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Tales of The Dragon and The Bookworm	By : cpetnm Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 58350 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Awkward

Summary: They meet every week. She offers him biscuits and tea and he admires her assets.

Words: ~5,700

A.N.: Hello, my long lost friends! I’ve had quite an adventure the past year and didn’t have the time to write anything. But I finally have a bit of a break and wanted to put this story out there, which has been simmering in my mind for a while.

Some beautiful children grow into beautiful adults, the world their pearl-producing oyster. Some children are gangly, or spotty, or their features don’t quite fit their faces, but eventually they grow into their looks. The young ones who start out cherubic and precious, with their big eyes and rosy cheeks sometimes become adults whose faces lack striking proportions. Their sweet visages had such promise, but age doesn’t work to their benefit and they grow up to be pale and skinny with sharp noses and thin lips and eyes that are much too large for their faces. Add a repugnant faded black mark to the arm of such a wizard and you might realize we have been describing Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Yet, sometimes these odd-looking people can overcome their quirks with a certain je ne sais quois: an interesting perspective of the world, intelligence, talent, sincerity, or just general niceness. Well, Draco had intelligence in spades, and he was certainly wealthy, although not as wealthy as his family had been in his youth. Age had not tempered Draco’s rough edges and without the constant compliments he’d been accustomed to as a child, his self-esteem suffered.

“Move it, Ferret,” Ron Weasley said, bumping Draco’s shoulder so hard his butter beer spilled onto his lap. Ron winked at the barmaid as he paid her to bring a round of drinks to his table. This third of the Golden Trio had grown into his looks and then some. He was tall, muscular and had a rakishness witches fell all over themselves for. As a keeper for the Falmouth Falcons, Draco’s former favorite team, the Weasel had gone from war hero to beloved quidditch player.

Draco took a deep breath and used his wand to dry the liquid staining his pants.

“Looks like Malfoy pissed himself!” Seamus said, his boisterous voice carrying across the Leaky Cauldron.

The group’s laughter made the blond’s face burn with embarrassment, but he did his best to ignore them.

“What happened?” Pansy asked as she made her way back from the loo and sat down beside Draco.

“Weasley just being Weasley,” Draco muttered as he scowled into what remained of his drink.

Pansy’s dreamy smile made Draco roll his eyes. “He visited my flat last Wednesday.”

“Did he at least pay you this time?”

Pansy’s dreamy expression evaporated at her friend’s jab. “He’s not using me.”

“Oh, really? Then why hasn’t he come over to talk to you?”

She looked at the bar counter, rubbing a ring of condensation her drink had left on the wood.

“I’m going to go,” she said, patting Draco’s hand. “See you next week?”

“Yeah, Pans.” Draco hesitated and squeezed his friend’s hand. “Just…be careful with Weasley. You deserve someone who knows how great you are.”

“So do you, Draco.”

With a gentle smile for her cantankerous friend, Draco watched Pansy make her way out of the bar. He ordered a shot of firewhisky to take the edge off his loneliness, the group of Gryffindors he could see in his peripheral vision making his constant self-consciousness more pronounced. Another firewhisky helped him focus on the busty, creamy skinned brunette nestled between Ginny Potter and Looney Lovegood, her dark eyes meeting his for a second before he let his gaze fall to the drink in his hands.

Hermione Granger should have ended up a bucktoothed, hunchbacked, wild-haired witch who talked to herself as she walked the halls of the Ministry with her head in a tome. Instead she was bloody gorgeous…and smart…and fucking nice. The niceness was probably the hardest part for Draco to swallow, as it would be a lot easier for him if she had been nasty like everyone else was. Every week he met with her in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as per the terms of his parole. When she’d taken over his case, he’d expected the worst, but Granger was professional and courteous and over time, he found himself looking forward to her warm smiles and open laughs.

Draco shook himself out of his drunken musings and stumbled out of the Leaky towards the Apparition point, unaware of the warm eyes following his departure.

A whoop of laughter caused Draco to become distracted and trip on a loose cobblestone. As if in slow motion, his drunkenness caused his limbs to flail as he fell into a puddle right in the middle of Diagon Alley. He knew the group of Gryffindors was behind him, laughing at him as he slowly made his way to his feet. Steady, warm hands helped him up.

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Hermione asked as he swerved on his feet.

Draco batted her hands away, even as he tried his damndest to get a move on.

“Fuck off, Granger,” Draco slurred as finally got to his destination a few steps from the humiliating scene of his fall, drew his wand, and Apparated away.

Usually, Draco would listen to Hermione chatter for a few minutes before she updated his file. She would offer him tea and homemade biscuits. The easy way she would speak to him made the visits something he found himself looking forward to.

“Do you have your timesheet from St. Mungo’s?”

Draco handed her the parchment and she added it to his file.

“You’re free to go,” she said, not looking up from her writing.

“No tea?” Draco asked.

“Not today, Malfoy. I’ve got work to do. Good day.”

He stood, hoping she might offer him a smile or a kind word, but she continued to ignore him as her quill scratched against parchment.

“She hates me,” Draco said to Pansy as they sipped butter beer and nibbled on chips.

“What did you do?” Pansy asked, knowing full well her friend could be ridiculously rude.

“I was pissed…I fell and Granger tried to help me. I told her to fuck off.”

“Gods, Draco! She’s actually nice to you and even I can admit she’s bloody beautiful and you told her to fuck off? You should have asked her to help you home, you idiot.”

“She’s only nice to me because she’s nice to everyone.”

Pansy snorted. “Ron thinks she has a bit of a thing for you.”

His big grey eyes almost popped out of his head.

“Fuuuuccckkk,” he drawled with mounting horror. “I told her to fuck off.”

“I suppose now you’ll have to figure out how to get back in her good graces.”

“White robes are all the rage in Paris,” Narcissa assured her son.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror and thought he looked like a Muggle vicar or a ghost in a white sheet.

“You don’t think they wash me out?”

“No, not at all. They’re very striking,” she assured him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Is there some reason you’re dressing up today? Perhaps a witch?”

“Would you be very upset if the Malfoy bloodlines deviated?”

“No!” an exuberant Narcissa yelped. “Who is she, my son?”

For Narcissa had tried in vain to set up her beloved son with many eligible young witches, but word eventually came back to her that Draco was obnoxious and could be odd. She was aware her son was not suave and physically imposing like her Lucius, but he was smart and loveable in his own way. She would welcome home any witch who would help her boy be whole again.

“Well…it’s…are you familiar with Hermione Granger?” he finally got out.

Hermione Granger, the most eligible young witch in the wizarding world? The witch who had been tortured in their familial home? The girl her son had teased mercilessly as a boy? Oh, her poor Draco! She could only hope the Granger girl would let him down gently.

“Yes, I remember Miss Granger,” Narcissa said with a nod.

Sniggers followed Draco as he made his way to Hermione’s office for his weekly parole meeting. He’d worn the white robes his mother insisted were terribly fashionable, but he couldn’t help but feel the laughter was directed at him.

“Looks like he’s wearing wedding robes.”

“…albino peacock…”

“It’s Vicar Malfoy!”

Well, being a trendsetter sometimes began with teasing, but eventually Draco knew everyone would be wearing the white robes. With a knock on her door, Draco let himself into Hermione’s office.

“Hello,” she said, doing a double-take at his very white, very bright robes. “Is this your St. Mungo’s uniform?”

“What? No. White robes are all the rage in Paris,” he said, quoting his mother.

“Hmm. May I make a slight adjustment?” she asked, pointing her wand at his person.

With a wave of her wand, his white robes became a light shade of natural linen.

“That color compliments your coloring a bit more. There’s a mirror behind my door if you’d like to take a look.”

He stood and looked at himself briefly before turning back to her. She wore her customary cardigan twin set, in a light shade of periwinkle, with a strand of pearls nestled between her large breasts. Hermione’s chestnut curls were pinned into an up-do with tendrils escaping around her face. Her light pink lips began to purse in discomfort the longer he looked at her.

“Shall we begin?” Hermione finally asked, annoyed at how long it took Draco’s eyes to finally come to rest on her own.

“Go on,” he said, his imperious voice trying to hide his embarrassment at being caught studying her.

She took a deep breath and opened his file. “Your probation will be over next month and I will be speaking to your supervisor at St. Mungo’s to assure you’ve met the volunteer hours set forth by the Wizengamot. When your probation is finished, the ban on travel you have placed on you will be lifted as well. Do you have any questions?”

He did in fact have a burning question, but unrelated to his probation. “Why haven’t you offered me tea?”

“Questions about your probation,” she clarified.

“No. No questions about that,” he said. “But you always offer me tea and your ugly little biscuits.”

Hermione was no fool. She knew Draco was both physically and socially awkward and his work for Voldemort had made him bitter as he grew into adulthood. He used his insolent words to cover up the fact that he had yet to grow comfortable in his own skin. Oddly, she kind of liked this Draco Malfoy, who knew the world didn’t revolve around him. He looked at her like she was Aphrodite herself as he not-so-covertly roamed her body with his large, grey eyes. Most men she knew wanted to be worshipped, but she had a feeling if something were to happen with Draco, he would be the one doing the worshipping. And she relished the thought of being the center of someone’s attention. But the fact remained that he needed to grovel a bit before she let her light shine on the blond.

“I’ve run out of tea,” she said with a shrug.

“Really?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “You know, you’re not the only parolee I tend to.”

“I know that,” he said, his voice surly.

Pansy’s words floated through his mind, she has a bit of a thing for you…

“I think that’s it for today—“

“I happen to know where the best tea in England is made. Perhaps you’d like to indulge if you’ve yet to take lunch?”

Well, this was unexpected! It took Hermione a moment realize he’d asked her out for lunch. For tea, she supposed, not exactly lunch.

“I need to eat, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

He Apparated them to the small breakfast nook off the manor’s huge kitchen.

“Are we at Malfoy Manor?”

Draco nodded as a spry elf hastily made her way to the couple.

“Master Draco, sir, what can Jammie get for you and the young miss?”

“A pot of the cream Earl Grey and an assortment of sandwiches, please.”

Having only been in the house as a hostage, she was shocked by how charming the family’s eating area was. The limestone walls were muted beige and light green and yellow striped curtains framed a sunny window that overlooked a large vegetable garden. The circular wooden table was smooth from years of use and the four chairs surrounding the table were padded and covered with the same fabric as the drapes.

Draco pulled out a chair and helped guide her into her seat. His hand was warm on her arm and she noticed he smelled like fresh laundry. She was shocked when he began to move away and his hand grazed her left breast. The frozen look on his face alerted her to the fact that he had mistakenly rubbed against her chest. She wondered just how many breasts he had touched in his day and guessed not very many.

So she laughed, because unfortunately this happened to her quite frequently.

“It’s alright, Malfoy. Happens all the time.”

Luckily, Jammie and another elf came in bearing a tray with their lunch and Hermione was spared from the awkward conversation that had ensued from her admission to Draco. She served herself a cup of the fragrant tea, adding cream and two cubes of sugar.

“This looks decadent, Malfoy. It was a kind gesture to offer me lunch.”

After his totally accidental touch, Draco could only nod and attempt to smile at her.

“Well, you have been feeding me biscuits and tea for years. Isn’t it expensive to offer food and drink to every one of your parolees?”

“Not really. Most of them decline. Agamemnon Nott claims I’m trying to poison former Death Eaters.”

“He’s not exactly a genius.”

Hermione laughed. “You speak the truth. The only other people who accept my hospitality are Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bullstrode, and Reinhart Parkinson.”

“Pansy’s older brother? But he wasn’t involved in the war.”

“No, he’s on parole for something else.”

“I didn’t hear anything about this from Pansy.”

Draco’s interest was piqued.

“It’s not really polite talk for a meal,” Hermione said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Mmm, is this salmon mousse?”

“Is his sentence public record?”

Hermione gave him a disapproving look. “Draco.”

He felt warmed by her saying his given name, even if she did say it like old McGonagall.

“I won’t tell anyone. Honestly, who would I tell? Pansy? She probably already knows.”

“Fine,” Hermione sighed. “He was stunning witches in secluded areas and…um…weeing on them.”

Draco burst out laughing. “Weeing on them? Pissing? Oh, good Merlin!”

Hermione had to smirk as Draco laughed so hard he was beginning to tear up. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him laugh like this and it transformed him. He was beautiful when he smiled, when he was happy.

“Oh, gods,” Draco gasped, hitting the table to punctuate his mirth. “What a kinky thing to do!”

Hermione watched Draco’s laughter finally ease up so he was composed enough to take a sip of his tea.

“Oh, Granger, you’re delightful. I’m sorry I didn’t have you over for tea sooner.”

Hermione smiled at the old Healer, her final meeting with the witch a result of the conclusion of Malfoy’s probation.

“I spoke with some of my colleagues about employing Mr. Malfoy, but they agreed he didn’t have the temperament to work with patients.”

Hermione nodded. “He’s quite brilliant with potions. Who does the hospital’s brewing?”

The Healer looked at Hermione intently. “We have a few potioneers. Hmm…I think that might be an excellent place for him. I’ll send him an owl.”

“Alright, Draco, what’s the problem now?” Pansy asked in irritation. They’d met up for their weekly drink at the Leaky and she’d found him scowling into his glass.

“Tomorrow’s my last meeting with Granger,” he muttered.

“So? Ask her out.”

Turning his irritation on Pansy, he smirked unkindly. “Has the Weasel taken you home to meet his frumpy mum yet?”

“Don’t be an arse,” she hissed, pinching his side and smirking when he yelped.

Draco sighed and seemed to deflate. “It was kind of nice to have somewhere to work and someone to visit with the past few years.”

“I thought Lucius said you could work for him.”

“He’s such a todger,” Draco whined.

Pansy snorted. “Did you just call your dad a todger? It might not be so bad to learn the family business.”

Draco shook his head. “He’d have me fetching him tea and running around like a damn house-elf. Besides, the business practically runs itself.”

“But really, you should ask Granger out. Now that you’re not her client, she could probably go out with you.”

Instead of the suave speech he’d rehearsed in the bathroom mirror, where he imagined taking Hermione’s hand and asking her to join him for an intimate dinner, he arrived at the Magical Law Enforcement office to utter chaos. He made his way to Hermione’s office to find her strapping on a leathery protection robe and pulling her long hair into a braid.

“There’s been an escape from Azkaban. I’ll complete your paperwork and send it to you, okay?”

Draco nodded, but just then a tall, handsome wizard looked into the office. “You ready, Hermione?”

“Yes,” she said, giving one last glance to Draco before making her way out of the office.

In the years he’d been coming to the MLE office, he’d never seen the Aurors gearing up for battle quite like this. He meandered through the office towards the exit.

“Do you know what all the fuss was about?” he asked a pudgy middle-aged witch with extremely pink lips.

The woman, clearly bursting to gossip with just about anyone, smiled conspiratorially at Draco.

“The Carrows share a cell in Azkaban and,” she said, lowering her voice, “Amycus impregnated Alecto!”

Unfortunately, when Snake Face lived at Malfoy Manor, Draco had seen some very questionable behavior between the siblings. Nevertheless, he shuddered at the images of those two wrapped around each other.

The woman went on. “Alecto was going to be moved to another section of the prison when they were somehow able to make a break for it.”

Before Draco could respond to the gleeful secretary, she’d flitted off to a group that had just come into the office and he made his way home.

Hermione sent the paperwork a few days later, as promised. It felt impersonal and Draco found himself disappointed by the lack of a note. But another owl bringing an offer of employment made up some of that disappointment. Draco had been asked to join the hospital’s potions brewers as soon as possible since one of their potioneers had just gone on maternity leave.

“What has you smiling, my son?” Narcissa asked.

He passed her the letter from the hospital. “I know it’s not the kind of work you and Father expect of me—“

“Draco, this is wonderful! Your N.E.W.T. scores in potions were so high, I’m not surprised the hospital offered you a job.”

He relaxed slightly at his mother’s excitement. “It’s just that…well…I had this idea about, uh….”

“Is this about Miss Granger?”

Draco nodded. “I don’t have a good reason to contact her. My probation is complete.”

“Perhaps she’d like to know about your job offer?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

The Malfoys were so pleased their son had been offered a job at St. Mungo’s, they decided to celebrate at Muy Bien, a Spanish bistro in a newly revamped area of Diagon Alley. Draco and Lucius wore the traditional Malfoy black, while Narcissa wore Slytherin green set of dress robes. Draco had always dressed like this, even as a small child, and was used to seeing his family dressed this way. It was “befitting of their station”, as the elder Malfoys liked to say. Mother said it was disrespectful to dress as if they had less means than they did.

However, as soon as Draco walked into the cheerful restaurant behind his parents, he instantly felt out of place. Most of the diners were couples enjoying a romantic meal. He felt like a child pretending to be a man. His gaze zeroed in on a beautiful brunette sitting alone at the bar. Narcissa noticed her son staring at the witch.

“Invite her to join us, Draco,” his mother murmured.

He hesitated for a moment and Lucius nodded at him. Draco made his way to the bar.

“Eh…hello,” he said, tapping her shoulder.

Hermione whipped her head towards him. “Oh, hello, Malfoy.” She looked slightly surprised to see him, but offered him a friendly smile.

“Would you like to join us?” he pressed on. “We’re having a bit of a celebration. If you’re not on a date or something.”

“I’m not here with anyone. I just wanted to get out of my flat.”

“Come on, then,” he said, motioning to his parents seated at a table for four across the restaurant.

Draco, finally remembering his manners, pulled out Hermione’s chair. She smoothed her skirt as she sat, smiling shyly at the Malfoys.

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded. “It’s my pleasure. What’s the celebration?”

Lucius motioned for Draco to share.

“Well, St. Mungo’s offered me a job. In the Potions Lab,” he clarified.

Hermione jumped out of her seat and embraced Draco. He awkwardly patted her back, but couldn’t keep a joyous grin off his face. Narcissa felt a knot of worry begin to loosen. She had started to consider that her son wasn’t going to find companionship or might have to settle for someone who might want him for the wrong reasons. Her excellent instincts told her the young Miss Granger not only appreciated Draco for what he was, but that she might be someone to temper his idiosyncrasies.

Hermione finally let Draco out of her hug and sat down, a proud expression on her face.

Lucius turned to Hermione. “Draco always had a talent for potions. He’s been brewing our household potions since he was a second year.”

“It was how Draco earned his pocket knuts at Hogwarts,” Narcissa added.

“Tell us about yourself,” Lucius asked Hermione.

Hermione was deep in conversation with Draco when Narcissa placed a hand on her son’s arm.

“Father and I are going to head home. You two should order dessert,” the older witch encouraged. “Hermione, it was a pleasure getting to know you better.”

“Thank you for the lovely evening,” Hermione said graciously.

The Malfoys said their goodbyes and left the two sitting in the restaurant.

Hermione looked at her watch and was amazed it was just after eleven. She hadn’t enjoyed an evening of stimulating, sincere conversation with a wizard in too long.

“Would you like to share something? If you don’t need to go,” Draco added.

“Sure.”

Hermione smiled at Draco, the wine they’d enjoyed making her feel relaxed and happy.

Draco motioned the waiter over and murmured something to him that Hermione didn’t catch. He gave her a lopsided smile after the server walked away, his own alcohol consumption causing him to be more open than usual.
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Hermione countered.

“According to the gossip, I’m rude and inappropriate.”

She chuckled. “So, have you told other witches to fuck off?”

Draco groaned and put his head on the table. “No, just you.”

The waiter took that moment to place a plate in front of Hermione.

“Your gianduja,” he said and walked away.

Hermione tugged his hair. “Tell me what this is.”

Although Draco knew Hermione was trying to get his attention, he found his body tingling from her touch.

“It’s a hazelnut and chocolate tart.”

“May I?” she asked.

Draco watched her take a piece on her fork and slide it into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she hummed.

He watched her swallow and realized, with horror, that he had an erection.

“Have some,” she said, “It’s delicious.”

“Uh, no, please go ahead. You seem to be enjoying it.”

She laughed and put another bite in her mouth, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the decadent tart.

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He was imagining eating chocolate off her naked body with her making the same intimate noises as his lips and tongue trailed over her smooth skin.

Hermione had finished her third bite when she realized Draco was staring at her, not saying anything. She wiped her napkin against her mouth, which broke his trance.

“So, why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked again.

“Let’s see: I talk too much, I’m a tease, I’m a prude, I’m boring, I work too much…do you want me to go on?”

“Do blokes actually say these things to you?”

Hermione shrugged. “Sometimes, yeah. I don’t want to be used, so I put my true self out there. If men don’t like the real me, so be it.”

“Exactly! It’s like, I’m rich as fuck, but I’m also a bit of a wanker, right?”

Hermione smirked, but nodded her head for him to continue.

“So, I just do and say what I want. All the witches I don’t appeal to disappear, which is good because I have no tolerance for their shite. Mum’s a bit embarrassed, since she set me up with several of her friends’ daughters, but I don’t care. I’m not going to be forced into situations not of my choosing ever again.”

Hermione nodded, understanding exactly where he was coming from. Draco Malfoy was young and awkward, but she could see him in her mind’s eye changing into someone challenging and honest, sometimes brutally so. She liked that he hadn’t settled for what was expected of him, choosing to forge his own path.

“Would you like to come back to my flat for a cuppa?”

Draco looked about as they approached her building, keeping his wand in hand as they meandered through the derelict surroundings.

“You live here?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s what I can afford.”

“But, you’re you. I mean, I thought I heard your parents were healers. Are you poor?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to him. She supposed she was “poor”.

“Yes, I’m still me,” she laughed. “I’m still a Muggle-born with no family connections, Malfoy. Being a war heroine doesn’t pay your rent.”

“You shouldn’t live here,” he said disapprovingly.
“Why not?”

She walked up to the door of a squat brick building and took out a key, opening the heavy door.

“It’s not appropriate for you. You’re…not meant for this.”

Draco followed her through a dingy hall and up a stairwell at the back of the building.

“And what is it that I’m meant for, Oh-Great-And-All-Seeing-Malfoy?”

They arrived at what he assumed was her flat, 3F, and he entered, first noticing the smallness of the room, then seeing how absolutely hard she had tried to make the space cozy and clean. He really hated that she, this gorgeous, intelligent witch, had to slum it here.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

She bustled about the little kitchenette. “Since I left Hogwarts.”

“You didn’t live with Potty or the Weasel family?”

Hermione shook her head. “We all needed space from each other, although I do love them dearly.”

“Fair enough,” he murmured.

He moved so she could sit next to him on the loveseat, the only place to sit in the minuscule space. He watched her relax into the squishy cushion and sigh.

“Long day?”

“Yes, but it was a good day. I enjoyed dinner with your family.”

Draco took a sip of the hot tea and watched Hermione stretch her back, which caused her breasts to strain against her twinset.

“Why do you stare at me like that?”

Draco, king of ill-timed questions, snapped his eyes up to hers. What he found there wasn’t something he’d seen before in a witch. Her gaze was sincere, but forthright, and perhaps the slightest bit mischievous. He kept eye contact with her and licked his lips nervously.

He meant to say, “I find you attractive.” What he actually said was slightly different.

“I want to see your tits.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she burst into giggles. “Wh—What?!”

Well, she hadn’t slapped him and her mirth was giving him a strange kind of confidence.

“I said I’d like to see your tits.”

Hermione put her cup on the coffee table and turned to Draco. The pink stain on her cheeks and the way she adjusted her necklace didn’t escape his notice.

“Do you remember when we talked about how to interact with people at St. Mungo’s?”

Draco looked at her, nonplussed. “Uh…yes?”

“Can you remind me of those rules?”

Before he’d been allowed to begin his work at the hospital, Hermione had instructed him on proper business protocol. He hadn’t thought it necessary, but when he did need something from someone at the hospital, whether a healer or a patient, her rules always seemed to help. Otherwise he found himself irritated by how people responded to him.

“Be specific.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. While your request was quite specific, I’m not sure what’s in it for me.”

“Make your gain their gain.”

“Exactly. Tell me what I might feel under your watchful eyes.” Hermione gingerly took off her pearl necklace and put it beside her cup on the table.

Draco couldn’t help it and gently ran a finger along her cashmere sweater. “When you let me look at you, you’ll feel like the most beautiful witch in the world.”

“That’s good,” she whispered, tingling under his soft touch to her arm. “What’s next?”

“Make yourself invaluable.”

“How would you do that?”

“If I touched you, it would feel better than anything else.”

“What would you do if I said no to your request?”

Draco’s slow caress from her wrist to her elbow stopped.

“I would be persistent.”

“Right.”

When he leaned in, Hermione could feel his warm breath against her cheek.

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered into her ear.

She turned and their noses bumped.

“I know,” she murmured, understanding how much he had to trust her to admit it. However, that hardly mattered as she felt herself turn to jelly under his lustful watch. “Kiss me.”

And like the man himself, the kiss was a bit rough around the edges, with Draco trying to dominate the kiss with his insistent lips and and aggressive tongue. With someone else, she might not have enjoyed it, but his interest was a major turn-on. She suddenly had an image of him tonguing between her legs the way he was kissing her and Hermione knew it would not be long at all until she would show him her “tits”.

Six Months Later

He was still awkward, but Draco had other qualities that made him appealing: his intelligence, his loyalty, his quirky, often inappropriate, sense of humor, and the way he treated his girlfriend like gold. Yet, even with these excellent traits, Hermione sometimes found herself beyond irritated with Draco.

“I’m sorry you don’t like my flat, but if you find it so offensive, you’re welcome to leave.”

“Granger, last week there were dirty shorts in the entrance hall and the whole building smelled like boiled cabbage!”

“I save as much as I can, but it will be a couple of years until I can get into my own place.”

“Move to the manor.”

“I can’t do that! Your parents would never stand for it, Draco.” She kicked off her heels and sat on the little loveseat, annoyed at his inane idea.

He sat right next to her, taking up most of her space and forcing her to lean against him.

“What if we had a date for you to move in? Say, right after the wedding?”

“Ron and Pansy’s wedding?”

“Merlin, Granger, not that disaster! Our wedding.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “Our wedding? When?”

“Soon as possible. I’d much prefer to shag you in my fresh-smelling house.”

“This isn’t one of your weird jokes, is it, Malfoy?”

He rolled his eyes at her and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small velvet bag. He took out the most exquisite ring she’d ever seen: platinum with a three-carat peacock sapphire surrounded by diamonds. It glinted a rich aquamarine with rays of green, blue, and even purple.

“It’s not a joke, beautiful.”

“Then yes, I would rather like to move into your manor as soon as possible,” Hermione said joyously as they beamed smiles at each other.

Hermione threw her arms around him and Draco kissed her, taking the opportunity to cup her breast and pinch her nipple.

Three Months Later

Ron and Pansy’s Wedding

“How’s life in ‘the manor’?” Harry asked, using his snootiest voice.

“It’s just lovely,” Hermione said with a chuckle.

Harry actually found Draco hilarious, often crying with mirth when Malfoy was at his most irritating. What he liked about Draco for Hermione was his unabashed adoration for the witch. He matched her intellectually as well, which was a feat in itself.

Draco walked up to the friends and patted his wife’s arse.

“Malfoy!” Hermione said, swatting his hand away.

“Yes, Malfoy?” Draco said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

Harry shook his head and laughed. “Ginny would hex my fingers off if I did that in public.”

Draco smirked. “Don’t know what to tell you, Potter.”

Hermione led Draco back to their table and he pulled her onto his lap.

“Can we go home now?” he whispered into her neck. “I hate these things.”

“I know, luv. Just let them cut the cake and we’ll slip out.”

“Our wedding was better.”

“That’s not nice!”

“I know, but it’s still true.”

“Yes, but some things don’t need to be said out loud.”

He kissed her neck and nuzzled her lightly.

“You have the most gorgeous tits in the room.”

She laughed, but knew sometimes his words came out differently than he intended. “I love you, too, Draco.”
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Tales of The Dragon and The Bookworm