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Not Exactly the Oval Office	By : brandnewdaydawning Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 6462 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except the plot, and I'm sure JK would be horrified. Not to mention I don't make a dime.

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Not Exactly the Oval Office by Rainsrabble [Rated NC-17]

Exchange Story for liltinybee
Title: Not Exactly the Oval Office

Author: Rainsrabble

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Not HBP Compatible. Doesn’t deny it, or confirm it, just ignores it.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Neither is Draco, Hermione, or the House Elves

Author Notes/Beta Credits: I had a lot of fun with the UST in this. It was longer than I intended it to be and took off in an unexpected direction. Sometimes I just have no control over my muse. Cute twist is probably not all you expected.

Summary: Hermione’s competitive nature gets her into trouble.
Not Exactly the Oval Office

Draco hated muggle-wear. With the changing times, it was a political declaration to wear jeans, dresses, or rudely worded t-shirts. It was like throwing up a flag that said “Equal Rights Supporter”. All the kids were doing it these days. Just last week he’d seen a crew of Slytherin’s in leather pants. It had made him cringe to think his noble house had sunk to following fads and trying to fit in. He hated the casualization of the workplace, and the way his own elegant attire was no longer held in regard, and the way a custom fit counted for little to nothing these days. But most of all he hated the way Grangers, thigh hugging skirts hugged her bum.
He watched her in the reflection of his picture window. Enjoying the way his apparent disregard for what she had to say sparked her fury. Yet, at the same time, regretting the way the glass distorted the color and clarity of her reflection. Finally he turned just so he could see her better. Her and her damnable skirt. Certainly modest by muggle standards, nevertheless it was provocative on the right figure. Legs that long should be illegal. Or at least fabric that hugged curves like that sweater. The label would say Cashmere. He’d overheard her discussing it with her mother. Whatever that meant, it translated into indecent softness that highlighted every dip and hollow of her body. He didn’t mind the view, but he knew the minute she left his office, every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the office would be treated to the same vision.
The way she had her hand on her hip, thrust her breasts out for his perusal. He wondered if she realized it. If she had any idea at all why he was so grateful to hide behind the expensive heavy fabric of his robes. He let some warmth bleed into his gaze, deliberately dipping his gaze and then letting it travel back up her body. She flushed a bit, put her arm down at her side, but the look he received in return was hardly encouraging. He should have been coated in ice her glare was so cold. “Minister,” She spat the title the way she used to spit his surname. “You claim to be for equal rights and yet you continuously duck the issue of slavery. It’s legal and endorsed by this government. You head the government. That means you endorse slavery.”
“Hermione,” He deliberately used her first name to irk her and was rewarded with a gasp of outrage that might have been heard three floors down. Delivered out of rosebud lips, immediately wetted by a pink tongue. These meetings between them would be the death of him. Death by Desire. It would make a fitting grave marker for the sole heir of the Malfoy line. “We have been over this repeatedly. I won’t endorse the forced freedom of House Elves. They want to be servants. It’s what makes them happy.”
She stepped closer to him and he found his feet moving closer as well. Traitorous feet.
“But, they’re oppressed. They don’t know that they want freedom because they’ve never had it. If you would just…”
“They’re not idiots, Granger. Ask them. They don’t want to be free. And those that do can file a petition with the ministry and be released. It’s all legal now just the way you wanted it. House Elves are afforded the right to request liberation and have it granted in a timely manner. House Elves are afforded the right to safe shelter in the event that it may not be safe to return to their homes while they await the decision of the Ministry.” He took a seat on the corner of his desk and gave her his most charming smile. As expected his patented charismatic look failed to thaw her patented Head Girl scowl. “Also, to insure that Free House Elves aren’t destitute there are a number of open government positions that offer competitive wages, benefits, and housing to those recently liberated.”
The hand came back up to her hip. Her chameleon eyes were spitting venom at him. And her hair was as wild as she appeared. It had always fascinated him. Her hair. The flyaway curls that refused to be tamed. Refused to be suppressed. They were like a living testament to her personality. Crackling with energy.

“Competitive wages! Cleaning! Cooking! Serving! As if that is all that House Elves are capable of. What if they want to be in government? What if they want to be Teachers, or Scientists, or Doctors…”
“Then they can go to school like everybody else Granger.” He snapped, losing patience with this infinite argument. They must have been over it a hundred times.
“But there are no schools that accept House Elves. They need their own school. And the government is just too bigoted to allow House Elves the same employment opportunities…”
-----
The door interrupted her school of thought and she scowled angrily at the interruption. Especially when she saw who it was. Malfoy’s stupid slag of a secretary. She hated those simpering bimbo types and this Amy could have been a poster girl for idiot assistant. Her heels were four inches long, and so was her skirt. She had shiny happy bright colored hair, and matching shiny happy bright colored lips.
Everything about her, from her blinding smile to her bouncy step made Hermione feel frumpy and plain. The ministry paid well. They provided had health insurance, dental, and paid vacation. However it was clear that Amy thought the top benefit of working for the ministry was working for Malfoy. She gave him a billion watt smile and throaty sexy greeting, stepping entirely too close to him for working conditions. Really! Couldn’t they keep their sordid little thing out of the office when she was in it?
Draco accepted the pile of reports she had brought in and gave her his patented smoldering look. His I’m so sexy I don’t even have to try look. The poor girl about feinted. Really, he ought to tone that down for the obviously smitten. “Kelly kitten, you know I’m in a meeting with Miss Granger, is this an emergency?”
Her nametag said Amy. Not Kelly and certainly not Kitten. Pig.
Hermione frowned and looked away. She didn’t know what it was about Draco but he brought out the most horrific uncharitable thoughts in her. She wasn’t normally so so…combative. It was disturbing that one person could have such an unbalancing effect on her equilibrium. Very disturbing. The poor girl wilted under the weight of him not knowing her name but he didn’t even deign to notice. He was too busy pursuing the documents that she had brought. She was clearly dismissed but pressed on. A new element coming into her breathlessness.
“I know you said never ever to disturb you and Miss Granger,” The girl shot her an openly hostile look. Ooookay. No idea what that was about. “But Mr. Potter is on the phone. And surely you didn’t mean him when you said no calls.”
“I’ll call Potter back.”
“But Mr. Malfoy, It’s Harry Potter. The Harry Potter!”
“I know you are new here Kelsie, but Potter calls here at least once a week. It’s nothing to get all twisted up about. If you are going to feint when he pops in be sure to do so on your own time.” His apathetic meanness finally penetrated her bubbly core and she made a much less simpering exit.
Which left 6’2” of beautiful male, perched on the edge of a desk rather precariously, to focus completely on her. She blinked as his silver eyes zeroed in on her with alarming intensity. He always gave her his full and complete attention. It made her nervous. Not because she couldn’t handle all that sizzling energy directed at her, she could handle whatever he dished out, but because it implied he perceived her as a threat. He was casually dismissive of the entire human race, except for her. Something about her put him off balance enough to pay attention. It also made her want to look in a mirror and figure out what on earth he was staring at.
“Her name is Amy.”
“I know that. She wants in my pants. If I’m friendly with her I’ll have her throwing herself at me.”
“Isn’t that why you hired her?” Hermione asked, without even trying to hide her confusion from him. Sometimes he said the most unexpected things.
He gave her a look, running his hand through shiny blond locks that granted the intrusion and then fell back into place perfectly. Hermione hated his perfect hair. It couldn’t look rumpled if he tried. Sod.
“You really do think the worst of me don’t you?” She opened her mouth to apologize but he held up a forestalling hand, placing the reports on the desk by his side. “No don’t answer that. I hired her because she is Crabbe’s sister and very capable. Her ambitions to be the next Mrs. Malfoy aside.”
“She’s very pretty.” Hermione tried to take the words back. She couldn’t believe they were talking about this. As head of S.P.E.W she was here to lobby for Elf rights, not gossip about his love life like they were best girlfriends. She was especially uncomfortable since Ginny Weasley was the closest thing that she had ever had to a best girlfriend and with the whole Voldemort thing there hadn’t been a whole lot of girly chatter.
“There’s someone else.”
Those three words felt like a swift kick to her midsection and she tried not to visibly flinch. She hadn’t known he was seeing anyone seriously. Not that she cared. She didn’t. But he had always been single…unattainable…She didn’t know why it mattered. “Oh. Lucky girl.”

“I doubt she sees it that way. Girl can hardly stand to breathe the same air as me. She thinks I’m the scum of the earth.” The confession that he wasn’t with her did nothing to loosen the tight band around her chest. But she forced a smile and a wounding comment. It was their way, and she needed to get out of there so she could dissect her feelings.
“Well at least she’s got good taste, though that doesn’t bode well for you. Now about my proposal, if you could at least read it over.”
“Hermione,” She gave him her best Head Girl glare but he pressed on. What was with the first name basis all of a sudden? “I know you don’t want to hear this but you are trampling on House Elves rights just as much as their owners.”
WHAT!
She gasped in outrage, and opened her mouth to tell him just what she thought of his idiotic comments! But his hand came out and pressed two fingers to her lips to stop her. His touch shocked her into silence. And for a heartbeat she thought about opening her mouth, pulling his finger inside. Before she remembered that she was furious.
“You are trying to force the House Elves to be free. Their owners are trying to force them to be slaves. Freedom means they get to choose, Granger. Not you and not someone else. You’ve given them the choice, now it’s up to them. Those slaves are free, because they are right where they want to be.”
He removed his fingers and she could have spoken. But for once she was speechless. She had never thought about it that way. She was thrown for yet another loop when he reached out and tugged on one of her curls. She realized suddenly just how close to her he was, just inches away, staring at her with all that bottled intensity. “I’ve never seen hair like yours before.” He pulled it strait, running his hand down the length before releasing it, the curl springing back to its original position. “It’s softer than I thought it would be.”
There was something in his eyes; something in the way he spoke that was unexpected and different. Something that put her off balance, and for a heartbeat she was sure that he was going to kiss her. He shifted on the desk and she panicked. “Uhm, I’m late for my lunch date with Ginny. I’ll be back to discuss this another time.”
Her voice was breathy and high pitched, and he gave her one of those slow knowing smiles even as she backed away. “No need to make an appointment Hermione, my door is always open.”
-----
“I don’t know what I was thinking, Ginny. Really, Draco Malfoy kiss me? It would be like snow in July. It must have just been shock. I don’t know why I thought that.”
Ginny took a slow sip of her tea and thought her words over carefully. Then she decided that she had been dancing around the issue long enough and something needed to be said. Hermione would never see it on her own. “Are you blind?”
“Excuse me?” Hermione looked flabbergasted but Ginny pressed on.
“You may be too naïve to notice they way he stares at you. Like he wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the only woman in the room. You may not notice the fact that he hasn’t seriously dated anyone since he joined the order. You might not have noticed that the guys who show any interest in you at all suddenly lose your number and never call you. But even you must know how weird it is that you have complete access to his office.”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Come on Hermione. Draco Malfoy is the Minister of Magic. How many other lobbyists have an open invitation to his office? He sees you like twice a week. Do you think he gives the same time to environmentalists? Or anyone for that matter. Luna Lovegood requested an audience with him six months ago. She just received a date and time. Three months from now.”
“Well that’s because Luna’s writing a report for that newspaper of her dads. She’s lucky Draco is seeing her at all.”
“Draco?”
“What about him?”
“You used his first name.”
“I did not.” Hermione’s blush was adorable. And frustrating. They just needed a gentle shove.
“Look Hermione, just admit that you like him and you are using this whole House Elf thing as an excuse to see him. Everyone knows already. Even Ron.”
“I do not like Draco Malfoy! He is a bigoted, arrogant, ass. And I don’t care how gorgeous he is, a girl just has to have standards.” The haughty toss of her head might have thrown Ron and Harry off the scent but Ginny knew better.
“He used to be a bigoted ass. I’ll admit he’s still arrogant but not without reason. He’s the youngest Minister of Magic in about three centuries, a war hero, sole heir to the Malfoy name and fortune, not to mention…how did you put it…gorgeous.”
“Did I tell you what he said to me? He said that I was walking on Elf rights, by demanding he set them all free. He said that it was their choice now and that I’m trying to take away their right to be slaves.” She gave a disgusted snort. “I can’t believe he had the nerve to insinuate that I had anything other than Elf rights on my mind. No one wants to be a slave, they just don’t know any better.”
Ginny secretly cheered Malfoy for saying it. Someone certainly needed to. But Ginny was on to Hermione, queen of misdirection. “Don’t change the subject. Admit that you find him attractive.”
“You’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to find him physically attractive. It’s his personality I find repulsive.”
Ginny allowed herself a small smile and a sip of her tea, signaling the waiter for their check. “He’s funny, and charming, and intelligent. You have to admit that.”
“He’s sarcastic and dry. Not funny. Ron is funny.”
“You never found any of the Weasley brothers remotely funny so don’t even go there. You like that biting sarcastic humor. You repeat things he said all the time.”
Her mouth opened and closed at least twice. “I do not.”
“Malfoy said this, Malfoy said that. You’re like a broken record.”
“Look,” She sighed and avoided Ginny’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Draco has absolutely no interest in me. I’m an annoying know-it-all and he’s spent years teasing me. So whatever you think you see when he looks at me, it’s all in your imagination.”
“Don’t you dare put yourself down Hermione Granger! You’re an intelligent beautiful woman and any guy would be lucky to have you. And I’m not imagining it. He wants you. He has for a long time.”
“If you’re so convinced that Draco Malfoy wants me so bad, then how come he’s never once made a move on me? Explain that miss Ginny Weasley.”
“Because he is as blind as you are. He thinks you can’t stand him. You try it Hermione. Give him a green light signal, and he’ll make his move. Just you try it.”
-----
Hermione paced around her bedroom. She needed to be in bed. She had to be a work at 8:00. But she couldn’t seem to sit still. Draco Malfoy so did not want to kiss her. It had been her imagination. But she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Had he really leaned in? Was that just her embellishing the moment? She wished she had a pensieve.
She just had to settle this thing tonight. Or she would never be able to go to sleep. She pulled on muggle jeans and a sweater and threw her hair up in a pony tail. She passed a mirror in the hall and paused. She looked like a frumpy housewife. It wouldn’t hurt to take a shower.
Forty minutes later she still looked like a frumpy housewife. But her hair was clean and her panties matched her bra and really that was the most he could expect from her.
She was nervous. She couldn’t believe that she was nervous. She had nothing to be nervous about. She just wanted to get this House Elf thing settled tonight. He wouldn’t read anything into it. He knew how she was. But she’d never been to the manor. Never. Maybe he was in bed. Maybe she should wait till in the morning. The thought of a restless night steeled her backbone and she apparated to Malfoy Manor.
It was just as imposing as it was in pictures. But still she pressed on. Walking from the apparation point to the front door and fearlessly ringing the chime. She fidgeted and waited and fidgeted some more. She was trying to decide whether to ring the bell again or run when the heavy door swung open.
She had expected a butler, a maid, an elf. She certainly hadn’t expected a bare-chested, tousled looking Draco Malfoy. He apparently hadn’t expected her either. “Hermione! What are you doing here?”
“Well,” He was so broad shouldered, his skin looked so smooth, pulled taut over muscle and bone. “I couldn’t sleep. Not until we’ve hammered out this whole Elf thing. I’m just all worked up over it….” She wet her lips with a suddenly dry tongue. “Uhm…shouldn’t someone else be answering your door?”
“At four O’clock in the morning? My servants are in bed.” She could feel a blush spreading over her cheeks; she hadn’t realized just how late it was. He stood aside for her “Please come in.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so uhm late, I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Hermione it’s late and cold, get your ass in here.”
Hermione found herself walking across the threshold against her better judgment. Her legs felt like jello and her heart was racing alarmingly faster and faster as her feet brought her closer to Malfoy. He towered over her, and instead of feeling intimidated it made her feel small and girlish. Not something a 5’7 woman often felt. Seeing him with rustled hair, sleepy eyed and undressed just put her off balance. It made him more real. Reminded her of the boys. But she had never wanted to reach out and touch the boys. She had an insane desire to run her hand down the length of his chest. Hook her arm around his waist, pull him close. Lift her lips for a kiss. Ginny had clearly warped her mind.
“Have a brandy with me?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little early for alcohol?”
“Or late, depending on how you look at it.”
Did he have to argue with everything she said? But in a way it made her feel better. Put her back on familiar ground. Arguing with him was something she had done for years. That she knew how to do.
“But you’ve already been to bed, so it’s early for you.”
“You haven’t been to bed?” He ran a hand through his hair, and it fell into some sort of order. If only she had it that easy. If only she could just organize her thoughts as easily as he organized his hair.
“I told you I couldn’t sleep.”
“So what you mean to say is that you were tossing and turning in your sheets thinking about me?”
“That isn’t what I said!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Ginny’s parting statement rang in her mind. But she had no idea how to go about giving a green light, or a yellow light or any other kind of light. She just didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing.
“You’re welcome here Hermione, at any hour.” He took a step nearer to her, so that he was just a foot from her. Close enough that she could feel the air he stirred with his breath. Close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. She lowered her eyes, watching the rise and fall of his chest with his easy steady breathing. Wasn’t he nervous at all? “However, I find it hard to believe that you came knocking on my door at this hour to discuss House Elves. Why don’t you tell me why you are really here?”
She looked up at him. His eyes had taken on a slight glow in the darkness and she felt she might drown in them. It was getting harder to breathe. What would he do if she stepped closer, touched his hair the way that he had hers, tilted her head up in invitation? She was an attractive intelligent woman. She could do this, initiate romance. It didn’t always have to be the man. Equal rights and all that Jazz. “Uhm, a Brandy sounds good.”
-----
Draco could hardly breathe. She was here, in his foyer. All jittery and fidgety. Without the cloak of work and responsibility that she usually wore like a mantle. Her hair was wet, her skin pink from being freshly washed. She had applied lip-gloss and nothing else. He’d been dreaming of her, and he wanted to pinch himself to see if he was sleepwalking. He must be going insane. Hermione Granger was never nervous. Never off balance. But she was wringing her hands and glancing around. So he led her to his study, and rattled off some historical facts about the Manor as they walked to calm her.
It had the desired effect. Almost immediately she was firing off questions, synapses in her brain going off like mad. He could just see her curiosity as she peered down corridors and looked longingly at closed doors. He opened the door to the study and allowed himself to place a hand on the small of her back to guide her in. Perfectly acceptable that. Perfectly proper. Did he imagine a shiver at his touch? Did he wish for it so hard that he was seeing only what he wanted to see? “The study was re-done in the early 1800’s. The crown molding, the paneling, the floors.”
“Is this hand carved,” she asked, running her hand along the natural sanded paneling. It had been etched with woodland creatures, deer, rabbits, and other wildlife. “It’s quite beautiful.”
“I forget the artist,” He said, pouring two shots into heavy glass decanters with as steady hand as he could manage. He couldn’t count the times he’d pictured her here. On his desk, lips swollen from his kisses, arms welcoming him close. She was far more likely to slap him cross-eyed and sue him. But then again she was here. Freshly showered, still wet. He adjusted his pants while her back was turned. “There should be a signature there somewhere.”
She turned, her eyes aglow with the light of discovery. She took her glass from him, and he leaned casually up against his desk to hide his shaking legs. “I bet this old place is full of antiques and art.”
“I could give you a tour if you like. It would take several days to explore the entire house. But we could start with the library.”
Her heart shaped face lit up at the word ‘library’ and he took a deep sip of his Brandy. It burned on the way down, creating warmth in the ice pit that had become his stomach.
“Oh, that would be lovely. I bet you have books here that can’t be found anywhere else.”
He took another slow taste of alcohol. Courage in a shot. If he was dreaming he’d make damn sure that it was a good one. “I imagine that there are. It’s two stories of shelves. I hesitate to take you there. You’d be lost for days and no doubt your mates would assume I’d kidnapped you and burn down the manor.”
He set the glass down and took a step nearer to her. Careful to conceal the embarrassing unsteadiness of his legs. He covered his nervousness with a familiar smirk, hiding behind his usual arrogance. “Our library makes Hogwarts look like the children’s section at the public London library.”
She frowned, anger flickering across her lovely features at his slur on her beloved Hogwarts. “No doubt full of dark magic. Hogwarts headmasters saw no need to fill their halls with such devilry.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Hermione. Old magic isn’t necessarily dark magic. Just feared magic. People often fear what they don’t understand.”
She took a step nearer to him, and he could smell the light floral scent of her shampoo. Her tiny hands came up to frame her slender waist. “After three years of war I have a perfect understanding of your dark magic.”
“My dark magic, mistress? I believe I used quite a bit of dark magic in aid of your cause.”
Her eyes flashed up at him. Her anger was palatable in the room, simmering between them. The air in his lungs felt heavier than it should. It was an effort to draw the thick substance into his lungs, and yet at the same time his breathing quickened along with his heart when she stepped into the realm of his personal space. Was it just his imagination, when she tilted her face up so she could look him in the eyes? Or did her breath quicken as well?
“You named it your cause as well when you came to us.”
“So I did.” And then he kissed her. He knew she would strike him. Scream bloody murder. Kick him in the shins and fly from his house. He was fully aware that within the hour Potter and Weasley would storm his walls to seek retribution. He didn’t care. He didn’t care because temptation had eyes that sung to his soul. Consequences be damned.

Her lips were softer than he had even imagined. And when the parted on a gasp he took advantage and deepened their kiss. He was an unpardonable bastard but he used her moment of shock to take full license with her body. Pulling her close and burying his hands in her hair.
-----
Oh Lord! He was kissing her. Hermione had one, maybe two moments of complete shock before he gathered her close and tilted his mouth to kiss her better. He tasted like that foul concoction he had poured for her, but somehow the strong brew tasted better on his tongue.
He must think I’m a complete novice.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back with everything she had. There was no way that she would let him tease her about this. She was going to knock him out of the water. When he left this room it would be on shaky legs with wide disbelieving eyes.
His hand slid to her ass, caressing her boldly and she let out a breathy moan. He smiled into their kiss, nipping her bottom lip and rolling his hips against her. Arrogant git. She wrapped her leg around his calf and pulled him more sharply to her body, rolling her own hips and delighted in his own shuddered reaction. Ha, take that Malfoy.
He lifted his head, giving her a slow knowing smile, before spinning them around and pressing her up against the wall. He bent his head, slowly, deliberately to her neck. Against her will her head fell back in invitation and he gave a low chuckle before placing wet sucking kisses along her collarbone that had her shaking and clutching at his forearms to keep her balance.
She fumbled for a moment, to get her hands free so she could touch firm hot flesh. He gasped at the unexpected contact and Hermione counted that as a point to her team. Running her hands boldly up his heaving chest and then pinching his nipples gently before trailing her fingernails back the way she came. She left gooseflesh in her wake and he shuddered hungrily, sucking harder on her throat underneath her ear. He was no match for her.
His hand slid again down her body, over her hip, her thigh, down to the back of her knee. He pulled her leg up over his hip, causing her skirt to ride up. He kissed her on the mouth again, rolling his hips against her slowly, and then thrusting rhythmically to the beat of his tongue in her mouth.
“You feel that? How much I want you?”
Her answer much to her shame was an incoherent moan. She was in over her head. But Hermione Granger was never one to admit defeat. So she pulled roughly at his pants causing his hand to skid up her thigh as he lost his balance slightly. Good. She liked him being off balance, just the way that she felt. She tugged harder and he released her so she could pull the rich fabric over his hips, and shove it down his thighs. He stepped loose and sent the garment flying with a flick of his foot and not an ounce of modesty. She’d have to keep him distracted because a month of practice would never have her that nonchalant about being nude.
Grasping her resolve she allows her gaze to travel down. The age old question is answered in that moment. Boxes or Briefs? She’d be able to sell the information for hundreds of dollars at auction. Draco Malfoy wears tightie whities and they look damn delicious. The thought brings to the forefront of her mind that his choice of undergarments was probably public knowledge, as often as he got around. Her courage faltered slightly.
He must have seen something in her eyes, because one of those irritating smirks she knew so well curved the swell of his lips. He raised one hand and deliberately undid one, two, three buttons on her sensible white blouse. “Too much for you Granger?”
“In your dreams!”
He finds something about that statement amusing and lets out another chuckle, and undoes another button on her blouse. She lets him unbutton every small pearl fastening with deliberate slowness. She could have been out of the garment in a heartbeat. Kissing him to cover the heat in her face. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he made her in any way nervous. Let him do his worst. She would hold onto her pride, with her fingernails if need be.
He pulls the material apart, pushing it down over her shoulders and letting it her blouse fall to the floor. He makes no attempt to protect her modesty, even if he must feel the heat coming off her face. He looks, cupping her breasts in his hand, and flicking a hard nipple with his thumb. It was standing at attention through the fabric of her pale blue bra. She was so glad she hadn’t worn green.
“Satisfied?”
“I haven’t even begun to be satisfied.”
And then he kissed her. It was an incredible relief to be able to get caught back up in the moment. In the way he tasted and the way he smelled, and the way he touched her. She matched his boldness move for move, not letting him take the advantage for more than a few breathless moments at a time.
His hands were everywhere, and she swallowed as many moans and cries as she let escape. She was only slightly mollified by his equally carnal sounds of pleasure in the silence of the room. She wished some music was playing. To cover the harsh panting sound of her breath, even if it was layered over with his own labored breathing.
The sound of the zipper on the back of her skirt was startling and almost brought her back to her senses. What on earth was she doing? He pushed the fabric down over her hips, caressing them boldly at the same time. Before lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips to keep her balance in this ungainly position and she was rewarded with a shudder and hands that gripped her far too tight.
He set her bum on his desk and she shivered at the cold material on her thighs. He felt her shiver and ran his warm bold hands down over her hips, down her thighs and back up again. She countered by using her legs to pull him more firmly into the V of her thighs and scooting closer to the edge of the desk. She wasn’t a virgin, but she blushed like one at the feel of his rock hard bulge pressing up against her intimate parts.
“Did you wear this for me?” His voice was husky and low, a gravely element to it that she had never heard from him before. He sounded….naughty.
“Hardly.” Her own voice had an unfamiliar quality to it.
“Did you think of me when you put it on?” He undid the clasp at the front, letting her breasts loose and pushed the straps off her shoulders removing her bra completely before he cupped her with his hands.
“You’re Barmy.” She whispered breathlessly, but she arched back pressing herself more firmly into his hands, rubbing against him intimately with boldness that she knew shocked him. Hell, she was shocking herself. He pushed her back further so he could bend and take one extended nipple in his mouth, brushing his thumb over the other and bracing her weight on his forearm.
She countered by using the balance he provided her with to hook her feet in his briefs and shove them down. Knowing even as she did it that she was asking for more than she had bargained for. But at the same time unable to back down from the challenge.
“You should have worn green.” He gave her one of those cocky grins of his. That self satisfied smirk that made her want to slap him. She gave him a dirty look even as he sunk to his knees. His position was a dead giveaway to his intensions, and she was definitely not comfortable with even the thought of it. But there was something knowing in his eyes, as if he could sense her panic. So when his hands slid along her thighs, to her hips, to the straps at her blue underwear she lifted her bum off the desk, bracing her feet on his body, so he could pull off her knickers.
This is insane, I’m insane, I might die of embarrassment. The thoughts in her head echoed and chased each other around. But she really felt no room for negotiation, backing down, and admittance to nervousness. But she couldn’t help the throaty sound of desire, and her hips involuntary jerk when he went from kissing her thighs, to a warm wet tongue being where it had no business being.
So that’s why everyone always talked about it.
She’d pay him back for this. Ten fold. He wouldn’t be able to walk straight. And God Almighty Christ in Heaven that felt good.
Having never actually experienced an orgasm with another person, to say she was shocked when one washed over her like breaking waves would have been a massive understatement. It was the truth that he left her shaking and gasping for air, for several long seconds after it was over
She wanted to get up, repay the favor, let him know what she was about. But he used his hands to still her when she would have gotten up.
“Not right now, right now I want to be inside you.”
Who was she to deny a man what he wanted?
But still he didn’t take her right away. He seemed to know how sensitive she was and spent a few minutes just running his hands up and down her thighs, over her calves, along her feet. He rose to his feet, kissed her neck, her ear, before her mouth.
You’re letting him win. A voice inside her head reminded her and she ran her hands over his shoulders, pulling him close to her, rocking her hips. The steady motion of naked flesh on flesh made her want to feel more and she decided not to wait on him. It wasn’t like he was in charge anyway, so she reached between their bodies to guide him inside, bracing her weight with her thighs on his hips.
It was everything she had expected, but so much more. Her previous experiences had been a little cold. Despite his chilly personality there was nothing cold about sex with Draco Malfoy. He exuded heat. Hot scorching touches that caressed her hips and pulled her into his rhythm. Hot body heat mixing with hers. Smoldering kisses that left her breathless.
The friction was delicious.
The way he rubbed firmly against her with every stroke stimulated her clitoris in a way she hadn’t experienced during sex. Her body cried out for more contact and she was pulling him closer, rocking faster. Who was this out of control woman? It wasn’t her. She wasn’t this woman holding onto Draco Malfoy, writhing against him, letting out moans and sighs of pleasure. She was not this wanton woman.
Right now it didn’t even matter.
She knew she was going to hate herself later, but if he quit she would die. “Please don’t stop…” She wanted to call the words back even as she said them but then she was coming undone and there was nothing but the friction, and his kisses, and his smooth skin under her hands. She was dying anyway.
-----
It was official. He was dying. Hermione Granger was in his arms. Not only in his arms, but naked in his arms. And she felt as good as he had always known she would.
Better.
But he couldn’t handle it. He was only going to last five bloody minutes. Like some randy schoolboy. On the most important shag of his life. He closed his eyes. She just looked too good, straddling his cock, propped up on his desk. And then she clutched at his shoulders, letting out a higher pitched sound. Grinding almost desperately…Oh thank God!
He only lasted two strokes after her, and it was a miracle at that length. He’d make it up to her. He’d fuck her all night long. Make her scream and beg and cum over and over again. He’d make sure that she would never ever forget him.
He clung to her for a few moments. In the post coital bliss. Where he could kiss her temple, her neck, without the sexual haze overshadowing the texture of her skin. Her taste. “Let’s take this upstairs.” He whispered against her hair. Anxious to get her comfortable. Laid out where he could pursue her body at his leisure.
But she was stiffening in his arms, pulling back a bit. “Uhm, It’s actually kind of late, and I’ve got an early Breakfast Awards Ceremony…”
She started to pull away, already reaching for her things.
For a heartbeat he was angry and tried to think of something crude to say. Like Thanks for the Shag. Or See you Next Time. But then he got a glimpse of her face, of the fear in her eyes, and he knew that he had to be the one to take a stand this time. That if he wanted this, he would have to fight for it.
He was terrified.
But he gripped her arms anyway.
“Don’t do this. Don’t run away.”
She looked up at him and there was a faint shimmer of tears, and a residual anger he didn’t understand. She pulled herself free of him.
“I’m not running. I never run. I’m just tired.”
“Spend the night with me then.” She wavered, her soft bottom lip coming in between her teeth like it does when she’s thinking real hard. But she was already shaking her head.
“Damn it Hermione. I don’t know the right things to say. This all happened to fast. But I know I’ve wanted this forever and I’m not willing to let you go just because I screwed things up and rushed you.”
She opened up her mouth to argue but he rushed on, words tumbling one over the other in his rush to get them out. And he knew his father was turning in his grave at his artlessness but he couldn’t help it. If he stopped for even a second of breath he’d never get it out.
“I’m not a romantic. I don’t know how to write you poetry, and I’ll probably never serenade you when I’m drunk. I’ll probably say and do stupid things and make you screaming mad at me. Then I’ll be an ass about it and you won’t talk to me for a week. Our friends won’t get along. The papers will eat us alive.”
He took a shuddering breath and her hands in his. “But I know I want this. I might have always wanted this. I will respect you. I will honor you. And I will work hard to make this work. Because you honestly mean the world to me….Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask. Please?”
The stretched out silence was killing him. But he refused to say anything else. To beg. Malfoy’s simply did not beg.
“You probably have a king size bed upstairs.”
“I have an obscenely oversized waterbed. With satin sheets and dozens of huge fluffy pillows.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll spend the night with me.”
She nodded and he smiled. Here’s to hope. And he kissed her again.
-----
Ginny Weasley ignored the pecking on her window for a good five minutes. Eventually Harry, bitching and moaning about it like a five year old, got up to let the owl in.
“It’s for you,” He said, tossing the unopened correspondence on her face and climbing back into bed. She gave him a look, and started to set the letter aside. But then she saw who it was from and decided to open it right away.
It began,
Dear Ginny,
You are never going to believe what happened to me last night…”
Despite Hermione’s droning on about House Elves, French paneling, and Egyptian armor it was quite clear what the resident little miss had been up to. Despite the disappointing lack of details. Oh well she’d get them later.
Right now, she had some collecting to do. January had been her month in the betting pool. She had just known the chilly weather would bring out the spicy romance. So what if she had nudged the pair along a bit. She deserved a new pair of robes and shoes to match.
“Pay up Harry,” She chirped happily. “Our girl has been walking on the wild side with a certain albino.”
He handed over twenty Galleons.
“Ron’s going to have kittens.”
“Not till he pays up.” She replied, suddenly quite awake and eager to make the rounds.

[end]

STORY REQUEST

BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: angsty UST but with a happy ending. Ends with a cute twist, if possible.

What rating would you prefer? Any

Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): NC, incest, BDSM, extreme violence or kinkiness

Final Author Notes: Enjoy
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Not Exactly the Oval Office