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His Second Chance	By : XxJessicaxX Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 5760 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from this story. This story is purely fanfiction.

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Hermione looked up from her drink and was met by stormy gray eyes... eyes she'd thought she'd never see again after her days at Hogwarts. What was Malfoy doing here, of all people? Why was he staring at her that way? And why was he so ridiculously good looking when he looked like an over-sized parakeet in school?

Hermione groaned and steeled herself for the oncoming onslaught of insults. He was a slimy git in school, nothing but a ferret with bottomless pockets and his daddy at his beck and call. He was a coward. During the war, he hadn't improved much. He was tasked to kill Dumbledore, and even though he couldn't, that didn't stop him from trying to capture Harry at the final battle.

His eyes held hers in the mirror across from them both. His stare was scrutinizing. It was like he was as surprised to see her there as she was to see

him. One silvery-blond eyebrow arched and his lips parted slowly.

"Granger..." He whispered. Just her name. Not even her first name, but not Mudblood. A little better than what she'd come to expect from him. One word, and it sent a strange shiver up her spine. What the bloody hell was that? She shook it off before she responded.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Come to make fun of me? Point out my inferior blood status and claim I need to drink my misery away elsewhere?

Didn't you get enough of that in school? Or are you finally out of insults and now have to come up with new ones, and its taking too long to formulate

a coherent thought so you're just staring at me like I'm some sort of zoo spectacle-" She was babbling and she knew it, slurring a few of her words,

but she cut off with a gasp when she found a warm, long, tapered, perfectly manicured forefinger pressed firmly against her lips, effectively shutting her up.

"Gods, Granger, I hated when you babbled in school and I find it still irks me to this day. Will you shut up a minute?"

Hermione nodded, completely surprised that he had willingly touched her, and she had willingly allowed it. She justified it to herself with the fact

that she was too knackered to protest.

Malfoy sighed, dropping his finger reluctantly. He then signaled the bartender for another shot glass, which was conjured with a wave of the barkeep's wand then slid over to him. He poured himself a shot from the half-full firewisky bottle set before them and knocked it back with practised ease, before immediately pouring another.

Hermione just stared at him, watching his adam's apple work as he swallowed back the alcohol. She felt she should be indignant- How dare he help himself to her drink without her permission?- but even in her drunken state, she could sense there was something... off about him. Nonetheless, she didn't think he should be helping herself to something that was hers, when he could have very easily sat somewhere else and ordered a fresh bottle from himself. And she shouldn't feel sorry for him anyway. She sat up straight and hitched her shoulders.

"Is there a reason why your helping yourself to my firewisky, Malfoy?"

"Maybe I just needed a drink."

"You could have gotten one somewhere else... or from another bottle."

"Maybe I wanted some from this bottle."

"Too bad, this one's mine." Hermione moved to take the bottle from him and hop down from the barstool to march off in a self-righteous fevor, but before she could get off the stool, she felt her wrist encircled by a very firm masculine grip. His large hand easily circled her wrist, fingers overlapping each other because she was so small. She looked down at his grip, noting the fine golden hairs that dusted his forearms which were exposed from his sleeves being rolled up. She noted the strong veins that coursed up his arm, overlapping at some points. Her eyes widened when she realized that Malfoy was no longer tiny and scrawny... he was a strong full-grown man. These arms could do some serious damage.

"Let go of me, Malfoy..."she muttered. Hermione felt her heart speed up. She told herself it was from the alcohol and adrenaline.

Yes, that's it... its adrenaline.

"No." His grey eyes bore into hers, a frown pulling down his strong slant of a mouth.

Hermione tugged, and felt his grip tighten... and her resolve loosen. She was being restrained, but it was kind of... hot. Domineering.

Get a grip on yourself, Hermione!

"I said let go!" She tugged again, except this time a little half-heartedly.

"And I said no. Stay with me. Have a drink. You obviously need it." He still hadn't dropped her wrist. And she was hovering between sitting and standing so she needed to make a decision before people started staring.

"No, what I need is for an insufferable ferret to let go of me so I can leave!" She hissed at him. She was spitting fire. She felt a current of tiny electric sparks shoot up her arm from where he held onto her and she didn't like what it was doing. She didn't like how it was making her feel. She was just drunk and confused and she wanted to get away from him before anything

else happened.

"Tut tut tut... resulting to old insults, huh? And to think, you're the smartest witch of our age. Dumbledore is rolling over in his grave." He whispered in mock pity. He gave a slight yank and his face was suddenly two inches from her own.

She could feel his warm breath on her face, smelling of firewisky and something else. Something spicy and dark. It was heedy and it was making her head spin. His stormy grey eyes bore into hers and she could see every fleck of blue and silver. They were steadily darkening, the long blond lashes framing them never wavering in a blink. Her eyes dropped to his lips, his strong masculine jaw clenched as if he were stopping himself from saying something... doing something.

Hermione found herself wondering what those lips would feel like. Were they hard as they looked? Unyielding? Crushing? Or were they soft like velvet? Gentle? Who was behind the mask that was Draco Malfoy? And why had he still not let go of her arm?

Her defense mechanisms kicked in and before she knew what was happening, she had slapped him with her other hand with a loud resounding SMACK that left her hand stinging, a red print across his face which had turned to the side with the force of her slap, and the entire bar staring at the two in hushed silence.

She had hit him! Again! It had been over ten years since she punched him in third year and it still shocked him. But what shocked him more was that instead of the anger, embarrassment, and loathing he had felt last time... this time he felt intrigue. He felt slightly impressed that she'd dare to do that again to him in such a crowded venue, even knowing his social status. And last, he felt..

Aroused.

His trousers tightened around his hardening cock and he shifted, attempting to hide the growing tent in his pants by slowly bringing his gaze back to meet hers. She was a bloody Gryffindor, through and through, her eyes spitting fire at him and her blouse tight over her heaving chest as she panted.

Gods, what he wouldn't give to have that fiery spirit in his bed, biting and scratching as he fucked her to oblivion.

He was going to enjoy making her submit.

"Do that again, and next time I will take you over my knee, Hermione..." Draco growled at her.

He was rewarded by her sharp in-take of breath and her eyes widening, her mouth parting in a small 'o' of shock. He couldn't tell what she was more shocked about, his statement or the fact that for the first time ever, he used her given name.

He wasn't lying. He would take her over his knee one day and he knew without a doubt that the both of them would enjoy it. She needed to be tamed. She was a wild lioness that no one had ever challenged.

That's what she needed. A challenge. Whether it be with wits or seduction, he was going to give it to her.

And somehow, it would lead her straight to his bed.
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His Second Chance