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Just a Dance	By : goldhorse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 24759 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. I make no money doing this. That's why I work 80 hours a week.

Chapter List
- 1-Just a Dance
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 3
- 4
The next week flew by, mostly because she spent it either passed out drunk or high off some sort of something that she managed to find in a seedy alley by a muggle drug dealer’s hide out. It kept her mind off things. She hated the fact that she couldn’t even enjoy her conquest because of the crushing guilt and depression. She shouldn’t have left like that but she seriously didn’t want to be outright rejected. She couldn’t handle seeing his face as he kicked her out for overstaying her welcome.
She sighed and started to crack open the last bottle of wine in the house when there was a knock at the door. She frowned. No one knocked on her front door. All her friends used the floo and she made sure to block it. She’d even gone a step further with an owl returning ward and a few scathing howlers when they tried to crack her wards. That meant there was a muggle at the door… and she didn’t know any. Her parents were in Australia. Concerned, she grabbed her wand and answered.
A muggle postman stood outside with a package. “Hermione Granger?”
She frowned. “Yes?”
“Package for you.”
“Oh,” she said, taking it and thanking the postman.
Once her door was shut, she scanned the package for spells and foreign potions. She was no stranger to threats to her life. In fact, she’d expected one before now since the Ministry case wrapped up. But the letter was clean so she opened it, wondering if her parents might have sent her something. It was still odd. They usually used wizard methods of parcel delivery.
Inside the package was a bottle of Patròn and a letter. Her stomach quivered at the sight of the tequila bottle. Memories of her night with Malfoy came flooding back. She was very drunk that night but not drunk enough alter her memory. She remembered everything, the gleam of his eyes as he studied her, the silver flash of his nipple rings, the ripple of his abs. She shook her head and opened the letter.
Granger,
Normally, I would be demanding an apology right about now. Do you have any idea how bloody hard it is to track you down? I expect you to be outside your little hidey hole tonight at seven. We have to talk.
Malfoy
She crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. Great. Malfoy wanted to talk. More like he was pissed off that he didn’t get to dump her first. Well, she wasn’t going. She threw the box on her sofa and went to fetch her last bottle of wine. It was only nine in the morning but she was in desperate need of a drink.
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By seven that night, she’d already gotten drunk, slept it off, and taken a shower. She was dressed in a pair of grey trousers and a light violet silk blouse, mostly because all of her loungewear was dirty and she couldn’t be arsed to wash it. She’d also taken the time to braid her hair, but that was because she was tired of waking up with it trying to choke her. If she was going to pass out again, she’d damn well do it as conveniently as possible.
She grabbed the bottle of Patròn and settled in on the couch. She wouldn’t go meet Malfoy, but she would drink his liquor. After all, it was a gift and she wasn’t rude enough to return it, not that she knew where to send it in the first place. Her last concern was the name on the street sign when she’d run. She started to crack the bottle open when there was a pulling sensation behind her gut.
She landed in a sprawl in the street in front of her house, the bottle of Patròn and obvious portkey beside her. Malfoy looked down on her with a disapproving scowl and pulled her up. She tried to jerk away from him but he wouldn’t allow it. Finally, she gave up and slumped back to the ground, not caring that the pavement was cold.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked tiredly.
“To know why?” he said coldly, the words clipped and hard.
“Why what?” she asked glumly, pleased when he finally let go of her hand.
His eyes flashed in the streetlights and his nostrils flared. “Why did you sneak off in the middle of the bloody night?”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “You’re just mad because I beat you to the punch and you didn’t get to kick me out.”
He frowned. “Why would I kick you out?”
“Oh please,” she snorted, scrambling to get to her feet. “You wanted a quick fuck and you got it. Why wouldn’t you kick me out?”
He sighed and shook his head. “It was more than that and you know it.”
“Was not,” she said petulantly, only sheer will keeping her from stamping her foot. “You said so yourself. It was just a dance and work and play are separate.”
Malfoy cocked his head. “How does that equate to sex?”
She shrugged. “Dancing, sex, whatever.”
He laughed and grabbed her arm again, dragging her down the street. She struggled but he was much too strong for her. Finally, he turned into a nearby alley and stopped.
“Where are you taking me damn it?”
“To eat,” he said firmly. “It looks like you climbed in a bottle and forgot to do anything else.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I like curves,” he said before pulling her into his chest and turning on his heel.
They landed outside a muggle restaurant in London, one she’d never tried before. She nervously patted her hair and tried to brush the wrinkles from her clothes. She would have protested and demanded to go home, except she was bloody starving. Malfoy had been right. She’d skipped more than one meal the past week and her clothes were starting to hang.
“Can I help you sir?” the attendant asked when they walked in.
Malfoy straightened and nodded. “Reservation for two, Malfoy.”
Her jaw dropped but she held her tongue until they were seated at a secluded table in the back. “You made reservations?”
“How else do you get into an exclusive restaurant?” he asked sharply.
She seethed as the waiter walked up and took their drink order, Malfoy cutting her off and ordering water and a steak with mixed vegetables for both of them before brushing the waiter off.
“I wanted a drink,” she hissed.
He looked at her seriously for a few minutes before sighing. “For what we’re going to discuss, I’d rather us both be sober.”
“What is there to discuss?” she asked sullenly.
He sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose, tendrils of hair falling in his face as he gathered himself. She took the moment to study him, noticing that he was wearing black trousers and a soft grey button down. Even aggravated and obviously hurt, she still thought he looked like walking sex. She wanted him even more than before, and that was a huge problem.
“Us,” he finally said. “We need to discuss us.”
“There is no us,” she said stiffly. “You said so yourself.”
His jaw clenched. “I did say it was just a dance. I did not say that dancing didn’t illicit feelings or that they weren’t there prior.”
She stared at him, slack jawed for a second before regaining her composure. “You expect me to believe you’ve developed feelings for me?”
“Why is that so bloody hard to believe?” he asked gruffly.
“Because you’re Draco Malfoy, bloody playboy of the wizarding world and a pureblood to boot. Your list of women is longer than my arm and you’ve made the front page of the Prophet and the cover of Witch Weekly more times over your escapades than Harry has. Why would I believe you?”
In a show of extreme un-Malfoy-like behavior, he put both his elbows on the table and hung his head in his hands. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t take stock in everything the media prints.”
“I’ve seen the women, Malfoy,” she said quietly. “You didn’t exactly keep them secret. They met you at the office all the time.”
He shook his head and sat back. “So you think that because I have women meeting me at the office, I’m automatically a player.”
“It’s damning,” she said, thankful that the waiter showed up with their drinks.
Malfoy waited until the waiter left before he drew his wand and erected a privacy bubble.
“Malfoy!” she snapped. “You can’t do magic in here.”
“Who’s going to notice?” he shot back. “Now let’s get something straight, Granger. I didn’t invite those women there. My father did. He wants me to find some pretty pureblood piece of fluff and marry and produce the next heir.”
“And,” she drawled, sipping her water to have something to do with her hands.
He huffed. “And I hate it. I’ve told him a dozen times that I refuse to follow tradition but he insists. It isn’t my bloody fault that women fall all over themselves in my presence.”
She quirked a brow and snorted. “It’s a wonder there’s room for anyone else with that ego of yours.”
He smirked but it was half-hearted. “The point is, I want you. Why is that so bloody difficult to get through to that thick skull of yours?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said as lightly as she could. “It could be the mixed signals, plying me with drink and molesting me on the dance floor one night and aloof platonic partner the next week only to repeat the cycle.”
He nodded and took a drink before he continued. “How would you go about asking yourself out, Granger? Is there any possible way I could have approached you with an honest question without you turning me down flat? And furthermore, if I had and you’d actually said yes, how quickly do you think the Prophet would have had it plastered across the papers?”
“So you do want this to stay a secret.”
He banged the table with his fist and growled. “Damn it, Granger. Quit being so fucking difficult. I honestly don’t give a fuck who knows we’re together. I just know that you hate being in the limelight and it hasn’t done me any favors in the past.”
“Then why not just answer me straight,” she screeched. “Why be all mysterious and secretive and fucking sexy when we’re out where no one can see us and then this stuck up prat in the public eye.”
He studied her for a minute before smirking. “You think I’m sexy.”
She huffed. “Fine, you’re bloody sexy and you know it. Moving on.”
His smirk widened into a grin that she wanted to smack off his face. “In public, deviation from one’s normal routine is cause for gossip. I’d rather keep things quiet, keeps my father’s mouth shut. As far as mystery and secrets…” he made a vague gesture in the air as if to say ‘so what.’
She growled. “Bloody Slytherin.”
He smirked. “Everyone has a little Slytherin in them. You have once.”
Her jaw dropped open at his crude innuendo. “You bloody wanker.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “You want to tell me you didn’t like it?”
She huffed and looked away. “You know I did.”
“Then why in the bloody hell did you leave?” he snapped.
She turned to see he’d gone from playful and teasing to enraged in half a heartbeat. Well, he’d asked and he’d been honest so far, or at least he seemed to be. She might as well give up the goods. Damn the consequences, right?
“Because I couldn’t hand the rejection,” she murmured. “I finally got what I wanted and I didn’t want it… I didn’t want to have to deal with the aftermath.”
“You expected me to chuck you out,” he said softly.
She nodded and looked away again. His fingers slid under her chin and drew her face back to look at him. He had the most sincere look on his face, it was remorse mixed with sheepishness with a little bit of hesitance.
“Granger,” he whispered. “No one has ever spent the night with me. No one. I thought… I thought that if I held you… you would understand.”
“I’m not a mind reader,” she said softly. “You can’t just twist me up in knots and expect me to get it.”
He nodded and let go of her chin, grabbing her hand. “I’m sorry. What can I say? I’m shit at actual dating, Granger.”
She shook her head and pulled her hands back. “I’m not looking for a casual fling, Malfoy. I’m tired of being the third wheel. I’m tired of one offs and horrible blind dates and hook ups. I want something that will last. And that isn’t you.”
He frowned. “How the bloody hell do you know that?”
“You said so just a minute ago. You want to buck tradition. You don’t want to marry and procreate. I do. Well, not immediately. I’d like to settle my career first, but I want to find someone that has the same goals in mind.”
Malfoy shook his head in exasperation. “I said I didn’t want to marry some pureblood piece of fluff and produce an heir, not that I didn’t want to find someone I loved and have a family. It might seem the same, but trust me, it’s nowhere near it.”
“How do you figure that?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious as to the difference.
“One involves negotiations and contracts and money exchanges and probably a lover or two for escape. It’s cold, clinical, and restricting, like how my entire life has been.”
She bit her lip to stifle any comment of pity. He wouldn’t appreciate that. Instead, she decided to plunge ahead.
“The other?”
He gave her a soft smile, something that she hadn’t seen on his face before. It transformed him and she had to catch her breath. He was gorgeous before, but with that look, he was a blond Adonis. The waiter appeared again with their food and Malfoy lowered the privacy charm so they could be served. By the time that was done, the moment was gone. They ate their food in comfortable silence and she realized just how hungry she was, nearly cleaning her plate.
“The other involves finding someone I love,” he said softly once the dishes were clear and they were sipping on coffee.
She almost choked and set her cup down. “Beg pardon?”
“You asked what the other marriage option was, how it was different. The answer is love, like everyone else gets. You find someone you like, get to know them, and naturally progress. You don’t march up to a barrister and negotiate every aspect of your life in monetary terms or sign a contract stating exactly which duties you expect preformed or excluded from consideration. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“And when you do find this person you like?” she said quietly.
He studied her for a while. “I’ll ask her to dance.”
She sat her cup down and stared at him for a while. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“It took me a week to pry your address from Potter. And to get to him, I went through both red heads and one effeminate muggle. Do you honestly think I would have gone through that if I hadn’t?”
She studied him for a minute. “How many bat bogeys did you have to peel off your face?”
He chuckled. “Only one. I kept a shield up after that.”
She stifled a giggle. That sounded like Ginny. She sipped the last dredges of her coffee. This could still be a horrible joke but he was breaking down her defenses. She’d never seen him so real before, so honest or straight forward. But she had to know.
“Where do you see us going, Malfoy?”
“To my bed.”
She rolled her eyes at the quick reply. “I mean as an… us.”
“Well,” he said slowly. “I don’t plan on letting you out of my bed. But, if for some reason you escape, then I’d hope to date you like a normal bloke.”
“And after?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say what the future holds, Granger. But I can guarantee you aren’t just some one-off to help pass the time.”
She nodded. She could accept that. Really, she didn’t expect love and marriage and babies on the first talk. Hell, she didn’t want that. She was still young. She had her whole life ahead of her. But she was glad he would consider it. Still….
“Your father?”
“Can hang,” he said confidently. “And the Prophet can quote me on that. Now, come on, let’s get out of here and have some fun. All this serious talk is really laborious and I promised myself I wouldn’t work while I was on leave.”
She smiled and nodded, waiting for him to pay the tab before they headed off to a club.
“You plan on running away this time?” he asked, paying the cover and leading her inside.
She shook her head and obediently followed him onto the floor. He immediately pulled her into his arms, moving sensually against her. She fell into sync, moving her hips and swaying with the beat. It felt different this time. She still wanted to rip his clothes off and have her way with him in the middle of the dance floor, but the turmoil in her mind had dimmed to a dull roar in the back. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. And that was heady.
He moved in closer and she could smell his cologne, a woodsy scent that never failed to make her wet her knickers. His hands moved down, caressing her curves as they ground to the beat. The club didn’t exist. Only his fingers mattered, settling over her stomach but careful to avoid her piercing. She smirked and turned to face him.
“Care to tell me why you got your nipples pierced?”
He smirked. “The one and only time father started negotiations for a marriage contract, there was a clause that stated the only marks or adornments I was allowed to have on my body was the Dark Mark, since I can’t just take the bloody thing off. I refuse to have another permanent mark branded on my body, so tattoos were out. I had considered a tongue ring, but mum would have fainted. I also considered something a bit… lower, but I thought the bride to be might actually enjoy that so I settled on the nipples. Hurt like hell but completely worth it.”
Hermione laughed and ran her hands over his chest, fingering the delicate rings through his shirt. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.”
He spun her and yanked her to him, her back flush with his chest. He reached down and fingered her belly button ring through her shirt. “So what’s the story here?”
She laughed. “Never play truth or dare when all of your friends are drunk and you’ve just heard a Molly Weasley lecture inappropriate piercings. I liked it though, so I kept it.”
They continued to move to the beat, growing more and more adventurous until neither one could stand the friction anymore. They raced outside, Malfoy grabbing her and apparating back to his bedroom. Clothes disappeared at lightning speed. All the dancing had replaced any need for foreplay or any want to continue the torture. He didn’t even wait to move her to the bed, lifting her onto a nearby dresser and sliding inside with one smooth motion.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” she hissed when he started a brutal pace.
“I think you should call me Draco if we’re dating now.”
“Are we dating?” she gasped.
“I fucking hope so,” he growled.
“Fine. Now fuck me, Draco,” she snapped.
“Oh, I will, Hermione,” he murmured and changed his angle.
The sound of her name falling from his lips was enough to send her over. She thought him calling her Granger was sexy but shit. He reached down to play with her clit, making her soar to a second peak and shout his name. He came with her, moaning her name as he weakly thrust through his climax.
When he was spent, he picked her up and laid her in his bed, climbing up beside her and pulling her into his arms. “You aren’t running away this time, are you?”
“No,” she said contentedly as she rested her cheek on his chest. “Your bed really is comfy.”
He snorted. “I won’t hesitate to bind you to the bed woman.”
She giggled. “I might enjoy that, but no. I’m not leaving.”
“We’ll still need to keep things strictly professional at work,” he said, idly playing with her hair as they lay together.
“I’ve had some practice with that.”
He chuckled. “Oh, one more thing.”
“What?” she asked.
“We’re never dancing in wizarding public.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
He smirked and looked down at her. “Because with you, it’s never just a dance.”

AN: The end... or the beginning. :D Well, that's one story down. Too many more to go. Uh. As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I hope you enjoyed this short little thing. I had fun too. Let me know what you thought. And... until the next one... love you guys!
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Just a Dance