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Hermione Granger had dealt with a lot as an Auror.
Dark wizards were expected, cursed artifacts came with the territory and there had been one deeply upsetting house-elf labor dispute involving enchanted cutlery and a baffling, and frankly aggressive lack of clothes that she still refused to think about in detail. But none of it, not the duels, not the blood curses, not even the cutlery had made her question her life choices quite like the Ministry’s annual Rejuvenate & Reconnect retreat.
As she left her London flat, she tried to put on a brave face. Maybe this year would be different, maybe she was going to have a good time.
But all hope was dashed when she stepped into the hotel lobby and was hit with peppermint. Peppermint and gardenia, actually—a terrible combination, both strong enough to make her stomach turn before she’d even finished crossing the marble floors.
Everything about the place was just too much. The crystal sconces cast a warm glow across the lobby, far too yellow for her liking, and the carpets were plush enough to swallow her boots whole. Aurors and department heads milled about in cheerful little clusters, clutching clipboards and wearing cursed lanyard nametags, the ribbons around their necks like nooses.
Hermione tightened her grip on her coat and told herself, firmly, that she could survive a night of this without committing a felony. She was a war veteran, the Brightest Witch of her age, an Auror, for Godric’s sake—there was nothing she couldn’t handle.
“Auror Granger, would you like to volunteer for the first trust fall? I don’t recall you participating last year,” some snooty-faced brunette called over.
Alright. Except maybe that.
Hermione gave her a once-over, spun on her heel, and made her way to the other check-in line, which seemed much less interactive.
“Try not to look like you’re being marched to your execution, Granger,” Draco murmured as he saddled up behind her. “This is meant to boost morale.”
She didn’t need to turn around to recognize that sinful drawl.
Turning around would require acknowledging that Draco Malfoy was standing way too close. That he probably had that stupid, knowing smirk on his face and that he smelled so infuriatingly good, that she was ready to bury herself in his chest to escape the peppermint and gardenia.
But she did not have the time, energy, or emotional bandwidth for whatever that would lead to.
So instead she said, “My morale is fine. It’s really yours that concerns me,” punctuating the end of the conversation with a small lift of her nose.
Draco didn’t take the hint. “Please,” he scoffed. “I’m absolutely delightful. You’re the one who terrifies the trainees.”
“Well, someone has to get them to fall in line. They behave better when they think I might hex them. And maybe if you required their reports on time or held any standard at all, they might fear you, too.”
“Why would I do that,” he said mildly, drifting closer to whisper near her temple, “when I can devote all my energy to occasionally annoying you instead?”
Her gaze flicked up sharply as she felt goosebumps run down the back of her neck and through her arms. “You don’t annoy me occasionally.”
“Liar,” Draco murmured, amused.
“You annoy me constantly.”
He brightened. “See? Attention. That’s all I ever wanted.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Closed it again. Refused to dignify that with a response.
“It’s never the kind I want though,” he added thoughtfully.
Hermione choked. “What,” she said with her eyebrows drawn together, “did you just say?”
He shrugged lightly as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on her. “I know you heard me just fine, Granger.”
“You make absolutely no sense. You must do this just to try and get a rise out of me because just last week, you called me a ‘walking rulebook with frizzy hair.”
“It was affectionate.”
“It’s rude.”
“It’s accurate,” he said, leaning in again, “and when I said it, you yelled at me for an extra twenty minutes, so I call that a win.”
She turned away again, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the small, traitorous flutter in her stomach.
Draco’s grin softened just slightly. “Don’t worry, Granger. One day you’ll admit you enjoy our dynamic.”
“I will do no such—”
“Mhm,” he said, already convinced. “It’s ok, I’ll wait.”
She shot him a murderous glare, which only made his wolfish grin spread even wider.
Draco Malfoy, in the five years since his very public redemption arc, had become the Auror Office’s problem child—not because he was bad at the job. No. Infuriatingly, he was excellent at part of the job.
Magical combat? Brilliant. Undercover work? Masterful. Deduction? Incredibly sharp.
However, there was quite a lot he was horrible at.
Paperwork? Abysmal. Showing up on time? A tragedy. Maturity? Please, he’s only marginally ahead of Ron on a good day.
And yet every time she threatened to request a new partner, he did something irritatingly heroic like save a hostage or shield her with his own overly large body, and the cycle always repeated.
He was insufferable, and talented, and incredibly distracting…and he was walking entirely too close.
They were finally inching toward the front of the line, which Hermione took as a small mercy. All she wanted was her room key, the inevitable idiotic pamphlets the Ministry handed out every year, and a workable plan to disappear.
Her long black coat swished around her legs as she walked, sleek and fitted through the shoulders, the hem brushing against the top of her thighs with every step. Underneath, she sported a navy turtleneck tucked into high-waisted slate-grey trousers, practical but fitting. Her wand was stowed away securely in her chest holster where it belonged, perfectly cinching in her waist the way she liked it. She knew her outfits had made leaps and bounds from the two-sizes-too-large robes she wore throughout her years at Hogwarts, but she also knew she didn’t look like the witches Malfoy would normally spend his weekend time with. NOT that it mattered, or she cared, at all.
As the line began to disperse toward the check-in clerks, Draco finally stepped in beside her. She couldn’t help but quickly and subtly check him out—at least she hoped it was subtle— and of course, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of the Hottest Bachelor issue of Witch Weekly.
His crisp white button-down was rolled to his forearms, sleeves pushed back just enough to expose his beautifully tattooed skin. He wore black trousers that were tailored within an inch of their life, accentuating the wand holster strapped to his deliciously thick thigh. Her attention snagged there for half a second too long. Oh sweet Merlin. Then to top it all off, he slung a dark wool coat over his shoulder in that careless way she knew he’d spent at least ten minutes perfecting in the mirror.
Hermione forced her gaze forward, tightening her jaw and drawing a deep breath which made her nostrils flare just so. He seemed to notice her internal dilemma and touched the tip of his tongue to his canine before flashing a shit-eating grin.
With a huff and an eye roll, she faced the smiley clerk who beckoned them forward with a wave of her hand.
“Auror Granger, Auror Malfoy. Welcome to the Rejuvenate & Reconnect retreat! Auror Granger, here is your nametag, room key, the program schedule, and a few pamphlets on ways to rejuvenate.”
Hermione accepted the offered stack with a polite nod and made her way toward the group waiting to enter the ballroom. She glanced back at Draco as the clerk gathered his things, fingers tapping the counter impatiently.
“And there’s a special way to rejuvenate on the back of your pamphlet, Auror Malfoy,” the clerk added in a whisper Hermione was clearly not meant to hear.
Hermione grimaced at the brazen attempt at flirting and stole a quick look at Draco’s face. She was rewarded with confusion—then, unmistakably, annoyance.
“Uh. Thanks,” he replied, so coldly she half expected frost to creep across the countertop.
Hermione couldn’t help the small upturn of her lips as he joined her, wearing a dramatic grimace.
“Merlin,” he muttered. “Is there nowhere sacred, or must I be accosted at every turn?”
“Oh, you poor baby, whatever will you do with all that attention?”
He leaned in, clearly unconcerned with something as trivial as personal space. “Call me baby one more time, Granger, and I’ll make sure there’s only one witch who gets my attention back.”
Hermione refused to give him the satisfaction. “Oh, gods, Malfoy. Save it for the tittering witches you love to spend your weekends with.”
Draco feigned shock, clutching his chest. “I know of no such witches. But if I did, I’d say you sound a little jealous, Granger.”
Resorting to a third-year retort, she tossed her chestnut brown curls over her shoulder. “Yeah right. In your dreams, Malfoy.”
He wasn’t falling for it. He murmured in a low, rough voice, “Oh yes. Repeatedly.”
They filtered through the wide doors with the crowd, and Hermione pulled up short just inside.
The ceiling shimmered with a charmed night sky, constellations drifting lazily overhead. Dozens of floating lanterns pulsed in muted silver and violet, casting the room in a cool, celestial glow, while a string quartet played from a raised dais beneath an illusion of slow-moving clouds. Their music wove elegantly through the air as attendees flitted toward long banquet tables laden with decadent hors d’oeuvres—truffle tartlets, smoked salmon blinis, tiny cups of something covered in…what in the bloody hell was that, glitter?
“This is a complete waste of government funds,” Hermione muttered, then hesitated as she looked around again. “It is sort of beautiful, though.”
“Not sort of,” Draco said quietly. “It is beautiful.”
She turned to look at him, but his eyes were already locked on her.
Her tongue instantly felt like sandpaper. As she stared into his eyes, she noticed his irises were darker than usual, the pale grey nearly swallowed by black. She tried to swallow, unsure whether she was imagining it or just overthinking, which was significantly more likely.
Before she could say anything, she felt the attention in the room shift toward them.
She took an awkward step back and cleared her throat. “Uh. I think I’m thirsty. See any drinks around here?”
Before he could respond, she was already weaving toward the nearest bar.
A few Aurors nudged each other as she passed, two Unspeakables straightened noticeably and a curse-breaker actually choked on his drink.
Draco noticed all of it. Hermione, conveniently, did not.
One junior auror—Tobias something—took a hopeful step in Hermione’s direction. Draco shifted just enough to intercept him, offering a slow, sneering look that translated universally to “try it and die”.
Tobias, whose actual name was Thomas, retreated immediately.
Hermione, blissfully oblivious, sighed. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner we mingle, the sooner we can go upstairs and—”
Draco froze. “Upstairs and what?”
“Sleep...separately…obviously,” she added with a small huff. “Merlin, Malfoy, what did you think I meant?”
Hermione didn’t hear his mumbled response as she moved toward the refreshments table. Several men angled toward her at once and Draco closed the distance without a word.
An Unspeakable leaned an elbow on the table, smiling widely. “Auror Granger. You look—”
Draco stepped neatly between them to reach for a drink he didn’t even want. “Occupied,” he said casually. “She looks occupied.”
Hermione frowned. “Malfoy, what are you on?”
“What?” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “you look busy,” Handing her a drink with the air of a man staking a claim.
The bozo seemed to get the hint and backed off. Another threat neutralized.
But not long after, a tall clerk from Magical Transport tried his luck. “Granger, long time. Didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
“She’s always at these ministry events,” Draco interrupted, tone bright. He slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a light shake. “Hard worker, our Golden Girl.”
Hermione tried to ignore the burning sensation of his touch and casually shrugged him off. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” he asked innocently. “You’re mine—my partner, I mean.”
She opened her mouth, ready to argue, when—
“Oh, Granger!” Cormac McLaggen’s voice boomed across the hall like a bloody Bombarda.
Hermione closed her eyes. “Oh gods no. Hide me.”
But it was too late. Cormac barreled across the room and planted himself in front of her, chest puffed out like a bird.
“So,” he said, loud enough for half the room to overhear, “what does the most brilliant witch in the Auror’s Office have planned tonight? Surely not spending it with him.” He jerked a thumb at Draco.
Draco snorted. “Bold move, McLaggen. Insult the man standing directly behind you.”
Cormac waved him off without looking. “Anyway Granger, you look incredible. That coat was made to be dramatically removed.” he purred.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Cormac.”
“And if you’re lonely later—”
“I won’t be.”
“—I’ve got a suite with a balcony and a bottle of Firewhiskey with our names on it.”
Draco let out a low whistle, leaning back against the table, clearly amused. “Merlin, this is better than whatever entertainment the Committee planned.”
Cormac still didn’t acknowledge him.
Hermione crossed her arms. “Cormac, I’m not—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, holding up a finger far too close to her face. “You’re too tense. You need to relax. Let loose. Have some fun. I can help with that.
“She relaxes just fine,” Draco said mildly. “You should see her when she has to organize the evidence room”
“Hey!” Hermione threw him an annoyed look and elbowed him in the ribs.
Draco grinned unapologetically like he knew he was toeing the line between teasing and flirting, which he seemed to do constantly.
Cormac stepped closer, lowering his voice as if Draco weren’t right behind him and listening with rapt interest. “One drink. Just one. And I promise I’ll behave.”
“You don’t know how to behave, Cormac.”
Draco didn’t miss a beat. “Not unless it’s like a five year old.”
Cormac shot him a glare. “You’re not part of this conversation, Malfoy.”
“And yet,” Draco drawled, “here I am.
Hermione sighed sharply. “Can you both, please for the love of Merlin, stop posturing like ridiculous schoolboys?”
Cormac’s expression softened instantly, all contrition and hopeful charm. “Sorry. Really. I just thought maybe you’d share a drink with me.” He shrugged lightly. “Didn’t think it’d hurt to ask. It’s not like you’re seeing anyone…right?”
Hermione stiffened, and Draco’s head whipped toward her so fast he nearly sprained something.
Cormac looked between the two, eyeing them suspiciously.
She exhaled through her nose. “No,” she said evenly. “I’m not.” It took an unreasonable amount of effort not to look at the pale blond standing far too close at her side. She might have been single, but she had never made a habit of advertising availability. Still—too much time had passed, spent convincing herself she didn’t miss the weight of another body, the ease of touch, or just the simple relief of not being alone with her thoughts.
Merlin knew it had been a long time since she’d felt satisfied in any sense of the word. Whoops, sorry Ron.
“Brilliant. Then how about that drink? Just the one.”
Draco watched her like the answer would determine the fate of the wizarding world itself.
She glanced between them–Cormac, all confidence and charm; Malfoy lounging against the table, already convinced she’d turn McLaggen down for being exactly the tosser they both knew he was. The assumption irritated her more than it should have. Since when did he think he got a say in who she spent her time with?
“Fine,” she said. “One drink.”
Cormac fist-pumped. “Yes—! I mean. Cool. Great. I knew you’d say yes.”
Draco pushed off the table a little too hard. “Well. Enjoy,” he said, voice clipped. “Try not to let him bore you to death.”
Cormac clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Actually clapped his disgusting hand on his 3,000 galleon Mulberry silk shirt. “Don’t wait up, mate.”
Draco recoiled as if he’d been touched by the plague, his face flushing a shade of red Hermione had never seen before.
She raised an eyebrow. “Malfoy, are you alright?”
“Perfect,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just remembered I have… something.”
“Something?”
“Yes, Granger. An important thing. Work-related. You wouldn’t understand.” He cleared his throat, gaze fixed resolutely anywhere but on her. “Have fun.”
Before she could respond, or point out that he famously never worked past office hours, he turned sharply and disappeared into the crowd, coat flaring behind him. It was the closest thing to a tantrum an adult could manage without stamping his foot.
Hermione blinked after him. “What’s his problem?”
Cormac shrugged. “Who cares? Come on, there are stronger drinks this way.”
Hermione followed, confusion still lingering in the back of her head but decided that Draco Malfoy’s moods were not her problem. Not tonight.
Cormac steered her toward a quieter corner of the reception hall, snagging two Firewhiskies on the way. He pressed one into her hand with a wink so exaggerated it gave her secondhand embarrassment.
“To us,” he said.
“Godric, Cormac, there is no ‘us,’” Hermione replied, taking a sip anyway.
“Yet.”
She stared at him, wondering who she’d wronged in a past life to earn the karmic punishment of Cormac McLaggen’s attention.
Cormac laughed into the silence, a little too loud, clearly hoping to draw attention and sell the illusion that he’d just said something devastatingly clever. “See? I knew you’d loosen up tonight. You’ve been working too hard. You need a man with stamina—someone who can keep up.”
Hermione let the silence stretch and took another sip, hoping the Firewhisky would do its job soon enough.
Cormac leaned closer, lowering his voice in a sultry tone. “Lucky for you, that’s basically my specialty.”
She blinked slowly. “What is?”
“Keeping up.”
“With?”
He grinned. “With a woman like you.”
Hermione took a longer drink. What the hell was he on about?
Cormac, tragically, took that as encouragement. “I mean, let’s be honest. You’re gorgeous. Smart. Intimidating in a hot way. I’ve always said you and I should—”
Hermione tuned him out.
It wasn’t deliberate but her mind simply wandered every time he opened his mouth. Next week’s briefing agenda floated to the surface, she needed Thomas’s write-up from the bubotuber incident, Crookshanks was probably out of food…and, irritatingly, Draco Malfoy’s inexplicable huff earlier pushed its way in.
What was his problem, anyway?
Yes, he despised Cormac McLaggen, but it wasn’t as though she threw a tantrum every time he regaled the bullpen with stories of his latest conquest. French witch here. Italian witch there. Some random blonde from a café down the street.
Not that she was counting…or cared.
“…and everyone saw me do it, it was so dange—”
Right. Cormac was still talking.
Hermione tipped back the last of her Firewhisky, already reaching for another, hoping it would hit properly before the night dragged on any further.
“—we all know Malfoy’s too self-absorbed to even notice, though.”
After what felt like an hour, Hermione had effectively drawn every rune she’d ever learned into the tabletop with the condensation dripping from their drinks. Enough was enough.
“Cormac,” she said, abruptly cutting off whatever story he was telling.
“Hm?” He leaned forward eagerly.
“Do you want to skip this and come to my room?”
He stared at her, eyelashes fluttering.
“HELL yes,” he blurted, tripping over his own enthusiasm. “I mean—yes. If you want. Obviously only if you want. Which you do. Clearly. Yeah. Let’s—yes. Let’s go.”
Hermione stood and adjusted her coat. “Alright, then.”
This would definitely get her mind off a certain irritating blond.
Cormac nearly tumbled over a chair trying to keep up as they threaded through the last clusters of retreat-goers and into the quiet hallway toward the lifts. He chattered nonstop while Hermione nodded occasionally, already planning how to tell him she preferred the lights off.
The lift chimed, doors sliding open. She stepped inside and he bounded in after her already talking.
“You want me so badly, don’t you, Granger?” he said with a grin and an enthusiastic wiggle of his eyebrows.
Hermione shrugged. “I need to let off some steam.”
She obviously did not mention that, with her eyes closed, she’d be picturing an entirely different face. One that was probably sulking somewhere on the same floor.
Cormac brightened. “I can help with that.”
When the lift finally stopped, the doors opened onto a quiet corridor. They walked down the hall, Hermione counting every triangle etched into the carpet to keep herself from abandoning this terrible idea altogether.
501...502…
She stopped in front of her door—503—and fished her key from her coat pocket.
Cormac stepped in close, already leaning in for a kiss. She braced for mediocrity and, unsurprisingly, that’s exactly what she got. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. She had a feeling that would be the theme of the night.
The lock clicked softly and the door swung open. She grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss, hoping the Firewhisky would hit properly any second now.
They barely made it a few steps inside before Cormac went completely still. She felt his hands drop from her waist and when she pulled back to see what had stopped him, she was met with the unpleasant sight of his eyes bulging from his head.
“Oh—oh sweet Circe—WHAT—WHAT THE HELL?!”
Hermione tore herself free, spinning toward the source of Cormac’s sudden crisis.
Her jaw nearly detached from her skull, because Draco Malfoy was sprawled across her bed, one arm tucked behind his head, completely shirtless—and was he… flexing?
His pajama trousers slung low on his hips, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. A copy of Compendium of Defensive Enchantments held open in his other hand, as if he hadn't just broken into her room and made himself entirely at home.
He glanced up lazily. “Oh. Hello, Granger.” His eyes flicked past her. “McLaggen.”
Oh this little fucker.
Before she could start her beratement, Cormac made a strangled, animalistic noise and stumbled backward so fast he nearly collided with the corridor wall.
“I—I—I knew you two were up to something—Hermione, if you wanted—if this is some—some—some THREESOME ROLEPLAY THING—”
“What? No!” Hermione sputtered.
Cormac raised his hands, already retreating. “No judgment! Truly! I just—I can’t—Malfoy’s involved—and you two—oh Merlin—”
“Cormac, wait,”
It was too late. He bolted down the corridor at full speed, shouting, “I SUPPORT YOUR LIFESTYLE BUT COUNT ME OUT!”
The door slammed shut and Hermione inhaled through her nose.
“Malfoy,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”
Draco lifted a brow, still unashamedly flexing his pecs. “Your room?”
“Yes. My room, and dear Merlin, would it kill you to put a shirt on?”
“For one, it’s my room,” he said indifferently. “And two, yes. It very well might.”
She ground her teeth, fighting to see past the red creeping into her vision. “Dammit, Malfoy. I don’t believe you. Check your key again.”
He lifted his in a silent challenge. She raised hers right back.
After far too long, he finally hauled himself off his pert little arse and sauntered to the door, swiping his keycard through the lock. They both watched as it blinked green.
Hermione groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Brilliant,” Draco said. “Looks like the front desk put us in the same room.”
“Then we fix it,” she snapped.
“Now?” He stretched, arms lifting over his head, entirely too relaxed. “It’s nearly midnight, Granger. I’m not walking all the way back down there.”
“Then I’ll fix it.”
“You’re welcome to try,” he said, gesturing grandly. “But they’ll probably stick you in a supply closet. Or give you a cot. Possibly a tent—and I know how desperately you hate tents.”
Her eye twitched. She balled her fists at her sides, summoning every scrap of restraint she had not to sock this little prat square in the nose. “This is your fault, you absolute arse.”
“How, exactly?”
“That nitwit little receptionist probably botched our room numbers while she was detailing the ‘rejuvenation’ methods she wanted to practice with you tonight.”
Draco’s mouth broke into a grin. “Heard that, did you? Don’t tell me you’re jealous, darling. I told you—say the word and you’d have all of my attention.”
“Oh shut it, we both know that kind of crap doesn’t work on me. You’re so full of it.”
“Admit it, Granger,” he said, stepping closer, “You were jealous, and only invited McLaggen up here to distract yourself.”
“And what, exactly, do you think I’d need a distraction from?” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.
She didn’t miss the flick of his eyes as they followed the movement or the quick swipe of his tongue wetting his lower lip.
He gave her that look. The infuriating one that sent heat straight down her spine and curled low in her abdomen.
“Me.”
Hermione barked out a laugh. “You’re absolutely delusional.”
“Maybe,” he said easily, “but I know I’m not wrong about this.”
“You are wrong,” she snapped, “and what I do in my free time is none of your business.”
“Right, which is why you’re here yelling at me about it.”
Her mouth opened to retort, but he cut her off with a look brimming with irritation and something darker. “And really, Granger? McLaggen?”
“That is not—”
“You must be desperate,” he went on, clearly enjoying himself. “Because that man wouldn’t know how to give you a good time if it smacked him in the—”
That did it.
That was the moment Hermione Granger finally snapped.
One sharp shove to his chest sent Draco stumbling backward into the room. Hermione followed and slammed the door behind them, the lock clicked into place with a low thrum of wandless magic.
Draco’s eyes widened. “Granger—?”
“Not another word,” she said, voice razor-sharp.
He snapped his mouth shut immediately, and she noticed the appearance of little goosebumps trailing up arms as she stalked closer.
Her long black coat slipped from her shoulders and hit the floor. Dramatically removed, as Cormac would say.
Draco opened his mouth again—whether to speak or breathe, he didn’t seem sure.
“Do. Not. Speak,” she continued, shoving him again, this time just to make a point. “You don’t get an opinion on what I was thinking when I invited him up here, or a say in who I choose to spend my night with. But if you wanted me all to yourself, Draco, you should have just said so.”
His name in her mouth pulled a low groan out of him, while his eyes dragged slowly down her body, undressing her one piece at a time. The way he looked at her wasn't new. She'd caught it before, in hallways, across briefing rooms, and had always looked away first, always with a tinge of pink high on his cheekbones. But she wouldn't let him look away now.
"Oh don't worry, baby. I'll handle that."
A pulse of magic rolled over her. Her clothes vanished and in their place—
Black leather.
Straps.
Stilettos.
A corset cinched tight around her waist, lifting her chest into two perfect, obscene curves, and Draco's eyes stuck there and stayed.
He swallowed audibly, and she let herself smirk.
“Gran—Hermione,” he said, already unraveling. “I—”
She cut him off with another push, this one lighter, deliberately pinning him to the wall.
“Holy—” He couldn’t finish it.
She put her finger to his lips, and whispered against his cheek. “I told you not to speak.”
Her gaze drifted to the minibar. She hummed thoughtfully and crossed the room, hips swaying with every step. From one of the complimentary drink kits, she plucked a flimsy plastic straw and twirled it idly between her fingers.
Draco frowned, confusion pulling at his brow as he tried to follow her.
She flicked her wrist and her magic twisted the straw, stretching, darkening, thickening it until a sleek black leather riding crop materialized in her hand, its silver accents catching the lamplight.
She sauntered back toward him, hair loose and wild, heat coiling low in her belly, whether from anger or desire, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Hermione dragged the leather tip down the center of his chest and felt him hold his breath against it—the involuntary stillness of someone trying very hard not to react.
"You've had a lot to say tonight," she murmured. "About my choices. About my needs." The crop lifted slowly, tipping his chin until his eyes met hers. Grey, blown wide, a little desperate. "But you never asked what I want."
She tilted her head. "Well?"
His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.
Hermione’s lips curved. “Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?”
She moved the crop aside and took his chin in her hand, thumb brushing over the rough edge of his stubble.
“I expect obedience,” she said, voice steady and absolute. “And only then will you be rewarded. Will you be a good boy for me, baby?”
He nodded earnestly, all bravado gone. She watched his chest rise and fall, faster with every second.
“Words,” she demanded.
“I—I will.”
Her brow lifted.
He swallowed again. “Yes… uhm… Hermione?”
Wrong.
The crop cracked loudly against his thigh. Draco gasped, and his whole body jerked away from the wall before she pinned him back to it.
“Who?” Hermione asked.
He blinked, stunned by his own response. “I—I—ma’am—?”
Wrong again.
Another strike, higher this time.
A helpless, broken sound tore from his throat. His grey sleep pants did nothing to hide the thick bulge beneath them.
Hermione stepped closer until the leather of her corset brushed his bare chest.
“Try again,” she said in an encouraging whisper.
“Y-Yes,” he breathed. “Mistress.”
Hermione’s smile sharpened. “That’s a good boy.”
His breath had gone shallow, chest barely moving, the tendons in his forearms pulling taut against nothing.
“Bed.”
He didn’t question it. He staggered over ungracefully until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.
“Center of the bed. On your knees,” she ordered. “Hands on your thighs. Palms up. Eyes on me.”
He obeyed instantly, posture rigid but perfect.
She circled the bed slowly. The click of her heels, the soft creak of leather—each sound felt heavier, more powerful, and each one made him squirm. She was living for it, savoring every second.
She stopped beside him. “Say it again.”
He swallowed. “Mistress.”
“That feels so good to hear coming from your pretty lips, baby.” She dragged the crop down his back, guiding him to sit straighter.
“You look beautiful like this,” she said softly.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“What a polite boy. Manners get rewards.”
She leaned in toward him, one knee on the bed, and took his bottom lip between her teeth. She sucked on it, then gave a sharp bite—not enough to draw blood, but just enough to hurt.
He groaned, fingers digging into his thighs, every muscle locked against the urge to reach for her.
She brushed her lips over his and felt him gasp as she increased the pressure. She took that as an invitation and swept her tongue into his mouth, tasting the smoky essence of Firewhisky. Whether it was from him or her, she wasn’t sure.
He whimpered when she pulled away, brows drawn together, looking devastatingly pathetic and utterly delicious.
“Aww,” she murmured, dragging the riding crop down the front of his trousers and caressing the hard length inside his pants. “Look at you. So hard for me already.”
She moved to the shell of his ear, breathing her warmth against his skin. "I'm going to take my time with you." A promise and a threat all at once.
She felt him shudder against her before she stepped back and finally let herself look at him properly, indulging in it in a way she rarely allowed. Broad shoulders tapered into powerful biceps, dragon and flower tattoos wrapping his arms—tattoos that had haunted her dreams for years. They were even better in person. Her gaze drifted down over his defined abs, the sharp V of his hips, to where his trousers strained obscenely around his cock.
Saliva flooded her mouth. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
"Lay back."
He obeyed without hesitation. With a flick of her wrist, soft silk ropes unfurled from the headboard, coiling around his wrists and binding them securely above his head. He tested them once, muscles straining instinctively, but they held fast.
"No, Mistress, pl—," he groaned. "Please, I need to touch you.”:
Hermione climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs carefully, and deliberately avoiding his erection entirely.
"Not yet, baby." She leaned down until her lips hovered just above his, voice soft. "We need a safeword first. If you use it, everything stops immediately. No questions, no punishment, nothing but you and me." Her eyes searched his for a moment. "Okay?"
"Yes," he rasped, hips bucking uselessly. "Ok, ok Hippogriff. My safeword is Hippogriff. Please, just—"
She almost chuckled at his choice. Instead, she dragged the tip of the crop down his chest, the leather whispering over skin. “Good boy.”
The flat of it snapped against his right nipple. He jerked, a low groan tearing loose, and she watched the color flood his chest. She gave him a moment—just long enough for him to think it was over—then struck the left side. "Stay still."
She bent and licked a slow, wet line up the side of his neck, and felt the full-body shudder ripple through him, every muscle giving her its attention whether he wanted it to or not.
Hermione leaned in again, lips brushing his ear. “Be good for me,” she whispered, “and I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
She kissed her way down his chest, tongue dipping into his navel. Draco moaned, completely helpless.
She caught the waistband of his sleep pants between her teeth and dragged them down inch by agonizing inch. His cock finally sprang free and bobbed slightly as it hit his stomach but she didn’t touch him right away. She let the moment stretch.
“Do you want me to touch you?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, Mistress. So badly.”
“Beg.”
“Please,” he said, voice breaking. “Please, Mistress. I want you to feel how hard I am for you. I need it. Gods—please.”
She gave him a satisfied grin as she wrapped her hand around him and stroked from base to tip with slow, twisting pulls. Precome slicked her palm and it took everything in her not to taste it. She tightened her grip, savoring the way his abs clenched beneath her touch, the way his body gave him up so easily. Her tongue followed, sweeping through the slit at the head.
Draco yanked against the ropes, the headboard creaking under the strain. “Mistress—fuck—” he gasped. “That feels so good.”
“Shh, baby,” Hermione murmured. “You can take it.”
She slowly licked the thick vein along his shaft, drawing another helpless jolt from his body. Then she took him into her mouth, sucking him in deep enough to make him shake. Her cheeks hollowed; one hand twisted firmly at the base while the other rolled the weight of him in her palm, slow and possessive.
Draco thrust up instinctively but she pulled off him just as fast.
She grabbed the riding crop and cracked it against his hip in one sharp motion.
“Tsk,” she said coolly. “No moving.”
He groaned unhappily and breathless, then nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
When she returned to him, it was with a vengeance. She took him deep into her mouth again and again, relentlessly. Loud moans tore from his throat; his thighs shook, his cock swelling thicker against her tongue with every pass. She probably should have thought to cast a Silencio before starting. Oh well.
He gasped. “I’m close—please—”
She pulled off him slowly this time, mouth releasing him from her heat until the cold air hit and he whimpered. The crop tapped once against his denied length, almost gentle. "Not yet," she said. "Hold it."
She watched him fight it, jaw clenched, tendons standing out in his neck, and felt a tenderness bloom in her chest that had nothing to do with the scene. He was trying so hard. For her.
"Good boy," she said quietly. “You’re a vision, Draco, trembling just for me.”
His hands were shaking against the headboard—Draco Malfoy, who never shook, who never lost composure over anything, was shaking for her, and she wanted him completely undone.
Her knee nudged his thighs wider. She let a string of saliva drop onto his length before working him faster.
“How badly do you want to come?”
“Please, Mistress,” he sobbed. “Let me. I need it.”
She opened her throat and swallowed him whole, spit spilling down his shaft in messy strings. The hum she let out vibrated straight through him, his cock pulsing wildly against her tongue in response.
“I’m gonna— Mistress—!”
She popped off him again. Cool air kissed his wet, throbbing head.
“Ah. Ah,” she said softly. “Not yet, baby.”
He thrashed against the ropes, broken pleas spilling out. “Mistress, please—I’m begging you. Let me touch you. I need to bury myself in you.”
Hermione rose from the bed and stripped off her corset.
Her body gleamed, slick trailing down her thighs as she straddled his chest—close enough for him to smell her, to feel her heat, without being allowed to touch.
“Such gorgeous promises,” she cooed.
Her fingers slid between her legs, coating themselves thoroughly before she pressed them to his lips and pushed them into his mouth.
Draco moaned at the taste of her and sucked eagerly. He curled his tongue, so desperate to please her.
“That’s right,” she purred. “Lick me clean.”
He worshipped every inch of her fingers until she pulled them free and slid them back into herself.
“Gods,” he breathed. “Mistress, you taste divine. Please, can I have more?”
She considered his request and decided he’d earned it.
Hermione swung one leg over his head, positioning her soaked pussy directly above his mouth. She lowered herself onto his eager tongue at the same moment she bent forward and swallowed his cock. She gagged wetly around his girth as his tongue plunged into her folds, lapping hungrily at her clit.
They moved in tandem, and created the most gorgeous chorus of moans. She felt him struggle against the ropes, fighting to get his hands on her. Hermione bobbed fast on his shaft, and let her free hand slip behind his sack, rubbing firm circles over his puckered hole while his mouth devoured her—dragging her closer and closer to the edge.
"Merlin, fuck, I can't hold it anymore. Mistress, I'm coming—"
She pulled off him at the last second, her pussy grinding harder against his face.
“That’s right,” she said, completely breathless. “Such a perfect boy. Now you can cum for me.”
She took him back into her mouth, throat working around him as she rocked steadily on his tongue. He swelled against her, thighs shaking beneath her hands, and she felt the exact moment he lost the fight.
He came with a broken sound she felt more than heard, flooding her mouth in pulses. She swallowed and kept going, greedy and unhurried, wringing every last tremor from him until he went completely slack. She followed him over the edge a moment later, thighs clamping around his head, his name dying somewhere in her throat. She'd been lying to herself for years. His mouth was better than anything she'd imagined, which made it so much worse.
The ropes dissolved before she'd fully come back to herself. He flipped her beneath him in one motion and pinned her to the mattress, mouth crashing into hers, tasting like sweat and sex and each other. His hands found her breasts, kneading and pinching roughly, all restraint finally gone.
“My turn,” Draco growled low and hot against her mouth. “But thank you for the prelude, Mistress.”
He was hard again almost immediately—she felt it against her thigh before she'd finished catching her breath.
He wrapped his hand around himself and, without warning, drove into her in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Hermione cried out, the sound torn from her as her walls clenched tight around him. He ground down hard, every punishing stroke dragging against her swollen clit, his weight slamming into her, balls slapping wetly against her arse.
“Fuck,” he snarled, teeth bared. “So tight for me.”
“Gonna fill this cunt, Hermione. Pump you full of my seed until it takes.”
“Oh gods, yes,” she gasped. “Fuck me, Draco.”
Her nails raked down his back as she arched into him, broken sounds spilling from her mouth she didn't bother swallowing.
“Say my name again,” he demanded, pounding her into the mattress. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want it inside you.”
“Draco—yes,” she moaned, legs locking tight around his waist, dragging him in deeper. “Fill me. Please—right there—oh gods, yes.”
Sweat slicked their bodies. His breathing had gone ragged, each thrust punching the air from his lungs, and she felt the exact moment his control started to fracture.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “Take it. Take all of me.”
His hand closed around her throat, grip firm but controlled, while the other bruised her hip, anchoring her in place.
Her climax tore through her without warning, walls clamping around him in relentless pulses. The sensation dragged him under. He buried himself deep, pressed so far inside her she felt him everywhere, and then he came apart completely—completely undone, exactly where she'd wanted him all night.
They collapsed together in a tangled heap, bodies shaking as aftershocks rippled through them.
Draco pulled out slowly, watching himself spill from her. With a low, possessive sound, he scooped it up on two fingers and pushed it back inside her.
“Keep it in.” he murmured, pulling her close against his chest.
Hermione sighed, boneless and spent, cheek pressed to his racing heart. Over the next few minutes, she felt the frantic rhythm beneath her ear gradually slow.
“Are you alright?” he murmured.
“Blissful,” she breathed, a lazy smile curving her mouth. Her fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw. “And you?”
“Couldn’t be better, darling.”
He reached for the water he’d set aside earlier and handed it to her first. She drank slowly, then passed it back and he gulped down the rest.
Draco pulled the blankets up around them, cocooning them together. They settled easily—her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm firm around her waist. Their breathing synced, the last of the adrenaline ebbing into a deep, humming calm that carried them gently into sleep.
The next morning, Hermione woke first.
Golden light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm shadow across the rumpled sheets, and she became gradually aware of three things:
- She was naked.
- Draco Malfoy was naked.
- And he was wrapped around her like an overgrown vine of Devil’s Snare.
His face was half-buried in her hair, breath warm against her neck. One arm was locked around her waist, his entire leg slung over hers, holding her firmly to the bed.
She shifted slightly but the heavy arm tightened.
“Don’t,” Draco mumbled into her curls, voice rough with sleep. “You’ll ruin my good mood.”
Hermione snorted. “You have a good mood?”
He cracked one eye open. “I do, actually. Funny how a proper orgasm improves a man’s outlook on life.”
She swatted his arm, while he looked unbearably pleased.
After staring at her for a few more seconds, he added, “You know, you should be grateful I was here last night.”
“Oh yeah?” she said. “Why’s that?”
“Because you would’ve had a miserable time with McLaggen.” He stretched like he owned the bed. “The man couldn’t even spell the word foreplay.”
She bit back a laugh. “You’re probably right.”
“Granger. I know I’m right.”
She tried to glare at him, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Still,” she said, “we wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t messed up our rooms.”
“Mmm,” Draco hummed, far too pleased. “About that.”
Hermione stilled, “…What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said lightly, picking nonexistent lint off the sheets. “Except possibly alter my room number in the system while the receptionist was distracted looking for my nametag.”
He paused, waiting for the slap that would inevitably come.
“Draco!”
He grinned. “What? I thought it would be funny. I didn’t expect you to bring another bloke back to your room.”
She groaned, burying her face in her hands.
He pried them away gently, lips quirking into that infuriating smirk she’d secretly loved for years. “Come on. Tell me you’re not glad we ended up here.”
Her expression softened before she could stop it. “I am,” she admitted. “But… what happens now?”
Draco sat up a little straighter, blond hair an absolute disaster and still somehow unfairly attractive. “Well,” he said, “obviously we’ll need to fill out Form Twelve-F.”
Hermione blinked. “Form what?”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said, affronted. “Is that really the only form you don’t have memorized?”
He sighed dramatically before continuing. “Form Twelve-F: Declaration of a Workplace Relationship. We sign it, turn it in, and then Shacklebolt can’t yell at me when I tell him I’m never letting you go.”
Hermione smiled despite herself. “Never?”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Never.”
She let the moment linger, then her eyes narrowed playfully.
“So,” she said, tracing idle lines along his chest, “do your little weekend flings not satisfy you the way I apparently do?”
Draco blinked. “My weekend who?”
“You know,” she said, waving a hand vaguely, as if conjuring them on command. “All those girls you brag about to the other Aurors.”
Color bloomed instantly across his cheekbones. “Oh. Right. About that,” he said slowly. “I lied.”
She stared at him. “You—what?”
“There were never any girls,” he muttered. “Not a single one. I made them up.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh my gods, Draco.”
He winced. “I just—thought maybe if you overheard it, you’d get a little jealous.”
Hermione smacked his chest hard enough to make him grunt. “You insufferable, ridiculous little—”
He caught her wrist and tugged her closer. “Did it work?”
“Absolutely not.”
He lifted a brow. She held his gaze as he read right through the lie. “Alright, fine. Maybe a little.”
Draco looked smug beyond redemption. “I thought so. You’re being coy, but that’s alright, Granger. I’ll take it.” He grinned. “And I regret none of it.”
She threw her head back in laughter and shoved him back into the pillows. He wore the dazed, satisfied grin of a man who’d just won the lottery and knew it.
“And anyway,” he added, rubbing the spot she’d hit, “I’m not the only liar here.”
Her brow arched. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on,” he said, gesturing at her. “You’ve got the entire Auror Office convinced you’re some buttoned-up, no-nonsense prude.” His gaze drifted pointedly to the discarded leather and riding crop on the floor. “And then you do that last night.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “Do what, Malfoy?”
He swallowed. “Turn up in leather and proceed to absolutely destroy me.”
She tried to give him a stern look, but the heat creeping up her neck gave her away.
His attention wandered to the bedside table, where their abandoned lanyards and the Ways to Rejuvenate pamphlets lay in a sad little pile. He flipped through it, unimpressed. “‘Guided meditation,’ ‘trust falls,’ ‘deep breathing exercises’—Merlin, who approved this drivel—ah.” He tapped a blank section near the back. “Suggestions.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Well,” he said mildly, “it’s clear the Committee overlooked a very important method of rejuvenation. One I personally found extremely effective.”
She watched as he conjured a quill and wrote in his elegant script, then proudly turned the pamphlet around.
Sleep with your coworker.
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard her soul nearly left her body.
He slowly moved his hand up her thigh, and gave a tight squeeze near her naked hip “Worked wonders for me.”
“Draco—” she started, but laughter bubbled up instead.
He leaned in near her mouth. “Worked for you too, if I recall.”
“Oh, do shut up.”
She pulled him into a fierce kiss that made them late for the complementary breakfast.
They may have stayed an extra night. Or two.
For… rejuvenation purposes, of course.