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Voyeur	By : Nocturne Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 6028 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I do not own the Harry Potter fandom, nor do I make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Voyeur
- 1
Day 1
The air was brisk and bit through her cloak. There were eyes on her back, as she strolled through the Pureblood community, but Hermione paid them no mind. She was there for a meeting, a vital meeting with someone of dire importance. Her eyes drifted to the quaint café situated in the middle of town, and without a second thought, the young woman crossed the street and pushed through the glass door. She heard a mixture of door chimes, clinking china and in-depth gossip. The café was called Grapevine, and for good reason.
A pair of elderly women, dressed to the nines in the latest European fashion, eyed her up and down, whispering to one another about the state of her robes and hair, and probably everything else to do with her aesthetic. Hermione had changed a lot since Hogwarts, but her lack of interest in clothing and trends remained rock solid. She saw no relevance in keeping up with fashion and gossip. There were real problems in the world, problems with which she had to deal on a daily, if not hourly, basis. It was in her job description to care about those things, being an Auror and all.
“Miss Granger,” someone called out, waving to her from the other end of the café. It was a man, and although his suit was finely tailored and his facial hair was groomed to perfection, he was nothing like his fellow townspeople.
Hermione smiled, bowing her head in salutation, as she made her way to his table. “I apologize for my tardiness,” she offered, taking a seat opposite him. “I tried to get here as soon as possible, but the office was backed up like you wouldn’t believe.”
The man brushed her explanation aside. “Nonsense. I’ve only been waiting a moment,” he recounted. “I am so glad to meet you, Miss Granger. My colleagues have told me great things.”
She blushed, shrinking a little in her seat. “It’s my pleasure, sir. I’ve heard a great deal about you, as well.”
“I had my day,” he nodded, thinking back to the height of his career. “Alas, I am now old and withered, with only a few cases to my name.”
Hermione’s mouth gaped wide open. “Pardon my boldness, sir, but you’re a legend in the Auror community. I – I wouldn’t have considered joining the Office, had I not read about the Grindelwald case.”
“You are too kind,” the man told her, stirring sugar into his tea. “And quite the investigative mind, unless my sources are mistaken.”
“I try my best,” she offered. “But – erm – it’s been difficult these past few months, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Ah – yes.” He bobbed his head up and down, undoubtedly recalling the latest news reports. It was all over the media, on every page of every news outlet throughout Europe. “The Muggle-born killings. Poor state of affairs, if you ask me.”
Hermione shared this sentiment. “I agree, sir.”
“Please, Miss Granger, call me Elphias. I insist.”
Her eyes widened a moment, but Hermione settled with a polite nod. A waitress came by with another cup of tea, placing it in front of her and an easy silence fell over the table, as Hermione adjusted it to her preference. She wasn’t much of a tea drinker, much to her homeland’s dismay, but when the legendary Elphias Doge invites you to afternoon tea, you accept with a smile on your face. She was in the presence of the only man whom she held at a similar regard to the late Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, a man who also happened to be an old friend of Dumbledore’s. They were school chums from Hogwarts, and remained close acquaintances throughout adulthood.
The pair had plans to travel the world together upon graduation, but emergency called when Dumbledore’s mother passed away shortly before his departure. Elphias went on without him, leaving Albus to look after his family and soon after, form an ever-infamous alliance with the one and only Gellert Grindelwald. Grindelwald grew to be the darkest, most deranged wizard of his time, succeeded by none other than Tom Riddle.
Elphias had returned to join the Auror Office, and made it his personal mission to relieve the world of Grindelwald. He made a name for himself with this particular case, and would forever be remembered as one of the greatest Aurors known to England. In his old age, he gained a position in the Wizengamot and remained there ever since.
Hermione had met him briefly during the Second Wizarding War, but her attention had been thwarted by concern over her best friend, whose life was on the line. The war, of course, had ended in their favour, and she was now a grown woman with bills to pay and an entire division of the Auror Office to overlook. It struck her as odd when Harry told her Elphias Doge owled in for a meeting with her, but she was excited nonetheless.
“I trust you know this meeting is more than afternoon tea,” Elphias started, setting down his cup, and starting in on some of the biscuits.
Hermione nodded, almost uncontrollably. “S – Sorry for my conduct. I just – I’m quite nervous.”
“Nervous?” he repeated, chuckling. “Bollocks. In all my life, I’ve only been nervous around one person.”
“Who was that, sir?”
Elphias smiled fondly, mostly to himself. “Nobody special,” he fibbed, falling back to reality. “The point is, you’re a bright witch with a bright future, which is why I have chosen you for this particular case.”
Hermione fell back in the conversation, only slightly so. Her thoughts traveled to the last word. “Case?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I have good ties within the Auror community, as I’m sure you know. There has been an on-going investigation with regards to the Muggle-born killings. The investigation, of course has led nowhere these past few months, which prompted the Head of the Auror Office to contact yours truly for assistance.”
“Harry contacted you?” Hermione asked, perplexed. “Pardon me, sir, but you’re no longer within jurisdiction to be investigating anyone.”
Doge nodded, as though he had hoped she would say that. “Which makes this particular meeting especially covert.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, sir. What are you trying to say?”
Elphias drank the remainder of his tea and proceeded to slowly wipe his hands on a napkin, before having a merry look around the café, whispering something under his breath at an almost inaudible volume. “I have it on good authority that a colleague of yours is tied to the Muggle-born killings. I called you here to investigate him and report back to me whenever necessary.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, practically full circles. “I could lose my job for malpractice, if anyone finds out.”
“I suppose that means you need to keep a low profile and go on holiday for a week or two,” Elphias hinted, throwing her a look that told her everything she needed to know. “Do you understand now, Miss Granger?”
“I believe I do,” she spoke softly, thinking very harshly of what had been asked of her, under Harry’s watch no less.
Her position in the Auror Office was practically brand new. She hadn’t been there for a year, and already she had been asked to break rules and do exactly what she thought she had left behind, upon graduating Hogwarts. Part of her wanted to tear Harry a new arsehole for putting her into such an awkward position, but another part of her sought the thrill of working on a clandestine mission. It had been a long time since she took matters into her own hands, and to think hers was the name that the legendary Elphias Doge addressed his letter to, only added to the thrill.
“I – I’ll take that holiday,” Hermione decided, knowing she would later regret it, but paying no attention to that part of her conscience. “Perhaps America or South Africa, where nobody will for me.”
Elphias gave her a look of approval, mingled with an all-knowing sense of wisdom. “Very well,” he remarked, dabbing his lips with the napkin. “I will send you further instruction in an hour’s time. For now, we enjoy the scenery and prepare for an eventful winter.”
Her chest rose.
- - - - - - PAGE BREAK - - - - - -
Draco pounded back another shot of Firewhiskey. It became customary, for him to walk straight from the office to the pub. His life was in disarray since Astoria left him. She had thrown most of his belongings off the balcony of their shared flat, and banished him from showing his face in her presence until further notice. He had taken up residence on Blaise’s sofa, but even that wouldn’t last. Blaise’s girlfriend was a close friend of Astoria’s, and those girls were nothing if not faithful to one another.
He, on the other hand, hadn’t a faithful bone in his body. He’d been a wreck long before Astoria found out about his late night visits to one Gabrielle Delacour. Poor Astoria had found them in a mess of limbs and bed sheets on the eve of her anniversary to Draco, in their bed. They weren’t married, but the deceit was still there. He’d wronged her. He’d wronged her, and the worst part in all of it was that he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. His deceit ran deeper than flowers and chocolate, and a broken, yet heartfelt declaration of his love for her.
He did love her, more than he admitted to her or anyone else, but their love was flawed. It wasn’t pure or passionate. It was toxic and immobilizing. He sought comfort from Gabrielle, every weekend for nearly three months, and although his relationship with Astoria had been defective from the very beginning, it was ultimately the affair that had driven them to a place of no return.
Draco tossed back another drink, diverting his attention to the one place in his peripheral vision where another person sat down. The pub was usually filled with wizards in similar situations to him, drowning their sorrows in liquor and gambling, but that night there was another visitor. She was tall, leggy and astoundingly familiar.
The young man casually turned his head to the right and met eyes with a woman he hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. “Pansy Parkinson,” he addressed, eyeing her without the slightest regard for propriety. “You’re a long way from home.”
Parkinson took off her lush, designer gloves one finger at a time and set them on the counter. She was dressed in black from head to toe, wearing stiletto heels with a tight, knee-length peplum dress and a loose-fitting cloak overtop. She’d certainly grown since Hogwarts, in places that made Draco forget all about his troubles.
“I hear things are over between you and Astoria,” she started, speaking with a delicate sort of precision.
Draco fired back another drink, holding the empty shot glass close to his lips. “Right to the point.”
The witch smiled. “You know me. I don’t like to waste time.”
“How about a drink?” he offered, placing some coins on the counter and ordering their respective favourites. “Vodka neat for the lady, and another Firewhiskey for me.”
“I see you remember,” Parkinson acknowledged, placing her hand on his knee. “Tell me, Draco. How is it we lost touch all those years ago?”
Draco gave her a knowing look, slowly drinking his Firewhiskey this time around. “I seem to remember you dumping me after graduation,” he recalled, almost mockingly. “For some Durmstrang bloke, if I’m not mistaken. I believe he was arrested for embezzlement a few months back.”
She lifted her hand from his knee to her glass and savoured the drink, wiping the moisture from her bottom lip with the tip of her left index finger. It was always calculated with her, every move and every glance. “A girl’s allowed to explore her horizon,” Parkinson responded smartly. “Besides, I wasn’t ready for you then.”
The message was clear. Draco’s attention shifted to the modest curvature of the witch’s chest, and then to her long, toned legs. “What about now?” he asked.
Parkinson’s gaze drifted in his direction, and she smiled. “Is that a proposition?”
“You know exactly what it is,” Draco countered.
- - - - - - PAGE BREAK - - - - - -
Hermione swallowed hard. It’s not that she was a prude or anything. She had done her fair share of sexual exploration since graduation, mostly with Ronald but exploration nonetheless. It wasn’t the idea of sex that disturbed her. It was the idea of no-strings-attached, face-down-arse-up, breathless, heart pounding, sweat-dripping-down-your-back fucking that made her blush.
She set down her binoculars and glanced from side to side, as if she’d been taking a gander at pornographic material and her mother was about to walk in. It was daunting, really. She had never seen something so explicitly sexual in her life. The sex scenes in Muggle films didn’t do it justice. The real thing was…alarming. There was no love in it. It was just sex, just recreational sex between two consenting adults with no emotional attachment towards one another. Maybe hate, but definitely nothing else.
Her hands shakily raised the binoculars higher, and Hermione took another look through the window. It offered perfect view into a room situated on the highest floor of one of the most expensive hotels in the magical community, and she’d been assigned to spy on the current guest all night long. She figured the task was going to be boring, filled with nothing but a view of him reading and perhaps eating – masturbating, at the very most – but this particular task had turned out to be quite the opposite. She was, for lack of better words, a voyeur in his private affairs and the mere notion of it made her staggeringly uncomfortable.
It would have been all right, had she not known the young man on a personal basis, but Elphias Doge probably hadn’t considered those details when asking her to take part in the investigation. Hermione could hardly admit it to herself, but it was there, right through her binoculars. She was looking at Draco Malfoy – naked, tensed up, sweat-glistening-from-his-forehead Draco Malfoy – whilst he bent Pansy Parkinson over his king-sized bed and fucked her from behind.
Hermione folded one leg over the other and watched.
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Voyeur