Damn, it had been stupid to challenge him. He may have been useless at everything else, but he was a fucking fantastic kisser. Well, everyone had to be good at something, right?
She hardly registered what she was doing, but suddenly she was aware that she was kissing him back, leaning in towards him. He nipped gently at her lip as she twisted her fingers in his hair, pressing her chest to his, reveling in the feeling of his solid body against hers.
For a moment, she forgot where she was, and who she was, and who she was kissing. She was lost in the kiss, in his lips on hers, and his hands traveling down her sides to slip under her shirt. She gasped when his fingers made contact with her bare skin, and another shock went through her, finally settling between her legs.
Then suddenly he was pulling away. On instinct, she tried to lean further in, to keep contact. Then he chuckled, and she was brought back to earth. She abruptly realized that it was Malfoy, and her stomach turned in disgust.
"Well?" he asked, smirking. She knew she was flushed and cursed that fact.
"Well what?" she grumbled.
"You can't say you didn't enjoy that," Malfoy said. "I bet your knickers are soaked right through."
"Oh shut up, you insufferable little-"
"Why won't you just admit it felt good and you want more?" Malfoy asked. "Trust me, it's not like I'm ever going to tell anyone."
That was probably true. She couldn't really imagine Malfoy bragging to anyone about shagging a mudblood. And maybe she had liked it. And what was stopping her? She and Ron weren't together. They had had sex, sure, but it was mediocre at best, and they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. They were friends who had had sex in the past, and might have sex in the future. But that was it.
"Okay, okay. At least admit it was better than the Weasel," Malfoy continued.
"Shut up, Malfoy," she hissed before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his again. It wasn't gentle this time, but full of fire and want. Before she knew it, they were both divested of their robes, and Malfoy was over her, his weight supported by his elbows as he smirked down at her. And then he was inside of her. The speed of the events nearly made her head spin. It was intoxicating, and wonderful, letting go this way. And the fact that it was Malfoy added an edge of danger that she couldn't resist.
"God, Malfoy," she breathed, reveling in the feeling of his soft skin against her slick walls, stretching and filling her. She clenched her muscles, trying to feel more of him, and he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder.
"Fuck," he hissed, grasping her hips and clenching his teeth for a moment, trying to regain his composure.
"Malfoy, move," she commanded, shifting her hips impatiently. He smirked and pulled out to the head before slamming back into her. She groaned and her fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him to do it again.
He set a steady pace, retreating and thrusting into her again and again. Her back arched under him and she cried out, a mixture of curses and his name, and he reveled in the knowledge that he was the one making the normally level-headed bookworm lose her composure.
It wasn't long before she was crying out, her muscles slamming down around him once more, milking him dry. He groaned out his orgasm, pumping into her more sporadically.
When they both finally came down, he rolled off of her, his familiar smirk back in place.
"Thanks, Granger," he said.
"Shove it, Malfoy," she returned, glaring at him. Could he not go two seconds without being a sarcastic, condescending jerk?
"Really, I mean it," he said. "You gave me what I wanted. I got to celebrate a bit, and feel normal for just a while before I have to go face what happened. For that, I thank you."
They dressed in silence, and when they were both put back to sorts he turned to her once again.
"But let's be clear, Granger," he said seriously. "This doesn't change anything, and I sincerely hope never to see you again."
"The feeling's mutual, Malfoy," she said, feeling almost relieved at this proclamation. She really didn't want it to be anything more. After years of strict composure and careful planning, she finally got to do something impulsive, and she never felt more free. The timing was perfect. The sex was fantastic. But that's all it was, and she was glad she and Malfoy were on the same page.
They went their separate ways, and true to their word, neither appeared before the other from that day forward. It was unavoidable, of course, for each to know what the other was up to, at least in the public eye. They were both reasonably well-known, and Malfoy's business ventures were always something of a big deal in the Prophet. Hermione, for her credit, had appeared there a few times due to her crusades against the muggleborn registration and segregation a few years later.
But no contact was ever made, and they lived their lives happily in this manner.
Hermione couldn't help but remember that night as she put her daughter on the train for school, a sleek blue engine that ran on tracks parallel the Hogwarts Express, but in the other direction. It was, after all, what had brought her to this point.
She looked around, trying to act nonchalant, at the other parents clustered about the platform, but saw no familiar flash of blonde hair. She shouldn't have expected it. There had been an announcement in the Prophet when Draco's son was born, but it was a good three years after Morgan. He would have no reason to be here.
Still, she wondered what he would have to say if he saw her, or even if he saw her with Morgan. It wasn't hard to guess who her father was. Or, it wouldn't be for him. The only reason she had managed to keep it secret from everyone - except Harry, of course, who knew almost the second he first held Morgan - was because the idea of her shagging Malfoy was so completely ludicrous.
She hoped Morgan would be fine at Whales Academy; that she would make friends, and do well in her courses, and be as well-liked by her teachers as she had been.
Because she couldn't go to that man for the right for Morgan to attend Hogwarts. She couldn't. Not now.
AN: I hope you enjoyed it! Please slip me a review, and let me know what you think! Questions, comments, I love them all! :D