Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.
Thank You: To the amazing ThornedHuntress and Nathaniel Cardeu, who alpha/beta'd this fic (from here on out), and to SusanMarieS and AnneM, who both bannered this fic, and to ThornedHuntress for inspiring it inadvertently...
Story Summary: Bored with her life, Hermione decides to proposition Lucius Malfoy to create some excitement. What she hadn't counted on was falling for his son in the process. HG/LM at first, HG/DM ending.
Warnings: This story includes lemons (graphic sex), Strong Language, OCC characters, and very little plot.
Story Dedication: ThornedHuntress, this story is dedicated to you. :-)
Chapter Four: The Kitchen
(In which misunderstandings occur)
Hermione padded barefoot into the Manor's kitchen, feeling rather decadently shagged out and slightly bemused. Who would have ever thought that she would be wandering Malfoy Manor in nothing but its master's shirt, at three in the morning? She had certainly never anticipated it. She had rather not expected to end up at the Manor at all, to be honest.
Lucius, however, had informed her rather dryly that he was "too old" to always be scrabbling about on the floor, and that he would rather like to have her in a proper bed. Seeing as how they had ended up on the floor again just that morning, she had to concede that it was a fair point. She had ridden him rather hard in the drawing room—the same room she had been tortured in nearly eight years earlier.
He had been slightly shamed-faced when she had led him there; he clearly was discomfited by the thought of what memories the room would dredge up for her. She had quite firmly made it clear that she planned to eradicate all said memories and, once he realised what she had in mind, he had been far less apprehensive. Of course, Hermione thought smugly, she rather thought he had been having trouble thinking at all at that point.
When she had made to go home following the experience, he invited her to dinner that evening instead. Dinner had been accompanied by more teasing glances and wandering fingers and, when she had tried to coax him onto the supper table, he had apprised her of his intention to use a bed. She had discovered quickly that his bed was very comfortable indeed.
Her grin widened as she remembered that particular encounter, two days ago. Neither of them had really left the bedroom since then, taking even their meals in the master suite in between bouts of prolonged sex and sleep. When she had woken up feeling rather horribly dehydrated about half an hour ago, she had left him still softly snoring, his lips tipped in a smugly sated smile. Aching a little from his attentions, she had dressed herself haphazardly in the dress shirt that had been discarded carelessly on the floor, and had left to wander in search of the kitchens.
Half an hour later, she was finally about to get herself a glass of milk. There might even be some of that delicious bread left over that they had had for supper as well. Humming a bit, Hermione looked about for where she though the pantry might be and, having chosen a door at random, headed for it.
"Are you really planning on visiting the vegetable garden in nothing but my father's shirt, Granger?" The low, derisive voice halted her abruptly, and she spun with a surprised gasp. Somehow she had missed Draco Malfoy in the darkened corner of the room, leaning idly against one of the counters.
Hermione flushed, and stammered, "I-I was hoping it might be the pantry. I was looking for the milk."
His face expressionless, Draco wordlessly pointed at the door next to the one she had been about to use.
"Thanks," she responded. Feeling dreadfully conspicuous and vulnerable without her knickers, Hermione self-consciously made her way to the indicated door. Shaking slightly in the chilled room, and feeling goose bumps pricking at her bare arms and legs, Hermione grasped the milk and exited quickly, hoping futilely that perhaps her childhood nemesis would have taken his leave.
He was studying her instead, the expression on his face still stone hard and unyielding. He had inherited his father's eyes, she noted, and the breadth of his shoulders. The planes and angles of his features were starker, however; younger, the moonlight through the windows of the kitchen throwing them into sharp relief.
"I hadn't thought it would be you," he said, breaking the awkward silence first, his eyes not leaving her. "I always knew that at some point he'd get back on the horse and take a lover, but I never thought you. He'll not marry you, you know."
Hermione squared her shoulders, trying not to feel at a disadvantage in her state of undress. "Not that it's really your business, Malfoy," she started coldly, "but I'm not looking for marriage any more than he is. We are simply…enjoying each other right now."
Draco snorted softly, picking up a glass of water she hadn't seen earlier, still watching her over the rim of it as he drank. Hermione's ire rose.
"What? You think I'm not good enough to take your precious pure-blood father as a lover?" Hermione demanded.
Draco's facial expression did not change an iota as he set his glass back down. "On the contrary, Granger, you had just about convinced me that you were worth more than this." His tone became musing. "I guess it's for the best, really. You probably don't want to be on a pedestal as the Muggle-born proving pure-blood supremacy wrong, any more than I wanted to be on one allegedly proving them right."
Casually he straightened and made for the far door that Hermione had entered through. Stung, she called after him, "So I'm worth less then, because I enjoy sex without marriage? You're splashed all over the front page of the tabloids with a different witch each week, you hypocrite."
He froze in the doorway, then turned and gave her an icy look. "No, Granger. You're worth less for selling out your beliefs. Don't presume that you know me because we went to school together once upon a time, and don't call me a hypocrite. I've never once pretended to be anything other than what I am, even when we were children." His tone was as hard as his eyes, his anger clearly getting the better of him as well. "Oh, and by the way, even though I didn't do it for you, you're bloody fucking welcome!"
With that he turned on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen. You're welcome? Hermione stared after him, her milk forgotten and her eyes wide. What had he meant by that? Not to mention the rest of it. Her thoughts whirled. His words had been sneering, but still backhand compliments, nonetheless.
He had thought she was worth more than this…more than what? Taking a casual lover? She knew she had come across as a bit prissy—her conservative look was one she had carefully cultivated. She had also known that sleeping with Lucius Malfoy was going to destroy that image fairly thoroughly, but it wasn't actually selling out her beliefs.
Hermione shook her head. He was undoubtedly feeling uncomfortable by the situation because it was his father. He was lashing out the way he had when they were children, trying to make her upset, just because he was.
She wouldn't let him get to her. For the first time in years, she finally felt like she was letting go a bit, being free. She would not let Draco Malfoy ruin that for her. Draining her glass of milk, Hermione left the kitchen, wondering vaguely which way she should go to get back to the warm bed waiting for her.
Draco was going to be sleeping in his own bed tonight, something he hadn't done in the last four, and the knowledge very nearly made him giddy. He had been sleeping on the rather cramped sofa in his office at the firm, subsisting off of take-away, Pepper-Up and terrible espresso in order to stay relatively alert for nearly a week now. He had come home to sleep the first couple of nights, but he had been staying up so late and getting up so early it hadn't really been worth it.
It was done, though. Eight months of running himself into the ground over this law proposal had finally paid off. Officially, it was still under consideration. Unofficially, it was as good as passed. As of the next January, no magical persons could be hired, fired or disregarded for anemployment opportunity based upon their blood status.
It had been hell getting the support he needed for that one. He had used every single damned trick in his verbal repertoire, had spent literally hundreds of hours working off the clock, and thousands of galleons hosting parties and generously donating to various efforts and causes of those whose support he needed. It had helped that Blaise was working with him for once, instead of opposing him, and that Pucey and Devoux had come aboard.
We are the political and social movers and shakers of the future, and we remember our friends. It had become something of a mantra for the last year. Kingsley was a fair enough Minister, surprisingly, but it was difficult for any Minister to be effective if he couldn't win over the Wizengamot and Council of Seven. The more pure-bloods he had been able to convince to sign their support over, the better a chance he had of convincing the upper echelons of the Ministry that this law should be passed.
Despite being fairly low profile the last several years, Draco fully intended to have a prominent seat on the Wizengamot someday, possibly even Chief Warlock. As a Pure-Blooded Progressive, he even had a fair shot at it, provided he could convince the Party to back him. Campaigning for a position like Chief Warlock started decades in advance, something that had to be carefully guided and strategized. Part one of Draco's strategy was getting this law passed; doing so would rocket him to the top of the Progressive Party's list of candidates and rally support behind him.
The last pure-blood Draco had visited to sign on was Goldstein—he had put it off as long as possible. The ponce was horribly stuffy and full of himself but Draco had known he would sign; hadn't Goldstein and his equally prissy girlfriend, Granger, been trying to push their own version through for the last Merlin-only-knew how many years? They had been at it without any success at all, practically since the war ended. Still, the man was entirely stodgy and not-at-all enjoyable company: the perfect complement to Granger's priggish image.
It had been surprising, therefore, when he had encountered Goldstein in the reading room at the August Wizard's Club, to find him bitterly drinking bourbon and already half-way pissed. Goldstein didn't get drunk in public, it was just unfathomable. Then, when Draco had assiduously tried to get the man to step out of the conversation-barred room to discuss signing his support to the law, Goldstein had sneered. Sneered, as if he hadn't been working for the same thing his entire career! If that were not flummoxing enough, he had then followed the sneer with the most incomprehensible phrase Draco had ever heard uttered, perhaps ever.
"What, she fucks Malfoy Senior, and suddenly the Malfoys are on the bandwagon? Should've whored herself out years ago, fucking bitch."
Draco had blinked, actually stunned into silence at this pronouncement, and had offered an embarrassed, apologetic smile to the other two gentlemen currently making use of the reading room. He gestured for Goldstein to leave, which was ignored, before cautiously responding, his voice low. "To whom do you refer, Goldstein?"
The man had laughed caustically, inciting more furious looks from the room's occupants, and had taken another healthy swallow of his bourbon. "As if you didn't know. The whole bloody world has seen them together, waltzing down the street, going to the theatre, snogging in the bookshop. Woman was practically frigid for five years, then just ends things, like I haven't put up with her, invested my time and money and image into her and her stupid endeavors."
"Oi! You're not supposed to talk in here. If you have to carry on, would you please remove yourselves to one of the other rooms?" Michael Corner gave them a frustrated look, which Goldstein ignored, his voice raising.
"Less than a week later she's shagging Lucius Malfoy, like you bloody lot never tortured her, and suddenly you're skipping around with the same damned petition that she's had me working my ass off on for five years? Fuck you, Malfoy."
Corner set down his Daily Prophet with a smack, and exited the room, muttering about there being no peace anywhere anymore. The other gentleman, whose name Draco wasn't sure of, had given up all pretence of trying to read and upset, and was instead listening interestedly.
"Are you talking about Granger?" Draco was honestly stunned. It would be comical if it wasn't so entirely ludicrous. Clearly Goldstein was more pissed than Draco had realised. "That's ridiculous. I've been working on this law for nearly eight months, and I've been more or less living under a rock at the firm the last two weeks. Are you honestly trying to tell me that Granger—your prudish, swotty girlfriend Granger—is shagging my father?"
Goldstein had given him a derisive look. "Wake up and smell the roses, Malfoy." The other man was nodding as well, as if it were, in fact, common knowledge. Had the world gone and re-arranged itself while he had been trapped in his office the last week? Surely they must be having him on or something.
All Draco had been able to do at that point was shake his head wordlessly and depart, stopping briefly by the porter to inform him of Goldstein's condition. No doubt he would be asked quietly to leave the establishment and sleep it off. To his chagrin, the porter gave him a direct look and responded quietly, "I was just heading there. He will be spoken to, sir, and might I also remind you that the reading room is a strictly conversation-free area—please adhere to the standards and rules on your next visit." Bloody Corner. Draco had murmured his assent and apology, and left.
It really had been the strangest day. There was no way he could believe that Granger was actually shagging his father. She was more intelligent and principled then that. Surely she knew that even if he wasn't politically or socially active much any longer, he did still hold to traditional pure-blood supremacy values? He still donated to the Traditionalist Wizarding Party, and had voted against every law she had tried to pass, for Merlin's sake.
Draco poured himself a glass of water, not wanting to wake up one of the elves for a task so simple, especially if it meant sharing its company. The kitchen was dark and peaceful and lovely, and he was more than capable of getting a glass of water.
He had only been there for a few moments when the door hesitantly opened to reveal a half-naked feminine figure. Draco felt his brows lift appreciatively. Apparently his father had taken a paramour, and he could appreciate why. Her legs seemed endlessly long, and the oversized dress shirt she had on teased the lower edge of her bum, her curves just out of sight. Appreciatively, he watched as she hesitated, enjoying the way her clearly naked breasts moved under the shirt, and her messy just-fucked tangle of curls completed the look.
She stepped into a shaft of moonlight coming through one of the windows, and Draco felt his jaw drop. Granger. It was fucking Granger, in his kitchen, apparently naked but for his father's shirt. Goldstein hadn't been completely pissed off his arse. Well, Draco amended, he had been, but he'd also been right.
What in the hell was Granger doing shattering her respectable reputation and shagging his father? Had she just completely given up on everything she had stood for her entire life? Incredulously he watched as she appeared to pick a door at random and head for the vegetable garden.
"Are you really planning on visiting the vegetable garden in nothing but my father's shirt, Granger?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, and then he winced, mentally. It had come out sounding ruder than he had intended.
She whirled at him, gaping, giving him a brief but lovely view of her arse as the shirt shifted, and then blushed, turning visibly red even in the darkness. "I-I was hoping it might be the pantry. I was looking for the milk."
Bemused, Draco mutely pointed at the correct door, still trying to process that Granger was half naked and shagged-out by way of his father, and requesting milk in his kitchen.
"Thanks," she said, still looking horribly embarrassed. He watched as she disappeared for a moment into the pantry, and reappeared with the milk. The chilled room had hardened her nipples, and they now stood out in sharp relief under the shirt she wore; despite himself, Draco felt the tell-tale signs of arousal.
"I hadn't thought it would be you," he said finally. "I always knew that at some point he'd get back on the horse and take a lover, but I never thought you. He'll not marry you, you know," he felt compelled to add. He knew that for certain; his father might be willing to sleep with the Muggle-born, if for no other reason than the notoriety of knocking her off her perfect pedestal, but he would never marry her.
Granger's chin lifted and she glared at him. "Not that it's really your business, Malfoy, but I'm not looking for marriage any more than he is. We are simply…enjoying each other right now."
Draco felt himself snort with laughter, and tried to hide his inner hysteria behind another sip of his water. Thankfully he didn't choke on it, and was able to keep his countenance clear. He watched her bristle with indignation.
"What? You think I'm not good enough to take your precious pure-blood father as a lover?"
Oh, now that was too rich. Draco set his glass down with a clink and bitingly informed her, "On the contrary, Granger, you had just about convinced me that you were worth more than this." He wasn't sure what compelled him to keep going; something about Hermione Granger always seemed to bring out the absolute worst in him. Before he could stop himself, he had pasted a thoughtful expression on his face and added, "I guess it's for the best, really. You probably don't want to be on a pedestal as the Muggle-born proving pure-blood supremacy wrong, any more than I wanted to be on one allegedly proving them right."
Right, then. It was time for him to leave before he managed to turn this into a childish row like in their school days. The world, especially her, had gone crazy this week while he was out, and he wouldn't put it past her to throw a punch at him again, adults or not.
"So I'm worth less then, because I enjoy sex without marriage? You're splashed all over the front page of the tabloids with a different witch each week, you hypocrite."
Furious, Draco froze. Was she really that stupid? He had remembered her being such a swot, too. And for her information, the fucking tabloids were just that, they hardly ever got anything right. "No, Granger. You're worth less for selling out your beliefs," he ground out at her. "Don't presume that you know me because we went to school together once upon a time, and don't call me a hypocrite. I've never once pretended to be anything other than what I am, even when we were children."
Well, there went his temper. He might as well throw the childish towel in as well and get his last dig in. After all, he had accomplished what she hadn't been able to in five years. "Oh, and by the way? Even though I didn't do it for you, you're bloody fucking welcome!"
A/N: Thank you so much for being so patient for this story to update! I really appreciate it! Please tell me what you think!