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Spilling Wine for Sanity	By : saphonantis Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 3708 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters. No money is made.

Chapter List
- 1-Spilling Wine for Sanity
- 1
Another speech finished and still far too many more to bloody sit through. Draco Malfoy sat perfectly poised, regularly sipping his champagne, but inside he was screaming. Ten fucking years and the ministry were still droning on. He could not even remember why he hadn’t turned down the invitation. Oh yes, networking for the new orphanage. It did not matter what he had spent the last ten years post-war doing, his name had been marred. The sins of the father had certainly been passed onto the son. Not that Draco was completely innocent. What did it matter anyway? Nothing he did changed. Years ago he had hoped his father’s death would have provided him with some semblance of freedom, but it was all smokes and mirrors in the end. Then why did he carry on? He often pondered that question and always reached the same reason: his mother. She had gone through so much, suffered greatly and needed his - and therefore the Malfoy - success to cling onto her sanity. Could he really begrudge her that? Still,no matter how much he loved his mother, he had to have a break from the godforsaken speeches. Leaving his seat with a perfected feigned nonchalance, he heading out of the concert hall, picking up a glass of red wine before exciting the hall.
* * *
Maybe she could sneak out now that she had been mentioned in the speeches. Not that it had really been worth the mention. Ten fucking years she had worked. She was the youngest charms and runes specialist in wizarding history. She had created over a hundred new charms, with the majority contributing significantly to mediwizardry. Was any of that mentioned? Of course it bloody wasn’t. Hermione Granger was sick of the ministry and the stupid balls, conventions and general bore-fests she had to attend simply because she was one third of the golden bloody trio. Taking a subtle glance at the people sitting nearby, and noting they seemed sufficiently absorbed in the current speech, she left the hall, desperately in need of some fresh air.
* * *
Draco had taken an adequately pleasant walk around the gardens of this particular ministry owned estate. The fresh air and absence of wizards droning on about the tenth anniversary of Voldemort’s death had been truly needed. He sighed, resigning himself to returning inside for the rest of the evening.
* * *
Hermione found herself stomping down the corridors, irritated beyond belief. She needed to scream. None of them seemed to understand. Instead all of them would just stand they and thank themselves that Voldemort had been vanquished. Nothing was mentioned of the deaths both sides had suffered. Nothing was mentioned of the war orphans left behind. Of course she understood people’s need to celebrate their relief, but it was now ten years on. When had people had time to heal? Why hadn’t she healed if they all had? Lost in her own thoughts as she headed towards the gardens she did not realize one of her heels had stuck into a crack in the floor. With a snap the heel of her shoe broke, she fell down and it was - as the saying goes - the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
* * *
Draco had just stepped in from outside and was about to turn the corner when he heard a voice. Maybe it was instinct from his school days that made him pause and listen. Years of sneaking around Hogwarts after curfew had honed his hearing. Or maybe he was simply plain nosy. Whatever the reasons, he listen and instinctively recognized the voice.

“Fucking shoe. Of course you have to be fucking useless too. I bet you wouldn’t have broken for the great Harry bloody Potter. Hah, imagine him wearing you. And now I’m talking to a fucking shoe. A broken one at that.”

“Is that the first sign of madness?” asked Draco, approaching Hermione from the shadows. She glared at him with such ferocity he become weary.

“What are you doing, Malfoy? Not listening to the speeches?” she snarled at him with a bitterness he had never expected to hear from her.

“I imagine I am doing the same thing you are…well minus the broken shoe,” he smirked - although not nastily - as he pointed to the shoe she held in her hands.

“And what is that, Malfoy?”

“Escaping the facade the wizarding population call a celebration.”

Hermione faltered at Draco’s reply, not entirely sure what she had expected him to say. Draco saw her mask crumple when she faltered, realizing a startling truth,

“We’re rather alike, you know, Granger. Both of us are trying to be recognized for our achievements. Yet here we both are. Me living in the shadows of my father’s sins and you in the shadow of Potter.”

“I do-”

“There’s no need to lie here, Granger. We have enough of that going on back in the hall. I will forever be known as a Lucius Malfoy’s failed death eater son and you as the girl that spent nearly a year in hiding with the Boy who Lived.”

Draco took a sip of his previously untouched red wine, watching as his words rendered Hermione speechless.

“So let’s play a little game…” he continued. “Tell me a truth and I will tell you one in return.”

“Why? And why should I trust you?” she asked cautiously.

“Who said anything about trust?” he smirked. “Maybe I am just sick of all the lies our world has been telling us about the war. Perhaps I want to hear a true feeling from someone for the first time in my life.”

Hermione eyed him curiously, aware that his reply had been utterly honest. After several minutes of silence, she couldn’t work out his ulterior motive so spoke her first honest sentence in many years,

“I hate how everyone else is living their perfect lives whilst I still have nightmares.”

Draco took another sip of his wine before reply, “I still have nightmares.”

“I have saved more lives with my spells that are used in St Mungos than people that died during the war.I feel guilty for wanting the recognition.”

Draco was startled by this confession. Yes, he knew she had done amazing things and that this shouldn’t have really surprised him, but it did.

“I have solely funded the Lupin Orphanage, yet Potter is the public face because no one would adopt children from me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at this, but she didn’t question. This was too freeing, she needed to continue,

“I have resented and somewhat hated Harry over the last seven years.”

“Whilst the war was truly devastating I miss the ugliness it showed.Whatever it was, it was at least real. The suffering, the victories, the deaths, everything. What we have now is fake.”

Hermione’s heart leapt in a yearning of understanding. She had not realized how much closer she had moved to Draco until she was close enough to take his glass of red wine. She didn’t speak and he let her take it. Instead of bringing it to her lips to take a sip she carefully tipped some of it down the top of her dress. Then, before Draco could fully process what she was doing, she threw the rest of the wine onto his shirt. They sharp intakes of breath was the only sound in the hallway. They watched the wine stain spread. The blood red stain was beautiful. Hermione gasped, allowing the glass from her hand to fall, the beautiful sound of it shattering echoed down the empty corridor. They both looked at each other, with a mixture of resentment, anger and something far more basal shining in their eyes.

“Why?” asked Draco, not taking his eyes from hers.

“You know why. We both wanted to and you wouldn’t,” she replied, her voice calmer than it had been previously.

“Destruction.”

“Partly,” she admitted.

“Why else?” he asked, knowing the answer, but needing her to verbalize it for him; for them both.

“Instinct,” she whispered, stepping towards him further and closing the gap.

“Instinct,” he replied, his voice also low. He raised his hands to grasp the top of her dress, his fingers feeling the wine seeping through the fabric. He pulled the fabric taut until it ripped, eliciting a moan from Hermione.

“Pull out your hair,” he ordered, stepping away from her.

“What?” she asked him a lust filled daze.

“Your hair. It is too perfect. There is not a hair out of place. I don’t want that. It’s fake. Give me something real.”

She removed her wand from the holster in her dress and wordlessly cast a spell that would return her hair to its natural form.

“Yes,” moaned Draco, stepping backwards, his eyes constantly on her, until he reached the wall.

She picked up her broken shoe, pointed her wand at it and transfigured it into a knife, before walking towards where Draco was standing. Of course it did cross his mind that maybe the great Hermione Granger had completely lost it and was going to kill him there and then. But…he didn’t care. He was feeling for the first time in years. It was real and raw and he could feel the power in the air. Most of all, he could feel the way his cock strained against his trousers, aching in a way it had never ached before. In that moment he really didn’t care if she did stab him, at least he would go out on a wave of pure lust.

She laughed when she reached him, it was not a mocking laugh or even a nervous laugh. No, it was a laugh that told Draco she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m not going to stab you,” she laughed again, this time with her mouth near his ear and the hand with the knife twirling carelessly to the side of him.

“I know,” he replied.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” she smiled. “But that’s not the point. Simply knowing that I could stab you if I choose…well…that excites you,” she caressed down his body with the knife, stopping with the point of the knife resting on his cock. He groaned as he felt himself twitch, a part of him wondering why the hell Hermione Granger with a knife pressed to his cock was making him harder.

“Please,” he begged, not knowing what on earth his was begging for.

“Please what?” she grinned. Gripping his wine stained shirt and ripping it methodically with the knife.

“Just please,” he gasped.

“You want something real,” she murmured, continuing to rip his shirt.

“Yes,” he agreed as though she was promising him the world.

“You want something raw,” she murmured, undoing his trousers with her knife free hand.

“Yes.”

“You want something primal,” she murmured, turning the knife onto her own dress and ripping the skirt.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes.”

“You want me,” she stated, looking him straight in the eyes. She was calm and confident, but he could detect the taint of vulnerability there.

“Yes, Hermione,” he smiled, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Yes, I want you. You make me feel. It’s you. You have always made me feel.”

She smiled, leaning her back against the wall, lifted up her ripped skirt and said, “fuck me, Draco.”
He pushed her further against the wall, taking the knife from her and throwing it on to the floor. He slit into her and took a moment to relish her heat. She moaned into his ear and gyrated her hips. He began to thrust slowly, savoring the feel of her hands on his back.

“Fuck me hard, Draco,” she commanded. “We both need it hard.”

He let himself go. He followed his lust, pounding her roughly against the stone brick wall. Her moans where music to his ears, encouraging to go faster and deeper. He could feel his balls tightening as he neared the edge. Hermione’s nails were digging delightfully painfully into his back. With a final thrust he felt himself release, feeling her trembling walls contract around his cock as she found her own release.

They remained still for several minutes. When Draco finally removed himself, he took her hand and kissed it gently.

“Now what?” asked Draco, his hands caressing her waist as he nuzzled into her neck.

“We fix our clothes and return to the ceremony. We spend the rest of the evening filling ourselves with the bubbles of champagne to fuel our fake smiles.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said quietly, looking straight into her eyes. She was shocked to see the depth of vulnerability shimmering within them.

“Come to mine tomorrow night, I will open the floo for you,” she replied with a smile.

“Great,” he grinned, stepping her way from her and flourishing his wand to restore their clothes to their previous perfect states. Hermione’s hands went to her wand to fix her hair, but Draco hand stopped her, “leave the hair.”

“Why?”

“I prefer it down and wild,” he grinned. “Plus, it will conceal the love bites.”

She rolled her eyes, but left her hair down. Once their appearances were adequate for returning to hall, they began the walk back together. Just before Draco opened the doors, Hermione stopped him with a hand to his shoulder, leaned into him and whispered, “Don’t forget to bring some red wine tomorrow.” With that parting comment, she waltzed into the hall in front of him, leaving him stood speechless, excited and hopeful for the first time in years.
- 1
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Spilling Wine for Sanity