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Say Please	By : ColdWaterFairy Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 28207 -:- 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: First off I just want to say thank-you to my beta mamacita for being so kind as to refine my words so they are easier on the eyes.

Secondly, I'm currently trying to distract myself from reading more of Breaking Dawn, as I'm waiting for my bestfriend to catch up. I don't know if there are any Twilighters reading this but if there are I want to know what you guys think of the book. I'm on chapter 15 now.
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A wizard slunk around the back of an unplottable and heavily disillusioned house, unseen in the dark night. Located in the Welsh countryside, there were few if any people to witness his skulking and even fewer who would care. He was nervous; maybe he should have given the painting to a foreign dealer. Keeping the painting of Hermione in England could prove to be a mistake. The old hag had told him a young wizard had bought the painting. That worried the wizard. He couldn't risk the buyer figuring out who the girl was. He rationalized his worries with the thought of how any wizard younger than sixty would be young to a witch as decrepit as the hag.

He had thought himself rather clever when he'd first cast Hermione into the painting. He had positioned her with her back to the viewer, only her side profile visible. He ran the risk of the young wizard who bought the painting being familiar enough with Granger to see the resemblance. No, he thought, it wasn't possible. He himself had seen her on a daily basis, and it would have taken a while for him to recognize her. He didn't think even Potter or Weasley would immediately know it was her. That was the thing about Willow's paintings. The essence, the purity of the girl was magnified by a thousand. All blemishes were erased and all that was left was beauty beyond imagination.

Willow had needed those girls, and the wizard was only too happy to help. None of the girls had questioned him when he said he was an Auror. They had all come with him so willingly. Eventually those girls would be moved from the backgrounds of the paintings they were in and put into their own canvases, but for right now they needed to be in the background. Willow was brilliant. She had it all worked out. She could triple the profits once the girls could be moved. People would pay just about anything to possess such beauty. And if someone bought a painting one of the girls was in before enough time had passed to be able to move her out of it, it could be conveniently stolen and sold on the black market for an astronomical sum of Galleons.

Willow liked the idea of putting the girls into paintings that would be on display. Who would be smart enough to figure out the missing witches were out in the open? Well, except Granger, of course—but she was the exception to a lot of things, not the norm.

The wizard let himself into the house through the back door and headed up the stairs. He opened the door with the candlelight glowing underneath it. When he opened the door he was greeted with the vision that was Willow Suntree. She was sitting in a chair facing the door, obviously anticipating his arrival. She gave him a lazy smile.

"You're late."

"I know, love, I'm sorry." He moved towards her, undoing his robes.

"Did you take care of our little problem?"

"Of course I did. There's nothing to worry about."

He hoped she would let it go and wouldn't ask any more questions. Willow wouldn't take it well if he said he didn't know who had the painting. She would have much preferred he lock it up in a vault somewhere. But he had liked the idea of someone buying a painting of one of the great war heroes and not even knowing it. He would get a good chuckle every time someone brought up the tragic disappearance of Hermione Granger. Only he would know what had truly happened to her and how some poor sap held the key to the whole mystery and didn't even know it.

"Where did you put her?"

His hesitance was enough to change Willow's playful mood into a foul temper. Her eyes narrowed.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Don't worry about it, Willow. She's somewhere no one will find her. I'm sure of it."

"Where exactly is that?" she hissed as she stood up.

He knew he was in trouble when he didn't answer right away, and he was right. The back of her hand came down hard. His lip was bleeding on the right side. He didn't know what to say. She would know if he lied, but to tell her the truth would surely lead to him getting hit again. He was no coward; it was just that if he could avoid pain, then all the better.

"I don't know. I gave her to this old hag to sell at a booth in Diagon Alley. She said some young man bought it." He looked over Willow's shoulder, preparing himself for the next blow that sure to come. His eyes widened in shock when her hand came down to caress his cheek instead of dealing a blow.

"You're going to find that painting aren't you?" It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. Her voice promised swift retribution if he did not obey. The wizard nodded his head in agreement.

"Good," she purred. She pulled her robe over her head, exposing her body to him. She smiled saucily, her temper all but forgotten. She took his hand and led him to the bed. She encircled him with her arm, and pressing her body into his she whispered, "Show me how much you love me."

He was only too happy to oblige. These were the moments he lived for, when she gave control over to him and let him dominate her. Her sparks of temper and violence were nothing compared to the pleasure he experienced with her. It made everything else worthwhile. Setting his lips upon hers, he growled, "Shut up and spread your legs for me."
Draco was nervous, and it disgusted him. He kept glancing at the clock. Pansy hadn't said the exact time she would stop by and the suspense was grating his nerves raw. He just wanted the visit to be over. He had debated whether he should cook something or go to a restaurant. He'd settled on making dinner as a way to keep himself occupied. He didn't want to see Pansy or, even worse, Goyle. Thinking of Greg only brought back those horrific moments in the Room of Requirement. Draco would have lost his life, too, if not for Harry Potter; remembering that fact perturbed him no end.

As hard as he tried to keep his thoughts from going back to the final battle, he found his mind unwilling to accommodate him. He had attempted to reason with Crabbe, but Vince had finally achieved glory and purpose in being a Death Eater and it wasn't something he was willing to give up. Killing Potter and his two worthless sidekicks would have endeared Draco to the Dark Lord in the way his aunt had only dreamed about doing. His pleas for Crabbe to forget about Potter and his friends fell on deaf ears. Draco would never forget the look on Crabbe's face when he realized that for all the new Dark magic Amycus Carrow had taught him, he hadn't taught him any of the counterspells.

When Draco and his family had lost their standing, they became a laughingstock amongst Voldermort's inner circle. He had wanted to yell at his parents: "Are you happy now? All your groveling and being Voldermort's number-one supporters has gotten you nowhere." How he'd hated it when the Dark Lord took over Malfoy Manor. He hated even more how he and his parents reeked with the knowledge that the next breath they took could be their last.

The timer went off, pulling him from his morose thoughts. He pulled dinner out of the oven, decreased the temperature, and put in a store-bought pie. They didn't deserve one of his German chocolate cakes. He shook his head in disgust. Listening to him one would think he was some girl whinging about a boy who didn't like her back even after she let him copy her homework. He refilled his wineglass and stared moodily at the clock. When were those sorry bastards going to show? As if his thoughts had summoned the two, the buzzer went off, alerting him to their arrival.

He opened the door just in time to see them make it up the last few stairs to his landing.

"If you're going to act like that the whole evening, Greg, I don't know why you bothered to come," Pansy hissed.

Greg retorted angrily, "I didn't want to come here, remember? You promised to make my life a living hell for the next month if I refused."

Pansy was about to reply but they had reached the landing and she saw Draco standing in the doorway. She rushed forward with a squeal and enveloped him in a hug that he barely returned.

"What did you do to your hair? You've butchered it!"

He ran a hand over his newly shorn hair. "It was time for a change. I take it you don't care for it." He looked past Pansy and his gaze locked with Goyle's. He just nodded his head in greeting.

"Come in. Dinner's ready." Draco ushered them into his flat and shut the door. He took a fortifying breath before turning around. He just hoped they would eat quickly and leave. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Whatever you're drinking will be fine," Pansy replied.

"Do you have any Firewhisky?" asked Goyle.

"Yes, make yourselves comfortable. I'll be back in a minute." He left them standing in his living room and went to the kitchen to grab their drinks. He heard Pansy's raised voice and figured she was threatening Goyle to be nice again. Drinks in hand, he returned.

"Draco, what is that," Pansy asked, pointing to his television.

"It's called a television; it allows you to watch Muggle entertainment."

"Why would you want to?" she asked, taking the glass of wine from him and sitting down in a chair. "Don't tell me you've gone all Muggle-obsessed while living in America."

Handing Goyle his Firewhisky, Draco took a seat on the couch. "I found many aspects of Muggle lifestyle fascinating. Watch an episode of Days of Our Lives and then come talk to me." He kept his tone light but all he really wanted to do was tell her how of course she would think it was stupid as she had the intelligence of a root vegetable.

They sat in silence for several moments before Pansy chirped, "I had lunch with your mother last week. You really should go visit her, Draco, she misses you very much. With your father in Azkaban you can imagine how lonely she must get."

She continued to prattle on about how he had a duty to spend time with his mother as he was her only child, and other such nonsense. Draco's hand unconsciously tightened on his wineglass. He could handle her ignorant comments about his going Muggle, but he wasn't going to sit there and be lectured at. He was just opening his mouth to tell Pansy to sod off when Goyle spoke.

"I skipped lunch today, I'm starving. Are we going out to eat or are we staying in?"

Draco inhaled deeply. "I made dinner. If you're hungry we can eat now."

He led them to the dining area and then disappeared to get the food. He reappeared, floating three plates, to see that the others had sat at both ends of the table, leaving him to sit between them. It was just like at Hogwarts. They both made appropriate noises about how delicious the food was. Pansy kept up a steady stream of chatter, filling him in on what his old housemates were doing. Draco responded when it was appropriate, but for the most part he tuned her out. He was more interested in watching Goyle. He looked different, as was to be expected. Draco wasn't saying much, in order to gauge whether or not Goyle still held the whole Muggle-borns-are-inferior attitude. Draco felt ridiculous sneaking glances at him like some lovelorn twit. He knew how easy it would be for him to just isolate himself in his flat and never leave. He didn't want that. It was possible that they could be friends again.

Pansy smirked into her wineglass. She wasn't oblivious to the glances the two boys were shooting at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. Silly boys; both were too proud to make the first move. Maybe she should help them along—but doing so could turn ugly. What was standing in their way of rekindling their friendship was Draco's silence over the past several years. It had really hurt Greg. For him it was like losing two friends at once. It had hurt Pansy, but not in the same way. She had been forced to let go of the fantasy of her and Draco one day getting married. She was okay with it now because she realized Draco was essentially a selfish creature. He would always need to be number one, and she wanted to be number one. She didn't think any girl would be able to change him. She beamed at Greg. She really did love him, even if he wasn't as handsome or as smart as Draco. For him she was willing to ask the difficult questions.

"Tell me, Draco, is there a reason why you never wrote to any of us in all the years you've been gone?" Greg glared at her but she ignored him; she was doing him a favor. She would make sure he thanked her properly later.

Draco choked on his food. Greg leaned over and pounded him on the back. Draco grabbed his wine to wash down his food and mumbled his thanks. It was quiet as the other two waited for his reply.

"I guess I just wanted to forget about the war and try to move on. I just figured no one wanted to hear from me anyway."

"That's not true," Greg replied softly.

The two wizards looked at each other for a moment and then looked away. In the way that only men can do, just that quickly everything was forgiven and forgotten. Draco and Greg both relaxed as Draco began to talk about his time in New York and his favorite episodes of Days of Our Lives. After dinner he showed them the rest of his flat.

"I plan on buying some artwork to fill the walls. I did buy this one painting in Diagon Alley," Draco said. "The thing is, it doesn't move like magical paintings usually do. There's something familiar about the woman in the painting, but I can't figure out who she is."

"May be it's a Muggle painting from a long time ago. You could get it appraised," volunteered Pansy.

Draco shrugged. He wasn't going to sell it, so what was the point of getting it appraised? He led them into his room to look at the painting. Greg and Pansy stared at the painting, wearing identical expression of puzzlement.

"You know who she reminds me of? Granger," Greg said.

Draco snorted. "Seriously? She's much too pretty to be that bushy-haired nitwit."

"I had a crush on her during our fourth year. I spent a lot of time staring at her." Greg stared at the painting for several more moments. "It's Granger, all right."

Pansy turned her head to sneer at her fiancé. "I think I'm going to have to ditch you now. I can't marry someone with such appalling bad taste."

Draco was tempted to say something about how some would question Greg's taste seeing as he was shackling himself to a pug, but he stopped, reminding himself that he had dated that pug back in the day, so what did that say about him?

"So Draco, you bought the painting because you thought the girl was pretty and it turns out to be Granger." Greg was laughing and Pansy was scowling.

Draco clenched his teeth. "I'm telling you, it's not Granger."

Greg shrugged. "We'd better go. It's getting late and we have to work tomorrow. Not all of us can live the life of leisure."

The three of them headed back into the main area. Greg and Pansy retrieved their coats and headed for the door. Pansy made noises about how Draco would have to come to their place and have dinner soon. After a few awkward moments of attempted small talk, Pansy caught Greg's eye and they shared a look that Draco couldn't interpret.

But he found out what it meant when Pansy said, "I believe Daphne Greengrass's younger sister Astoria lives in this building too. I don't know why. I suppose it's nice, for a Muggle building; but really, a magical one is so much better. I'll just nip down to the second floor and see if she's in and leave you two alone to catch up."

She headed towards the stairs, turning to give Draco one last look before she opened the door and went out. He didn't like what he saw in that look. He and Greg stood in awkward silence after Pansy left.

Finally Greg raised his eyes to Draco's and said, "You have to cut Pansy some slack. She thinks if she'd waited a couple more years instead of settling for me, she might still have had a chance with you."

"No ,Greg, I think it's the other way around. You're the one who's settled."

Greg was silent for a second. "You never used to think we were equals. I know I'm not the smartest wizard in the world, but it used to make so angry when Pansy compared you to me. You left and didn't say a word to anyone. You even blew off Blaise! Not that I blame you; he's a wanker now" He stopped, realizing he was about to go into a full tirade.

"You're right, Greg. I had no right to treat you the way I did in school." Draco might have matured enough to apologize, but he still didn't like to. He didn't comment on Blaise; that was still a touchy subject with him, and Greg seemed to sense that.

Greg nodded his head at Draco's apology. "I want to move on with my life. I want a family, and peace." He paused, looking Draco in the eyes. "You saved my life, Draco, and I'll always be grateful for that. You tried to save Vince, I know that. You shouldn't blame yourself."

Draco shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. His mother had tried to talk to him after the war and he had shut her down. She'd said the same thing to him, but he hadn't believed her at the time. He didn't know if he believed Greg now. He knew all the mistakes he'd made, could recall all of them of in painfully excruciating detail.

"Owl me sometime next week and we'll grab a drink," Greg said. "I'll probably need one—living with Pansy is no walk in the park, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Draco gave him a rueful smile. "Better you than me, mate."

Greg left and Draco shut the door behind him. Well, he mused, that went better than I expected. He wouldn't mind rekindling his friendship with Goyle. It wouldn't be like it was when they were in school; a friendship between them now would be as different as they both were now.

He contemplated doing the dishes for two seconds before deciding to just go to bed instead. As he undressed he looked at the painting, remembering Greg's words.

"I don't think you look a thing like Hermione Granger. You're too pretty," he said as he gazed at the woman in the picture. He laughed at himself. Talking to a painting didn't bode well for his psychological well-being.

What happened next sent him reeling backwards onto his backside, eyes widening with incredulity.

"Gaaaa!"
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