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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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AN: Many thanks to my beta mamacita. You are a lady and a scholar.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed.

smurphy: good guess but no money
Harry trudged up the stairs to his front door. He hoped Ginny was at practice; he didn't know if he could put up a good enough front to fool her. He opened the door and listened. It was silent. He sighed in relief and headed up the stairs to his room. He disrobed and walked into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower to let the water warm up. He stared at himself in the mirror. When steam started to cloud his reflection, he turned around and stepped into the shower.

He welcomed the burning sensation of the water on his skin. It kept him from thinking for a few moments. He and Ron and had retraced Hermione's footsteps as best they could. They had gone to the Diagon Alley shop where she'd purchased Luna's gift. The owner had been very helpful, but she hadn't been there when Hermione had come into the shop. The owner promised to ask her other employee, who was out sick that day but had been there the day Hermione had come in, if she knew anything.

Harry and Ron moved on, discreetly asking shop owners if they had seen Hermione. They knew that no matter how hard they tried to keep things quiet, it was only a matter of time before word would leak to the press that one-third of the Golden Trio was missing. They would go into a feeding frenzy over her disappearance. Keller was getting a lot of flack from the Minister of Magic about the fact that not only couldn't they find the missing witches, but now a high-profile Auror was missing too, most likely kidnapped by the same person who had taken the other witches.

Harry absently soaped up his body. They had stopped at the gallery but the witch working there had only started that day. The previous curator had gone to visit his sister in France and wasn't expected back for several weeks. Harry had told the witch if she heard from him to let him know Harry and Ron wanted to speak to him. He was rinsing off when the shower curtain was suddenly pulled back.

"Hello, gorgeous, mind if I step in with you?"

Ginny closed the shower curtain behind her, not really needing a reply as they had done this many times before. She reached around Harry to grab her loofah, pressing her body into his back. Part of him relaxed because being with her always made him feel that way. She happily chatted about practice and how she was sure they were going to win their next match because their Beater was out of this world. He watched her as she pulled the loofah over her body and then as she started to wash her hair. She was so beautiful. It never ceased to amaze him that she wanted to be with him. She was looking back at him now, having noticed that he hadn't responded to anything she'd said.

"Are you all right?"

Harry didn't respond; instead he pulled her to him and kissed her. Ginny sighed against his mouth. She could feel the desperation in his kiss. She tried to pull away to ask him what was wrong, but he just held her tighter.

"Please," he whispered. "I need this."

She didn't say anything, just reached behind her to turn off the water. He stepped out of the shower and pulled her with him, raining kisses on her face. He grabbed a towel and handed it to her and then took another for himself. She watched his hurried movements. Something was wrong; she knew that, had known since the night of Luna's birthday party. She hadn't pried because she figured it was Auror business, but now she worried. Harry didn't look well. He had the haggard look of someone who hadn't slept or eaten in at least twenty-four hours.

When Ginny was done toweling her hair Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the bed. She shivered as the colder air of the bedroom hit her skin. He murmured something as he pulled back the covers and got in, and she followed him. He continued to touch her everywhere. She parted her thighs when his fingertips traced the seam of her legs. The feel of his hand stroking the inside of her thigh was enough to have her hips lifting off the mattress. His lips moved to her throat and then to her shoulder.

"Harry, please," she begged. He shifted from her side to on top of her and she adjusted her position to accommodate him. He looked into her eyes. He needed to feel her, to connect with her. In this moment she was everything. When he thrust inside of her she brought a leg up and hitched it around his waist. They moved together, their erratic breathing and moans driving each other to a heightened frenzy. Ginny came with a shout, her nails digging into his back as she arched up into him. Harry prolonged his release, wanting her to climax one more time. He felt her relax, her hips rising to meet his on every second or third thrust. He wasn't going to last much longer. He moved his hand between their bodies to touch her. He knew she was close again when she locked her hand around his wrist. When she started to climax for the second time he let himself go, his faced buried between her neck and shoulder. He kissed her neck before moving off of her.

She curled around his side. Neither said anything for several minutes. Finally Ginny lifted herself up on her elbow to look him in the eye. "What's wrong? Don't lie to me and say nothing, because I know there is."

When Harry didn't respond, she asked, "Where's Hermione, Harry?"

Then Harry did something Ginny hadn't seen him do since the end of the war. He cried.
"Oh, and you're the epitome of good looks with those pointy features and that receding hairline?" asked the girl in the portrait.

Draco opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a half-groan, half-snarl. "I do not have a receding hairline!" He brought his hand up to run it across his shaved head. Bitch.

"Yes, keep telling—" She abruptly stopped and looked around. "Where the hell am I?" It was then that she noticed her clothes and surroundings. She walked to the front of the painting and tried to reach out, but her hand encountered an invisible wall.

Draco's mind was still reeling from the realization that Hermione Granger was talking to him"from a painting. What was going on? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. He shook his head. He should have just stayed in New York. He looked at her.

Hermione tried to remember how she came to be in her current surroundings, but she just couldn't. The last thing she remembered was sitting in her office looking at the pictures of the missing witches.

The sound of clothing shifting drew her attention back to the present. She had recognized Draco Malfoy immediately. Not even with his platinum hair shaved and the maturing of his body could he hide those distinctive facial features.

"What did you do to me, Malfoy?" Of course that ferrety bastard would have something to do with her present state. His shirt was off and his trousers unbuttoned and unzipped. What the hell was he doing? "Put some clothes on! I'm starting to feel nauseous." Although, if she was honest with herself, he wasn't bad on the eyes; a little too skinny, maybe. He looked stupid just sitting there staring back at her with that dumbfounded look.

Draco heard what she said and in the back of his mind he formed a scathing reply, but he couldn't move or speak. She—no, Hermione Granger—was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had thought her side profile was stunning, but it was nothing compared to seeing her head-on. He slowly got to his feet and moved toward the painting. He felt a compulsion to touch her. He didn't notice that his breathing had accelerated.

Hermione watched Draco approach her with great suspicion, followed closely by confusion. What was wrong with him? He looked spellbound. She wished she had her wand and that she wasn't trapped in this room or whatever it was. He stopped in front of her. She took two steps back. It was then that she noticed the odd perspective between them, Draco—who she knew to be taller than herself—placed somehow so that she had to look down at him.

"Draco, where am I?" He didn't answer; instead he reached out and touched the painting. He felt the rough texture of the canvas, the smooth glide of the paint, and then he felt the invisible wall of magical energy that must be keeping her trapped inside. He finally snapped out of his daze.

"You're in my flat in London. More accurately, you're in a painting I bought, in my flat. The question I have for you is, are you really Hermione Granger or are you a representation of her?"

Hermione didn't know what to say. She stepped forward and placed her hand where Draco had placed his, having not removed it while he spoke. She couldn't feel his hand but she felt his magic. She knew what he was asking her.

"I don't think I'm dead. I have no memory of dying. The last thing I remember is sitting in my office thinking about a case." They were both quiet for moment. When she spoke again her voice was strangled. "If I'm dead why wouldn't my parents or even Harry have my painting?"

"I don't know. All I know is I bought your painting in Diagon Alley from a witch who was one of many purveyors at a street market."

"Why my painting? Did she push it on you? What did she look like? Did she have a name?" Her questions came out in rush. Hermione was wondering if the person who sold Malfoy the painting had also put her in it. Did it have something to do with the missing witches?

Draco's cheeks flushed at her first question. "It was an old hag who operated the stall. Grey hair, missing teeth, dressed in a makeshift dress, rags really."

Hermione noticed he didn't answer her first question. "She could have been wearing a disguise or using Polyjuice potion." She thought a moment before asking the question she had been too scared to ask before. "Do you know if I've died?"

He hesitated a second. "I don't know. I don't read the Prophet and I've only visited the wizarding world once since I moved back. I don't think so, though, because Pansy and Greg were just here for dinner and they probably would have mentioned it. Actually it's funny—Greg was the one who recognized you. You know he had a crush on you at Hogwarts?"

Hermione made a face when she heard that. The only images she had of Goyle were not pleasant. "You never answered my question."

Draco knew which question to which she was referring to and he wondered if he could play dumb. He sighed. "You looked familiar."

"Yes, but that doesn't answer my question. You bought my painting and hung it in what's obviously your bedroom. I don't even want to tell you how creeped out I am."

He turned his back to her to hide his flushed cheeks. He was really starting to miss her being immobilized. He refastened and zipped his trousers and went to sit on the bed. He shrugged nonchalantly. "You fit with the décor in here better than in the living room."

She obviously wasn't going to get a straight answer out of him, she realized. She didn't know whether he was lying because he was in league with whoever was kidnapping the witches or for some other reason. He had reacted in a very surprised man ner when she'd spoken to him. But she had no choice but to trust him. She figured she was one of two things: dead, or trapped in this painting. If she was dead, she wanted to be placed with her parents. If she was trapped, hopefully Malfoy could get her out. He was just sitting on the bed, staring at her. His look wasn't exactly hostile, but it wasn't friendly either.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked.

"I'm trying to figure out why you're suddenly moving and talking. When I bought the painting you were stationary and had your back turned; that's why I didn't recognize you." He wasn't about to admit that he thought her too beautiful to be who she really was. "My guess is that you were under a stasis spell and when I said your name it undid the spell."

"Can you get me out of here?"

He looked at her. "I don't know any spells to remove people from portraits, and when I touched the canvas earlier I felt a magical barrier. I doubt you could get out if we tried."

She'd felt the barrier, too. What she didn't know was if it was related to her being trapped or dead. "Malfoy, you're going to have to go into the wizarding world and find out if I'm dead. If I am, would you please return me to my parents?"

The last bit of her sentence was choked out. He didn't want to go back, not yet at least, but he knew he wouldn't get any peace if he didn't. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of having to listen to her harping at him day and night, no matter how beautiful she was. Maybe getting away from her was the best idea. He couldn't think straight when he looked at her. She fairly glowed with…purity.

"Yeah, sure." He got up and put his shirt on and then his shoes. "I'll be back as soon as I can." She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself as if for comfort.

She watched him leave and heard the front door open and close. A sob escaped her; it had been held at bay by her discussion with Malfoy, but now that he was gone she was left alone with the very real possibility that she was dead. Who would find those missing witches now? she wondered.
Ron sat on a bar stool doing his level best to get so lit that there was a possibility he might actually sleep the whole night through. He knew Padma would be worried about him. He hadn't returned her owls, and left work early to avoid her. He was ashamed of his behavior but he was scared to confront Padma when his feelings for Hermione were were so ambiguous. He didn't want to hurt Padma. He was contemplating how many more drinks he could have before he passed out when he felt a slight breeze that signaled someone sitting down beside him.

"I thought I might find you here."

Ron paused in the action of taking a swig of his drink to look over. Damn it. "Hi," he slurred.

"Why have you been avoiding me? If you don't want to be with me any more, all you have to do is tell me. I'm not going to fall to pieces."

"It's not you, it's me." He was rather proud of himself; that sounded almost like he was sober.

Padma shifted in her seat so she was facing forward instead of facing him. "Is this about Hermione? Are you getting back together with her?"

Ron hand twitched and the alcohol sloshed over the rim. "No, it's that work is really stressful right now and I've been in a bad mood. I don't want to take it out on you." Damn, I'm brilliant when I'm drunk.

Padma sighed and hopped off the stool. "Okay, let's get you home. You're totally wasted. You probably won't even remember we had this conversation. We'll have to Floo back to your place."

Ron was starting to feel really woozy and all he wanted was to pass out. He didn't remember getting home or Padma helping him into bed. He especially didn't remember calling out Hermione's name in the middle of the night so loud that it woke Padma up. And if he continued to call out her name he couldn't be blamed, because at least he was sleeping.
AN: The next couple of chapters will set the ground work for Hermione's and Draco's relationship so be patient. I promise to deliver the goods.

Heads up. I'm editing my first story story since my beta for this story cleaned it for me and I'm giving it a new name but it's the same story so if you've already read it don't bother.

D
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