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Of Masked Intents and Deeds	By : margaritama Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7692 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Of Masked Intents and Deeds
- 1
Author's Note: this was the actual submission for Darkest Before Dawn dmhgficexchange for Twist.

I did my best to incorporate all th keywords asked for (though the quote didn’t quite make it in). As soon as I read this, the story just came to me – it’s a bit different but so much fun. Many thanks to my beta.

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Draco Malfoy stood off to the side of a great ballroom, Firewhiskey in hand, wondering again why he'd come to this fete. Swirling the amber contents of his drink, he surveyed the gaiety around him and rolled his eyes, thankful for the mask hiding his expression. A slight giggle caught his attention, turning his head he saw a glittering pink pixie, hair and all, appraising him.

“What is your costume?” asked the bright, rose-colored, vertigo inducing feminine form.

He was dressed in an elegant expensive Muggle tuxedo from a well-known Muggle designer. A two-toned mask of pale bronze and light teal with horns protruding at the sides adorned his face. Grimacing, Draco growled, “A beast.”

More giggling escaped the overly plump coral lips. “And where is your beauty?”

“Certainly, not in front of me.” And with that parting remark, he turned on his heel and left the blush hued woman, mouth agape, behind him.

Where was his beauty, indeed? Draco had pondered that question all night. Blaise Zabini lured him to this shindig with the promise of a certain curly-haired brunette witch's attendance. Were it not for that piece of alluring news, Draco would have passed on the annual Zabini summer garden masquerade as he had no desire to be social or charming with any woman in the room. It was a known fact that this particular gathering was one where young witches searched for eligible, and rich, wizards to sink their claws. No, he had his mind, eyes and heart set on only one witch, who he knew had a definite inclination towards him. He had it from the most reliable of resources that she was more than interested.

So, he'd come, taking Blaise at his word. And why should he doubt him. The handsome dark-skinned Italian was married to the witch in question's best friend, Ginny Weasley, now Zabini.

After an hour of searching through a throng of guests and not finding his target, Draco was tired and angry. Where the hell was she? He couldn't decipher what disguise she might have chosen. Every time a dark-haired, petite woman had caught his gaze he'd start to make his way toward her only to realize that it was not Hermione Granger. He didn't need to unmask the decoy to know it was not his witch.

Spotting a flash of long red hair, Draco perked up. It must be the illustrious Mrs. Zabini, who else would have such a shocking color. Moving quickly towards the woman, he grinned realizing his quest was coming to an end as Ginny Zabini was clearly entertaining a circle of friends – undoubtedly, mostly, Gryffindor friends. And judging by the mishmash jet black hair of one tall male dressed as a vampire holding the hand of a raven-haired vampiress, Draco knew he'd found the right crowd. He would know Harry and Pansy Potter anywhere.

Sidling up behind the group and stood off next to a gargantuan, puce-colored bronze light stand sporting a dark violet lampshade made of thick, deep velvet with beading detail dangling along the edges. It was horrific but provided a modicum of privacy allowing him to listen to the conversation of the group.

Mentally, he ticked them off: Potter and Pansy, Blaise and Red, Weasel and Looney, Theo and Daphne . . . and, wait who is this last one? It’s clearly not Granger. Indeed, the last member isn't even female. Listening carefully, Draco tried to catch a name but couldn't hear anything.

Draco strained a peek around the disgusting lampshade to get a better look. Dressed a what could only be described as a dark avenging angel, the man was small, no taller than Draco's chest. He wore a form fitting leather leotard of the deepest black, thick boots hugged his slender legs, long leather gloves covered his hand and arms and large realistic wings protruded from his back. Thick short auburn hair was slicked back and a simple leather mask obscured the upper half of his face. Rich chocolate eyes stared out from the mask.

Who the hell was he? Where was Granger?

Draco Malfoy had never considered himself to be attracted to wizards but staring at this androgynous guest suddenly made his cock stir. Suddenly, the identity of the slim, young man standing and speaking with the boy-who-lived cum the man-who-annoys-Draco-to-no-end was a mystery he wanted to solve.

Downing the rest of his drink, he rested the empty glass on a passing house-elf's tray and sauntered over to the merry group. “Good evening, everyone. Potter, never fancied you for a blood-sucking fiend from hell.”

Sharp, serious green eyes as rich as the finest emeralds turned to look at him. Narrowing slightly, they softened as a tiny grin graced the masculine face. “Come as yourself, did you, Malfoy?”

The avenging angel's head snapped towards them, suddenly, before casting downward.

“Women do call me a beast, Potter,” Draco replied. “Just ask your . . .”

“Do not even think of finishing the sentence, Draco,” the vampiress hissed.

Harry laughed, “No worries, love. I've nothing to prove. Draco's just jesting, aren't you mate?”

The sinister tone in Potter's statement gave Draco chills. He replied warily, “Of course. My apologies, Pansy.”

“Glad you came, mate.” A slap on his back shifted Draco's attention to Blaise who was dressed as a Templar Knight.

“As am I, Blaise.” Grinning, he turned his attention to the group, hoping to secure an introduction to the quiet young man who had yet to say a word. “How is everyone faring this evening? I must say, I recognized you at a glance. None of you did a very secure job of hiding your identities, except for you, sir.” Extending his hand in salutation, Draco directed his gaze at the figure dressed in all-black. “I don't believe we've met, I'm Draco Malfoy.”

A small snigger came from Draco's left, followed by a snort to his right and a hushing sound. Hand awaiting in mid-air, the young man lifted his head slowly. Rich brown eyes flecked with gold pierced through him. They seemed so damn familiar.

Clearing his throat, the young man took Draco's hand and shook it firmly. “We've not met, no.” His voice was low, not too deep, with a slight lilt.

“And you are?” Draco prodded.

“Sariel,” came the simple reply.

Nodding, Draco smiled, “The archangel? Clever.”

A giggle from Ginny and a sharp sh-ing sound made Draco feel he was missing something. Not moving, he took stock of the group who were all staring at him with some level of amusement. “Well, I'll see you in the morning, as I'm sure you're spending the evening if you're with this lot.”

Offering a small bow to 'Sariel' and nodding to the rest, he took his leave. The way the Sariel creature stared at him made Draco all too aware of his sudden attraction. Feeling confused, aroused and irritated, he walked quickly towards the open veranda doors for a breath of fresh air. Stepping outside, he gulped in the cool night, greedily. Calming his mind and stilling his nerves, he chalked up this uncomfortable situation to general male hormones. He'd been without a woman to long, focused as he was on pursuing Hermione Granger. The androgynous Sariel would be attractive to any man, or woman, dressed as they were this evening. It was perfectly natural.

Flexing his shoulders, he untied and pocketed his mask before called for a house-elf to bring him some food. He would eat, take a stroll then retire for the evening. The Zabini gardens shone in the moonlight and it was a good way to clear his head. Tomorrow he would renew his efforts to secure the lovely Muggleborn he desired.

About an hour later, Draco found himself on the other side of the Zabini gardens. It was dark, quiet and calm. He knew this side housed most of the prime guest rooms, his own included, on the second and third levels of the elegant villa. Glancing around for the entrance he knew was there, Draco planned on escaping the rest of evening. He wanted to just retire to his room, wank to images of Hermione Granger riding him and go to sleep. A gentle creak from one of the second level balconies stopped him in his tracks. Looking up, he cursed the fates. Leaning over a balcony stood the elusive Sariel, still in full avenging angel garb.

Years later, Draco would never be able to explain why, instead of going right up to his room, he hid low in the bushes. Sariel was illuminated from behind, hiding his features. Draco watched as his pulled out his wand and muttered a spell removing the wings. Keeping the mask in place, he placed the wand on a low table before removing the gloves. Long elegant fingers reached behind as Sariel turned, back facing the night. Mesmerized, Draco stilled as Sariel unzipped the leotard revealing smooth, delicate shoulders. Slipping the leotard off of long slim arms and exposing Sariel's back, Draco noticed a wide band around the young man's torso.

Numbness seeped into Draco's body as he watched Sariel unbind the wrappings. Draco moved, stealthily to his right, repositioning his body to see the side of Sariel's body. As the final wrappings fell away, Draco glimpsed gentle swell of what he knew to be a woman's breast. Cold reality came crashing on him.

He wasn't a he, he was a she!

No wonder they were all laughing at him. Fury suddenly washed over him. How dare this woman make a fool of him? Undoubtedly, she sensed his attraction and found it amusing that Draco thought he was attracted to a man. Lost in his own overreaction, he nearly missed those hands mussing up the short hair and untying the leather mask.

Even under the pale moonlight, even with the short hair, even two stories down; there was no mistaking that face. Hermione Granger.

With a growl, Draco took off from his hiding spot to the side entrance. Stomping through the house, he found the stairs leading to the guest quarters. Taking two at a time, he all but ran to the room he knew to be Granger's. He'd grown up with Blaise and knew this house as well as his own.

Pounding on the door, he heard a thump followed by a confused “what in Merlin's name.” As the door opened, he pushed his way inside and slammed it behind him then grabbed the tiny witch before she could protest.

“What the hell, Malfoy!”

Flipping her satin robe clad body, he trapped her against the door. Holding her still with his larger frame, he pulled out his wand to secure the door and added silencing charms. He didn't want anyone hearing her cry out his name in the middle of the night. And cry it out she would.

Pocketing his wand, he took a good long look at Hermione. Gone were her standard long, curly, and sometimes bushy, locks. Now her hair was shorn short, pixie-like. It framed her face making each delicate feature stand out. Her eyes seemed more defined, lashes longer and fuller, her nose more pert and lips lusher. Everything about her screamed feminine. How he could have confused her for anything else was beyond him.

“Malfoy, let me go.”

“What did you do to your hair?” he whispered.

“Pardon?”

“Your hair, it’s gone.”

Struggling against his grip, she tried to get away. “It's not gone, you oaf. I cut it.”

“I can see that, Granger. But why?” He pressed his body against hers, rubbing his cock against her belly. She stilled, immediately, with a squeak.

“I-I . . . Malfoy . . .”

“Why did you cut your hair, Granger?” One hand trailed down the front of the robe to play with the loosely tied sash holding it closed.

“I . . . always wanted short hair . . . Malfoy, what are you doing?”

Lowering his lips to her ear, he slipped one hand inside her robe to cup a warm breast and stroke the nipple to a peak. “Nothing you don't want me to . . . Hermione.”

A small moan escaped her lips but she didn't stop him. “I don't know . . . what you . . . oh, mmmmmean.”

“We've been dancing around each other for months, Granger.” Bending his knees, he lifted her bottom with his other hand to grind himself into her. “I know you fancy me, and I think you can tell I fancy you; so let's stop the games, shall we?”

Her fingers dug into his shirt as she spread her legs wider. “No games . . .”

Chuckling, his lips grazed her neck. “Though tonight you had me, Sariel. Did you know I wanted to fuck you, not even knowing it was you? I thought I was losing my mind. I'd never been with a bloke but seeing you, as Sariel, blew my mind.”

A breathy laugh was his reply. “Maybe your subconscious knew it was me . . . Draco . . . oh, yes, there . . .”

By now, both his hands had cupped her bottom and lifted her from the floor; her legs were wrapped around his waist and he was slowly fucking her through his trousers. He could tell she wore nothing under the robe.

“If we do this, tonight, you're mine, Granger.” He pulled her from the door and carried her towards the bed.

“Mmm, no, you're mine, Malfoy.” With that she grabbed his hair and pulled his head down for a searing kiss.

Tasting her, Draco coiled his tongue around hers before nipping her lips. Tearing himself from her, he threw her on the bed to rip off his clothes. “I'm going to fuck you so good. Don't even think of sleeping tonight. Now, spread those legs, I'm coming home.”

Shucking his trousers, and pulling off his socks, he dove onto Hermione. Untying the sash, he opened her robe and took a long look at the slim body. He ran his hands over the soft, olive-toned skin before lowering his head to capture a dark-dusky rose tipped nipple and sliding one thick finger into her moist pussy.

“Oh . . . Draco.”

Smiling, Draco lifted his head and pumped her slowly with a single finger. “Keeping saying my name like that . . . good girls get cock. And I know you want cock, don't you?” Curling his finger, she bucked up. He held her down, firmly.

“Now, I have you, Granger.” Trailing down her body, he spread her wider and heard her moan his name before fastening his lips around her clit.

His last non-lascivious thought was how he could have confused her for a man.

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Sunlight streamed across Hermione's face, its warmth slowly waking her. Eyelids fluttering open against the new day's rays, she shifted slightly. Her body was sore everywhere.

Recalling the prior evening, she grinned. It was a miracle she could move. But move she must, nature called.

She tried to rise but a strong male arm was wrapped around her waist. Sighing she turned to look at her sleeping companion. Draco Malfoy was beautiful in repose. His nearly white blond hair stood out in the dawning light. The sheet covered only his lower half, leaving his muscular chest exposed to delight her eyes and stir her heart.

Moving ever so slowly, she wiggled out from under his hold and, feet first, freed herself. Standing on unsteady legs, she looked around for her robe but picked up Draco’s shirt instead. She made her way, gingerly, on tip toes to the expansive loo connected to her room. Stepping on the cool tiles, she shut the door with a quiet snap behind her and rested her body against the wood. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes remembering the activities of the evening. Merlin, Draco had been relentless. He’d taken her in various positions and had enjoyed making her come again and again.

A small voice whispering her name interrupted her reverie. Opening her eyes, she made her way to the large oversized mirror. Taking stock of her reflection, she realized she looked a sight. Smudged makeup, love bites on her neck and, lifting the shirt, bruises in the most delicate of areas. Yes, she looked thoroughly shagged six ways from Sunday.

“Hermione Granger . . .,” came a strong feminine voice.

Looking around, Hermione picked up an oversized golden bejeweled hand mirror, held it up and turn it over. “Merlin, Ginny, be quiet. You’ll wake Blaise.”

Ginny Zabini stared back at her from the glass in the mirror. “Well, I’ve been up for an hour waiting for you to come to the damn loo. Tell me what happened. Did Draco find you? Well, what a silly question – just look at you, you look like he shagged you all over that room. Did he? Does he have a big c-“

“Stop right there, Ginny! Goodness, be quiet. You’ve not let me get a single word.”

“Well, tell me everything.”

Grinning and shaking her head, Hermione replied, “No, I won’t tell you everything. Suffice it to say that moving this morning is somewhat uncomfortable. I was up nearly all night.”

“Apparently, so was he,” giggled Ginny.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, he’s still asleep.”

“I told you it would work,” Ginny said, smugly.

Somewhat dazed, Hermione could only nod. “Yes, you did. I didn’t believe it but it did work.”

“It worked for Pansy and Luna. And myself, of course. The masquerade reveals the heart’s hidden desire at the night’s end.”

“You mean the mask.”

Ginny shrugged. “I’m just quoting the spell, or curse. It depends on how you look at it. I think it’s a blessing, it brought me Blaise.”

Hermione had been skeptical in taking part of this entire game. After learning about her feelings about Draco, Ginny had shared the secret of a leather mask that, according to legend, brought about true love. The, then, long curly-haired brunette had scoffed at such a notion until Ginny, Pansy, Luna and Daphne had cornered her and confessed the mysterious mask had played a role in helping them secure their lover’s hearts.

Now, love itself cannot be forced so there has to be a kernel of affection or attraction. Hermione’s friends knew Draco was more than just attracted to the witch, Pansy insisted the blond prat was madly in love.

It all sounded quite simple – wear the mask around or near the object of your desire and he, or she, would find their way to you. Once the bond was forged, it wouldn’t be broken. But there was a price to be paid. For the spell, to work and not backfire, and curse the wearer as well as the intended; something had to be given in exchange to harness its power. While none of her friends revealed the price they paid, it was clear what Hermione had given up. It was her trademark, something so unique to her, she was unsure if she could brave the task but she knew it was what was demanded. And so Hermione Granger shed her long, curly locks. They would grow back, eventually, but it left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

It was a shocking move but when she’d donned the costume and, finally, the mask; she felt its power surge through her body. Stepping out among the guests, last night, had been a rush. Seeing Draco approach her group, she could feel his heat and desire aimed at her. And he’d not even known her true identity.

When he’d all but ripped her door off its hinges, thrown her down on the bed and then not only fucked her senseless but made slow, passionate love to her as if he worshipped her very essence; Hermione became a true believer. And she had felt invisible, magical bonds surround them.

“Hermione, where’s the mask?” Ginny asked.

“I placed it back in the box it came in, just as you instructed,” Hermione replied. “Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure you followed every step. I wouldn’t want you to be cursed. I’ll send a house-elf to retrieve it immediately.” Ginny suddenly grinned. “Well, I’m off, I’m sure Draco will be waking soon.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled back at her friend. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Raising her hand, Ginny shook her head. “Stop it.” Shifting her head, she lifted a finger to her lips signaling Hermione to be quiet. “I’ve got to run. We’ll talk after breakfast. Talk later, Mione.”

Ginny faded from her view. Setting the mirror down, Hermione stripped off Draco’s shirt and turned on the shower. Relishing the warmth of the water, she washed off the night’s evidence of lovemaking. Grabbing a towel, she dried off and fluffed her short hair before donning on Draco’s shirt again.

Walking back into the bedroom, she saw Draco was still sleeping soundly. Padding over to the balcony window, she gazed out onto the waking day. A small smile made its way to her lips. She made a very un-Hermione Granger-like choice in that moment. She decided to not worry about the mask or it’s magic. Why should she? She’d paid the price demanded of her, hadn’t she? Turning to look at the delicious man in her bed, Hermione made her way to the bed, removing his shirt in the process.

Snuggling back under the covers, she wound her arms around his body and breathed in his scent deeply into her nostrils. He moaned and turned into her. This felt right, it was where she belonged. Without another thought, she fell asleep tucked in his arms, sweeping all her worries and cares aside.

As she and her lover drifted in the land of Morpheus, a small wooden and innocuous-looking box rattled slightly on the dresser. Suddenly, it floated in the air, whirled once and then blinked away into nothingness.

-fin-

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Of Masked Intents and Deeds