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Hermione shed her coat, peeling off the layers of fabric that, even with her most fastidious warming charm, had done little to keep the unseasonably cold wind from chilling her to the bone as she made her way to the Legal Division of the DMLE. She pushed the door to her shared office open.
Malfoy glanced up at her. Then at the clock. Then back at her.
“Oh, by all means, meander in whenever you feel like it,” he commented, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure the Chancery Lane acquisition won’t mind just going ahead and writing itself.”
Hermione sent him a murderous glare.
“It’s seven-fifty-nine, Malfoy.”
He tutted. “On time is late, Granger. Come on, you’ve better manners than that.”
She slammed her bag down on her desk, deciding not to point out that she was usually here a good half-hour before he was.
“Shove it up your arse, Malfoy.”
He let out a low whistle, smirking like the fucking Cheshire Cat at her outburst of emotion.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he cooed.
Her blood boiled at the nickname. She hated it. Malfoy knew she hated it.
“Why don’t you call me that to my face in front of HR. I’ll sign my official complaint in your blood after they rip you a new one.”
He gasped. Mocking sarcasm dripped from him as he pouted.
“Awww. You seduce the Weasel with that mouth?”
“If that’s the only thing you can think of to insult me about, I must be doing something very right.” She scoffed at him. “You know as well as I do that Ron and I broke up months ago.”
“And he’s already dating Lavender Brown, is he not? He moves fast. But I do remember her being very sweet.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is saccharine.”
“Mmmm, and I’m sure there’re a lot of people who wouldn’t mind licking a line of sugar off those—”
“Don’t you dare!”
She, like every other person in the Wizarding world, was well aware that Lavender Brown had a truly phenomenal set of breasts; a fact the witch was both well aware of, and willing to flaunt, ever since she’d managed to sprout double D’s in sixth year. And despite it not bothering Hermione in the slightest, Ron’s repeated ‘assurances’ that ‘size didn’t matter’ had begun to fall on slightly deafer ears when he’d started going slack-jawed every time Lavender walked past.
Well. She huffed. She hoped he was very, very happy now.
"It’d be nice if, for once, a man could appreciate a woman as a whole entity instead of piece by piece."
Malfoy smirked.
"Actually, there's something to be said for appreciating a woman piece by piece.” He winked. “Savouring her, if you will."
Her eyes flashed with murder.
She knew better than to take his bait. He always did this. Needled and poked and prodded at her until she snapped. Normally, she ignored him until he got bored and redirected his energy into, if she was honest, rather decent work.
She never snapped. She only bent.
But today?
For some reason, she just wasn’t feeling quite so flexible.
She reached for her copy of the acquisition.
“Please remind me where we were?” she asked, trying to hide the annoyance lacing her voice.
Malfoy stared pointedly at her. “Surely with all those papers on your desk you could find something to use as a placeholder.”
“That was a whole lot of words that could’ve been a number.”
He rolled his eyes as he picked up his own acquisition copy. “Merlin, Granger, maybe get rid of the bed altogether if you can’t find the right side to get up on.”
Hermione seethed, but sat with a huff.
“You’ll refrain from ever allowing your thoughts to linger on my bed again, thank you.”
“Cold, desolate wasteland, as it is, apparently.”
But before she could respond—
A knock sounded at the frame of their open door.
And draped against it, was the Assistant Head of the Events Division herself.
Lavender’s blouse’s top two buttons were undone, the third being pushed well beyond the physical limits of what should’ve been possible for a fastening.
“Hermione!” she grinned, widely. “So sorry to interrupt. I know you’re always here early and I wanted to talk to you before the Prophet comes out.”
Hermione froze.
“Why?” she said, her stomach twisting. “Who’s in jail?”
Lavender stared at her. “What? No one, I—”
She shook her head, stepping inside. Then she produced her left hand from behind her back.
“Look!”
Hermione should’ve seen it coming. The Weasley boys dropped to one knee notoriously fast, but even so.
Six weeks?
She winced.
“Oh woww, that’s—” she forced out, trying to hide the grimace in her voice. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you! I just wanted to tell you first. Didn’t want you hearing it from the paper, you know?” Lavender grinned. “Ron and I are just so thrilled. And we can’t wait, so we’re going to do it all as soon as possible. Christmas, it seems like. And of course you’ll be a bridesmaid, so—”
Hermione’s jaw dropped.
Surely, this was some kind of sick joke.
Her.
A bridesmaid. At Christmas.
At her extremely recent ex-boyfriend’s wedding.
“I’m sorry—” Hermione interjected. “What?”
“A bridesmaid!” Lavender repeated. “You know, pretty dresses, relationship advice, that kind of thing.”
Right. All things she was a certified expert in, then.
On the other side of the room, Malfoy snorted with laughter. Hermione shot him another homicidal glare, warning him to shut it before he uttered a single word. She turned back to Lavender, staring incredulously.
“I—Lavender I’m flattered, but we’ve barely spoken since school. And—” she took a deep breath, trying to be as tactful as possible. “You don’t think that would be a bit… awkward?”
She had apparently not done particularly well on the tact front.
Because Lavender’s smile dropped immediately.
“Hermione, it would only be awkward if…” she winced. “Oh no. Do you need some more time? I know it was hard on you—”
Hermione furrowed her brow. “Excuse me?”
Lavender sighed. “It’s alright if you do. I heard you’d been struggling with the breakup.”
“I have not been struggling with—” Hermione scoffed loudly. “I am absolutely—”
“Well… it’s just… you’re not seeing anyone.” Lavender gave her a pitying look. “And I mean… if you did need more time to get over Ron, that would be totally okay. I’m sure everyone will understand. And I mean, I suppose we could ask the press we’ve invited not to say anything—”
Her jaw dropped. It had been six weeks. Of course she wasn’t seeing anyone. In no universe was breaking up with someone and getting engaged six weeks later to someone else normal. It was perfectly acceptable to not want to immediately rush into something new.
Maybe she wanted to focus on her work, for goodness’ sake. Maybe she wanted to spend her first Christmas dressed in her pyjamas warming up a family-sized Christmas pudding from Waitrose, drowning it in custard and demolishing it with a spoon in front of her fourteenth re-watch of Love, Actually. And if so, that was her prerogative. A Christmas to herself where nobody spoke to her sounded rather bloody lovely, actually.
But she knew immediately that if she said that out loud it was going to sound pathetic.
She had no idea what came over her, really. Perhaps it was the surprise of it all. Perhaps it was the pitying expression on Lavender’s face. Perhaps, more than anything, it was picturing everybody else’s. The tutting, the clicking tongues, the whispering behind palms as they discussed the myriad reasons that a man might want to distance himself from—
She sighed. From cold, desolate Hermione Granger.
She could almost hear them snickering. She would’ve liked to think she wouldn’t care, but, apparently not. Because her mouth opened of its own accord, and—
“Actually, I am seeing someone.”
Lavender went deathly silent.
“You… you are?” Lavender said, her jaw dropping open.
“Yes,” Hermione lied blatantly through her teeth. “It’s very new, but it’s getting rather serious.”
Lavender’s brow furrowed. “Who is it?”
Hermione paled.
“Um…” she said, knowing her cheeks were going pink.
Shit. Shit. What was she thinking? It couldn’t be a Muggle man, the press would never let her hear the end of it. She couldn’t just make someone up, it would be far too obvious. It had to be someone she knew. A friend—someone who’d do her a favour without judgement or going to the press. Only… she came up completely blank. All her closest male friends were in serious relationships. She’d backed herself into a corner. She’d made a terrible mistake. A man would have to be completely insane to agree to do something so utterly and entirely stupid as this.
The silence lingered in the room for a good minute before she remembered that they weren’t alone in it.
She glanced across the room at Malfoy, finding his lips twisted almost entirely sideways. He covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes flicked up to hers. She almost winced at the enjoyment on his face.
Hermione had admitted, not three minutes ago, that she was single, and now, she knew damn well she was never going to live this down. She pursed her lips at him. A silent warning not to say a word, but he was going absolutely red in the face as laughter began forming in his eyes.
Deflect. She had to deflect. She—
“It’s me.”
The voice sounded from across the room, confident and relaxed as if he’d been part of the conversation the whole time. Hermione’s eyes widened up at the same time that Lavender turned to face him.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Malfoy preened, a smug grin plastering itself over his face as he raked a hand through his hair.
“It’s me. We’re dating. A few weeks now. Like she said, it’s new, but very serious.”
He pursed his lips together. Cleared his throat. Hermione knew very well he was trying not to laugh. Lavender glanced between the two of them, incredulous.
“Um…”
Hermione didn’t have time to look at Lavender.
What was he playing at?
She wanted to panic. This was a ploy. He wanted something. But she was the one who’d lied. If she called Malfoy out, she would also have to come up with an alternative name, and he could reveal her immediately.
She had no choice but to go along with it.
Shit. Shit.
“That’s right,” Hermione cleared her throat. “So, um, we will both be attending. He’ll be—he’ll be attending too. As my…”
She had to swallow hard to try and get the word out.
“...date.”
Malfoy smiled saccharinely at Lavender, sighing as if suddenly blissfully content.
“Now if you don’t mind, we have a lot of work to do before Christmas.” He stood, looking at Lavender expectantly. “But congratulations, and please accept my warmest thanks for having us both on your special day.”
Hermione watched on in horror, waiting for Lavender to ask even a single question about it. But, to her surprise—
Nothing.
The woman turned, and walked out in silence, her mouth open and face pale, clearly, too shocked to speak, which suited Hermione just fine. But as soon as Lavender was out of sight, Hermione raised her wand, slamming the door shut and silencing it.
Then, she turned, incredulous, to the man on the other side of the room.
“What. The. Fuck.”
Malfoy burst out laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
“Oh, Gods, Granger, your fucking face.” He steadied himself on his desk, clutching his sides.
Hermione drew a deep breath. “I’m not taking you.”
He took multiple deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
“You don’t have a choice, now.”
She stared at him. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugged. “I’m single. I’m available in December—”
“—That’s an interesting way of saying ‘my family’s all in Azkaban and everyone else hates me’—”
“—Or maybe,” he interjected again. “I just really want a front row seat to this blowing up in your face.”
Hermione stared at him.
It wasn’t that the plan didn’t suit her purposes. In fact, it was an absolute godsend that he’d volunteered when he did. Regardless of his motivations, she wasn’t in a position to turn down a cover story.
“You want something in exchange.”
He smirked.
“Well, as this is going to be particularly entertaining for me, I’m rather inclined to just do it for free. But because that won’t feel like enough of an assurance for you…” Malfoy shrugged. “I suppose you can just do… every single shred of my work from now until Christmas.”
Hermione swallowed hard. All of his work? That was seven depositions, four motions, and who knew how many bloody compliance charters.
And all while Malfoy did absolutely fuck all.
It wasn’t like she had any other options. And it wasn’t like she was getting out of going to the wedding. The press would literally beat her door down, and Harry and Ginny would’ve been right behind them.
She sighed.
And that was how, precisely a month and a half later, Hermione found herself frantically scribbling out the last of the charter edits outside the portkey office on a Friday afternoon.
With the brief exception of his three-hour nap, Malfoy had spent the day with his feet on his desk, complaining loudly about Lavender’s supposed 2% heritage that meant the wedding was being held in Finland in the middle of sodding winter. But shockingly, that wasn’t even the most annoying sound of the day.
He’d spent the majority of it tossing a snitch into the air and catching it over and over.
The sound had driven her insane.
She hadn’t noticed it at first. And then, like an unwelcome cricket, hidden somewhere in the bedroom at three o’clock in the morning—
She couldn’t un-hear it.
He cupped it in his palms as he caught it, making it knock just so against the signet ring he wore on his right hand.
Clink.
The sound of metal on metal as they came together.
Toss. Clink. Toss. Clink.
Hermione was practically ready to strangle him.
Her shoulders were tight. Jaw clenched. She knew her eye was twitching, but it wasn’t consistent enough to be able to do anything about it. So, she just stood there. Wired. Fragile. Stressed out of her godsdamned mind.
Next to Malfoy.
She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. This was a terrible, terrible mistake. But before she could take one step toward their portkey—
Malfoy took her hand in his.
Hermione immediately recoiled, snatching her hand away as her gaze whipped to his.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He stared incredulously at her for five solid seconds. Then he leaned in.
“This may shock you, Granger, but if you want people to believe that we are dating, you’re going to have to act like you don’t want to set me on fire.”
Hermione huffed.
“Fine,” she whispered, allowing Malfoy to entwine their fingers. She winced at the feeling of his rather large hand encapsulating hers. “But just know, from the bottom of my heart, that I do.”
“As long as you finished that charter, I don’t care. That Goblin silver mine will—”
He paused, clicking his tongue.
“—Oh. Actually, that reminds me.”
Malfoy’s hands suddenly withdrew from hers, and he tugged at one of his own fingers. Then, fingers pinched, he held out—
In his hand was one of the most intricate, ornate pieces of metalwork she’d ever seen up close. Bright silver. Flawless. Adorned with an ostentatious ‘M’.
His godsdamn signet ring.
Hermione paled. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“We’re dating,” he said. “If you don’t wear it—”
“If I do wear it, my finger is going to shrivel up and fall off!”
Malfoy gave her a disapproving look. “If I were seriously dating a witch, she would be wearing my signet ring. It is a requirement, and Weasley will know that.”
“The whole time I was dating Ron, he never—”
“He’s the sixth-eldest. The signet ring is for the heir.” Malfoy smirked as he pumped his brows. “See? You even got an upgrade.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make herself disappear into thin air. It wasn’t like it mattered in the scheme of things. In fact, all it did was support their story. Besides, she refused to back out now. She’d already fulfilled her part of the deal.
She snatched the ring off Malfoy, jamming it onto her middle finger.
Then displayed it for him by extending said finger directly in front of his face.
Malfoy smirked at the gesture.
“Gods, this is going to be so fun.”
They arrived. Hermione cringed.
It was horrifyingly beautiful.
On the outside, it seemed like a sweet little log cabin. But the magically-expanded accommodations were, as with most magical things, much bigger on the inside. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, snow fell beautifully, the whole world muffled and glittering under the early-setting sun.
It would’ve been breathtaking, if Hermione’s stomach weren’t taking up all the space in her throat.
She’d hoped she might be able to spend most of the weekend hidden away in their hotel room, curled up with a book unless absolutely necessary. However, it appeared other arrangements had been made.
As they were expected, front-and-centre, at a welcome dinner.
It seemed like everyone was there. Harry and Ginny, obviously. The Weasleys. Luna, Padma, the entirety of Gryffindor. All the people who knew her just well enough to shoot pitying glances in her direction.
And then, have the audacity to allow their eyes to go wide when they saw her walk in, hand-in-hand, with Malfoy.
“This is a fucking mistake,” she hissed under her breath.
“Chin up, Granger,” Malfoy leaned in and whispered. “Weddings are joyous occasions, after all.”
He pulled out her chair for her, but he did it as smugly as possible. She glared at him as they sat down, before casting a glance about the table, offering a half-hearted smile of greeting.
But nobody spoke to her.
So, instead of fighting it, she dropped her gaze, picking at her dinner for over an hour while every one of the other guests enjoyed themselves.
“I’m keen to have a crack at the sauna,” Seamus finally announced, from diagonally across the table.
Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re only saying that because it’s tradition in Finland to go starkers.”
Seamus shrugged. "Apparently everyone does it. Whole families, all at once.”
Dean shuddered. “Can’t say why. Imagine, sitting across from your gran."
Hermione scoffed.
“What’s wrong, Hermione?” he grinned at her. “Nothing like seeing your gran’s tits to ruin a perfectly good holiday.”
Laughter rippled amongst the boys, a few more glancing over to join in as Hermione rolled her eyes disapprovingly at the lot of them. She should’ve ignored it, but it was the first time someone had tried to engage her in conversation all evening instead of just—
Just pity.
"It’s not sexual. It’s cultural,” she scolded. “A sauna’s for relaxing, not ogling. Fins don’t make nudity weird the way you all do.” She took a sip of her wine. “Besides, you can take your shirts off whenever you get too warm. Why can’t your gran?”
Seamus shuddered. “Because it’s right indecent, is what it is.”
“The only thing indecent about it is how uncomfortable you all get the moment a woman prioritises her own comfort over your approval.”
A low chuckle rounded the table, a few whistles accompanying it, as all eyes turned to Seamus for his response. But it didn’t come from him.
It came from Lavender, who chose that exact moment to clap her hands with delight.
“I’m so glad you said that, Hermione!” she chirped. “Ronnie and I thought a little sauna would be the perfect bonding exercise for us all this evening. I’m sure everyone will enjoy giving the local culture a try.”
Hermione smiled, suddenly nervous.
“That sounds… lovely.”
Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Why had she said anything?
Because now, instead of retreating to her room and parking herself next to the fireplace with a book, she was standing in the bathroom, cursing the Fins for having the coldest possible weather and still somehow figuring out a way to wear nothing in it.
Malfoy banged on the door.
“Granger, if you spend any longer in the loo, I’m going to assume you’ve fallen in and leave without—”
Hermione flung the door open, making sure the extremely-bloody-short hotel robe was wrapped tightly around herself. But even so, she knew the string ties of her swimsuit were visible around the back of her neck.
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
“Please tell me you don’t have a fucking bikini on.”
Hermione bristled.
“Well, I’m sorry if the thought of being a few scraps of fabric away from naked in front of a group of my friends, my ex-boyfriend, his fiancée, and my coworker who I hate is not the idea of a fun time for me.”
His eyebrow cocked. “It’s a sauna, Granger. You said it yourself, it is perfectly acceptable to get your tits out.”
Hermione scowled at him.
“And let you make fun of me for the rest of my professional career? I should think not.” Her jaw set. “So you can just… go and have the most wonderful time openly gawking at Lavender’s tits. Because you won’t be seeing mine.”
His gaze dropped pointedly to the meagre cleavage revealed by the vee of her robe, his lips curling into a smirk.
“So much for culture, hmm, Granger?”
“Sod off, Malfoy.”
Hermione had never been in a sauna before. She didn’t know what to expect. Surely, the conversation had been based on nothing. There was no way her friends would ever expose themselves like that. But, as they arrived, she saw through the small portal window that…Malfoy was right. She could get away with wearing bikini bottoms…
But not one of the other girls was wearing a top underneath their robes.
And she was going to look like an idiot.
Damn it.
“Wait,” she hissed.
Malfoy side-eyed her. “We’re already late. What for?”
Hermione glanced nervously between him and the door, stepping just out of view of it.
“Just…” she reached behind her neck, untying the strings of her bikini. “Turn around.”
Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her, and immediately rolled his eyes. But, as requested, he turned his back.
“You know, it would make both of our lives a lot easier if you would just occasionally acknowledge I’m right.”
Hermione slipped the sleeves of her robe from her shoulders, reaching for the back ties of her bikini and tugging them undone.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she hissed. “I didn’t ask for your input.”
“Maybe you should. It’d clearly save you a lot of trouble. And it would save you having to tote around a bikini top for the rest of the evening.”
She tugged the garment from her body, pulling the sleeves of her robe back over her bare upper-half and tying it tighter around her waist. Then she shoved the bikini top into her pocket.
“Can I turn around yet?” Malfoy asked. “Or are we waiting for someone to come by so that they can wonder aloud why my girlfriend is so terrified of me seeing her breasts?”
Hermione swallowed, hard.
“No, you can turn around,” she said, sheepishly.
Malfoy turned, eyeing her carefully. But, she noticed, his gaze pointedly did not drop to her breasts.
Good. Nor should it have.
Bracing herself, she turned toward the sauna once more, but before she could wrench the door open—
“Hermione.”
Her head whipped around at the familiar timbre. For the first time in months, Hermione’s eyes met Ron’s.
“Hello, Ron.” She squeaked, as brightly as she could, her voice a full octave higher than normal. “I—you’re—the wedding! Congratulations.”
“Yeah, right, thanks,” he replied, glancing at Malfoy, then back at her. “Listen, can I talk to you for a second?”
Hermione turned to Malfoy, nodding for him to go on without her. He side-eyed the two of them, but shrugged, making his way into the sauna.
She turned back to Ron.
“How’ve you been?” she asked.
He shook his head. “We don’t have to do all that. Neither of us want that.” He pursed his lips. “I just wanted to say there’s no hard feelings.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“That you’re dating Malfoy so soon. I don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry… you don’t… mind?” Hermione’s mouth fell open, just a little. “You got engaged six weeks after we broke up and you think that my dating him is ‘so soon’?”
“There’s no need to be defensive, ‘Mione.”
She straightened her back. “I’m not being defensive. You’re implying that I moved on too quickly.”
He sighed. “Whatever, Hermione. If a rebound makes you feel better—”
“A rebound?”
Ron’s brow furrowed in anger.
“Yeah. A rebound. The kind that’d have you talking about taking your top off in public.”
She glared. “And what’s wrong with me taking my top off in public?”
He scoffed. “Like you’d ever want anyone to see—” He gestured towards her chest. “Merlin, Hermione, it took two bloody years before you’d even let me—” He sighed. “Call it whatever you want. But I know that whatever this thing is with Malfoy? It’s not real.” He glared at her. “Everyone knows you’re not over me.”
She stared at him in absolute disbelief.
There was nothing she could even say to that. Nothing she could do, short of slapping him across the face and immediately storming back to London. And the only thing stopping her from doing that was the knowledge that the snow was already thirty centimetres deep outside. Instead, she brushed past him, and flung the door open to the sauna.
The room was full to the brim. Bodies packed in like hot, sweaty sardines. She practically heard her own eyeroll as she noticed Malfoy had taken the seat across from Lavender.
Wonderful.
Now she got to go and sit right in the middle of the room, unbelievably sweaty and uncomfortably hot.
“What was that about?” Malfoy whispered as she sat.
“Oh, nothing,” she spat, sarcastically. “Just more of the same. Him assuming I’m not over it. Telling me you and I aren’t real, and that you’re a rebound.”
He chuckled. “Is that not exactly what I’m supposed to be?”
Hermione fumed, turning to shoot daggers at Malfoy with her eyes.
“You’re not. Or—wouldn’t be!” she spat. “Why does everyone assume—”
She inhaled sharply, lowering her voice and hissing it at him.
“I broke up with him, for fuck’s sake!”
Malfoy stared, his eyebrow twitching with surprise.
“Did you?”
Fuck it. What did it matter if he knew?
“Yes!” She nodded. “And it wasn’t even remotely mutual. He was very upset about it!”
Malfoy’s entire demeanour changed. His eyes flicked up, assessing the man who’d just entered. Watching, carefully, as he crossed the room.
He hummed quietly. “And now, he’s doing everything he can to try and prove to everyone, including himself, that you’re not over him, to try and soothe his bruised ego.”
Hermione sighed, opening her mouth to respond in the negative.
Ron wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t be that fragile. But—
She glanced sideways at Malfoy.
“You don’t think he’s the one that’s been telling everyone I’m not okay?”
“Actually, Granger, that’s precisely what I think.”
His eyes narrowed in warning as Ron sat down across from them.
She tried to avert her eyes as Ron started untying his robe. She bristled, but she found her eyes drifting over to him regardless.
He’d been working out, she could tell immediately. He was much slimmer through the waist as he tugged the robe down to it. A little definition in his biceps, and even in his chest. A few pairs of female eyes certainly darted in his direction. For a moment, she almost scoffed.
But she didn’t have to.
“Want me to test our theory?” Malfoy murmured. “Piss him off a bit? See what he does?”
Hermione exhaled heavily. “I didn’t bring you with me to get in a cock measuring contest with Ron.”
She looked up at him, meeting his eye. The devilish grin that curled onto his face was downright obscene.
“Oh, I can assure you, there’s no need.” Malfoy smirked. “Mine’s bigger.”
And, with a single flip of his hand, he undid his robe.
Thick, Egyptian cotton turned to silk as it slid from him in slow motion. As it left his shoulders; revealing, inch by inch, a body that should’ve only existed on the cover of novels in the very darkest corners of her favourite bookshop.
He summoned a towel to casually throw over his lap, then sent the robe magically across the room; the movement making his abdominals ripple deliciously. Then he rolled his broad shoulders, stretching them out.
She almost started drooling.
When on earth had Malfoy gotten this—had he become so—he hadn’t looked like this in—Hermione was outright staring. His skin was so pale, and yet, she could still make out a dusting of light-coloured hair.
Hair. On his chest.
She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to her that Malfoy would have hair on his chest. He was a fully grown man, after all. She followed it downward with her eyes, over the dip at his sternum, down, along his abs, where the hair started up again. A darker blonde, leading down—down—
The towel that covered him left very little to the imagination. She could see, rather clearly, the fabric draping over something that might’ve been quite a bit bigger than anything else she’d experienced.
NotThatSheWouldBeExperiencingMalfoy’sBulgeAtAnyPointInTheFuture.
But there was something about that knowledge that made her gut—her thighs—or something in the general vicinity—clench a little.
Damn, he was gorgeous.
Arsehole.
As he relaxed back into his seat, Hermione noticed that the eyes that had looked to Ron had instead shifted to them. To Malfoy. Multiple fixed, jealous gazes met hers from around the room as he slipped a casual hand onto her thigh. She made a point of not jolting beneath it, nor flinching as he leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“How’s that for a rebound, Granger?”
It shocked her back to attention, and she sat back beside him, her cheeks turning what she was sure was a ridiculous shade of pink.
“Are you alright, Hermione?” Lavender asked. “You’re looking a bit flushed.”
Malfoy smirked sideways at her. He knew.
Damnit.
Her cheeks flooded even darker.
“Yes. Just—” she swallowed hard. “Warm.”
Lavender nodded her agreement, lifting her hair to fan herself. “You can take your robe off, if you like. No one will mind.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted.
“Hmm?” she said, awkwardly.
“Your robe?” She smiled, genuinely. “You really can just take it off. We all agreed to not make it weird. Right?”
Hermione’s eyes met Ron’s.
He stared, expectantly at her. Pointedly.
She shriveled inwardly.
She didn’t particularly want to strip off in front of practically everyone she’d grown up with. Bodies were natural and normal and perfectly acceptable, but that didn’t mean that she wanted everyone she knew to see hers.
And she didn’t want Ron’s fucking attention. He was only right about one thing, the old her never would’ve done it. Never, in a million years. But she wasn’t the old her. The one that let herself linger in a relationship where she wasn’t valued, or prioritised, or really anything more than tolerated. A relationship where she was made to feel, on a regular basis, that she wasn’t enough for him. Whether that be prioritising her career, or the size of her tits. It had never been enough.
But she wasn’t that girl any more. She’d made that decision for herself when she’d told the man across from her that she deserved better.
Her hands shook. She didn’t want to do it, but she had to do something.
So, with a glare that tried to hide her shaking hands—
She untied her robe.
There was a sudden rush of eyes in her direction. Dozens of people—especially the men—all either side-eyeing or outright gawking. She could see them in her periphery. Staring. Waiting.
But then—
Malfoy grabbed her by the front of the robe, hauling her into his side and covering her with his arms.
“Aaaabsolutely fucking not,” he said, firmly.
Hermione’s gaze darted up to Malfoy’s.
“What?”
He flashed her a look. Subtle, but unmistakeable.
Shut the fuck up, and play along.
“Apologies, darling, but I’m putting my foot down on that one. I don’t care if it’s cultural. I’ll be keeping that lovely view all to myself, thanks.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t share what’s mine.”
The moment seemed to last a million years, every pair of eyes staring at her. She could feel them in her periphery, but, at least for a few seconds, she could do absolutely nothing—
Except stare directly into the silver-grey eyes that had just given her an out.
He winked at her.
“You can punish me for the double standard later.” He curled their fingers together, lifting her hand to his lips. His ring. He kissed it, gently. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”
The entire room seemed to awkwardly avert their gaze at the intimate moment. Ron looked quickly away. Lavender whispered quietly into his ear as she stroked her fingers over his exposed chest.
Hermione took a sharp, heated breath.
And she lowered her voice.
“Why did you do that?”
He frowned at her. “You’ve got my ring on. That might mean nothing to you, Granger, but it means something to me. I don’t share what’s mine, and I won’t have people thinking I do.”
She stared at him for a moment, trying to read him. He swallowed hard.
“Also, I saw that look. He was baiting you. Trying to mess with you,” he murmured. “The only person allowed to mess with you is me.”
Hermione’s stomach did a flip.
It was a surprisingly lovely gesture.
“Malfoy—” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you. That was… decent of you.” She smiled warmly. “We’ll have to have you checked for poisoning when we get back to the office.”
He huffed a laugh.
She sighed. “Now do something affectionate. It looks weird, us just talking like this.”
He nodded, once.
But then he caught her around the back of the neck. He pulled her in.
And he kissed her.
Malfoy’s hand splayed across the base of her skull, threading into her already-damp curls as his lips pressed gently to hers.
When she’d said affectionate, she absolutely hadn’t meant this, but she was too surprised to do anything to stop it. Nothing but gasp against his mouth. And, as she did, his tongue met hers, and she found herself—Gods—she immediately leaned into it.
She couldn’t help it.
Of course he was a marvellous kisser, because Gods forbid he be bad at anything. People were watching. She knew they were watching, but even then, she couldn’t pull away. The kiss was just so soft. Affectionate. The kind of kiss that a man enamoured might give to the woman he felt deeply for. It was lovely. And it was endearing, and it was—
It was a stark reminder that she had never, ever been kissed like that before.
They parted, and found that a few eyes had surreptitiously swung back in their direction.
She was suddenly rather grateful to have been so hot and sweaty.
It meant the blush on her cheeks was a tiny bit less obvious.
Hermione stormed down the corridor, fuming.
“Granger—” Malfoy called after her, chuckling to himself as he tied his robe back on.
His legs were much, much longer than hers. He caught her before she was halfway down the corridor.
And grabbed her by the wrist.
“Granger,” he hissed, pulling her close. “What’s wrong?”
“You—” Hermione tried to lean back, but he held her tight. “You kissed me!”
His brow furrowed. “We’re dating.”
“But we’re not!” she hissed. “Don’t—” She felt her cheeks beginning to flush again. “Don’t do that!”
“You asked me to do something affectionate, so I did.” He said firmly. “It was one kiss. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not a big deal?!” She parroted. “Did you consider I might not want your lips anywhere near me?”
“Well, you should’ve thought of that earlier.”
He furrowed his brow at her. She froze.
“What do you mean?”
Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh.
Then he backed her gently up against the wall.
He leaned in, his voice low and quiet. “Granger, I can’t keep telling you this. If you want to shove this in Weasley’s face, you’re going to have to learn to like touching me.”
Her breath caught at the proximity. “Not gonna happen.”
“Then you’re going to have to start pretending.”
His grip tightened on her waist.
“You need to pretend that you want me,” he growled. “That I drive you insane in the best way. That you can’t keep your fucking hands off me.” His eyes darted down to her lips. “If you want him to believe it, you’re going to have to make him believe it.”
It sent a chill down her spine. But before she could reply, there were footsteps at the other end of the hall. Heavy, lumbering footsteps.
Ron.
With a gasp, she grabbed Draco’s wrist, dragging him into their bedroom and closing the door as quietly as she could.
“It’s him,” she hissed. “Fuck, I hope he didn’t hear us. If he even gets an inkling that he was right about this being fake—”
He frowned. “I doubt he will, he’s never been very bright.”
“Even so! If he doesn’t think it’s real, he’ll never get it through his head.” Hermione clenched her jaw. “Now be quiet! He’s probably coming looking for me!”
But Malfoy didn’t quiet.
In fact, the curling smirk he gave her was rather deafening.
He held her gaze. He opened his mouth.
And he moaned.
Hermione froze. She stared at him, completely stiff with shock… until he did it again. He turned toward the door, angling himself for maximum projection.
“Uhhhhhh,” he moaned, a little louder than the last time.
She pounced on him, clapping a hand over his mouth.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Malfoy wrestled her hand away. “Getting it through his head.”
He leaned in.
“Now, pretend you like touching me.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open, but she pricked her ears and realised, rather quickly—
That Ron had stopped walking.
She could no longer hear his lumbering gait in the hallway. He’d clearly heard something, and he’d stopped. To listen. She was instantly conflicted. Yes, she was furious with him, but this was stupid. It was ridiculous and petty and pointless and it would achieve nothing in the scheme of things.
And even so…
His words lingered in her brain. The look of absolute pity from every single other person they both knew. He’d told all of them, or at least implied, that she wasn’t over him. Everyone from the Patils, to Dean and Seamus, to his own fucking fiancée.
Hermione took a deep breath, blush forming on her cheeks. Squeezed her eyes shut. Furrowed her brow. Summoned every shred of resolve she could from the wine left in her system. She opened her mouth, and—
She moaned.
“Ohhhh, fuck!”
Hermione wasn’t sure where she mustered it from, but she gave it everything she could. Not too loud, she didn’t want to oversell it, but she followed it up with a breathless, panting moan that she approximated must’ve sounded something like she might, were she actually garnering any enjoyment from this hellscape of a weekend.
She waited for Malfoy to respond, but in place of another moan, all there was was silence. Her eyes snapped open.
He was staring.
“Damn, Granger,” he whispered.
She gesticulated expectantly.
“Your turn, Malfoy!”
“Oh. Right.”
He blinked, shaking his head a little, and cleared his throat quietly.
“Ohhhh, yes,” he groaned. “Fuck, I love when you do that.”
Finally.
“Oh, fuck,” she pressed her forehead to the door. “That’s so good!”
Malfoy smirked. “Yeah? Gonna give me the first one already?”
She glared. First one? She hissed quietly through her teeth.
“I’m willing to pretend you’re decent but don’t push your luck!”
He snickered.
Whatever. There wasn’t time to argue.
“I’m so close!” she whispered. “Fuck, I’m already—Oh—”
He groaned again, from deep in the back of his throat. It was loud, and it was, for want of a better word, rather brutish, which was something that Hermione had not expected to enjoy the resonance of.
“Oh, I can feel it, sweetheart. Come on—”
Sweetheart.
She glared up at him. He smirked. Of all the bloody nicknames—
But he moaned too loudly for her to argue. Too loudly and too… if she was being honest, too well. It made her pause, for a moment. He’d closed his eyes as he did it, moaning hard. As if he was picturing something that was making him actually think of…
She cleared her throat. “Yes—I’m—oh, fuck— I’m gonna—”
She let out a keening whine, bumping her fist against the door in some sort of feigned desperation as she tumbled into her pretend climax. She whimpered. Let out a moan loud enough to wake the dead as she mentally counted the seconds to make sure it wasn’t too long.
And, as they fell silent, Malfoy let out a dark breath.
“Merlin, fuck, Granger. How often are you faking it?”
She scoffed, grateful for the low light that meant he might not be able to see the embarrassed blush on her cheeks. But she glared at him anyway.
“It’s only pretend when it’s with you,” she whispered.
He chuckled, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to retort, but both of their attention was drawn outside the room another pair of footsteps approached from the other side. They were lighter, these, and Hermione didn’t know them.
But, as it turned out, the owner would quickly reveal themselves anyway.
“Ronnie?” Lavender asked. “Why’d you leave?”
Hermione heard the sound of someone jumping away from the other side of the door. Then, the sound of two sets of footsteps storming—
Into the room next-door.
“I just wanted to see if I could catch Hermione. That’s all.”
Lavender sighed. “Is she alright? I’m worried about her. Which room did you end up putting her in? I might go and check on her.”
There was a rustling of paper, and the sound of Ron spluttering to cover something up.
And then—
Lavender went silent.
“You put her in the room next to ours?”
Ron sighed heavily. “When you said she was bringing Malfoy as a date, I assumed it was a joke. I thought she’d be on her own.”
“Why would that mean you put her in the room next to ours?”
Ron said nothing, but Hermione’s stomach twisted. She already knew.
That vindictive fucking—
Hermione sighed. Malfoy’s mouth dropped open in shock.
She already knew. She whispered.
“So that I’d have to listen to them fucking.”
Malfoy exhaled a heavy breath, and she could practically taste the rage on it. For once—for once—
It felt like someone actually believed her.
Her eyes narrowed on his, a challenge on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t need to say a word.
He was way ahead of her.
Malfoy responded with the most shit-eating grin she’d ever seen a grown man wear.
They crossed the room together, and at the last second, Malfoy curled his arm around her waist, throwing her up against the shared wall with a bang.
“Ahh!” she moaned, loudly. “Be gentle with me!”
Malfoy grinned widely, leaning over the top of her and slamming his hand against the plasterboard.
“You hate when I’m gentle.”
She moaned in response. And, through the wall, she heard it.
“Is that—” Lavender gasped. “Circe, that’s not Hermione and—-?”
Hermione had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Malfoy sank his teeth into his bottom lip. His hand curled onto her hip, guiding her forward, and slamming her, convincingly roughly, back against the wall.
It made a beautifully satisfying thud.
Goodness, he was strong.
It sent a rush of adrenaline through her body.
“Please. Please!”
Malfoy muffled a snort of laughter against her shoulder. “You know I can’t say no to you, sweetheart.”
“Ronnie,” Lavender whined. “Are they—”
“Yes, ohh, yes!” Hermione moaned. “Fuck, it’s so big! I can barely take it!”
Malfoy eyed her carefully.
“Don’t oversell it,” he hissed quietly; his lips dropping to her ear.
Hermione scoffed. It was a perfectly appropriate thing to say in context. She pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him, then turned her head to yell through the wall.
“Fuck, it’s perfectly average-sized but it’s so effective!”
Malfoy wheezed with stifled laughter.
Hermione grinned as he tried to catch his breath. In fact, he was laughing so hard that she had to cover her mouth to stifle her own giggle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made someone laugh like this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this. She glanced up at him, smiling.
And he still looked like an absolute dream.
It was unfair that he could look like that, actually, especially after a sauna. She was certain her hair was a humid mess, but his still looked like it’d been spun from pure silk. He didn’t even smell like sweat. Just… vaguely salty. Like charcoal. Like steam.
“I’m going to get you back for that,” he whispered.
She grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”
He slammed her arse against the wall again. And this time, it wasn’t just the once. He took control. Rocking her back against—she cleared her throat—against the wall, his fingertips slipping under the hem of her robe.
“Oh, fuck, Hermione, you’re so fucking good!”
He moaned it, muffled into her hair. Genius. The sounds should change. She ran her hand up the back of his neck, raking through his hair as she let her head fall back.
She moaned again, into his temple.
His lips brushed her neck.
It wasn’t Malfoy’s fault. He was probably just trying to breathe, but the effect was the same. It was a natural, physiological response to a—well, if she was being entirely fair—rather gorgeous specimen of a man dragging his lips over her erogenous zone that her skin might break out in furious goosebumps. Natural; to feel a shock of electricity flash through her body, for her leg to kick out and curl around him.
She swallowed hard.
“Is this what you wanted, Ron? To listen to your ex getting fucked in the next room?” Lavender began raising her voice. “You’re the one who’s been telling everyone she’s not over you. What the hell is going on?”
Hermione almost missed it. She was busy focusing on Malfoy’s lips on her neck. They—they’d moved up. Pressing just barely against the corner of her jaw.
“Granger, moan something, please,” he whispered, a little more cautiously into her ear. “You’re making me look very selfish.”
Oh. Right.
“Dra—Oh, fuck, Draco—!” she moaned, sinking her fingertips into his hair.
His body stiffened against her, and for a second, she could’ve sworn she felt him shudder. Perhaps it was his first name. She wasn’t sure she’d used it before.
She’d certainly never moaned it directly into his ear before.
“I mean we could just ask them to cast a muffling charm. Once they’re—” Ron cleared his throat. “Surely, they’ll be done in a few minutes.”
Malfoy exhaled heavily against her cheek.
“Sorry, Granger,” he whispered. “I’d normally go another twenty at least.”
She tried to grin at him. It didn’t work.
Because his hand had spread over the thigh she’d draped around his waist. He’d parted her legs wider. He was holding her steady. It meant his hand was preoccupied, so he kind of—guided her back against the wall, instead of slamming her. And of course, that was with his hips, because his hands were full, and his legs were busy keeping him standing. So now he was… pressing against her. Just a bit. Of course. Of course.
But the problem, inherently, with him pressing against her—
Was that it became quickly and rather obvious that Malfoy was hard.
Her brain seemed to melt at the thought, and Hermione’s breath caught, shivering at the realisation and trying not to draw attention to the fact that she’d noticed.
But she had, and Malfoy knew that. She glanced up at him, panic and confusion painted on her face.
Malfoy’s eyes flashed sharply as he looked down at her.
“You’re one scrap away from naked, and you’re unfairly fucking beautiful,” he hissed. “Yes, I’m fucking hard. Sue me.”
Hermione inhaled sharply again.
“You think I’m—” she swallowed, hard.
She couldn’t quite get the words out, but she thought them. In fact, they somewhat screamed at her from somewhere deep in her psyche.
Malfoy thought she was—
“Maybe it’s over?” Ron’s voice sounded.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
Malfoy was hard, and he was pressing against her, and the couple next door were waiting for her to make a sound, and everything was too quiet, and—
He parted her legs a little wide, tugging them around himself. Grinding her against his hard length.
Arousal exploded through her bloodstream at the change of angle.
“You feel so good,” she whispered.
His breath caught.
Then remembered she was supposed to be screaming it.
“Fuck, Draco, you feel so good.” She turned her head to project it through the wall, but the movement shifted her and, in a stroke of terrible, wonderful luck, his hard length brushed between her legs. She gasped, and his fingertips sank into the soft flesh of her thigh, the sharp press the only thing that stopped her from shuddering out a moan that was a lot less fake.
“Hermione,” he growled, clearing his throat to try and project louder. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Hermione became keenly aware of how thoroughly real this was suddenly feeling.
There were still layers of cotton robe between them, but Hermione knew very well it would take no more than an unfortunate slip of the hand to have their mostly naked bodies slotted together. To have his chest to hers, his abs to her stomach; to have him pressed up against—or perhaps, tugging her bikini bottoms to the side. She hated that she was still wearing them. Why hadn’t she listened to him?
With the next roll of his hips, she let out a tiny sob, and, in perfect opposition with the heat forming on her cheeks, Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Fuck, Granger,” he whispered. “Why do you have to sound so fucking perfect?”
Malfoy’s fingers dug into her hips, pressing her harder into the wall, Hermione meeting him. She ground forward, against him, knowing she was letting him draw these sounds out of her, even as she knew she didn’t have the fortitude to prevent them.
She couldn’t help it.
His body felt so good against hers as she began rocking against him in earnest, chasing the feeling of him between her legs. His cock ground against her clit repeatedly. Stroking his underside against it with every rock of his hips. One of her hands had its fingers sinking into the back of his neck. She fisted the placket of his bathrobe with the other.
Her head fell back against the wall.
And she let out a very real whimper.
“Fuck, Malfoy—” she said, giving herself away. “Keep doing that—”
His lips parted.
“Are you—” he whispered. “Granger, are you gonna fucking come?”
Yes. Yes, if he stayed just where he was. With that perfect, gentle friction. With his hips pushing hers wider. With the feel of him between her legs as she clawed the back of his neck.
“No—” she lied, just as he rocked against her again.
“Really?” he gasped, pressing his lips beside her ear.
She felt his breath heave as he whispered.
“Because I fucking might.”
Hermione whimpered against him as her gaze snapped upward. He was going to—No, it made no sense. He’d never even seen her in that way, she was sure of it. She was cold. Desolate. Like the fucking wasteland they were stuck in. She exhaled heavily.
Who the fuck was she kidding?
She’d never felt warmer. Hotter. Like there was fire in her bloodstream. She’d never felt this fucking alive, and she was about two minutes away from screaming for real.
She whimpered into his chest, her breath shuddering as Malfoy dropped his hand from her hair. It was as if he knew. He teased the lapel of her robe with his fingers. Then he stroked them—almost as if by accident—
Down her cleavage.
It was only the tips; the very tips of his fingers, brushing over the swell of her breasts, but even so she shuddered from the implication. She glanced up at him. Gave him permission with a tiny nod.
He pushed the fabric away.
Her eyes flicked up to his in a desperate search for approval she hadn’t even realised she’d wanted. But approval wasn’t exactly what she found. Instead, there was a gaze. A gaze so focused, so pointed; staring blankly down at her exposed skin, that his lips parted. His fingertips followed the line of that gaze, and she whined at the sudden influx of pleasure, her breath catching as he plucked softly at her nipple.
Her breasts felt small in his hands, but if that bothered him, even in the slightest, he didn’t show it. In fact, his breath choked in his throat, his jaw dropping as brushed his thumb across her nipple.
“Fucking—” he gasped. “Perfect,” he whispered. “They’re—you’re so—Granger you’re so fucking—”
He kissed her.
And this time, she kissed him back.
They were a mess of hands and lips, clawing at each other as their bodies melted into one against the wall. It was furious, gasping into his lips as his fingertips sank into her thighs. He pushed her back once more, against the wall, his hands sliding up her waist as if he’d been picturing it for years.
But he wasn’t close enough.
Hermione dropped her hands to the tie of his robe. She could barely look at him as she untied it, but as the cloth fell open, she could feel him. She peeked down, and she could see him. Her breath caught. He was everything she’d imagined. Size. Girth. Colour. She almost whimpered at the sight of him.
And then she did whimper. Because he pushed her bikini bottoms aside, and slid his length through her slick.
Her head hit the wall with a thud, letting out a searing moan as he began teasing over her clit. The pressure was flawless, the sound, the taste of his sweat, all of it. She sank her fingers into the back of his neck, whimpering into his skin. His lips left hers, dragging up to her jawline to her ear.
“Please. Please,” he whispered. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
And, fighting every stubborn bone in her body—
She listened.
Tight, aching bliss curled through her, over every inch of skin his hands touched. It drowned out everything; every sound, every thought; every single instinct that wasn’t focused on the rocking of his hips against hers or the feel of his fingertips teasing the peaks of her breasts. It was overwhelming. It was too much. But it was perfect.
It was exactly what she needed.
Hermione shattered against the wall, legs shaking as they squeezed around his hips. He pinned her body with his own, grinding them together as she tumbled; barrelled through her peak. As she melted against the wall until she was no more solid than the sweat that dripped down the back of her neck.
She could feel Malfoy chasing his own peak, and she opened her eyes, just a tiny bit, only to find him looking like he was made of pure magic. He was so beautiful, Hermione couldn’t help it. She slid her hand between their bodies. And, holding his gaze under hooded eyes, she wrapped her hand around him.
Malfoy’s breath rasped, his eyes rolling back as she let her fingers trail over him. As she teased over his tip, before pressing him harder against her clit. The tiniest bit more pressure, making him buck furiously against her.
She squeezed him.
“Oh, shit, you—” he gasped. “Like that—fuck—yes—Hermione, I’m—”
He broke just as fast as she had.
Malfoy came almost silently, his lips parted wordlessly. His brow furrowed, eyes slammed closed. No words left him, but breath did; short, sharp gasps as he released over her. Over her, her stomach, her pelvis, the tops of her thighs and everything between them. But mostly her hand. Her hand, feeling so petite wrapped around him, squeezing him tightly as he coated her, roll after bucking roll of his hips.
All she could do was pant silently into him as he came down from the high. Their lips were touching, but open, breathing the heat from each other’s mouths as their bodies slotted perfectly together. As if he couldn’t bear to not be at least almost kissing her.
But she didn’t pull away either.
Hermione let her senses take over. Malfoy was tracing her lines; his palm soft against the side of her breast. Down the dip of her waist, to her hips, and over the curve of her bum. Like he was…
She furrowed her brow. Tried not to laugh.
The fucker was savouring her.
Piece by piece, he was teasing every part of her, like pieces of a puzzle that he couldn’t wait to join together. She sank her teeth into her lip, grinning as she opened her eyes.
“Twenty more minutes, hey, Malfoy?” she teased. “That didn’t seem like twenty minutes to me.”
He opened his eyes, only to roll them at her.
“I was doing fine until you squeezed me,” he panted. “And I realised you had my fucking ring on.”
Hermione gasped, bringing her hand up between them to inspect it.
Malfoy’s eyes went wide.
It was drenched in his come, and the visual seemed to have a rather strong effect on Malfoy. He let out a gasp, which turned to a groan, which turned to him biting his lip and letting out the most pathetic whimper she’d ever heard leave a man of his size.
Hermione’s eyes flicked to it with mischief.
She lifted it to her lips, intending to only mess with him a little as she stuck out the tip of her tongue.
Malfoy grabbed her wrist.
“Granger,” he warned. “Don’t you dare.”
She looked up at him, innocently. “Why not?”
“You lick it clean, and I'll make you regret bringing me.”
Hermione’s stomach flipped. “Why would I regret it?”
“Because I’ll take you home. Right now. Fuck the press, fuck the wedding, I will show you exactly what it really looks like to be mine.” He smirked. “And I’ll do all your work in January.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open, a laugh at the tip of her tongue as she extended it.
But before she could, voices sounded from the next room.
“See, Ronnie, I don’t know if it was the earth-shaking orgasms, or the compliments, or the fact she’s got a man like that wrapped around her fucking finger—” Lavender’s voice sounded, harder and less sugary than Hermione had ever heard it.
“—But it sounds to me like she’s very fucking over you.”
