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The Best Of...	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13807 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
In the home of a pure-blood, a father and his only child sat down to a Christmas dinner unlike any they’d experienced before.
For the first time since shortly after the end of the war, house elves served the master and young mistress of the house. The servants spent the day making the best of what remained of a once wealthy household — cleaning inside and out, trimming and sprucing the garden and laundering every fabric item from curtains to clothing before putting them away neatly.
From what remained of the formal dining linens, the dining room had been decorated to the nines with the best of what silverware hadn’t been sold or bartered to maintain the household. From the table, in a set of fine china serving bowls missing more than a few pieces of the collection, came the scent of seasonal foods far too expensive for the household’s present poverty. Goose and duck, gourmet steamed vegetables from bush and root, sweet and savory bread made with spices from around the world and wine poured from never-empty bottles all overflowed their containers.
The feast brought little joy or thankfulness to the diners. One cried silently in shame at accepting the charity of expensive presents and the expansive meal. The other fumed at the circumstance that reduced them to accepting such charity. The house elves and the borrowed items provided by Narcissa Malfoy would return to Malfoy Manor at midnight.

“Oh, do stop crying, Father, and eat! It’s the first decent meal served in this dump in ages!”

The situation and the obligation galled the young mistress, but she used her frustration for motivation.

Tomorrow was Boxing Day, the beginning of reconstructing life as it should be…

“Granger? What are you doing in there!? If you ruin my dinner I will exact my revenge.”

The commotion outside her bedroom on Christmas Day did nothing to calm Hermione’s nerves.

“Granger? Have you injured yourself?”
“Draco, please! I’m-I’m-I’m trying to dress and this gown requires my attention. Please go back to the Commons. I have everything under control.”
“You’re a pathetic liar, Gryffidor.”

Grabbing a small coin from her bed table, Hermione called in the cavalry.

“Ginevra…”

Seconds later Harry and Ginny Potter dropped into her bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I need to borrow Ginny for a bit. Do you mind?”
“Actually we were about to sit down for— OW!!”

Ginny's punch caught Harry in the rib cage and would probably leave a mark.

“Hermione — did you just yell?” Draco bellowed from the bottom of the stairs, “Did I hear a man’s voice in your room?”
“I’m fine, Draco!” Hermione hastily shouted.

Harry had never seen Hermione this rattled, at least not since he’d outscored her in Potions by using Snape’s old textbook during sixth year.

“Now that I’ve reconsidered, don’t mind at all, ‘Mione. Worth it to see Malfoy pissing around marking his territory,” Harry teased. “Send a patronus and I’ll come get Gin.”

His best friend’s relief at his bride’s arrival led to an affectionate hug between the newlywed husband and the brightest witch of her age; Harry noted that Gryffindor’s most brilliant student shook like jelly in his arms.

“Enough of that,” Ginny groused in mock jealousy, “we need to get you ready. Harry, luv, it’s time for you to go.”

The kiss shared by the recently married couple left a winsome look on Hermione’s face. Sober or not, Hermione’d hoped to get a skin-scorching snog session of her very own last night. Her Draco Malfoy doppelganger had, unfortunately, been a complete gentleman.

The “pop” from Harry apparating brought Hermione back to the current crisis.

“Is dinner done?” Ginny inquired.
“Is dinner completed?” Draco shouted up the stairs again.
“Yes,” the agitated Gryffindor yelled to both versions of the same question, “and placed under warming and stasis charms.” she finished for Ginny.
“Fill me in.” Ginny instructed.

In a few breathless half sentences Hermione explained the dinner, the dress, the accessories and her inability to get herself together.

“Dinner’s at five; we need to get going.”
“How did you know?”

Ginny’s evasion skills rivaled any Slytherin’s; after all, she’d managed to get pregnant at Hogwarts despite having five very protective older brothers — one of whom roamed the school’s halls with her husband while on sentinel duty at Hogwarts.

“Something Malfoy told us when he was being a prat about proper scheduling of meals. Have you had your bath and washed your hair yet?”

Flustered, Hermione could only nod.

“Let’s see your clothes.”

Upon the bed lay her entire assemblage — a formal strapless malachite-shaded gown with silver accents and stitching, silver stockings and heels, a black satin shoulder shawl, lace-trimmed undergarments including a garter belt and her Christmas present necklace sporting a stone that would choke a hippogriff.

“Did Madame Malkin loan this to you?” Ginny asked, fingering the necklace, “It’s fabulous.”

Half of Hermione turned red while Ginny examined the necklace more closely; the other half of Gryffindor’s bravest muggleborn turned red while Ginny stared at her with raised eyebrows and arms crossed lightly over her tender breasts.

“Draco gave it to me… for Christmas.”
“Who picked the knickers?”
“Madame Malkin asked me what I-I-I liked…”
“You or Malfoy?” Mrs. Potter repeated for clarification.
“Both. He’d given her some ‘indications’ of his preferences…”
“Have you practiced the contraception charm or will you be using a potion?”
“Ginny!”
“You’re my best friend and a brilliant witch but this ‘thing’ you have with Malfoy has turned your brains to porridge. Harry and I wanted to get pregnant right away. Are you really ready to have a little blonde Granger-Malfoy keeping you up at all hours?”
“I-I-I hadn’t considered…”
“Because you haven’t admitted that you’d shag Draco Malfoy in a heartbeat. I’ll set a long-acting charm for you; it should last for a month. In the meantime — you need to learn that charm.”
“What would I do without you?” Hermione gushed, hugging her best friend, “Times like this I miss Mum. How old were you when your mum taught you the charm?”
“She didn’t; Bill did, after he caught Harry and me snogging in the Burrow greenhouse with Harry on top.”
“Oh.”
“Start with the knickers and bra. Hopefully Malfoy will enjoy them before he rips them off of you. Then again, he might remove them with his—”
“GINNY!”
“You deserve it. And he’s not the insensitive git that Ron can be. You suit each other.”

While Hermione discretely swapped one set of undergarments for another, Ginny sent her horse patronus to the Burrow with a pick-up time for Harry and a warning for her parents to arrive fashionably late.

“So help me Granger, if dinner is…”

For the second time in 24 hours Draco’s healing brain seized up and he lost the ability to speak. His instructions to Madame Malkin resulted in the Goddess Morgana herself descending the stairs. So taken was Draco by the sight before him that he missed the shimmering background near her bedroom door that gave away Ginny and Harry’s presence under Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“You are breathtaking, Lioness. A true beauty…” Draco declared as he extended his arm for her.

Back at the top of the stairs, the cloaked Potters backed into Hermione’s bedroom and removed the magical wrap.

“How did you talk Hermione into wearing makeup?”

The smug grin on his wife’s face gave Harry pause; he wasn’t certain he wanted to know.

“I gave her the juicy details of the night we made this little one.” Ginny replied, absently stroking her still Quidditch-toned belly.

Folding the cloak and his wife into his arms for apparation, Harry thanked Merlin that the couple downstairs couldn’t hear his reservations about their intents —

“Not sure if I’m ready for a blonde-haired Hermione crawling around the Burrow.”

___________________________

One hour later found Draco and Hermione entertaining Arthur and Molly Weasley at dinner. Ginny had indeed handled everything, although it meant the Weasleys ate two holiday dinners. The Weasley brood understood completely Hermione’s desire for time with her “adopted” parents and sent their love with their parents. Acting in loco parentis, Arthur and Molly fell easily into their role as surrogates for the still-obliviated Grangers as they’d always considered Hermione their other daughter. Hermione’s joy at their attendance ignited a feeling Draco was unfamiliar with; once again he experienced overwhelming satisfaction in seeing her happy.

“This steak is delightful, dear! Some young man will be very lucky to call you his wife,” Molly Weasley complimented between tender forkfuls of the filet mignon.
“Molly, I’m sure Hermione has any number of things planned before she settles down.”

Arthur surreptitiously acknowledged Hermione’s grateful smile.

“I’ve been accepted at university.”
“Oh, wonderful, dear, wonderful! Where?”
“Oxford’s magical house, the Sorbonne in Paris, the London School of Economics’ Magical Law School— ”
“Real-ly…” Draco drawled out in feigned indifference.
“Y-Yes. It’s a new 3+2 program; I only received my acceptance by owl today. I’ve also been accepted at St. Andrew’s— ”
“That’s right down the road, isn’t it?” Molly realized, aloud. Mrs. Weasley made a comical sight, twisting in her chair while trying to determine which direction led from the Head’s rooms at Hogwarts to the University of St. Andrew’s.
“Not too far. And Brown.”

As quietly as the last two words were spoken, Arthur and Draco reacted to this option immediately.

“So you are considering a school in the States?” Arthur inquired conversationally. His dispassionate regard didn’t fool Molly one bit: Arthur Weasley practiced his own version of Mother Hen for his brood — born and acquired.
“I will if I can get enough money. I’ll need scholarships of some kind to attend any of them without working.”

Molly spoke to allay any fears for her “acquired” daughter.

“No need to worry, dear. Your a bright one; they’ll see that and pay you to come. Have no fear, it will all work out in the end.”
“I agree,” Arthur added — gazing directly at Draco Malfoy, “If our people here can’t see the brilliant English rose in their midst, I’m sure the Yanks will scoop you up. Don’t fret.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d rather concentrate on school but I’ll work if I have to.”
“Have you applied for any private sponsorships?” Draco inserted innocently.
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“You grew up as a muggle so I’m not surprised. Magical benefactors and businesses often sponsor promising students.”

Arthur grinned slyly as he loaded his fork.

Nothing slow about this boy, ran through the patriach’s thoughts

“Like patronage?”
“Similar. Some require a year or two obligation after graduation but, all in all, I’ve heard it’s a winning situation for all parties. I’ll ask my father’s secretary to make up a list before school resumes.”

Under the table, Molly Weasley tapped Arthur’s knee and drew his attention with the slightest of nods to the two teenagers. Ginny hadn’t been stingy with her opinions of what was transpiring betwixt Draco Malfoy and their Hermione. After a suitable time, Arthur brought the pair back to the here and now with a conversation starter.

“Did you enjoy Christmas?”
“I didn’t think I would, but I did enjoy it — thanks to Draco and you both. Draco got me this lovely necklace and a first edition of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ signed by the author.”
“And I received an iPhone.”
“The muggle version?” squeaked through the sound of Arthur’s cutlery clanking onto his plate.

Naked desire shaped the face of Arthur Weasley as he salivated over Draco’s present from Hermione. He’d wanted one of those handheld floo-call-slash-patronus thingys since he’d read about them on the teevee in his lab at work.

“Yes. According to Hermione it makes floo calls and plays music.”
“The next time you’re at the Ministry offices, drop by. The lab boys and I would love to see one up close.”
“Not too close, Mr. Weasley. Remember the PowerBook laptop?”
“Yes, uh…” the sheepish Muggle Tech Lab Director coughed, “we’ve come a long way since that unfortunate mishap.”

Arthur’s lab crew had inadvertently activated what they thought was a dead device and, within an hour, had over 500 pizzas delivered to the “secret” entrance of the Ministry — a public bathroom — thanks to the auto-dialup modem script and order file transfer on the portable device.

Minister Shacklebolt had been forced to cordon off the area, pay the muggle pizza delivery company (after threatening Gringotts with closure when they refused to honor his request for British pounds and not galleons) and obliviate hundreds of muggles.

“I have a few more presents to give Hermione tonight. We’re following the ‘Granger Christmas’ traditions this year.”

Molly Weasley had six boys and she’d seen that look on every one of them except Ron. Draco was smitten.

“But I thought— ”
“That we were done? We did decide it was the ‘modified tradition’, did we not?”
“Yes, yes we did call it that.” the Head Girl conceded.
“That’s good, dear.” Molly interjected, “You’ll be able to open your presents at the Burrow tomorrow. What time are you coming by?”
“About tomorrow… Granger, I forgot to mention… we have a dinner invitation to the Manor. My mother wishes to thank you personally for assisting in my rescue.”
“Rescue!!!???” Arthur exclaimed, “Son, what happened?”

With a limited number of terse sentences, Draco outlined the ambush and Hermione’s role in saving him.

“That’s dreadful! The Minister should address this immediately!” a normally soft-spoken Arthur Weasley railed.
“Sir, I’d prefer to keep this quiet. It might hurt my father’s case if I’m seen receiving special protection. Please, sir?”

Arthur felt for a young man ripped asunder by his family’s poor choice to follow a genocidal maniac. His outrage at the attack reminded Hermione of what she loved most about the Weasley family; Draco, for his part, appeared confused and uncertain of how to react to these protective Gryffindors.

“If it ever becomes too much, Draco, floo over to the Burrow. We’re happy to help out.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now — about our schedule for present-giving. How about breakfast in the morning?” Arthur offered amiably, “That should leave ample time to prepare for your visit to the Manor.”

Molly noted Hermione’s uncertain glance towards Draco.

“We expect you as well, Draco.” Molly added, “You could use some fattening up. Never seen a boy so thin at your age and I raised six of them. We’ll expect you at eight and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Seasoned parents compassionately observed Draco’s struggle with what to say or do, resembling nothing so much as Harry Potter seven years ago.

Skewering the final bite of meat on her plate, Molly punctuated her final remarks, before the dessert course, with her fork — conducting each word to its destination.

“You’re one of us now, Draco. Don’t muck it up!”

“That box won’t open itself, Granger.” Draco informed Hermione as he magically whisked the last of the clean dishes into the cupboard after their dinner with the Weasleys.
“You out-Slytherined me on the necklace and the book, both of which are worth well over 75 gal—”
“— that I did not spend, I’ll remind you— ”
“Draco, you don’t have to ‘buy’ my friendship; you already have it.”
“This isn’t really a present.”

Hermione frowned skeptically at the lanky young man leaning in the doorway of their new kitchen, arms folded over his taut chest and a wicked smirk on his face.

“Then what is it?”
“Educational aid.”

Sighing in defeat, she lifted the top of the unadorned box and peered inside.

“I’m not into BDSM.”

Some kind of leather getup lay within, carefully folded.

“I had you all wrong, Granger —” he smiled appreciatively, “you’re not a prig, you’re a closet nympho! Give you a leather flying suit and your mind goes straight to kinky sex.”

I LOVE the way this woman’s mind works!…

“Flying suit?”

Not even her makeup could hide the color drain from her face.

“I have it on good authority that you’re terrified of broomsticks and flying.”

Ginny Potter’s child would be missing one parent when Hermione got her hands on her best friend.

“Let’s get this sorted— ” the lanky Slytherin suggested as he joined her on the sofa, “I know you’ve been on a broomstick and a threstral.”
“And ridden a dragon — hated every minute.”
“That’s fear talking. And you’ve only ridden one type of dragon.”

Draco’s sexual innuendo flew past her, unprocessed.

“Where did your parents take you on vacations?”

The non sequitur threw her but she answered.

“Obviously London… Edinburgh… We went to Paris once before I started Hogwarts.”
“Excellent! I’m sure you visited the Eiffel Tower. How high did you go?”
“To the top platform.”

Paris seduced a young Hermione, filling the practical young genius’ head with fanciful notions of a life of teaching and writing in the City of Lights.

“Any problems with the elevator?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Any problems with the view?”
“Not initially… but I stayed away from the railing. The view was lovely.”
“As I suspected. You’re supposed to be the brightest witch of your generation, Granger; I’m shocked you didn’t reason it out.”
“Stop gloating and tell me.”
“You’re not afraid of heights — you’re afraid of falling.”
“But— ”
“They’re not the same thing. If you’d been afraid of heights you’d have panicked in that elevator — the doors have glass in them.”
“You’ve been to Paris? Why am I not surprised?…”
“The Malfoy — originally ‘Malfoi' — family comes from France. I’ve spent summers and hols in France since my birth. That’s neither here nor there. My point is: I think we can overcome your aversion… If you’re willing…”

The fear written on her face clocked in somewhere between 7 and 9 on a 10-point scale, her torture by Draco’s sadistic aunt being a 12.

“I’ll help you, Hermione. You can and should do this. You’re safer if you’re willing to mount a broom.”
“Safer? You’re being overly dramatic— ”
“No I’m NOT. Voldemort may be dead but the war isn’t over. Pure-bloods won’t surrender that easily. You’re safer if you can ride a broom and do so willingly.”
“So where does this dominatrix outfit come into your plan?”

Before I tie you down but after I oil you up, Princess…

“Fly first; bondage, spankings and mind-blowing sex later.”
“Malfoy!…” she growled at him in all seriousness.
“Right.. Flying… Change into the suit while I get my broom.”
“It’s -4 degrees-C out there, I’ll freeze!” she whinged.
“I’ll handle that; just go change and be quick about it. Never pegged you for one of those girls who took forever to get ready. Brings Pansy Parkinson to mind.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Any particular reason for your intense dislike of one another?”
“Other than her attitude, her limited intelligence, her blood-status insults and her suggestion that we turn Harry over to Voldemort, I can’t think of any.”

His laughter shook the sofa, bringing a lightness to both.

He’s so beautiful when he smiles like that…

“Granger?… The suit?…”
“About that — why can’t I just wear my regular clothes?”
“Because I’m training you to fly like a seeker, not take a Sunday stroll through the clouds on a sunny day. The suit will protect your skin better.”
“When you’re done with me, will I be able to keep up with you?”

Yes, Lioness.. Keep up with me flying, snogging, arguing, love-making…

“I certainly hope so.”

So do I, Dragon…

Minutes later Hermione shrieked when Draco opened her bedroom window from the outside, bobbing up and down on his broom in his Quidditch uniform. He’d almost caught her in flagrante delecto as she’d struggled to wiggle into the tight, one-piece leather jumpsuit. War-trained reflexes did not prevent the reveal of more than a little décolletage as she snatched the zipper up to her neck.

“Wear that when we’re here on the weekends.”
“I’m not a sex kitten.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I’m not your sex kitten, Malfoy.”
“I beg to differ, Lioness.”

For a moment, Hermione grasped completely what a lamb saw when a ravenous wolf arrived. Draco’s countenance had sexual conquest written all over it.

“Climb on the stick,” he instructed her, poking the end of the broom well into her window.
“The stick I can see or your personal one?”

The wood shook as Draco guffawed at her sexual innuendo.

“That was priceless, Lioness! No prig in you, is there?”

But I might put a “dragon” in you soon enough…

Hermione took her turn to roar with laughter at the sexual interplay. And to blush like a rose. Draco extended a hand, grabbing her shaking one as she alighted the broom sidesaddle.

“Don’t let me fall, Dragon.”
“Never, Lioness.”

Her first surprise came with comfortable temperatures; the broom provided the warmth of a sunny day in early fall.

“Enjoying the ride?”
“Actually I’m quite comfortable. How is that possible?”
“It’s a memory charm I invented. Recreates the day I caught my first snitch.”
“You invented this!?”
“Don’t act so surprised, Granger. I’ve seconded you for six years.” Draco retorted, rather put out that she’d underestimated his spell casting abilities.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m scared, Dragon.”
“Hermione, I won’t let you fall. You can’t fall.”

Her shaking worsened as did the sheer terror in her eyes.

“I’m going to lean over — no, don’t grab me! Pay attention.”

Before she could snatch him back, the Slytherin seeker leaned well past the tipping point and stopped. But for the ground slipping past them in the moonlit darkness he could have been reclining on his bed at Hogwarts.

“That’s AMAZING! How are you doing that!?”
“Another charm I invented. It helped me practice the moves Krum, Gudgeon and Bruunhart flew without snapping my sodding neck in two.”
“With a charm like this, why didn’t Slytherin win the Quidditch cup more often?”
“Hooch cast charms to protect against broom tampering. I tried to defeat them for years.”

Her frown perplexed hIm; clearly something he’d said had her thinking.

“Draco… I think you’re on to something here. Let’s discuss it back in our Commons.”
“You’ve stopped shaking.”

Comfortably situated against his lean chest, Hermione had, indeed, forgotten her fear of flying.

“Not much to fear if you can’t fall.”
“You can fall, Granger. Just not now—”

Air whooshed out of his lungs as she reached around and squeezed him for dear life. Lightheadedness loosened the connection between his brain and his broom; the broom began its descent towards the ground in a broad, sweeping arc.

“LET GO!!! YOU’RE SUFFOCATING ME!”

Mastering her hands, Draco pulled away from the frightened Gryffindor long enough to inhale and steady the broom in a holding pattern.

“YOU SAID WE COULDN’T FALL, MALFOY!!”

Thanks to the wind noise and the ringing in his ears from her screaming, Draco barely heard his own answer.

“And we can’t at these speeds. The charm stops working at the top end speed of most brooms. Haven’t quite worked out why.”
“Is the charm based on repulsive force against the ground?”

Hermione warmed at his grin and nod, conveying props for her leap of logic.

“Yes.”
“That’s why. The sampling rate measurement of the distance to the ground is too slow so the charm stops working. I’ve done some reading about charm modifications with higher sampling rates. What’s the measurement angle for each cycle?”
“Five-degrees is about the max I’ve been able to use. Seekers cover a lot of territory so wider angles don’t help — by the time the charm adjusts I’ve passed over that section of ground.”
“Hmm… Triangular or square wave form?”
“Granger, how do you know all of this!?”
“Just because I’ve always feared flying doesn’t mean I haven’t read up on the subject.”
“Books. I should have known. Take a girl on a romantic broom ride over Paris on Christmas Night and all she talks about are books.”
“Paris???”
“Look down, Lioness…”

Below them the City of Lights arrayed itself in holiday illumination. Every cliche concerning the French capital was on display. The closet romantic inside the logical Hermione Granger shoved her practical self into a mental box and locked it securely. Recognizing Draco’s skills in seduction didn’t diminish their effects on her one bit.

“This is your other present. Happy Christmas, Hermione. Without your constant pestering and know-it-all preparation, I’d be in Azkaban. You risked your reputation for me.”
“I don’t know what to say, Dragon… Thank you… It’s all been wonderful.”

Turning her halfway, Draco caught Hermione up in his arms, pulled her against his too-warm body and laid a kiss on her that would one day make it into the textbooks on seduction. Cloaks nor charms were required for warmth anymore — the heat passing between them could be tracked by satellite. Hermione’s first snog threatened to render her unconscious; she felt lightheaded and out of control, unable to put two thoughts together sequentially — and she couldn’t care less.

Snogging over Paris on Christmas Night with Draco “The Seducer” Malfoy had the entire crotch of those leather pants slick with a must Draco’s sensitive sense of smell captured hints of in the air moving past them. Slightly parted lips positioned themselves again and again over hers, massaging hers almost to a pucker. His teeth grazed the fatty part of her lower lip, plumping the fleshy part with blood as he gently sucked on it. Her further introduction to tongue kissing started with his tongue outlining her mouth within the kiss before prying it open and inserting the mouth alternative for what lay trapped within his trousers. Draco’s cloak buffered any hint of his physical response from reaching her; he’d been hard as granite since seeing her in that suit in her bedroom.

Should’ve let her climb on my other stick… and with that thought he slowly ended Hermione’s Christmas surprises.

“Did you have a good Christmas, Lioness?”
“Never better…”

Christmas night found them back in their tower after Paris, Draco sitting lazily and Hermione stretched out fully, her head in Draco’s lap.

“What businesses does your family actually own?”

Lounging on the sofa, a tray full of crudités, artisan cheeses and breads before them, Draco’s head possessed no desire for serious thought. His flatmate, however, had other plans.

“Did Paris have any impact on you, Bookworm?”

“Yes, which is why I asked you about your family businesses.”
“Granger, why is this important now?”

Sitting up, she twisted to face him.

“You’re the heir to the Malfoy estate and that includes the conglomerate known as Malfoy Enterprises. I would think you’d want to get a head start on growing the business with your own ideas.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Well, if making millions of dollars seems boring to you— ”
“What do you mean making millions of dollars???”
“That falling charm, Draco! Think about it — what’s the most dangerous part of teaching young wizards to fly?”
“Obviously falling — followed closely by collisions with unmoving objects.”
“Sirius gave Harry a toy broom — which he took to like a seeker — but no one else I know who flies ever had one. Their parents deemed them too dangerous. You’ve solved that problem.”
“Go on…”

She had his attention.

“Once the solicitors for Malfoy Enterprises work out the liability issues, I would suggest licensing the charm to broom makers — especially those who make toy brooms.”

“…need to figure out the safety angle. Can’t have the little twits harming themselves and ruining our reputation before we get rich.. er… richer.”
“I considered that. Prototype and test your charm here at Hogwarts. Donate the charm to the school — with anti-theft protections — in exchange for help working out the problems. You could do it as your Charms N.E.W.T. project. I’m sure McGonagal and Flitwick would be thrilled.”

Air whooshed out of her lungs in the bear hug he executed.

“Oh! Sorry… didn’t mean to crush you. That’s BRILLIANT, Granger! Why are you blushing???”

“I’m more used to your insults than your compliments. Takes some getting used to.”
“Forgive me… for being an arse?” he begged in genuine contrition.

Much had changed for this Draco Malfoy, not the least of which was his new experiences with undeserved kindness from a victim of his bullying.

“Already done. And you’re still arse, Malfoy.”

“How DARE you, Narcissa!!”
“Lucius, if you will just consider this rationally for a moment— ”

The color of a wailing newborn, Lucius Malfoy released his displeasure in shouts and broken objects.

“I WILL NOT have that MUDBLOOD under my roof! I am still the head of this family and my word will be OBEYED, by Merlin’s balls!”

Unperturbed, his wife of 25 years patiently let the tantrum run its course.

“Why would you allow Draco to INVITE her HERE!? Is there NOWHERE I can be without her constant PRESENCE!?”

“Are you prepared to listen? I — not Draco — invited her. For dinner.”

His bellowing scream of frustration prompted every house elf on the first floor to vanish to the kitchens.

“YOU DID THIS BECAUSE!?!?!?”

“It is well past time we use Ms. Granger’s friendship with Draco to the advantage of the Malfoys.”
“I see,” he responded with a calmness that alarmed Narcissa, “not only am I still to be tried for participating on the losing side of a war I NEVER wanted to FIGHT IN, but I must now WELCOME the BLOODY VICTORS to my HOME — DINING PLEASANTLY and making POLITE CONVERSATION!!”
“Have you finished behaving like a petulant child?”

With a huff, Lucius flopped into his favorite chair in the salon and pouted. The day mocked him as surely as his family did, sunlight streaming in from a cloudless sky. Flicking his fingers in irritation, the windows abruptly painted themselves black.

“Go on… What blinding logic have you to make me accept this occupation of my home?”

“Since Voldemort’s defeat, Ms. Granger has seen to our comfort and safety after the battle, convinced Harry Potter — no friend of yours or Draco’s, I’m sure you’ll agree — to testify in my behalf, written the legal brief and prepared Draco for his own legal entanglements while getting Harry Potter and Ronald Weas— ”
“Yes, yes — the blood traitor,” Lord Malfoy acknowledged hastily, his manicured hand impatiently waving for his wife to continue, “Carry on…”
“— Ronald Weasley to testify in Draco’s behalf and she rescued Draco from an ambush that could have left him a mental vegetable.”
“Consorting with mudbloods has already done that…” Draco’s father mumbled under his breath.
“The results of her efforts on behalf of the House of Malfoy have been my freedom, Draco’s freedom, the return of Draco’s inheritance — including Malfoy Manor, access to my portion of the Black inheritance and Draco’s continued safety while completing his schooling at Hogwarts.”
“And your point would be?…”
“Lucius, when was the last time you read a negative article concerning us in the Prophet — not about that insipid boys’ club, S.P.A.M. — but about the House of Malfoy?”

Underneath the spoiled brat behavior, Lucius Malfoy’s brain thought through Narcissa's question.

“You don’t mean to imply that her interference in our lives has stopped those cretinous busybodies at the Daily Prophet, do you?”

“Not entirely, but her association and defense of the House of Malfoy provide the right pedigree in the new order of the wizarding world.”
“Oh, Narcissa,” he whinged, “do we have to have her here for dinner?”

With a suppleness that always set his loins afire, Narcissa joined Lucius, sitting in his lap in a way that ensured contact with his tenderest parts.

“Yes, we do. I think it is well past time you and I got to know this unusual young woman who seems to think it necessary to assist us.”

“And what do I get if I’m a good boy and play nicely with the filthy mudblood who’s invading my Manor?”

Using her lips where they’d do the most good, in no time Narcissa had Lucius humping her arse from his seat in the chair.

“If you are civil to her — genuinely civil, Lucius, not fractious and derisive — we can visit your favorite toy store and enjoy a long weekend at the house in Alsace.”

Lucius Malfoy’s collection of sex toys was legendary across three continents.

“Can we play in the dungeons there?”

“Yes, Lucius. I’ll have the restraints installed for our visit…” she cooed into the ear she licked and nibbled on.
“Do I have to wear clothes?”
“Not even when the house elves serve our meals. I’ll make sure to pack my edible corsets in all your favorite flavors…” she encouraged him with a rub and a pinch to each of his pale rose nipples.
“I spoil you, witch! Fine. I’ll ‘entertain’ the mudblood for your’s and Draco’s sake — but I won’t enjoy it!”
“You might be surprised, Lucius. Ms. Granger may turn out to be quite a remarkable asset for you.”
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