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Say Please	By : ColdWaterFairy Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 28196 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: God I'm such a push over. I said I wasn't going to post the third chapter without having a beta. I'm a hussy for reviews and Margot left me such a nice one. Thanks for making me aware of the spelling error I fixed it right away.

Margot Le Faye: Most of your questions will be answered in the next chapter. Enjoy!
Harry sat at Hermione's desk with his head in his hands. She had been missing for two days now. It was like she had vanished into thin air. When she hadn't shown up at Neville's everyone laughed and said how like Hermione it was to get so caught up in work that she forgot about Luna's birthday party. When she still hadn't arrived two hours later Harry went to fetch her. He glanced into her office and didn't see her, so he searched the rest of the floor. When that proved fruitless he went back to her office to see if she'd left a note. That was when he saw the bag on the floor. He picked it up and read the book title. It was obviously Luna's birthday present. But if Hermione meant to go to the party, then where was she? His eyes lit upon the pictures of the missing witches and his heart stopped. He refused to even acknowledge the possibility that she was off somewhere investigating the case by herself. He hadn't seen her that day as both he and Ron had been out in the field. He'd just assumed she would be at Luna's party. Harry went to his office to owl Keller March, thinking maybe he'd sent Hermione out on a mission and she didn't have time to owl Harry or Ron to tell them she would be late.

Instead of waiting for a reply he went to her flat on the off chance she'd fallen asleep. Once he made certain she wasn't there he gave in to his panic. He owled Ron and headed back to the Ministry. He got a reply from Keller saying that no one had seen Hermione since she'd left for lunch that day. Harry knew that if she'd stumbled across something, she would have come back to the Ministry to tell someone. Had she finally broken the case? She had been so obsessed with finding the missing witches, it wouldn't surprise him if she had. If that was the case, what had happened? Had she been taken from her office? It would explain why the book was on the floor of her office. Then a truly unnerving possibility had occurred to him. If she'd been taken from her office it would mean someone inside the Ministry was involved with the missing witches.

The Auror floor was very heavily warded and only those who were Aurors or had security clearance could access it.

Harry became aware that Ron had come in and was sitting across the desk from him. Harry looked up at his friend. Ron looked horrible. His eyes were bloodshot and he was paler than usually, making his freckles stand out in an unattractive way. Ron was taking this harder than Harry, which was saying a lot since Harry was the first to admit he took on everything. Ron felt guilty that they hadn't come back to the Ministry to wait for Hermione so they could all go to the party together. She and Ron had been getting along well since their break-up. They weren't as close as before, but that was to be expected. It was something Harry knew troubled the two of them, but they were too stubborn to bring it up with each other so they could try to do something about it.

Rubbing his hands down his face, Ron said, "I've been up all night reading her notes and case files. There's nothing in them that would warrant someone taking her. I'm sure she pissed off that mother who hexed her kid with that recommendation, but no one is stupid enough to kidnap an Auror."

Harry heaved a frustrated sigh. He had spent most of last night and this morning searching out contacts to see if they'd heard anything. When he next looked up, Ron was staring at him.

"I know it's only been two days, but Harry, I'm really worried. She's obsessed with this case; you know that. What if she decided to investigate on her own? She wouldn't stop and think about the danger she was putting herself in; all she'd see would be saving the girls."

"I know. We just have to keep pushing forward. If we allow ourselves to concentrate on the negative, we'll get sloppy. We need to focus on finding her. We'll retrace her steps, interview everyone."

"Keller assigned Pierce and Webster to do that."

"I don't care, Ron. I'm not leaving finding Hermione to other people. They could have overlooked someone or not asked the right questions. Don't get me wrong—I think both of them are good Aurors—but she's family."

Ron nodded his head in agreement. "Speaking of which, we can't keep this from my mum and Ginny forever. Plus Padma is mad at me as I've been avoiding her, and it won't be long before she owls Ginny. Women and their incessant need to know everything!"

"Why are you avoiding your girlfriend?"

"I just can't deal with her right now. She'll want to be there for me and reassure me...."

"That's a bad thing, how?" Harry interrupted.

"You're one to talk! You told Ginny that Keller assigned you to a mission where you're undercover."

"Neither of us are particularly good boyfriends, it seems," Harry said ruefully.

It occurred to Harry then that Ron's avoidance of his girlfriend might be more than a desire to avoid talking about his emotions.

"Are you still in love with Hermione?"

Ron blushed and picked at his robes. "I don't know. I thought I was over any feelings for her until I found out she was missing. Harry, the thought of her out there possibly being hurt is killing me." Tears welled up in his eyes.

Harry understood perfectly. He got up and moved around the desk and put his hand on Ron's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Come on. Let's go to Diagon Alley and retrace her steps."

Ron stood up and swiped quickly at his eyes. Harry impulsively pulled him into a hug. On the whole, he and Ron weren't very demonstrative—maybe the occasional arm over the shoulders after a Quidditch match or something, but nothing too touchy-feely. Right as Ron started to hug him back, Keller March walked in.

"Aww, isn't this sweet? While you two are groping each other, people are busting their arses trying to find Hermione."

After a closer look at Ron's face he said more softly, "We're doing everything we can, Ron. We'll find her."

The assurance seemed to startle Ron. Keller March was not what one would call a softie. Harry had always suspected he had a thing for Hermione. It was nothing overt; he treated her like he did everyone else, like they were all idiots. There were times, though, when he told Ron or Harry to make sure she ate as she hadn't had anything all day, or to make sure she went home to sleep as she'd been at work for two nights straight.

Ron stood up straighter and said, "Of course. Harry and I are just heading to Diagon Alley to retrace her steps."

It was a testament to the fact that just maybe Keller March had a heart that he didn't yell and remind them that Pierce and Webster were on it and Ron and Harry should concentrate on another avenue. He just nodded his head and walked off.

"That is one strange man—brilliant, but strange," said Ron. Harry grinned in agreement. They headed down the lobby to Apparate to Diagon Alley.

Once Keller March closed the door to his office he allowed the melancholy to come. The reason he hadn't yelled at them was because he was sure Hermione was either dead or lost forever. He was certain she had figured out something having to do with the missing witches and had been dealt with accordingly. He was also sure that both Harry and Ron had thought about the possibility of her photograph being added to that wall but weren't ready to face it yet.

Keller wasn't sure if he really could, either. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was in love with Hermione. He had watched her over the past few years. She struggled constantly to be the best, not because she liked the praise but because to be any less would be a disservice to the people of the community. She was fair in her recommendations and fought for what she believed in. How could a man not fall in love with a woman with that much passion?

He shook himself out of his mood. He didn't have time for this. There were still a hundred other ongoing cases, not to mention the fact that yet another witch had gone missing. He grabbed some parchment off his desk and headed to his meeting with the Minister of Magic.
Draco grunted as he lifted the groceries onto the counter. He hadn't meant to buy this much food. Some of it would probably go bad before he had a chance to eat it. He really shouldn't food shop when he was hungry. While he put everything away he tried to decide what to make for dinner. He had learned to cook in New York. He'd worked as a financial advisor of sorts when he lived there, and he only worked two or three days a week. That left a lot of free time on his hands, not to mention he was almost completely helpless when it came to household affairs. He didn't know how to cook or do laundry, and the whole concept of paying bills was foreign. His only advantage was that he was good at finding people to do things for him. So he had hired a Muggle, Sookie St. Clair, to do just that. She looked exactly like her name implied: blonde, blue-eyed, and stunningly gorgeous. The only thing was, the woman was brilliant. She had graduated second in her class at Bryn Mawr. Draco secretly thought she was too good to be working for him. She thought so, too, but told him she had to pay off her student loans before she could go live the life of a glamorous social worker.

Sookie had been stunned at his inability to do anything for himself. She used to joke and ask him if he was really a prince, as he had a lot of money and was obviously used to being waited on hand and foot. She was quick to organize his life and even quicker to teach him how to be self-sufficient. The first part he was grateful for; the second he resented a little. She was aware of it, too. She had shown him how to sort clothes by color and fabric and how to add soap to the washing machine. He thought it looked easy—that is, until he forgot that the product called bleach was only meant for whites, not colors. Sookie had a good laugh when he told her. After that she left detailed, step-by-step instructions. Draco pretended he didn't need instructions, but secretly he had consulted them for two months straight before doing a load of laundry. He had after all, bleached his favorite shirt.

Then she found out that he never cooked any of his food. She told him she'd just about lost all respect for him.

"Seriously, Draco, you've never even made eggs?" He shook his head no.

A week later he found himself taking cooking classes. Sookie had lied and told him it was a singles mixer. He wasn't happy at first; he contented himself with thoughts of how he would fire her and she would cry, begging him to keep her on. Halfway through the class he noticed the good-looking woman to his left. When he met her eyes she smiled and struck up a conversation. He decided that he would come again next week. The first meal he cooked was a roast chicken. Sookie said it was the best meal she'd ever tasted. For the amount Draco paid her, he felt she'd damn well better lie even if it wasn't. After attending the class for several weeks he noticed a definite improvement. It turned out he was a natural cook. The praise he received stroked his ego nicely; women threw themselves at him, thinking he was a sensitive type. He smiled at the memory. He should send Sookie an e-mail and see how she was doing.

After finishing his dinner and his book he felt restless. He didn't have any more books and he didn't have a television set. He had to be careful; that box was like opium. He'd once spent two full days in front of it. Sookie finally unplugged it and hid it for a week. It was addictive, getting lost in other people's dramas. No evil Dark Lords or lousy parents. Everyone had sex, drank, and complained about how all the good men were gone, in between starving off lecherous stepfathers and having evil twins who were hell-bent on killing them. When he wasn't watching TV he filled his time by learning all he could about the Muggle stock trade and big businesses. If he was going to be the best advisor he needed to know about both wizard and Muggle business.

Now, since he was no longer an advisor, he didn't have any work to do.

He decided to check out the local pub. He'd grab a pint and people-watch. It was one of his favorite pastimes in New York. One was always guaranteed a good show in that city. He grabbed his coat and headed out. After three blocks he found a pub called the Mad Hatter. The inside was smoky and the lighting dim. It was loud with voices shouting at the TV over a goalie's bungled interception. Muggles and their football. He went to the bar and ordered a German lager. Drink in hand, he turned around and headed to a stool further down the bar, away from people. His back was to the wall so he could turn sideways, giving him a good view of the crowd. He sipped his beer and discreetly started to observe.

A couple in the back was groping each other under the table. There went his hand under her skirt. A loud noise to Draco's left caught his attention. Five university students were playing darts. The one up now was aiming down at the last minute when he threw the dart, making it land well below the bullseye. Draco watched them for a couple of minutes. Next his attention drifted to two elder gentlemen, one regaling the other with a story.

For a minute he was struck with loneliness. He missed his friends in New York. They were an easygoing group who were always up for a good time. Thinking of friends, he wondered what his old Hogwarts schoolmates were doing now. He wondered what Blaise was up to. Draco had lost contact with him three years ago. He'd still been so full of hate back then that Blaise's letters had just made him angrier. Everyone knew Blaise was just as sympathetic to Voldemort's cause as he had been before the whole murdering Dumbledore fiasco, but he was welcomed into the newly reformed Ministry.

Draco was deep in thought, so he didn't see the girl coming towards him until she was in his line of vision.

"Hello."

He gave her the once-over before replying. "Hello."

"Can I buy you another drink?"

He only had a few more sips of his drink left and he'd planned to go home. He wondered, though. Was she interested in him as long term boyfriend material or just a friendly fuck?

"No, thank you. I was planning on heading home."

He watched as she hesitated for a second before replying, "Is your place far from here?"

He smirked inwardly; he wasn't going home alone tonight. "About three blocks." He extended his hand. "I'm Draco."

"Hi, Draco, my name is Eve," she said, taking his hand.

He finished his lager and set the glass on the bar and stood up. He turned to Eve and lifted a brow in silent invitation.

"Let me just go tell my friend I'm leaving. I'll meet you outside."

He said okay and headed out. He knew she was probably telling her friends to call her in ten minutes just in case he turned out to be a total creeper and she needed to bail before they got to his flat. She came outside and stood in front of him, looking very nervous.

He didn't want a girl who wasn't sure this was what she wanted. "Hey, listen, you can just give me your number and we can meet up some other time."

"No, I'm fine. Let's go to your place. It looks like it's going to rain."

He gave her one last look and took her hand before turning to walk back to his flat. He wasn't a total twat that he would ignore her for three blocks and still expect sex. She asked him mundane things, like what part of England was he from, what did he do, where did he go to school? He lied when necessary and tried to steer the conversation back to her. She was a second year law student and she wanted to specialize in international law. She hailed from Chelmsford, Essex.

They reached his door and he pulled out his key. He saw her looking around. It was a nice building, obviously more expensive than the ones next to it. What he liked about this building was that each floor was its own flat, and it was quiet. He held the door open and allowed her to go up the stairs ahead of him.

"I'm on the third floor."

She stopped at his door and waited for him to open it. He'd forgotten to leave a light on, so it was dark; but because the blinds on the windows were up, it wasn't pitch-black. He fumbled for the light switch. Before he could find it he heard Eve shut the door and moved to press herself into his back. He turned around and brought his mouth down on hers. She was a good four inches shorter than him, so she was standing on her toes, leaning into him. She moved her lips over his, waiting for him to open his mouth. He obliged and her tongue swept in. He allowed himself to get swept up in the feel of her. It had been several months since he'd been with anyone and it felt good. When she pulled away to draw breath he grabbed her hand and guided her toward the bedroom.

He allowed Eve to pull his shirt over his head. She ran her hands over his chest, stopping to tweak his nipples. He brought his hand up and cupped her breast through the fabric of her clothes; when he ran his thumb across her nipple it was already hard. She groaned and pushed her pelvis against his. He smirked; this was too easy. He bent his head and captured her mouth. She pushed up on the balls of her feet to kiss him back while threading her fingers in his hair. Removing his hands from her hair he started to unbutton her top. Eve helped by undoing the fastener of her jeans and shimmying out of them along with her underwear. Once free of her clothes she moved to undo his jeans. Their arms became entangled when he moved to take off her bra. He moved his hands over her body, familiarizing himself with the lines and dips. Eve gave a soft sigh when he brought his mouth to her neck to nip at her.

He started to steer her towards the bed, thankful that he had Transfigured one before leaving. When the back of her knees hit the bed she sat abruptly, her face now level with his crotch. He gathered her hair and wrapped it around his fist gently, tugging her forward. She got the hint and reached up to unbutton and unzip him. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down, along with his jeans. He was only half hard. She looked up at him, seeming slightly unsure. He could tell she was starting to doubt her powers of seduction.

"Suck me," he told her.

Her hands came up to rest on his hips and she slowly took him into her mouth. He groaned at the feel of the heat. She started bobbing her head. He let her go on for a few minutes before he tightened his grip on her hair and held her still as he thrust into her mouth. She made a muffled sound of protest but didn't fight him. When he felt himself getting close he pulled away.

"Get on the bed."

She scooted back on the bed and lay on her back. He straddled her body and kissed her again, trailing kisses down her throat, then he raised her sweater and put his mouth to her breast. She jerked her hips. He moved his hand between their bodies and touched her to make sure she was ready. She was. He pulled away from her and went to his suitcase to get a couple of condoms. He had learned quickly, when he'd moved to New York, to always have some nearby. He put one on and got back on the bed. While he was gone, she had removed her sweater to make things easier.

"Turn over onto your stomach."

She looked like she was about to protest. He stared at her. "Please."

She huffed and turned over, and his hands guided her up on all fours. He grabbed two pillows and put them underneath her hips to prop her up. He ran his hands over the globes of her ass. She shivered. It was a good thing she was facing away from him; if she'd seen the look on his face should would have gotten up and left. These girls acted all prim and proper, but they all just wanted to have their brains fucked out—to have the choice taken out of their hands so they didn't have to look or feel like slags.

He positioned himself behind her and thrust forward, hard. The power of his thrust jerked her forward and caused her to cry out. He pulled back and surged forward again, continuing this for several minutes. He watched Eve as she started to pant and gripped the sheets, her face pressed into the mattress, swallowing her whimpers. He felt himself getting ready to come. He stopped and she looked up and over her shoulder at him questioningly.

"Sit up."

She did, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. One of her arms automatically went behind her to steady herself, the other one covered his hand on her stomach. Draco started thrusting again, but more slowly. Her head fell back on his shoulder. He brought his free hand around to rub her clit and moved his lips to suck on her neck. By the way her body was tensing he knew she getting ready to climax. After a few more thrusts she went over the edge with a keening cry, and he found his own release in her clenching passage.

When her body had stopped its spasms she fell forward. He moved to lie on his back.

"Wow, that was the most amazing sex I've ever had."

"Thank you. It was enjoyable."

They had now reached the uncomfortable moment that inevitably comes with one-night stands, when passion has worn off and you're left wondering whether you should get up and leave or stay and risk being asked to leave. Draco watched as Eve got up unsteadily and searched for her clothes. Usually he wouldn't say anything, just let them leave; he made no promises.

"You don't have to leave."

She turned around and looked at him as she pulled on her underwear.

"Do you mean it or are you just saying that because you want to do it again later?"

"Does it matter?"

She shook her head. "I guess not." She took her underwear back off and moved to the other side of the bed.

Draco told himself he'd stopped her because he wanted to go another round, not because he didn't want to be alone in a strange place. Eve stretched out, beside him but not touching, which he appreciated. He hated woman who wanted to spoon afterwards. He was usually hot and sweaty and didn't want the added heat of another body. She didn't say anything, either, and he started to appreciate her even more. They drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the predawn hours he was awoken by the feel of her hands on him, caressing him into responding. When he was erect she straddled him and guided him inside her. He watched in a sleepy daze as she rode him for her own pleasure, using him as much as he had used her earlier. She fell forward, bracing herself with her hands on either side of his head as she ground herself into him. She came with a soft cry. He continued thrusting into her, seeking his own release. Afterward she kissed him on the lips, got up, and gathered up her clothes. He heard the bathroom door close before he fell back asleep. When he next awoke he was alone in the flat.

He got up and headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on. With a cup of tea in hand he went into his empty living room. He was mentally arranging furniture when he heard a tapping noise. He froze. He slowly turned toward the source and there on the windowsill was a brown and white owl. He frowned; no one knew he was back yet. He went over and opened the window. The owl hopped in and presented its leg. Draco took the parchment and went to get the owl some water, but when he returned it was gone. He set down the bowl and read the parchment.

Hello Draco,

Welcome back! Don't be angry, your mum sent me an owl letting me know you had moved back. She didn't want you sitting at home brooding away. I had a good laugh at the thought of you brooding. I'm taking the liberty of inviting myself over later today. You better be there or else. I'm looking forward to seeing you.

Yours,
Pansy

Draco didn't care what she said—he was going to kill his mother for telling Pansy he was back. He'd only kept up the barest of contact with Pansy over the years, no more than the usual birthday and holiday wishes. He'd heard from his mother that Pansy and Gregory Goyle were engaged. After the death of Crabbe, Goyle had gone to pieces and Pansy proved to be a good shoulder to cry on. Draco was happy for them and he was a little curious to see what had become of them, but he wasn't sure he wanted to reminisce or talk about the past.

He headed into the bedroom to get dressed. His furniture was to be delivered shortly. As he pulled a shirt over his head he stopped and looked at the painting again. It was still there, that nagging sense of awareness. He heard a knock and went to answer the door.
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