Work Text:
Pansy is early, and this greatly annoys Draco. She should understand the routine by now - after all, it never wavers. She was supposed to arrive at half-past eight, and Draco would already be three drinks deep with his eyes trained on the door. He values his time preparing - the opportunity to imagine what he will do and how he will do it. The build-up is almost as good as the release. He always approaches her immediately when she arrives, and they make a hasty exit for his flat (or the alley, if he’s feeling particularly bold). They never linger long lest they risk someone witnessing their sordid little game.
But tonight is different. He steps inside the dingy pub, one where he most certainly won’t run into any of his business associates, and is shocked to find her there already. She sits at the bar, legs dangling over the edge of a wooden barstool and her chin propped on her hand. At least she’s done a better job of dressing herself this time. Pansy is typically drawn to tight dresses and shiny fabrics, the kind of outfits that demand to be seen. Tonight, however, she has selected something far more realistic: a cream jumper with velvet trousers the colour of midnight. The outfit is soft and romantic, sexy but restrained.
It is exactly the kind of thing the real Hermione Granger would wear.
Though Draco is irritated with Pansy for her early arrival, he takes the opportunity to stare. She lifts a glass of white wine to her lips, then sets it down to reveal a berry-coloured lip print on the edge. Pansy must be eager to impress him: he’s told her many times that Hermione Granger prefers wine, but Pansy usually insists on drinking cocktails in all manner of obnoxious colours.
Pansy’s done a bang-up job tonight, and Draco is relieved. Their last few encounters left him wanting: though she looks right thanks to the Polyjuice, there is always something missing. It’s a bit like a dream state - even when convincing, a voice shouts in his head that it isn’t real. He needs enough alcohol to dull the reality that this is all pretend.
His obsession with Hermione Granger started six months after graduation when they’d both taken internships at the Ministry. Though they were assigned to different departments, the work was frequently cross-functional, and he worked alongside her on many late nights in the office. Almost immediately, he found constant excuses to be near her. He still doesn’t understand why he wants her so badly.
Perhaps it’s the appeal of the forbidden fruit. He’s been told his entire life that fraternising with muggleborns is an affront to his blood status, and yet it intrigues him. Or, perhaps, it is her sharp-tongued wit. Pureblood women, caustic as they can be, are trained to be deferential to powerful men. Even Pansy, a self-admitted bitch, uses her attitude to appeal to him. She’s always eager to please, even when it’s accompanied by an eye roll. Hermione Granger does not care about impressing him, and he finds that strangely erotic.
He doesn’t mean to stalk her, exactly. He simply collects information: her favourite foods, the brand of shampoo she uses, and which jokes make her laugh instead of wrinkle her nose. Over the last two years, he’s become something of an expert in Hermione Granger. Unfortunately, she barely tolerates him. Though they were both hired on at the Ministry full-time at the close of their internships, their roles diverged and he has less and less opportunity to be around her. She is always professional and polite, but she looks at him like he is a mere speck of dirt on her shoe: an annoyance. Inconsequential, like a bug.
He loves it. He gets off on imagining all the ways he could make her squirm.
But, after a while, imagining Hermione Granger was no longer enough. He needed to have her: to take and consume. He tried talking to her, but it was a lost cause. She looked as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin anytime he uttered a word (which only forced him into a Ministry loo, desperately wanking with the image fresh in his mind).
And then, on one wintry afternoon four months ago, she removed a hair tie and placed it atop her desk. A few strands of golden brown were wound around it, stark against the mahogany tabletop. It sat for several hours, calling to him like a beacon. After debating for the remainder of the day, he swiped it, the idea already forming in his head.
He couldn’t have Hermione Granger, but he could have the next best thing.
This is where Pansy had come in: always willing to make him happy, even though it required wearing the body of someone who couldn’t be less like her.
He really owes her a thank you, come to think of it.
Draco watches Hermione spin the wine glass against the bartop and decides he’s waited long enough. He approaches the bar slowly, his mouth already curling into a smirk. “You’re early,” he drawls, leaning against the bar beside her.
Her head turns, and for a moment, her expression is unreadable. Then, her lips press into a firm line. “Excuse me?”
The tone is perfect–just sharp enough to be believable. Pansy has finally nailed it.
“I mean,” he continues, lowering his voice, “you’re usually better about sticking to the routine.” He reaches for her wine glass, lifting it to examine the lip print. “The lipstick is a nice touch - almost an exact match. I’ll forgive you for taking liberties.”
Hermione’s eyebrows furrow, her eyes narrowing. “Malfoy, what are you on about?”
He freezes for a beat. Even her indignation is spot on, the slight hiss of his name like a dagger to his throat. It’s disconcerting: her embodiment of the women of his desires is so accurate that it feels wrong. He has grown used to this game. Pansy’s inability to capture Hermione’s presence frustrates him and is also the only staple of their interactions. Her sudden success in acting exactly like Hermione throws him off.
He won’t let Pansy’s manipulations ruin it now, not after all that work he’s put in. He frowns. “Don’t be coy. You wanted to mix things up, and you succeeded. You’ve caught me off guard. You win.”
Hemione blinks slowly. “Have you been drinking? Because I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
This isn’t right. Pansy should know better than to improvise - everything about their meetings is carefully orchestrated, and no details are left to chance. His confusion mixes with anger: this is his one indulgence, and he isn’t going to let Pansy Fucking Parkinson ruin it for him.
He reaches forward to grip the back of her neck, tugging her forward. “What do you want me to say, Granger?”
Her honey eyes flare with something like outrage, and her lips part, hot breath fanning against his face. “What the fuck is your problem?”
She sounds so much like her, the perfect blend of haughtiness and rage. The tone sends him spiralling, and he briefly forgets that none of it is real.
He slides a hand between her knees, palm pressed against the soft fabric of her trousers. “Do you want me to admit that I spent my entire day thinking about being inside of you?” He runs his nose against the length of her neck, coming to rest beside her ear. “I can’t wait to feel you come on my cock, begging for more. You looked so proper sitting at your desk today, but I know all of the filthy things that come out of your mouth when I’m fucking you.”
She inhales sharply but doesn’t pull away. He releases his grip on her neck and then steps backward. Her eyes widen, and her chest heaves. She seems stunned into silence for a moment, the air between them crackling. Draco has never seen Pansy look so scandalised - he is fairly sure she’s incapable of being shocked - but the expression on Hermione’s face is the one he’s imagined every time he considers approaching her. It’s delectable.
And yet - the hints of Pansy are still there. Underneath the disgust, she can’t hide a clear sense of curiosity. She is turned on, he can tell. He smiles. “Don’t you think we’ve delayed enough? Let’s go back to mine, unless you want me to take you in the alley.”
Her mouth hangs open, and she seems to be searching for the right words. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Your place, then.”
Pansy doesn’t speak as they exit the pub and apparate into Draco’s flat. It’s unlike her to pause her constant stream-of-consciousness yammering, but he appreciates it. She seems almost unsure as they arrive, tugging at her jumper and fiddling with her silver bracelet.
Her act of uncertainty is delicious, and Draco can’t stop thinking of all the ways in which he is going to defile her. He presses her against the wall, lips pressed to her neck, and she lets out a soft exhale as he scrapes his teeth against her skin. He slides one hand down the front of her trousers, fingertips ghosting over the lace of her knickers.
“Something different,” he mumbles, exploring the fabric. “I like them.”
“What?”
“I like the lace. It’s exactly what I would expect.” He parts her thighs with his hand, feeling the distinct moisture at their juncture. “Shame you’ve made a mess of them.”
She clamps her thighs together, and he pulls his head up to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed red, and she breathes heavily out of her nose.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Granger.” He eases her thighs apart once more, stroking his fingers against the fabric. “I love knowing how much this turns you on.”
She tilts her head back, teeth resting on her lower lip. “You do?”
“I fucking love it.” He pushes the thin strip of her knickers to the side, sliding one finger into her folds. “You’re so controlled at work. Never a hair out of place. But I know how to make you fall apart, don’t I?”
She gasps slightly as he presses his finger further inside of her. “Uh - yes. I’m just…” her voice peters out, replaced by a soft moan as he positions his thumb against her clit.
He has long since memorised her body, but he never grows tired of her reactions. Tonight, though, is even better than usual. Pansy is always able to predict his next move: like a carefully crafted script, they have long since grown beyond the tender awkwardness of new sex. But tonight? She responds to him like it is the first time, both in awe and terrified of the way he makes her feel.
He can’t get enough. He continued stroking her clit, and she sighs softly from her parted lips. “Take off your shirt.”
She briefly studies him, then pulls the jumper over her head and drops it to the floor.
“The bra too.”
She reaches behind her back, shuddering slightly as she unhooks it and lets it fall from her arms.
Merlin, he loves her tits. Small and round, with dusky brown nipples that harden with the slightest touch. He leans forward to take one between his teeth, sucking roughly.
“Oh, fuck, ” she gasps, her head knocking slightly against the wall.
He palms the other breast, and she arches herself toward him. One of her legs lifts to press around his upper thigh, and he hears the distinct noise of her heel dropping to the floor. He lifts his head once more. She stares at him, a thin sheen of sweat starting at her hairline.
“Turn around,” he says, sliding a palm down the soft plane of her stomach.
She nods, swallows, and turns to face the wall. He rises up to stand behind her, then reaches his hands around to cup her tits once more. He pushes himself against her arse, letting out a groan. “I’ll never get enough of you, don’t you see? No matter how many times I have you, it’s never enough.”
“Malfoy, I don’t…” she trails off with a whimper as he bites down gently into her shoulder. She tastes different tonight - perhaps a new soap - and he lathes his tongue over the salty skin.
Draco unfastens her trousers, then lowers himself to the floor as he slides them down over her arse. Her palms are pressed to the wall, and her rib cage expands with fast breaths as she stands still. He kisses the small of her back, then hooks the sides of her knickers with his thumbs. “Tell me, Granger,” he says, as he drags the lace down her thighs, “do you think about this when you’re at your desk?”
She trembles. “What?”
“Do you think about me? When you’re chewing on the edge of your quill, desperate to hide how turned on you are?”
“No.” She shakes her head, but her voice quivers. “I think about work.”
“Oh.” He strokes a hand from front to back, sweeping her wetness down her inner thighs. “I don’t believe you, Granger.”
“I don’t care if you believe me,” she hisses, and Draco nearly comes in his pants. She sounds perfect. As if he’s yanked her from his mind into reality.
“Do you want to leave? I’m not forcing you to stay,” he whispers, reciting the words that his inner voice has imagined so many times before. “I think you want to stay. To get dragged down into the dark by me.”
She suddenly spins around, eyes glassy and wide. “So what if I do? I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to want things. You’re the last person who gets to judge me.”
His cock twitches as he studies her. She is lush and warm, embodying everything his world is missing. A bead of sweat drips from between her breasts down her stomach, and Draco’s gaze follows its path. Her skin is lightly freckled, a dusting of brown that he finds utterly intoxicating. He’s usually so desperate to touch her that he doesn’t take the time to look, but tonight, he does.
He knows she isn’t real. None of this is real. It’s his fucked up manipulation to ease his desperation, but the taste of her isn’t enough. He wants the real Hermione Granger, the one who wouldn’t give him a single shred of her attention, who would hex him for daring to look so wantonly at her.
And then she shivers. A slight ripple of indecision moves through her body to arrive in her wide, honey-coloured eyes. She looks both unsure and excited, and it’s enough to drive the insecurity from Draco’s mind.
She’s real enough, for now.
He stands, grips her by the shoulders, and comes close enough to see the flecks of green in her eyes. “My bedroom. Now.”
She looks the wrong way down the hallway.
A nice touch.
He takes her hand and guides her to his room. It’s been well-prepared for her: fresh sheets, dim lighting, and goblets of water charmed to stay cold on the bedside. Pansy rarely indulges in his offerings, but he suspects she knows they’re not really meant for her.
He points to the bed. “Sit.”
Her eyes flash with something, but she obeys, perching herself on the edge with her hands in her lap. He approaches her and buries his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet, slightly spicy aroma of her new soap. “I want to taste you,” he murmurs, “want to make you come in so many ways that you forget another man has ever touched you.”
She pushes him back, which surprises him. Pansy is always willing, perfectly pliant to his scenario. “This is unfair,” she pants, then points to his clothing. He’s still clad in his dress shirt and trousers, though they’re uncomfortably tight from the pressure of his erection.
“You want me to undress?”
“I want to see what I’m dealing with,” she says, voice sharp. “You don’t get to be in charge.”
Oh. His body warms, the sting from her words going straight to his core. The game has taken an interesting direction, and he’s not displeased. She lifts her chin, eyes sparking with challenge. It’s mesmerising–the flicker of fire, the raw nerve she hides behind her poise.
He unbuttons his shirt, then shrugs out of it. If she’s impressed, she doesn’t show it. She just watches , like she’s taking mental notes. He unzips his trousers, steps out of them, and then slides his black pants to the floor.
He grips his cock, squeezing the base in his palm. “Pleased, Granger?”
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s serviceable, I suppose.”
“Serviceable?” He grows even harder at her teasing, sliding his hand upward to swipe over the head. “You’ve never complained before.”
Her expression shifts slightly. “Come here.”
He steps forward, and she parts her knees in response. He steps between them, and the head of his cock brushes against her cunt. He can feel how wet and warm she is, and it takes everything in him not to sheath himself immediately. Her scent overwhelms him–clean, sharp, and maddeningly real. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to win this game.”
She swallows, eyes flickering to his face. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you can’t stop thinking about how good it’s going to feel when I make you mine.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She exhales, shifting slightly on the mattress.
“Or,” he adds, brushing his lips along the edge of her ear, “maybe you’re thinking about all the ways in which I’ll ruin you.”
Her response is immediate. She narrows her eyes, but rather than shrink away, she presses forward. He laughs slightly at the way her body betrays her.
He presses a kiss to the edge of her mouth. It’s a daring move - pushing on a boundary that Pansy set at the start of this game. They fuck in every single way imaginable, but they don’t kiss - they don’t pretend it’s romantic. He’s always respected her wishes, but tonight, he’s tempted to blur the lines.
His mouth lingers on the edge of hers, and for a moment, they simply breathe.
And then she turns her head. They meet, open-mouthed, in a kiss that causes stars to burst behind his eyes. At this moment, he is fully convinced that this is real. His delusion has finally come to reality, and he’s going to make her his. He hooks her knees under his arms and moves her back on the bed. She gasps, hands flying to grab his shoulders.
“Malfoy, I–”
“Draco,” he corrects, settling himself back between her legs. “If you’re going to moan it, you might as well get it right.”
Her retort is cut short as he kisses her again. She hesitates for only a second before responding with equal force, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.
It’s different this time. It’s everything Draco’s ever wanted.
He pulls away from her at the realisation. It’s everything he wants, and yet, it’s not. She’s an imposter. It’s a game - one he designed and is now losing. He has always maintained awareness of what this is: a cheap attempt, a stupid trick. He’s getting too sucked in, and it’s going to ruin everything.
He sits up, bruising the hair from his forehead. “Stop.”
She props herself on her elbows. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want to do this anymore. You did good, but I’m done.”
“You’re done ?” She sits up, then rises up on her knees.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m bored and–”
Hermione raises a hand in the air, and suddenly, her wand flies out of the hallway and into her open palm. A bit of wandless magic that Pansy Parkinson surely couldn’t muster. The realisation hits him the moment she points the wand at his throat.
This is not Pansy Parkinson. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner.
“Who do you think I am, Malfoy?” Her chest heaves, her hand trembling slightly as it grips her wand.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, shaking his head slightly.
She frowns. “I’m not stupid. Clearly, I’m supposed to look like me, but I’m not supposed to act like me. Polyjuice?”
“No, I–”
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Malfoy.” She presses forward, the tip of her wand digging into the underside of his chin.
He nods. “I thought you were Pansy.”
“Pansy Parkinson could never be me.” Her voice is sharp, her hand steadying as she presses the tip of her wand so roughly that it hurts.
Draco swallows, the wood digging into his skin, but he doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are blazing, wide with fury–and something else he cannot place.
“Polyjuice,” she repeats, her voice heavy with disgust. “You thought you’d have your fun playing pretend, did you?”
“It wasn’t like that.” His voice comes out weaker than he intends.
“Oh really? Then enlighten me - what was it like?”
Draco shifts. He’s still warm from what just almost happened, and he cannot completely ignore that they are still both naked. He should be disarming her, perhaps bribing her to stay quiet with copious amounts of money, but he cannot bring himself to move. The way she’s looking at him keeps him rooted in place.
Perhaps the game was always meant to end this way.
“I didn’t know it was really you,” he admits, voice tight. “Until a moment ago.”
“And yet you decided it was perfectly appropriate to use someone else? Do you even hear yourself?” Her knuckles are white as she grips her wand, eyes alight with fury.
“Pansy consented to this,” Draco says, his voice slow.
“But I didn’t. How long has this been going on for?”
“Longer than you’ll be happy about.”
She shakes her head. “It’s wrong, Malfoy. Abhorrent, in fact. You didn’t think to just…ask?”
He throws up his hands in frustration. “You won’t speak to me, Granger! How the hell was I supposed to get you to fuck me?”
She takes a sweeping gaze around the room, then down at her naked form. “You do realise that I was about to fuck you, correct?” She lowers her wand slowly, allowing her arm to drop down at her side.
Right. His eyes dart from the wand to her face. She still looks angry, but she’s softened slightly. She’s made no attempt to cover herself up, which tells him she’s not afraid.
Her lack of fear means he hasn’t lost the game - not just yet. “I’m sorry, Granger. Leave, if you want.”
She says nothing, eyes studying him shrewdly.
“Or stay,” he continues, “and I’ll keep my promise to ruin you.”
Her eyes slide to his bedroom door, and for a long moment, she seems unsure. And then she tosses her wand to the floor with a clatter. “My rules. Lie down.”
He lays back on the mattress, his chest swelling in relief. Just looking at her, he’s immediately hard again. He’s seen her body so many times in the last few months, but knowing it’s her makes him dizzy with need. She moves differently than Pansy, as if she doesn’t care what he sees when he looks at her. Hermione reaches forward and grips his cock, squeezing it. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, thrusting himself upward into her palm.
“Tell me how this started,” she demands, eyes fixed on his face.
“First day of internship,” he grunts. The pressure from her hand is enough to be tempting but not enough to provide relief.
She increases the pressure. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“It seems you’ve had two years to consider this, Malfoy. You can give me a better answer.” She pumps her hand against him once, and he lets out a moan.
“Fine,” he gasps, “You’re everything I’m not supposed to want. But I do. I can’t fucking think about anything else.”
She purses her lips, then brushes a thumb over his head. “And did it help? Having me halfway?”
“No,” he admits. “Please, Granger.”
“Hermione,” she snaps. “If you’re going to moan it, you might as well get it right.”
Fucking hell. He might actually love her. She’s better than he imagined. He nods furiously. “Please, Hermione.”
She climbs over him, bracketing his hips with her thighs. “I need you to understand something, Malfoy.”
“Anything,” he gasps. She sits against his abdomen and the warmth of her cunt slides against him.
“You don’t know anything about me.” She drags her nails down his chest, and he shudders in response. “Whatever you imagined, it’s wrong.”
He swallows the knot in his throat. “Understood.”
She leans forward until they are nose to nose and surprises him with a kiss - it is both passionate and tentative, her tongue seeking his out. He groans into her mouth. He can feel this kiss with every nerve-ending of his body. It’s as if she’s inserted herself into every crevice of his body. She grinds against him, and he ghosts his palms over her back.
She straightens, then raises up to position herself over his cock. Slowly, teasingly, she lowers herself onto him until he’s fully within her.
“Oh, fuck,” he sighs, and she clenches around him. “You feel incredible.”
“It’s different, then?” She moves against him, hands sliding upward to grab her tits.
“Yes,” he admits, working hard to steady his breathing. This is the best thing he’s ever felt, and he can hardly believe it’s real. His hands explore the soft skin of her thighs, fingertips eager to memorise every inch, as she fucks him slowly. He watches her move atop him, his length disappearing inside of her with each thrust. “It’s better. Fuck - so much better.”
He stares up at her face. She doesn’t look angry anymore - the look of rage has been displaced with pleasure. Her eyes flutter closed, and her mouth hangs open, one hand trailing down to stroke herself as she continues to ride him. She looks free , and he’s taken aback by the wildness she seems to exude.
He always expected her to be so controlled - the picture of planning, even mid-coitus. But this version of Hermione Granger is more unbridled than he could have hoped. He grabs her by the hips, and her eyes fly open. “You like this,” he says, lips curving into a smirk. “You came home with me. And you didn’t leave when when you realised how fucked up I am.”
She pauses for a second, then jerks her head in a nod. “Maybe I like fucked up.”
He thrusts upward hard enough to make her yelp, then flips her down onto the mattress. He’s overcome by the sudden need to drive within her, to ruin her, to make her his forever. The headboard of his bed slams against the wall as he drives into her. To his delight, she makes delicious little sounds as he fucks her, and she quivers around him in a way that tells him he’s giving her exactly what she wants.
“You want this,” he groans, hands moving to tug at her hair. He sucks at her neck, imagining how hard she’ll have to work to effectively glamour the marks before work tomorrow. Even with them covered, she’s going to remember that he left them - that he’s the one who made her sound like this. “You like that it’s me, don’t you?”
She digs her nails into his shoulders. “Get off of me.”
“What?” He pulls out of her.
She flips over onto her stomach and then rises up on her knees. She looks back over her shoulder, then flashes him a half-smile. “Maybe I want to pretend you’re someone else. You’re pathetic, you know that?”
He knows he should be offended, and yet, she’s looking at him like he’s nothing and he’s never enjoyed anything more. He grips her hips and guides himself back inside of her cunt, breathing out roughly. “Merlin, you’re tight.”
She squeezes around him, pushing back to meet every thrust. For several minutes, the only sound is the slap of their bodies and their frenzied pants. He slides his hand under her body, then finds her clit. He circles it with his fingers, and she wriggles against him.
“God,” she gasps, and he feels her cunt contract around him. “Don’t stop, Malfoy.”
He slams into her harder, his own mind unable to form coherent thoughts. “You’re so close, Granger. I can feel you. You’re going to come for me, yeah?” He feels her entire body tighten in response to his words, her movement suddenly frenetic. “You like that, don’t you? You hate me - you think I’m nothing, and that gets you off.”
“Shut up,” she snaps, but her voice breaks on the second syllable.
“You like being defiled - slumming it with Draco Malfoy.”
“Y-yes.” She trembles around him, and he can feel the building of her orgasm.
“What would people say if they knew?”
She explodes with a low cry, a guttural sound falling from her lips. Her body grips him, and it’s almost painful in the most delirious way. He’s so close. He can barely breathe - almost there.
“Holy fuck, Granger.”
“Hermione,” she snaps.
He comes harder than he ever has before, and his nails leave half-moon marks on her pale skin. “Hermione.”
He pulls out of her, collapsing onto the mattress beside her. She rolls onto her back and then looks at him with a smug expression.
“You’re diagnosably mad, you know that?”
He cups the sensitive flesh between her legs, causing her to gasp. “You don’t seem to mind.”
“Apparently not.”
He watches her as she leaves the bed. She goes into the hallway and comes back with her clothing in a bundle. He says nothing as she slowly dresses herself, drinking her in as she tugs the lacy knickers over her thighs.
“Leaving already? Keen to shower off the evidence?” He sits up, dragging the rumpled sheet over his lap.
“I have to work tomorrow, as do you.” She zips her trousers and tugs the jumper over her head.
“Answer a question for me.”
She crosses her arms across her chest. “What?”
“When did you know?”
“That you thought I was someone else?”
Draco nods.
“The moment you walked into the pub.” She smoothes her hair, then grabs her wand from the floor and slides it into her pocket.
He frowns. “How?”
“Hannah Abbott was certain she saw you at a different pub last week with your hands all over me. I told her it was impossible, but she was adamant.”
He curses under his breath. He’d tried so hard to be discreet.
“I looked at your schedule when you left your desk this morning, and found it curious that you had notated a date with HG for this evening.”
“So,” he breathes, “you went there to see for yourself?”
“How could I not?”
Draco stands slowly, stepping toward her. To his surprise, she doesn’t back away as he reaches out to touch the blooming marks on her neck. His marks. “You went home with me already suspecting that I’d been sleeping with your doppelgänger. You know what that tells me?”
She tilts her head. “What?”
“You don’t find it nearly as repugnant as you’d like me to believe.”
One side of her mouth quirks up.
He jumps at the slight softening. “Can I see you again?”
“Absolutely not.”
He presses forward and kisses her. How could he have not known it was the real her immediately? No one could ever have played her so well.
She pulls back, then rolls her eyes. “I’ll consider it.”
“See you at work tomorrow?”
“You are not to speak to me under any circumstances.”
He nods. “Fine. I’ll meet you after work - break room is absolutely deserted by five.”
She laughs. “No."
She apparates away with a crack.
He stands there momentarily, the faint scent of her lingering in the air. She’s gone, leaving him nothing but the memory of her smug smirk and how she’d changed the rules to make him crawl.
Draco leans against the edge of his bed and runs a hand through his tousled hair. Of course, she’d known from the start and played him. He was convinced he was in control of the game, and she’d let him believe it until she was ready to show her hand.
He notices something on the floor - a slight shimmer in the dim lighting. Her bracelet. He picks it up, inspecting it. On the inside of the band, there’s a faint etching. Three words, carved by the tip of a wand.
Try Harder, Malfoy.
He smiles wickedly.
It’s not a no. It’s a challenge.
Thankfully, he’s always been a man who thrives on overcoming the odds.
Tomorrow, he’ll see her at work. He won’t speak to her–he’ll follow the rules. But he’ll find a way to get under her skin, to magnetise her to him like he’s drawn to her.
Hermione Granger might be in control, but she’s not done with him yet.
And Merlin help him, he doesn’t want her to be.