Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Drinking Buddies	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25653 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the world of Harry Potter. I am not making profit off of this story. I am writing it for fun only.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
It wasn’t as if Hermione had really made plans with Ronald that evening. Not really, she told herself as she entered the tavern, warm air blowing up her face to counter the crisp cold from outside. So why had it hurt so bad when he had asked to go play wizard’s chess with Harry instead of coming over to see her? Maybe, she told herself, it was because things had been so rocky with Ron lately. Her job at the Ministry was demanding, and she knew she had thrown herself into her work lately… perhaps, that’s why Ron had chosen a night of drinking and board games with his best friend instead of a quiet evening watching Hermione sift through case numbers and sign off legalities. Ironic, she thought, considering that him turning away a night in had given her the need to go out.

The bar was packed for a Thursday night, and finding a place at a table was nearly impossible. Hermione settled on a stool at the bar top, bundling tighter in her winter jacket as she squeezed between two larger men to take her seat. There, she ordered two shots of fire whiskey and a butterbeer. The bartender, a pretty woman with short hair, gave her a quick smile and poured her the first shot, ignoring beckoning calls from some of the obnoxious, drunken bastards at the end. “First one’s on me, pretty lady,” The bartender winked, sliding the shot in front of Hermione.

“Oh.” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, realizing. “Oh! Oh, thank you.” Truly, this hadn’t been her first time being hit on by someone of the same gender, but the light never quite went off quick enough for Hermione to realize it was flirting until it was over. Not that she swung that way. But it was a flattering thing to know she was attractive enough to pull both genders.

Slowly, she brought the drink up to her lips and inhaled, taking in the cinnamon before she downed it whole. The burn wasn’t something she was used to, only drinking on occasion out with Ginny or at home with Ron and Harry to laugh at her drunken nonsense, but she welcomed it, because somehow she knew it her heart: her relationship was on its last leg.

She felt the man next to her shift in his seat, his meaty body brushing up against her side as he turned around and looked outwards towards the tables. “Well I’ll be damned. Malfoy! Good to see you, you rotten git!”

Hermione’s back tensed as she watched the bartender pour her a second shot, and she could feel her eyebrows furrow in frustration. Of all the nights, of all the taverns, in all of Hogsmeade, of course Draco Malfoy would show up at this one. It wasn’t enough that somehow he had passed enough of his OWLS to be accepted into a position at the Ministry, but that he would be interning in her department… She could barely stand to work with him the little she did at the office. Of course he had to ruin her nights out as well.

Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t notice her here. She secretly crossed her fingers and cradled her shot between her fingers.

“Crabbe?” She heard his voice, strong, sure, a little warn out, “What the Bloody Hell are you doing in Hogsmeade? Last I heard, Pansy was in labor.”

“Still is.” Crabbe shifted in his seat, bumping up against Hermione again. She wanted to say something, but to say something would give herself away. And she didn’t feel like putting up with Malfoy this evening. Not after all the whining he did on Tuesday about having to make copies. She had come so close to hexing him for complaining to the point of giving her a headache. No, she thought. Tonight was about getting drunk and convincing herself that she wouldn’t call Harry just to confirm Ron was over at his apartment, where he should be.

“Well, what are you doing here, then?” Malfoy’s voice was closer, so close she knew that if she leaned her head in any way but forward, he would surly notice her.

“Just had to get a shot of liquid courage before making my way home. She insisted on having a natural birth in our bathtub. Can you believe it? I’ll never be able to look at my bathroom the same way again.”

“Shall I buy you a round?”

“Nah, I’m off. Don’t want to be too tossed that I can’t ride my broom.” Crabbe shifted one last time, standing and leaving Hermione very vulnerable. She heard the two exchange farewells before her worst fears were confirmed as Malfoy slipped into Crabbe’s vacant swivel stool and ordered a glass of Dragon Barrel Brandy. Hermione was just about to reach for her wallet to pay and leave before any notice of her would prevail, but she made the mistake of lifting her head to ask for the check.

“Well, well. Do my eyes deceive me,” Malfoy leaned a pale cheek on his hand as he stared her down, “Or do I see the Hermione Granger drinking something other than a butterbeer?”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, cursing under her breath, then opened them, threw back the second shot, and slammed the shot glass forcefully onto the table. She tilted her head to the left and met Malfoy’s calculating grin. “When the occasion calls for it, I find that alcohol is a… well deserved escape from the reality.” She raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Malfoy, to what do I have the honor of your presence?” Her question was anything but sincere.

“Watch that quip, Granger, or you’ll cut my head off with just the tone.” A large glass slid its way across the table to him, filled to the brim with brown liquor. “I’m just enjoying a night to myself. You?”

Hermione didn’t like this banter, the drabble of meaningless conversation, so she said, “We don’t have to do this. I know we work together, and that’s less than tolerable, but if we’re out in public we don’t have to pretend that we’re chums, or that we’re even coworkers who can stand each other. So, I’ll just stick to my silent drinking, and you can stick to yours. Deal?”

Malfoy’s cool eyes studied hers for a moment before he shrugged, took his head off of his hand, and knocked back a good swig of his brandy. Hermione watched in silence as the liquid spilled down the back of his throat, causing the muscles to contract and extending his long, attractive neck. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, settled his glass down on the bar top, and glanced over at her. “It’s hard to pretend you don’t exist when you’re staring at me.”

Hermione blinked. Had she really been staring? She turned her eyes forward and muttered, “Sorry.”

“No need to be.” He smirked. “But now you truly have me curious –what is a goody two shoes like you doing in a bar? Never pegged you for the slumming sort.”

“I’m not slumming,” Hermione snapped, taking in a deep breath, “I’m just having some difficulties at home and I… why am I telling you this?” She shot him a look of contempt. “You don’t care about my life. You’re just asking to see if you can blackmail me with something.”

“Ooh, that hurt.” He jeered, mocking as he put his long fingers to his chin. “See? I think your words left a bruise.”

“Bugger off…” She heard the words, but couldn’t believe she said them. It was such a Ronald thing to say. Ronald… She was relieved when the bartender brought her the butterbeer. After a cool sip of the brew, she sighed. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Malfoy simply smirked again, perching his back against the counter to better look at her. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? Can’t say I’m used to you apologizing, let alone two in one night.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You’re right.” He rolled his head back, closing his eyes. “I don’t. But that isn’t going to stop me from asking.”

Hermione gripped her glass tighter in her fingers, staring down into the bubbling beer. The curls of her hair dangled dangerously above her drink. She wondered why Draco Malfoy would care to ask her why she was having such a hard day, and maybe it was the firewhiskey, but at the moment, she didn’t really care. In that moment, she needed to get her frustration out, and maybe Malfoy wasn’t the most ideal sounding board, but… “Ronald left me tonight.”

She watched him raise his eyebrows and whistle. “Dumped by a Weasley. That’s got to be an all time blow to the esteem.”

“What?” She raised her head. “No. Ron didn’t break up with me. He left me. We always have dinner on Thursdays, and instead he decided to go to Harry’s and I…”

“So you’re mad at him for hanging out with his mate?”

“No.” She turned her chair towards him, digging deep with her eyes to get her point across. She could see the silver flecks in his sky blue eyes as she spoke. “Every Thursday for the past two years, we’ve always had dinner. Maybe once or twice we’ve had to cancel because of work, or one of us being sick, but… but this time it was different. This time, he just… didn’t.”

Malfoy had every opportunity for a quip. She knew he probably had several lined up behind that tongue of his, just waiting to find the proper one to tear her down, but instead all that was said was, “Well, bugger him if he gives up on two years with the ‘brightest witch of our generation’ to spend time with Pot head.” He tilted his glass to her, downed the rest of his drink, and closed his eyes. There was something in him that she hadn’t noticed before; not at their time at Hogwarts or their time at work. He gave off a calm, a sadness that she never realized. It was so striking that she caught herself staring at him again and had to turn away and focus on her own drink.

“Sometimes, I think our relationship is going sour.” She spat out, unsure why but not really caring, “And then, there’s other times, when he brings me flowers or cleans my house. And I think ‘He must love me.’ Right? I mean, after two years-”

“After two years, you should already know the answer to that question, Granger. If you don’t, you have your answer right there.” Eyes still closed, Malfoy ran a hand through his blonde locks and inhaled. “Believe me when I say, if a man isn’t proving he wants you, he doesn’t.”

She didn’t know what came over her, but she reached over and touched his shoulder, startling him. She stared into his eyes, warmth in her cheeks, and said, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shrugged her arm off. “Don’t think I did you any favors by telling you that. It wasn’t meant to console you.”

“I know.” She nodded, embarrassed by her stray touch. She wasn’t accustomed to touching Malfoy in any way, and her affectionate tone had made the evening turn awkward quickly. “Sorry. I think the alcohol his going to my head.”

“If you apologize to me one more time, I’ll curse you. I swear to Merlin. It doesn’t feel right, coming from you. Like a House Elf who talks back.”

Hermione nodded, understanding, knowing that the last statement should have put a fire within her, but her head was swimming slightly, and she really enjoyed the taste of her butterbeer as it sloshed in the back of her throat. When she had drank her mug to the last drop, she looked up to find Malfoy gawking at her. “What?”

“Seeing you. Like this. It’s… odd.” His sharp face studied her own, as if he were peeling her back layer by layer with just his eyes. “I never really could stand you. Always the pompous, arrogant witch. But you, like this… Vulnerable. Drinking. I have to say, it’s a side that is quite tolerable.”

“Gee, Malfoy. Tell me how you really feel.” She narrowed her brown eyes.

“Draco.” He casually corrected her. “We work together, for Merlin’s sake.”

“I don’t like the thought of you calling me Hermione,” She shrugged. “And Draco.” She mulled the name around on her tongue, unsure if she liked the feel of it, but secretly knowing it wasn’t as bad as she had anticipated, “Draco makes it sound like we’re chums. We’re not.” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Aren’t we?” He mocked. “Working together. Having a drink after hours? Giving relationship advice? Sounds chummy to me.”

“I don’t know a thing about you outside of our time of work and school. You could be a serial rapist for all I know. I don’t get chummy with rapists.” The playful tone in her voice surprised even her. What was she doing, being friendly with Malfoy? This was the same man that years ago had teased her and enlarged her teeth to the size of a beaver’s at Hogwarts. The same man that nearly killed Dumbledore. The same man that, as a young teenage boy, had been given the opportunity to sell out Harry, Ron, and herself to the Death Eaters and hadn’t. Something stirred within her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Forgiveness.

“I can assure you,” Malfoy drawled in the same playful tone, “I am no rapist, ma’am.” His alcohol had reddened his cheeks, slurred his speech ever so slightly. He leaned over the bar top, closer to her, and whispered, “Care if I let you in on a little secret of mine?” Hermione found herself torn between being horrified and giggling. She settled with a dim smile. He continued. “I keep a stash of bourbon tucked under your desk. In case you’d ever irritate me enough to the point of framing you for drinking on the job.”

Hermione’s mouth fell agape, and it was in that moment that Malfoy leaned even closer, his hot breath against her ear. “The look on your face is… priceless, Granger.” The room started to spin. The loudness of the bar was all but muffled as Malfoy’s lips caressed so delicately on her jawline. Not a kiss. Not an accident. It was a deliberate brush of skin. His lips trailed up, as did his face, his nose sliding up her cheek as he pulled away and back over to his previous, seated, nonchalant position. Hermione was sure she wasn’t that intoxicated to imagine Malfoy’s lips graze her neck, but by the casual way in which he sat, one would never know. She stared at him, wide eyed, mouth still open, until she watched him pull out a wallet and throw some galleons onto the bar top. “Hers is on mine too, Merlene.”

“What?” Hermione snapped out of her trance, her head a little more level than before. “No, Draco, you don’t have to-“

He put a hand up to silence her and smirked. “Oh listen to that. You called me by my first name. Isn’t that sweet?” He stood up from his chair, stretched his long body, and yawned. “G’nite, Granger. See you at work tomorrow.” And with that he left the tavern, leaving Hermione in his wake.

---

The next morning, Hermione was relieved that her head didn’t throb with a hangover as she walked into the double-doors of her office and took a seat at her desk. Friday mornings meant no Malfoy, to which she was doubly relieved. She didn’t think she could look him in the eyes after spilling her soul out to him night before.

She worked diligently, only taking pause at her desk every now and again when she thought no one was looking to search for the alcohol planted to her desk by Malfoy. She hadn’t found any so far, so perhaps, she decided dully, Malfoy had been playing a cruel prank on her. Just to get close. Just to touch those pale lips ever so close to her throat. To tease her. To-

“What am I doing?” She whispered, scolding herself. “This is not appropriate for work.” And Ron. She didn’t have the luxury of thinking of last night, because to think of such things made her feel like she was betraying Ron. But was she? Was daydreaming about a coworker (no matter how vile he was) really cheating? She closed her eyes and tried to remember Malfoy’s smile, the way his throat contracted as hit threw back his alcohol, the way his lips felt so good as they brazed her skin.

“Hermione?”

Ron’s shaky voice was all she needed to snap back to reality. He was standing in the entry way of the doors, a coffee cup in one hand and a copy of The Daily Prophet tucked under his elbow. He had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept all night. “Hey… can we talk?”

Hermione’s heart plummeted. Whatever Ron had to say, she could tell it was bad news. She brushed down her skirt as she stood up, pretended to ruffle so some paperwork for a moment, and then walked to him as casually as she could. They walked out into the hallway, where the afternoon shift made their way through to their assigned duties. “Ronald, this is hardly the time or place to talk. Can it wait?”

Ron shook his head, eyes big and jaw tense. “I know you weren’t home last night.”

Hermione played with the hem of her skirt, as if had an imaginary tear that she could mend just by playing with it. “And if I wasn’t? It’s hardly any of your concern, seeing as how you were at Harry’s all night.” She watched his lip twitch. “You were at Harry’s, weren’t you?”

“I can explain.” Ron started, his coffee cup shaking in his hand to the point that Hermione reached up and took it from him. “Look, Harry got caught back on his Auror training, and… and I got invited out for drinks with Lavender-“

“You went to have drinks with Lavender?” Hermione strained to control the pitch of her voice, which climbed higher in octave with each word as she asked, “Lavender Brown? Your ex-girlfriend from school Lavender Brown? The very one you promised me after we graduated that you wouldn’t talk to anymore?”

“We work together, ‘Mione. I have to talk to her sometimes.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a streak of light blonde hair exit the elevator. Draco Malfoy was dressed lavishly, with his blue and silver pressed work robes, not a hem out of place. His face was worn, tired, but also content as he waved goodbye to a man dressed in purple robes and made his way towards the office. When his eyes caught hers, she could have sworn she saw a faint smile trace the corner of his lips, but it ceased immediately when it fell to the red-haired giant babbling on to her in rambled explanation.

“-working together, how do you expect us to not speak? I can’t very well-“

“Spell it out in smoke, if you have to,” Hermione interjected, tearing her eyes away from Malfoy, “But a promise is a promise, Ronald. And drinks? With her? I… I need time to process this.”

Hermione motioned to move, but Ron countered her and cut her off, remorse hidden in those pale blue eyes. Even his freckles looked saddened by her words. “It didn’t mean anything. She’s just a work friend. I did go to Harry’s, after, and I felt so guilty I came by your place after that, but you weren’t home.”

Malfoy took his sweet time entering the office, Hermione noticed; he took a sip from the hallway fountain and fiddled with his tie. It was harder to concentrate on Ron’s words with an audience. She sighed, bringing her thoughts back and gathering them up. What she said next was calculated. “You’re right. I wasn’t home. Because I, too, was out having drinks. With a coworker.”

“You were?” Ron’s eyebrows knitted together like a Weasley Christmas sweater. “You were out with friends, drinking? Without me?”

“The universe does not revolve around you, Ronald.” She crossed her arms. “And friends is stretching it. But,” She glanced over to Malfoy, just a glance, but it was enough to make Ron follow her gaze, “If you can converse with Lavender after work, then you shouldn’t be mad when I tell you I had drinks with Malfoy.”

The reaction she procured from Ronald was nothing short of glorious; his neck turned beet red, followed by his ears, and finally a dark pink tinge on his cheeks. It was obvious he was attempting not to yell as he said, “Malfoy? As in snot-nosed git from our graduating year Malfoy?”

“Yes.” Hermione said flatly.

Ron mulled it around in his head. “Is this some sort of twisted laugh?”

“No, Ronald.” The coffee cup in her hands tilted slightly, the contents threatening to spill if she didn’t contain her shaking body. “I went out last night and Malfoy and I passed the time drinking. Completely innocent. I’m sure, just like you and Lavender.” She put emphases on Lavender’s name as she shoved the coffee cup into his hand, spilling some hot brew on his robes. With a satisfied smile, she looked over to the unobserving Malfoy, still fiddling with non-existent dirt under his nails, and said, “Are you going to go to work or primp yourself all afternoon?”

“Ooh, tough call,” Malfoy smirked, glancing up to her, “I already have plenty of money, so unless you have something better to offer in that office…” He let his words trail off, sideways glancing at Ron, who was the color of a plum.

“How about the promise of not firing you?” Hermione quipped.

“I was done anyway.” Malfoy sauntered past Hermione and Ron, chin up and confident, and strolled into the office without a second thought. Ron’s hands shook so hard that the coffee was no longer a beverage but a new addition to his wardrobe.

“Fine, ‘Mione. You have your work chums, I’ll have mine.”

Hermione’s confidence boosted, she reached up and straightened his soggy tie. “I’m sure your relationship with Lavender is completely innocent. After all, who am I to tell you what to do? Now, if you don’t mind, Malfoy and I have loads of paperwork to sift through…” It was the icing on the cake to watch Ron’s ears turn the color of his hair. He nodded, coughed, and bent down to kiss her quickly on the forehead.

“See you tonight?” The stubbornness to not comment of Malfoy made his voice strain.

“I’m not really feeling like it. I might just go over to Harry’s and play wizard chess.” She knew the words cut deep, the sarcasm thick and blissful. Without another word, she cupped Ron’s crimson face, kissed his cheek, and left through the double doors to her office without a second glance. As the doors swung shut, she saw Malfoy just to her left, leaning up against the wall.

“It’s refreshing to see the world’s most cliché couple hanging on by a jealous thread,” He mused, scratching his chin. “Hope you didn’t mind the theatrics back there?”

“Is that why you hung back?” She chanced a smile, still high off of the realization that she had won this morning’s argument against Ronald. Not that it was very hard. Still satisfying.

“Couldn’t leave a chum hanging, could I?”

“We’re not chums.”

“Say what you want, Granger. Don’t get me wrong, the smell of muggle born reeks from you, but once you get past it, you’re not too grotesque.” He pushed himself off of the wall and followed suit behind her, settling into his desk just south of her. Hermione could feel his eyes boring into the back of her curly brown hair as she took her seat.

“Thank you.” She said after a time. She pretended to mull over a paper as if it were important, but it was really her grocery list.

“For what?”

“For helping me back there.”

“Weasley going out to drink with a female coworker? You honestly didn’t buy that it was innocent enough, did you?”

“We had drinks,” Hermione muttered, scribbling on her parchment, “And it was innocent.”

Even as she said the words, she felt a strange sort of tension electrify the air between them. She took a few minutes before she glanced back at him, watching as he meticulously read over his mail. His desk, she noticed, was very organized. Not that it mattered. But still, it was strange to see. Maybe he had always been an organized person, but she had never taken the time to observe it for herself. She was just taking a note about how he arranged his quills from shortest to longest when she realized that she had been caught staring, blue eyes glancing up, amused.

“Am I on display?” He jabbed, sounding annoyed in the usual Malfoy way. “By all means, stare all you want. Be warned, however, that I do in fact bite.” His eyebrow lifted in a suggestive manner that made her breath catch.

“I was just admiring your organizational skills.”

“Really?” He leaned forward and somehow that eyebrow went up further. “I’ve been this organized for the six months we’ve worked together, Granger. Longer even. Maybe if you had your head out of Weasley’s arse for five minutes you’d have actually noticed. Did you know that your hair is brown? The sky is also blue.”

Hermione frowned. “You’ve made your point.”

They worked in silence the rest of the afternoon, aside from the occasional work related question. It felt, to Hermione’s relief, like any other day. Finally, she thought, some normalcy. But it was shaken when the clock struck eight and her department readied itself for closing hours. That’s when she felt his cool hand touch her shoulder and a voice asking her to hang back when everyone began to filter out. She did as she was asked, unsure of why but not ready to leave just yet and face Ron, who would surely be waiting for her down in the entrance hall. When it was just them, Malfoy took a casual seat atop Hermione’s desk and crossed his arms. Hermione, seated in her chair, pushed it back slightly to avoid being too close to him. This was new, this daily conversing, this… development in their relationship. She wasn’t ready to get too friendly. Trusting Malfoy was like trusting a snake. He did, after all, procure from Slytherin.

“You need a drink,” Malfoy stated.

“Do I?”

“Your boyfriend just pronounced his infidelity to you in the hallway this afternoon. Yes, you do.”

Hermione absently chewed on her lower lip, thinking. “It wasn’t really infidelity.”

“Wasn’t it?” Malfoy leaned closer, brandishing his hands on the armrests of her chair. “How did you feel when he said it? Did you feel confident in him after?”

“Well, no, of course not,” She mumbled.

“Did you feel like he put your best interest at heart?”

“No…”

“Can you trust him to never do it again?”

His voice was smooth, like honey, and it poured into every crevasse of her self-confidence, filling in the gaps and replacing it with misgiving. That heat spread over her chest, up her neck, and into her cheeks. Yes, Hermione thought, a true and cunning Slytherin indeed.

“Just what are you doing here, Malfoy?”

He smirked, caught. “I need a drinking buddy. One I can confidently feel safe to not let me do anything that could wind me up on the front page of the Prophet and not take advantage of me in my ‘delicate’ state. And you need a drinking buddy, because your future husband is a self-indulging knot who can’t decide which woman he’d rather wank off to.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “And how do I know that you won’t take advantage of me in my ‘delicate’ state?”

His hands, still on either side of her on the arm rests, flexed around the wood. “Take advantage of the brightest witch of our generation? Without your noticing? I’d have to be daft to attempt that.” There was a challenge in his voice, but he toned it down with his next comment. “So what do you say, Granger? I could show you where I keep the good stuff in your desk.”

She managed a short laugh, rolled her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. “Well, you’ve hidden it well, because I spent all morning trying to find it to no means.”

“Then allow me.” He pulled his wand from his pockets and transfigured her stapler in front of her eyes. There, atop her desk, sat a rather large bottle of bourbon. His smirk didn’t go unnoticed as he tucked his wand back in his pocket and slid off the desk, invading Hermione’s personal space. There, looking down at her, he undid the clasp of his robes and shrugged them off, leaving him in his white button up and black slacks. She watched him stroll by her, place the robes on the back of his chair, and begin to undo his cufflinks. “You going to transfigure us some glasses, or sit there and watch me all evening? Honestly, Granger, I’m not a fresh book, so quit trying to read me.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned. She pulled her wand out, transfigured two drinking glasses from two quills, and poured them both a glass. When she looked over at him again his sleeves had been rolled up to his forearm, and he had undone the top button of his shirt. He took the glass as she extended it to him, gave her a courteous nod, and took a sip.

“I thought you didn’t associate with my sort of people,” She said thoughtfully, following his lead and taking a draw from her own glass. “You know, muggle-born scum and all.”

He didn’t falter in his answer, even for a moment. He simply said, “I dated a witch couple years ago who I didn’t know was muggle born until I nearly proposed to her. Taught me a few things about you lot. You’re not too bad. Not pure blood status, by any means, but still…”

“Is that why you don’t have a ring on your finger now?” She nodded towards his ring-less hand. “Because she wasn’t pure blooded like your family thinks everyone should be?”

He chose his next words more carefully. “My family has carried on the pure blood tradition for quite some time. Centuries, in fact. So much so, that when my mother learned she was muggle-born she paid her an obscene amount of money to leave me.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, stunned by what she had heard. “Your mother paid your girlfriend to break up with you?”

“On the exact day I was going to propose, as it happened. I didn’t know at first, but when I found out I called my mother out on it. She simply shrugged. As if it meant nothing. As if my heart breaking was just a casualty of my heritage. Why do you think I work in this dump?” He pulled from his drink while staring intently into Hermione’s eyes.

“You were cut off?”

“I left. Figured all the money, all the wealth wasn’t worth it if I couldn’t be with someone I loved. So, I left in the middle of the night and haven’t spoken to my family since. Got this bugger of a job, forced to work with you like I’m some commoner.”

She ignored the slight. “I’m impressed, Malfoy. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“That makes two of us.” He clinked his glass together with hers and finished his drink. Then he poured himself another. They sat in silence for a time, drinking, occasionally meeting each other’s eyes before tearing away. Hermione felt like she should say something, but what could she say? That she was sorry it happened to him? In the back of her mind, she knew that even though it was sad, it was good that Malfoy had been crestfallen by a terrible misfortune. He certainly seemed more approachable now. Still a git, still obnoxious, but not nearly as arrogant. He had been humbled. It made her feel something for him she had never thought she could: pity.

“Well,” She finally broke the tension, “Enough of the heavy. Pour me some more?”

And so he did, and they sat back drinking, talking about work and coworkers and little stories of their childhood. Hermione learned that Malfoy hated Brussel sprouts, and she gave him a humiliating tale of her cutting her own bangs when she was four. Hours went by with them like that, laughing and drinking and occasionally staring at each other without words. Hermione would look away, pointing out something in the room she ‘never noticed’ before, or Malfoy would make some insult that would break the atmosphere. But it would always come back, after a time, until Malfoy had run out of cruel things to make fun of like her hair or her freckles or her frumpy shirt, and she could no longer find anything that would convince him she’d never noticed. So they simply stared at each other, Hermione leaned up against her own desk and Malfoy now sitting in her chair, feet up on her paperwork.

“We’re out of bourbon,” She said quietly, attempting to contort her face into anything but the giggly school girl that it wanted to be. Alcohol had taken her long before now, and her nervous laughter tried desperately to escape her throat.

“It appears we are.” He conceded, a wide grin set on his handsome face. His hands were tucked behind his head, extending his lengthy figure out and spreading his shirt tight against his wiry muscles. Hermione caught herself staring at him, again, but this time she didn’t try to talk herself out of it. Maybe it was the nice bourbon flowing through her veins. Maybe it was the realization that no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t hate this version of Draco Malfoy. She let her eyes linger on his taut form, the way his muscles flexed as he yawned, his silver-blue eyes as they watched her.

“It isn’t polite to stare,” He chuckled.

“It isn’t polite to enlarge a girl’s teeth in school, but you managed.”

Full bodied laughs fell from both of them. Hermione grabbed her stomach because her sides hurt so much from laughing, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard. It had been a lifetime ago. She reached out, before she could think, and braced her hand on his leg as she laughed. She could feel the atmosphere in the room change drastically within an instant. Malfoy’s posture was suddenly aware she was touching him, even so slightly, and his back stiffened. His feet still propped on the desk in front of him, he stared at her hand on his pant leg and then to her. Had she done something wrong, she asked herself? Was touching not allowed in this amity? She removed her hand slowly, all the laughs died away. Malfoy removed his legs from the table, stood from his chair, and stood there, eyes piercing into her soul. She was about to apologize for touching him, about to get up from her desk and leave, but he spoke first.

“I want to do something.” His voice was quiet, uncertain.

“…Alright?” Hermione sat confused.

“I… I’m going to do something, and you aren’t to move until I’m done.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not going to agree to that.”

“Luckily for you, it wasn’t a request.”

He crossed the space between them slowly, watching her as she sat still until Hermione herself was unsure why she was going along with it. She had never liked being bossed around. Not by Ron or Harry or even her professors back in Hogwarts. She was a free thinker. A mindful spirit. She would never agree to something without consent. So when he left no space between them, no space to move or think or feel anything but his breath on her lips, she had half a mind to shove him away. But she didn’t. She allowed his hands to brush against her knees, to separate her legs so that he could fill the final gap between them, hovering above her, her legs on either side of his hips, his hands rested gently on the table, caging her. His breath caught when she gasped, and then he raised his left hand to cup her neck, gliding his gently fingers to the back and softly gripping a handful of her hair.

“Not until I’m done,” He whispered, eyelids fluttering closed as he bent over and brushed his lips ever so delicately along her collar bone, her neck, her jaw. Hermione’s breath caught, and her heart began to race at an alarming pace. But she did not move, instead allowing her own eyes to close as he continued to graze her skin gently with his lips. He trailed them up, to the side of her cheek, tilting her head farther back, turning it so that they were nose to nose now. Only then did she allow her eyes to open, finding his immodest gaze on her. She rounded up the courage to say, “It’s not polite to stare.”

He chuckled. She felt hot breath against her lips. “No, I suppose it isn’t. But neither are all of the filthy things I want to do to you right now.”

Oh lord, her heart was in her throat now. She could feel it pulse as he brushed his nose against hers, as if inviting her to object or concede. Her first thought should have been on Ronald, on how he was probably sitting at home, alone, wondering why his girlfriend hadn’t gone by her place tonight… again. It should have been on that this was Draco Malfoy, of whom she had detested most of her teenage years, who had made her cry ugly tears in the girl’s bathroom after being called Mudblood for the first time, of whom had done nothing but tear her down and make fun of her heritage. But all she could think was that his mouth was so dangerously close to hers, and that she wanted nothing more than to taste it.

“Filthy?” She breathed.

“Distasteful.” He turned her head ever so slightly and planted a kiss along her jawbone. “Dishonorable.” His kiss to the other side of her jaw was just as soft. “Make you regret getting out of bed the next morning…” His other hand, the one that had been bracing him on the desk, snaked its way to her skirt and bunched it up, revealing the smooth skin of her thigh underneath. Hermione sucked in a breath as his grip on her hair tightened at the same time that his hand snaked its way up her leg and to her hip, just at the edge of her stockings. She thought she might faint at the feeling of abandonment as he suddenly pulled away, hand releasing her hair and breath no longer on her skin. He took a few steps back, admiring his handiwork as Hermione managed to open her eyes and stare up at him.

“Thank you,” He smirked, not even trying to conceal the erection that pressed firmly against his dress slacks. He had a pink twinge to his cheeks, but there was no embarrassment splattered against those fine features. Only pride. Only patience. Only a want that sparkled in his eyes.

“I-I… You… W-What?” She gasped for air, suddenly finding the ability to breathe again. When the fog in her head cleared enough, she brushed her skirt back down and crossed her arms. “What was that for?”

“Because I wanted to,” He shrugged. “Because I wanted to see your reaction.”

She wanted to seem in control. So she tried to look away from him, but unable to find the ability to do so, she simply said, “Well… was it the reaction you were going for?”

He boasted a laugh. “So much more.” Hermione didn’t like this, the not being in control of her own emotions as she watched him laugh so freely. She wanted nothing more than to wring that neck of his. Her eyes fell onto his tie, and she got a wicked idea. Again, alcohol might have come into play, but Merlin’s beard, she didn’t care. She reached up, grabbed his tie, and pulled him down just as she leaned up and captured his lips in a kiss. It was innocent, at first, with his wide eyes and her smug tug at the side of her mouth as she tried not to smile, but Malfoy came to his senses quickly and closed his eyes, relishing in it. He almost appeared pained as he opened his mouth slightly, deepening the kiss as he worked his tongue out to grant access. Hermione pulled back, unsure of taking the kiss too far, but he did not relent. Before Hermione could take control again he had his hand behind her head steadying her as he shoved them both back against her desk, knocking papers and quills and spilling ink all over the floor. Shocked, she opened her mouth to gasp, and he took his opportunity to snake his tongue into her mouth, coaxing her own to move against his.

His free hand once again found its way up her skirt, this time to grip the soft flesh of her hip as he kissed her over and over again, occasionally breaking for air, but never relenting until he had her moaning into his mouth. He pulled away then, gentle and subdued, and trailed his hand from the back of her neck, to her throat, down the sides of her shirt, and even further down until it snaked its way around her backside and scooted her closer to him. He stared her in the eyes, then, mouth parted and breathing unhinged. He landed a softer, much sweeter kiss to her lips. Unlike the first one, where she had tried to pull away once she had lost control, this kiss held her in place, allowing her to kiss back slowly, surely, giving her the full supremacy no Malfoy had ever bestowed on a muggle-born. Her hands worked leisurely up his chest, feeling the smooth muscle underneath, up to his collar, then up into his hair, where she found her fingers liked to roam as they pushed their way through the soft locks.

His hands found their own way, finding solace in resting their thumbs just at the top of her legs where they met her pelvic bone. His other fingers spread out along her hips, cradling them like delicate artifacts. Oh, how she wanted him to grip her tight, to put any amount of pressure so close to… but instead, his thumbs began to trace small circles along the delicate flesh, sending goosebumps up her spine and a fire in her lower abdomen.

“Draco,” She broke the kiss as her head fell back. The sensation of his fingers along her pelvic bone made her legs shake. She hadn’t been touched like this, so precise and full of pleasure. Anything close to this had been fumbled and unsure. But not Draco’s hands. No, his hands were as strong as they were mild, as secure as they were of their own mind.

He took her head tilt as a sign of obedience, and he massaged the skin there with more pressure, just as he sunk his lips onto her neck and trailed brazen kisses along her pulsing veins. Hermione’s body flitted, giving in to his ministrations and completely forgetting who was giving them. As if he sensed that, he trailed his tongue up to the shell of her ear and whispered, “Say it again. My name.”

Hermione’s courage found words. “No.” She whispered back.

His fingers on her skin tightened. “What… did you just say?”

“I said,” She mused, tilting her head forwards so that she could look him square in the eyes, “No.”

The inner workings of his mind were written across his face as he pondered a response. Frustration. A need to assert himself. A deliberation to contain himself. Then his face fell into a smirk, that one his was so infamous for, and he released her hips, stepping back enough for Hermione to notice the sudden loss of body heat. Not enough to be completely done.

“Very well. You’re on probation, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Until you say my name, I will not allow you the luxury of pleasure.” Danger lurked in those blue eyes of his. “If you insist on being difficult, so will I.”

“What do you-?” She started, but was cut off by Draco’s hands scooping her up to stand, then twirling her around on her heels and pushing her down into her own desk, one hand on her hip and the other on the base of her neck. She felt her stomach press against the hard wood, felt his sudden presence behind her as he ran his hand from her hip to her skirt, then bunching it up against her waistband to reveal her, covered in nothing now but a pair of laced cotton panties. He gave out a feral growl, as if to contain himself, and with a delicate touch of his other hand rubbed the back of her neck.

“Say my name.” He challenged, “Say it or I make you.”

Somewhere in Hermione’s mind, she knew she should be frightened. She was being pressed against her own desk, bent over and exposed to the one person who at one point in her life wanted nothing more than to wish her death. But somehow it made the situation that much hotter. That much more dangerous and that much more of a challenge. She gave a fake laugh, one to mock him. “Doubt it.”

The grip on her neck tightened again, and he bent over to whisper in her ear, “Careful, Granger. I do believe your Gryffindor might be showing.” He licked the shell of her ear to hear her moan, then took one of her hands that braced her and twisted her arm behind her back. It was entirely too quick for Hermione to do anything but gasp in discomfort and, dare she feel… anticipation. His other hand left its place atop her skirt to gather the other arm, and then joined them together at the small of her back, pulling both wrists together with one firm hand. She didn’t even struggle. With her new position, she found mocking him to be slightly less thrilling. She was, for the most part, completely under his control now.

“Last chance,” He said, running his now free hand back down her backside and cupping one of her cheeks. “You can say my name now and save yourself the trouble.”

She giggled, testing his grip on her arms as she wriggled beneath him. “Do you think I’m scared of you? I could hardly be scared of-“

Whack. A firm hand drew back and shut her up with a slap to her left ass cheek. She inhaled as the burn of his hand spread across her skin. Her eyes rolled back. Her breath caught. At that very moment, she was torn between pain and bliss. The hand left her again, just in time to come down even more forcefully against her, scooting her forward against the table and pressing her uncomfortably against her office supplies. She groaned, this time sore, but closed her mouth quickly for the third strike to come. As it did, she fought back the guttural moan that forced its way up her throat. She pressed her lips together, attempting to muffle the sound, but he heard.

“You know, I think I like the drunk version of you,” He chided, giving her another firm smack on the ass, “It has all the essence of a dirty school girl.”

Hermione moaned, loud this time, as his hand whipped over the already burning flesh of her backside. Her head fell forward, forehead resting against the thick wood of her desk. She waited for another, braced for it, but instead felt him caress her where she hurt, taking his nails and raking them lightly against the site. “Mmm… God…”

“God is not my name, Granger, but I’m flattered.”

Hermione frowned, realizing slowly the position she was in. Maybe she was sobering up. Maybe she realized then who she was allowing to spank her over her own work desk in the middle of the night. Maybe she didn’t care that it was Malfoy who had her pinned down and whispering things in her ear that she had only read in tasteless romance novels.

Her legs shook, her breathing labored, and her want far outweighed her need for control. What she needed was someone to take control of her life, and Malfoy was going to make sure she was taken care of, but with one simple request. A forceful one. An intoxicating one.

“Draco…” She sighed against his restraint, moaning as his hand gripped her harder at the sound of his name. “Draco, please…”

She couldn’t see it, but she could almost sense his smirk as he released her arms and turned her over on the desk, splayed on her back, skirt drawn up, shirt halfway up her torso. He lowered himself onto her, pressing as much of his body he could into hers without suffocating her. It was as if he needed to feel their bodies smashed together. He took her lower lip between his teeth, played with the supple muscle there, before he dipped his head forward and stole a deep, profound kiss from her just as her fingers found solitude in the comfort of his hair. Each kiss melted into the other. Draco’s hands found the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head quickly. Hermione fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, managing to get about half way down before his fingers slipped behind her and unclasped her bra.

Her eyes went wide. Why this was a tilting point for her was anyone’s guess, but she suddenly stopped her attack on his buttons and stared up at him, bewildered. He read the tension in her body language and stopped for the moment. He just stared at her, calm and destructive, a mix of ice and fire. Then his hand slipped up to the front of her bra and tugged it forward and down, releasing her into the night air, eyes never leaving hers.

After a pause, he licked his lips and said, “Alright there, Granger?”

She thought about it a moment and then nodded. Yes, she thought calmly. She was okay with this. She watched the tension leave his face, replaced by cool confidence once more. His chest heaved up and down, eyes falling from her face to take her in. By his expression, he was very okay with this too, indeed. He leaned forward and trailed kisses down her collar bone, down her shoulders, catching a bit of skin here and there between his teeth as he trailed further south, until his mouth found its destination and grazed against the erected flesh of her nipple. Hermione sighed contently as he took her into his mouth, teasing gently at the skin there until her nipple was stiff and begging for attention. After a swirl of his tongue, he drew a line with it to the other nipple, where he administered the same care as before, a hand coming up to cup her other breast. His teeth, his tongue, his hot breath were all so amazing that Hermione arched her back for more. This, she thought, was exactly the way it was supposed to feel. Not annoying and for the man’s enjoyment. Draco made her feel as if this was simply for her pleasure and hers alone, and that he would do anything to stimulate her excitement.

“Draco,” She sighed again.

His touch became more passionate, as if saying his name awakened a sleeping beast inside of him. He kissed her breasts, her chest, traced her stomach with his tongue, bit at the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders, and finally settled on nestling his face in her curls to whisper, “Again.”

“Draco.”

“Mmmh…” His voice vibrated against her eardrum. “I wonder if you taste as good as you sound. I suppose there’s only one way to find out…” A hand snaked down her arm to her stomach, resting at the top of her skirt. “Unless you’re frightened you’ll enjoy it too much.”

Hermione couldn’t find words, because she wasn’t at all sure what she wanted, but she did know she wanted the tension to release, that she wanted to feel that spectacular tongue on her skin again, and she nodded.

“Is that a yes? Or an agreement that you’re chicken?”

She almost growled out of sheer frustration. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re the one who’s afraid, Malfoy.”

It was just the kind of quip he needed to pull himself off of her and settle to his knees on the floor. There he put her legs on his shoulders and nestled between them, eager to remove the frail piece of clothing between him and his goal. His eyes turned upwards to her. Waiting. Determined not to break until she said it.

“Draco…” She whispered, growing more roused at the sight of him between her legs and practically demanding with his eyes to please her. “I-“ But she didn’t finish her thought because suddenly his hot tongue was on her, only separated from its destination by her panties. Hermione’s words were replaced with a loud moan. She, in all honesty, had never known what this felt like before. She’d only been with Ronald intimately, and he had hardly been up to code with what passed as foreplay. So when his fingers pulled her underwear to the side and his tongue slipped against her, she all but lost it. Hands went instantly into his hair, her hips bucked forward, and her mouth parted in a silent ‘Oh.’ She heard him chuckle as he dove his tongue out again, sliding up against her wetness, trailing it ever so slowly over her clit. Hermione’s toes curled as she struggled to remember how to breathe. Draco felt so good, his mouth even more talented here than it had been to her breasts. She wondered how many woman he’d pleased before her with that tongue of his, but the question was instantly forgotten as he flicked his tongue quicker, just at the spot where it counted most.

“Oh my…” She gasped. “Right there, oh God…”

He felt her out, going quicker or slower, taking in each response and correlating his style to best fit her needs. He somehow knew when she needed it slower, and when she needed him to spin his tongue around her clit. He knew when to pause to keep her from coming, knew just where to focus to make her head fall back. He was teasing her, she realized after the third time of sending her to the brink, only to leave her wanting more. He was forcing her to want him even more than she already did. And God, did she want him. Her lower abdomen warmed as he whispered against her thigh, “Fuck, you taste so delightful… Would you like to come, Hermione?”

His question caught her off guard: the entire night, he had been demanding and forceful in his advances. Hearing him ask her a genuine question of what she wanted, truly asking, and saying her name –her first name for the first time this evening … somehow it made her even more vulnerable. She blinked her eyes, staring at the ceiling, throbbing and willing under his touch. Yes, she thought to herself. Yes, she did want to come. She didn’t want to wait any longer. She needed the release, and she needed him to give it to her. “Please.” She gripped a fistful of his hair and closed her eyes. “Draco, I need it.”

That was all he needed. He grabbed her panties and ripped them down her legs as if they were going to do her harm if he didn’t get them off of her immediately. When he slipped them off of her ankles, he put her legs up to his shoulders once again, but instead of settling his head between her legs, he slid his hand up her thigh, closer and closer, testing the waters. When he was sure he wasn’t going to be kicked away or told off, he leaned forward and bit her hip bone with care, teeth grating against the sensitive skin at the same time that he slipped a finger into her without warning.

Hermione was in ecstasy. She could feel how wet she was the moment his finger curled inside of her, and with the hot breath on her hip and his touch as he found her sweet spot nearly instantly, she felt herself becoming even wetter. His finger slipped out of her slowly, teasing, before he slammed it up inside her again, beckoning her to feel him as he continued this process over and over, each time curling at just the right spot before leaving her again. Each time he wasn’t inside of her, it was like her entire universe collapsed. She needed his touch, desperate to feel whole again. When he found a good pace he slipped another finger into her, again without warning. She swore she could see stars shining just behind her eyelids. Her hips began to rock against his fingers, desperate for more contact. She slanted her eyes open just enough to see him staring up at her. His face was content as though this were common place on a Friday night to finger her in the office they both worked at in the Ministry of Magic. As he caught her eyes his lips drew back in a smirk.

“How close are you?” He breathed into her thigh.

“Half way…” She sighed back.

He tilted his gaze back to where his fingers still pumped gracefully inside of her, and again Hermione felt more vulnerable. The way he was looking at her… as if what was between her legs were some enticing meal and he was simply playing with his food. She had never been looked at this way. It made her stomach do a flip and her cheeks flush.

“I wonder what could take you over the edge?” He leaned his head forward, fingers still curled up inside of her, and licked her clit just as he found her sweet spot. Hermione all but shouted a string of obscenities in the wake of the new found pleasure. Deep inside of her, she could feel a tension building. When he repeated the motion again, tongue swirling and fingers coiling, she turned her face to the side and whimpered. “Oh, holy fuck...” She could feel herself tightening around his fingers, building up for something far greater. “Right there. Mmm, don’t stop.” And so he didn’t, continuing to lap at her in time with his thrusting fingers until her legs shook violently over his shoulders and her back arched wildly as she was sent into a primal orgasm that had her moaning and pulling harshly at his hair. She had never come like this, splayed out and adored like a fine wine. Draco kept his tongue on her clit as wave after wave of her orgasm hit until there was no more and she fell backwards on the desk, spent. She felt him remove his fingers and watched as he pulled himself over the table atop her and traced his fingers over her lips. “You should taste yourself.”

This was also new. Bravely she opened her mouth and let him slowly put his fingers all the way till they hit the back of her throat. She concentrated on not gagging, found it was easier to do so than she thought, and suckled at the taste of herself. It was enough to make Draco whine under his breath. “Bloody Hell, Granger, you suck on everything the way you just did?” She saw him bite his lower lip as he removed his fingers to the tip, then slip them back in her mouth again, over her tongue and down her throat. When she could take no more of his fingers, he groaned and removed them completely. Quietly he stood up, more flustered than she had ever seen him the entire evening, and scooped up her shirt and bra. He threw them to her with haste, avoiding eye contact as he walked around to his desk and pulled his robes over his shoulders. Hermione’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, betrayed by her want for him. She didn’t understand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He shrugged, still avoiding her gaze.

Hermione thought it fitting to push her skirt down by this point. “I… I thought you liked what we just did?”

“I did.” He nodded, looking every which way but at her. “I really did but… I have to go.” He made to leave, but she jumped up from her spot on the desk and blocked his path.

“What. Is. Wrong?” She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. When he did, she was even more befuddled. He still had that look of lust in his eye, as if his whole world were on fire at her touch, but he didn’t look like he was enjoying it. Still, he scooped her up in his arms, closing the distance between them and planted a sensual kiss on her lips. When he pulled away this time he had covered up his anxiety with a façade, smirking as he said, “Have fun cleaning up the office.” He gave her bum a firm squeeze, kissed her again, and strutted his way to the double doors. “See you on Monday, Granger. Have a pleasant weekend.” And then he was gone, leaving Hermione standing in the middle of a mess with her heart in her hands.

_ _ _

There will be a part two. If you liked it, write a review. Feed me in reviews, I will feed you in smut. ;D
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Drinking Buddies