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“Shit, shit, shit,” Hermione Granger mumbled to herself as she dug through her handbag searching for her wallet. It wasn’t there. Where the hell could she have left it? She thought back to all the places she’d been that day, the coffee shop in the morning, the cafe for lunch…
“Hey, you going to pay for this?” the bartender tapped the bill he’d set on the bar. Hermione looked longingly at the pint and sighed.
“Sorry, I seem to have misplaced my wallet.”
“No wallet, no beer,” the bartender groused and took the pint glass away. Hermione groaned. All she’d been looking forward to all day was a pint at the pub before heading up to her flat to work on her psych paper. She sighed heavily and trudged out of the bar. Both the coffee shop and the cafe would be closed by now. She suspected it was at the cafe because she had definitely paid there, hadn’t she? Now she couldn’t remember.
Hermione slipped out of the crowded pub just as a large group of men went inside. She should just work on the psych paper with a clear head anyway and went back to her tiny studio flat. It would save her some money to live with flatmates, but Hermione had tried that last year and it didn’t work out well. So she spent almost every dime she had to rent an expensive flat in Hogsmeade near Hogwarts University. Maybe she should have gone to City College in London where her parents wanted her to go, but the first look at the gorgeous Scottish campus of Hogwarts and Hermione was in love. It helped that Hogwarts Industrial and Organizational Psychology program was the top in the nation.
Hermione walked the three blocks to her flat above a small, independent book store. Unlocking the door, she blocked her cat, Crookshanks from leaving, before slipping through and dropping her handbag and her backpack by the door. Hermione puttered around her flat, feeding Crooks, grabbing a sandwich for herself before sitting down in front of her laptop. Her paper wasn’t due for another week, but Hermione liked to complete her work with plenty of time to spare.
Three days later, a large, mysterious envelope was pushed under her door. Hermione stared at it for a long moment before picking it up. The front of her building was locked, nobody should have been able to access the door to her flat except for her landlord and her neighbor Mr Filch. Filch was a mean old thing, with an even meaner cat that Hermione avoided like the plague.
It was a plain, manilla envelope, that was quite thick. Thick enough to hold her missing wallet actually. That was the thought that made her bend down and pick it up. The envelope wasn’t sealed and Hermione opened the flap and peered inside. Sure enough, her gold wallet was inside as was a bundle of pounds wrapped in a rubber band. Hermione pulled out her wallet first, inspecting it to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, but it was all there. Her identification, her bank and credit cards, even the twenty pounds was in there. Hermione stuffed her wallet into her purse, hanging on the hook by the door and slowly withdrew the wad of money from the envelope. They were all one hundred pound notes. She fanned through them in disbelief. Whoever had returned her wallet had returned it with at least a thousand pounds cash.
Hermione put the cash back in the envelope and shoved the whole thing into a drawer in her entrance table. She looked around as if she thought she was being observed and then laughed at herself. She was alone in her flat. Nobody was watching her. But why had the good Samaritan given her so much money? It didn’t make sense. She shook her head and glanced at her watch, realizing she was about to be late, she grabbed both her handbag and backpack and dashed out her door and up the street for campus.
A week after the cash had been delivered, Hermione returned to her flat to find a large box sitting on her doorstep. She hadn’t ordered anything, nor was she expecting a delivery, but the label on the box showed that it was addressed to her. She glanced over her shoulder at Mr Filch’s door, but it was closed. Frowning, Hermione unlocked her door and shoved the box inside with her feet. It didn’t feel too heavy, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was. Maybe her parents had sent her something?
Her heart caught in her throat and she shook her head. Of course, her parents hadn’t sent anything. It was why she was in this situation, to begin with. Her parents had been killed in a car accident the year before. They’d owed quite a bit of debt on their dental practice, and instead of leaving their daughter with a small inheritance, they’d left her with practically nothing. They’d been helping to pay the rent before their death, and now Hermione was responsible for it on her own.
Hermione went through her evening chores before settling on her sofa with the box between her feet. The return address was Harrods. She knew she hadn’t ordered anything from the department store, but it was her name and address on the box. Hermione grabbed her scissors and cut the tape of the box, pulling the flaps open. Inside was a month’s worth of new clothes, jeans, slacks, dresses, even lingerie, all in Hermione’s size. She looked at the entire box with something like horror mixed with fascination.
Did she have a stalker? Who in the world would send her a box of clothes? How did they know her size? Was it the same person who had given her a thousand pounds? She shoved the box into the far corner of her flat and eyed it warily. Just like the money, she knew she couldn’t touch what was in the box. She needed to pay more attention to her surroundings. It was clear that someone was following her.
That night, Hermione checked the locks on her doors and windows three times before crawling into bed and still, it took her a long while to fall asleep.
Two weeks after the clothes arrived, more cash arrived, this time, with a note.
The clothes were a gift. I expect nothing from you.
It was unsigned. There were two thousand pounds in the envelope. Hermione’s heart beat faster. Whoever her anonymous benefactor was, he or she was keeping tabs on her. They had known she wasn’t wearing the clothes. Someone was definitely watching her.
Did they have good intentions though? The note hadn’t suggested a meeting. It even said they expected nothing. But Hermione couldn’t help but feel that if she wore the clothes then she was signing herself up for something she wanted no part of. What that something was, she still had no idea. But nothing about this situation felt right to her. She shoved the envelope of cash next to the first one in her entry table drawer. Maybe if she just ignored it, the whole thing would go away. Maybe her benefactor would give up.
Draco Malfoy had a difficult job. It wasn’t something he ever imagined he’d be doing as a child. As a child, he’d always thought it would be fun to be a detective, solving crimes. That was before he figured out what his father did for a living. Now his father was dead and Draco had a choice to make. He could follow in his father's footsteps or allow someone else to take the reins of the Malfoy crime family and possibly be killed within the year. The choice was obvious to Draco. At the ripe age of twenty-one, Draco led the Malfoy crime family ruthlessly.
He preferred to think of it less as crime and more as providing a marketplace for items that couldn’t be sold above ground for whatever reason. He held numerous properties across the country where less savory folks could buy, sell, and trade goods that were difficult to come by. As the hosts of said sales, the Malfoy family earned a hefty percentage of each sale.
Of course, the Malfoy family hadn’t always been this uninvolved in the sale of illegal goods, but Draco had wanted to remove as much of the stink as he could from the family name. Malfoy was starting to become a rather popular name in other circles as well, and Draco began investing in actual legitimate businesses.
It was all so boring now, three years after his take-over of the family that when he’d stumbled across a woman’s wallet outside of a cafe he decided to take a personal interest. It had only taken his best tracker, Blaise Zabini, a day and a half to find the woman. Draco had pondered what to do with the wallet when Zabini had come back with more news. Apparently, she was a student at Hogwarts University and almost destitute. Her bank account barely had any money in it and she was a month behind in paying her rent. It was a small thing, but when Draco returned the wallet, he decided to return it with a small gift.
It warmed his heart to think that he was helping someone who needed it. He didn’t think of her again until a few days later when Zabini had come to him again. The woman, Hermione Granger, was wearing the same clothes, over and over again. She either hadn’t spent the money or used it on something she thought was more important than clothes. Draco hadn’t even set eyes on her, beyond the photo on her identification. He bade Zabini to outfit her with some clothes from Harrods, handing over a wad of cash for the purchase.
Again, Draco put her out of his mind.
Three weeks after finding the wallet, Zabini was knocking on his office door again.
“Yes?” Draco said distractedly as he was looking across his accounts. The London warehouse hadn’t taken in as much money last month as it should have. He’d have to get Nott in his office to discuss.
“It’s about the girl,” Zabini said, slipping into the chair before Draco’s desk. Draco looked up and frowned.
“What girl?” Draco lifted his eyebrow.
“Hermione Granger,” Zabini sighed.
“Oh, right, what about her again?” Draco asked.
“She’s not wearing the clothes we sent.”
“Why not?”
Zabini shrugged. Draco frowned. Perhaps she wasn’t sure of their altruistic intentions. He scribbled out a quick note and opened his middle desk drawer. Under the false bottom, he quickly counted out a couple of thousand pounds and handed the note and the cash to Zabini.
“Make sure she gets this,” Draco said and waved Zabini from the office.
Once more, he put her out of his mind. As much as he’d like to think about a pretty co-ed, he had much more important things to deal with than this.
Six weeks after finding the wallet, Draco Malfoy found himself sitting inside Hermione Granger’s flat. She wasn’t home though. Zabini had used his lock picking skills to get them both inside. A quick glance through her cupboards and fridge and showed they were empty. Draco frowned when he spotted the box from Harrods in the corner.
He settled on her sofa to wait until she came home, Zabini standing behind him, and her cat eyeing them warily from its bed on the far wall near the telly. It wasn't long before a key rattled in the lock. Draco took a breath and let it out slowly the door eased open.
“Crooks?” a soft voice called out. The cat didn't move.
The door shut and the woman gasped. Draco's back was to her.
“I don't want any trouble,” she said. “I don't have much but you're welcome to—”
“I'm not here to rob you,” Draco scoffed, standing quickly and turning to face her.
The photo on her identification didn't do her justice, they never did. She was beautiful even in her terror. Her dark brown eyes widened at seeing him. Her brow furrowed.
“I know you,” she whispered.
“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said extending his hand. She just looked at it. “This is my associate, Blaise Zabini.” Draco gestured to Zabini.
The woman crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing in my flat?”
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at the opened but unworn box of clothes in the corner. “Not to your style?”
“I'm not a charity case,” she hissed. “I don't know what you want with me or why but I want no business with mobsters.”
Draco chuckled. She had spirit, which he found he liked. He edged around the sofa and gestured to her kitchen. “No charity then but since it looks like you haven't been to the grocers this week perhaps I could buy you dinner?”
Zabini made a noise in the back of his throat that Draco ignored.
“I told you, I don't need you—” she was interrupted by her stomach growling.
Draco smirked.
“Fine. But the goon doesn't come with,” Granger said.
“Zabini thanks for your help today,” Draco said dismissing him. Zabini made another noise in his throat and Draco waved his hand toward the door. Frowning at him Zabini left the small flat.
“Why was he following me?”
Draco considered her for a long moment. “How do you know he was following you?”
She snorted. “I'm not an idiot. I'm reasonably aware of my surroundings. Maybe I didn't catch him that first week, but since then? He's like clockwork three or four days a week, following me around like a puppy dog.”
Draco laughed then. He wasn't pleased that Zabini had been made so easily but he found it interesting that she had made him.
“Dinner then?” Draco asked.
“Fine. But only because I'm hungry and too tired to cook something myself.” They both ignored the fact that she had no food in the flat.
Granger led the way out of the flat, making a point to lock it behind her. Once they were on the street, Draco held out his arm for her and she hesitantly took it. He led her down the street to a pub he knew a few short blocks from her flat.
She didn’t say a word to him until they were settled in a back booth of the pub and had each ordered a pint and a shepherd’s pie.
“What do you want?” she asked, eyeing him with deep suspicion.
Draco sighed and sipped his pint. This had all started as a bit of a lark. He wanted to help someone out who was clearly struggling, but now he wasn’t sure what he wanted. She intrigued him.
“Honestly, I was just trying to help you out,” Draco said. “You seemed down on your luck.”
“And the clothes?” Granger asked.
Draco shrugged. “Zabini told me you wore the same things over and over again, so I had him pick some items out for you at Harrods. If they aren’t to your liking we can send them back.”
“I don’t understand why?”
Draco laughed. “Me either, love.”
She narrowed her eyes at the endearment. “You have to have some explanation.”
“My line of work is dull, and often unrewarding. I happened across your wallet outside of a cafe and decided to return it to you. When I had Zabini look you up, he founds some items on the public record that indicated you were perhaps in need of more than your wallet.” He shrugged again. He didn’t like how sappy this all sounded. He really wasn’t that altruistic and honestly, if she hadn’t been gorgeous, he probably wouldn’t have bothered with even this. Zabini had been the one who pushed him along, but he also didn’t necessarily want to admit that.
She eyed him warily for a moment. The waitress came back with their meal and instead of responding, she dug into her food as if she hadn’t eaten all day. And judging by the state of her cupboards, Draco was guessing she hadn’t. He shouldn’t ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, and usually he had more tact than this, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“What did you do with the money?”
She glanced up at him. “It’s in my flat still.”
Draco furrowed his brow. “You didn’t spend it.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t belong to me.”
“It was a gift.”
“I don’t want it.” She put down her utensils and glared at him. “I don’t want your charity. And I especially don’t want your money. I know what you do, Draco Malfoy. You are a gangster, a mobster, you and your ‘associates’ are all over the news,” she hissed. “I don’t want your dirty money.”
Part of Draco was angry that she spoke to him that way. Almost nobody spoke to him like that. But another part of him was amused. He had as many legitimate business interests these days as he had illegitimate, but he knew the reputation of the Malfoy name.
“And if I promised you the money I gave you was from a legitimate source?” Draco asked.
Granger scoffed. “As if you could promise that.”
“I have legitimate businesses,” Draco said. “Quite a few of them.”
“And your accounting?”
“All above board, I assure you,” Draco grinned. “Otherwise, I would have the police all over me.”
She frowned and changed the subject. Draco let her but knew that if he continued his association with her, then the money issue would come up again.
Fuck, Hermione thought as she looked at her bill for her last semester of school. It was two weeks since her slightly awkward dinner with Malfoy and despite trying her best to not think of it, it seemed to be the only thing on her mind.
She compared her tuition bill to what was in her bank account, or rather, what wasn’t in her bank account. She was so damned close to finishing. She sighed and dropped the invoice to her table, digging the heel of her palms into her eyes in frustration. So close, and yet, so far away. She could probably pick up a few more shifts at the bookstore downstairs, but that wasn’t going to be near enough to pay her rent and her tuition. The three thousand pounds in the drawer by the entrance of her flat was like a millstone around her neck. She could desperately use the money, but spending it felt like she would be signing up to be part of Malfoy’s crime family and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She would just have to take a semester or two off.
A week later, Mr Filch had slipped an eviction notice under her door. She was two months behind on rent and if she didn’t settle up within the next month, she wouldn’t have a place to live at all. The current semester was over in two weeks. Hermione grit her teeth. She didn’t want to cry and she certainly didn’t want any charity, but even the three thousand pounds in her entryway table was not going to be enough to cover both back rent and tuition. The three thousand pounds would take care of her rent, but then she’d fall right back to where she was now with no money and not enough income to pay for future months.
Hermione pulled her cell phone out and thumbed through the contacts. Malfoy had insisted he put his phone number in it, in case she needed anything. She had scoffed at the time and expected for him to text her nonstop, but surprisingly, he hadn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t know what that meant. And she certainly didn’t want to contact him, but right now, he was kind of her only hope.
There was a pit in her stomach as she quickly typed out the message and hit send. Can we talk? She locked the phone and threw it onto the sofa, moving into her kitchen to feed Crookshanks. That was one thing she always made sure she had money for. Crookshanks hadn’t picked her, she’d picked him, which meant she was responsible for feeding him, but if she didn’t find a way to make some money fast, she was going to fail even that small responsibility. None of it sat right with her. And when her phone vibrated softly against the sofa cushions, she ignored it for at least five minutes. It buzzed again and that’s when her desire to see his response was too overwhelming to ignore.
In the middle of a negotiation. She frowned and wondered if that was a euphemism for something she didn’t want to think about.
I’ll come by later. Dinner? She bit her lip as she thought about it. She only had an old packet of crisps from lunch two days ago.
Fine. She texted back and decided that she at least had some time to get some studying done for her upcoming exams.
The thrill that went through Draco when he’d received a text from Granger was positively obscene. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and had stopped himself half a dozen times from texting her. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She was like his complete opposite. Good, wholesome, not a criminal. It wasn’t that he wanted to corrupt her, more like he wanted her to teach him how to be like her. He didn’t particularly care for the line of business he’d found himself in, but it was a sink or swim world and Draco chose to be one of the sharks.
He hadn’t lied, he was in the middle of a negotiation. He had put some money into a line of menswear that wasn’t going well. He didn’t want to lose his figurative shirt on the deal, so he decided to renegotiate. He knew a few designers and marketing people could help the brand, but if he put his people on it, he wanted a better percentage on his return on investment.
“We can’t do forty percent,” the CEO of the menswear line shook his head. “Claude won’t accept it.”
“Is Claude ready to accept bankruptcy then?” Draco asked. He wasn’t trying to be manipulative, but if he pulled his funding, the line would fold.
“Of course not, Mr Malfoy, but forty percent is too much.”
“Fine, what can you do? You’ll recall I bought in for twenty-five,” Draco countered.
“Twenty-seven.”
Draco laughed. “You want three million more pounds and are willing to give me an additional two percent. No, I’m afraid you are out of your mind, Bijon.” He narrowed his eyes. “Thirty-seven.”
“Thirty,” Bijon replied.
“Thirty-five.”
“Fine, Claude will accept thirty-five.”
“Excellent, have the papers drawn up. I’m late for another meeting.” Draco stood and shook Bijon’s hand then left the room quickly. The designer was in Edinburgh which was a good hour and a half from Hogsmeade, if he hurried, he could get to Granger’s flat by eight.
Be there at eight. Draco texted as he hurried past the elevator and took the stairs down to the parking garage.
Hermione was a nervous wreck by the time eight rolled around that evening. She’d changed three times and had even opened the box from Harrods that still sat in the corner of her flat before closing it once more. She wouldn’t wear anything out of it now. Maybe after. If they came to terms, but not now. She had one of her books open on her lap, but she hadn’t actually read anything from it. Instead, she was too busy biting her nails and attempting to calm her racing heart. Did she know what she was doing? She hoped so. Malfoy had said he had legitimate businesses. Perhaps, if she could work for one of those, her conscience wouldn’t prick at her so much.
The knock on her door startled her so much, she dropped the book. It landed on the floor with a dull thud. Hermione picked it up quickly and crossed the small flat. She sucked in a breath when she opened the door and saw Malfoy standing on the other side. He looked good. Really good. Hermione drank in the sight of him even as her heart fluttered uselessly in her chest.
“Uh, come in,” Hermione stuttered, stepping back to allow him in.
He stepped inside and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Did you cook?”
Hermione reddened. She didn’t have any food in the house unless you counted Crooks’s kibble.
“Let’s go to the pub,” he offered.
“Alright,” Hermione said. She felt tense and picked up her handbag as she led him out of her flat, locking the door quickly and down onto the street.
“Where do you work?” Malfoy asked. He had looped her hand around his elbow so casually that Hermione almost hadn’t realized it was happening until her fingers were resting on his elbow.
“Oh, you don’t know already?” Hermione asked snidely. Then immediately felt embarrassed. She was going to beg for a job in a few minutes and he certainly wouldn’t be giving her one with the attitude she had now.
Surprisingly, Malfoy laughed. “I’m sure Zabini knows, and he probably told me. I don’t recall though. I truly am not a stalker, Hermione.”
She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips. “The bookstore beneath my flat, actually.”
“Do you like reading then?” Malfoy asked. They were at the pub and he held the door for her. It was a Friday evening, so it was bustling more than the last time they had been there, but they were able to secure a booth near the back. It was on the far side of the pub than the bar, which meant it was slightly less noisy than the rest of the space.
“I do,” Hermione nodded. She felt like she ought to say something else, but her brain went blank when he took off his sport coat. The plain, white, button-up shirt beneath was practically molded to his chest. She licked her suddenly dry lips and quickly sat across from him.
After a few minutes of studying the menu, and avoiding her companion, he cleared his throat.
“You asked for this meeting,” he reminded her softly.
Hermione bit her lip and set the menu on the table. She had thought over every angle of this conversation ever since she sent that text earlier in the day, but now she couldn’t decide how to begin.
“Hermione?” he prompted.
“You said you had legitimate businesses?” Hermione asked quickly, finally looking up at him. She was half afraid he would be smirking at her. He seemed to do that a lot, but he wasn’t. His face was very carefully blank.
“I do,” he confirmed with a slight nod.
“Right, well...I need a job,” she said finally. “I would obviously only want to work for a legitimate business, but I only have one semester of school left, and I’m two months behind in my rent on the apartment. I can quit the bookstore if you need more hours, but I’d prefer to not take any time off of school if I can help it. I—”
“What’s your major?” Malfoy asked. He leaned back into his booth and was eyeing her speculatively.
“Industrial and Organizational Psychology, it’s like psychology, but specifically geared for the workplace. Sort of like a beefed up version of human resources, but with a focus on employees rather than the employer,” Hermione replied. “It can be both for research purposes, but also large organizations usually like to have a handful of staff to ensure employee happiness and curb turnover.”
“And which would you prefer doing?” Malfoy asked. “Research or human resources?”
“I, well, I’d prefer research, but honestly, I’d take a job doing anything that paid more than the bookstore,” Hermione admitted.
“How much is your tuition for the next semester?” Malfoy had a contemplative look on his face and Hermione’s stomach clenched. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. Surely, she could take a semester or two off and then come back right?
“I don’t know if this was a good idea,” Hermione said quickly, shaking her head.
“Wait,” Malfoy stopped her by reaching across the table to cover her hand with his. “I would rather go into any sort of arrangement, knowing what the entire deal is. That includes what you owe for school and rent, if necessary. We can come up with a plan that works for us both.”
“Seventeen thousand,” Hermione said. “For my last semester. Rent is a thousand a month, so the three thousand you’ve given me will cover, but not for much longer. And, I want to pay it all back.”
“Of course, perhaps a contract would be in order?” Malfoy suggested. “I pay for tuition and living expenses, you get a small stipend, for the rest of the semester. Then after you’ve graduated, I will continue to pay living expenses and a small stipend, while the rest of your ‘paycheck’ pays for your debt to me.”
“What’s the interest rate?” Hermione asked. She wasn’t stupid, or rather, she wasn’t completely stupid not to think that he wouldn’t be charging her some sort of interest. Otherwise, why would he even bother?
“No interest rate,” Malfoy said. The waitress finally came by, interrupting them and taking their drinks and dinner order.
“I’ll do it all for free, with the caveat that you sign a three-year contract. You may extend it, of course, if you decide you like working for me. And that I get to choose your living arrangements.”
“I’m not moving in with you,” Hermione said, her back stiffening.
Malfoy laughed. “Nor do I want you to. But why pay rent to some landlord, when I can have you live on a Malfoy property for free?”
That was reasonable enough. “The terms for repayment? What will my salary be both before graduation and after?”
Malfoy grinned at her. Hermione technically hadn’t agreed yet, but somehow she knew she was going to say yes.
“What’s the going rate for an I/O Psychologist?”
“Depends on what they do,” Hermione said. “But the median salary is something like sixty thousand pounds a year.”
“Fine, we’ll start you there,” Malfoy said. “Thirty thousand a year while you are in school since you won’t be working full days. Then it will go to sixty thousand upon graduation.”
Hermione did some quick calculations, she would definitely have the debt paid off by the time the three years on the contract was up. “What will you charge for rent of the house you plan to put me in?”
Malfoy smirked at her. “Free. I won’t charge you a dime. I’ll even allow you to stay after your debt has been paid if you so choose.”
“I want to see a monthly accounting to ensure that it’s all paid off in time,” Hermione warned him.
“I do have legitimate accountants, that won’t be a problem.”
Hermione chewed her lip and was relieved when the waitress came back with their drinks. She took a sip of her beer to stall for time. It was now or never.
“I accept, pending the terms of the contract you present me,” Hermione said stiffly.
“You’ll have it by Monday afternoon,” Malfoy grinned at her. He raised his beer, intending to clink their glasses and Hermione played along. “Cheers.”
She nodded and took another sip, then looked around the pub. Now that the negotiation was over, she didn’t know what to say.
“Aren’t you going to ask where you’ll be working?”
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, of course, she’d forgotten that aspect entirely in the relief that she wouldn’t have to take time off of school.
“I suppose we do have a few other details to discuss.”
Two weeks later and Hermione was directing two huge brutes named Crabbe and Goyle, which boxes to pack into the moving lorry first. They were Malfoy’s men of course. Malfoy himself wasn’t able to be here for the move, but he assured her he would take care of it all. Mr Filch was eyeing her nastily from across the hall and Hermione did her best to ignore him. She had settled her bill with him and let him know she was planning to move out the day after the last time she’d seen Malfoy.
How’s it going? Her phone buzzed in her hand and she hated that her heart twitched when she read the message from Malfoy.
Almost done. Hermione hit send and looked around her mostly empty flat. It had been her home for the last few years and she felt sad that she was leaving it. She hadn’t even seen the place that Malfoy planned to put her in, but she knew it was closer to the school, which only made Hermione’s life easier.
It was also close to where her office would be. She was starting on Monday and felt rather nervous about her new job. She still wasn’t quite clear on what exactly she was going to be doing. Malfoy had told her that she would be working directly for him in managing all of his legitimate businesses and their employees.
“Are you a conglomeration then?” Hermione asked the last time she’d seen him, planning to do some Google research if she could just wrangle a company name out of him.
“Of sorts,” Malfoy replied with a twitch of his lips. Hermione had let the matter drop after that. All she really needed was a legitimate company to put on her resume and she would be set. She’d put in her three years and leave Malfoy and his merry band for good.
One Year Later
Hermione groaned as Draco, and he was Draco now, kissed his way down her neck, nipping lightly at her collarbone.
“You sure about this?” Draco asked, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. Was she sure about this? She didn’t know, but the thought of not sleeping with Draco right then and there almost broke her.
“Yes,” she groaned as she lifted her leg around his hips, trying to get closer. “God, yes. Please, Draco, don’t make me wait.”
Draco’s eyes darkened and he cupped the back of her neck as he kissed her fiercely.
Hermione couldn’t pinpoint the exact point in time that Malfoy had become Draco or the point that made her decide to sleep with him, it had crept over her so slowly. All she knew now, was that she was lost to this man. This beautiful, brilliant man. And truly, the legitimate and illegitimate empire he had built for himself was brilliant. Hermione had been in awe of it for the last few months, once he had finally given her access to everything.
The kicker of the whole situation, Hermione was really good at what she did. She was good at organizing Draco’s workforce in a way that made sense. She managed to get some of the talent that worked in the illegitimate factions to thrive in the legitimate businesses, which meant that the illegitimate side began shrinking.
She never would have guessed at the start of all this that Draco wanted out of the criminal game. She had chalked him up as a gangster and it had taken the better part of a year for her to realize that his legitimate businesses were his attempt to remake himself and the Malfoy name. Once she’d figured that out, she’d done everything in her arsenal to make it successful for him. If he became legitimate than all of Hermione’s conflicting feelings toward him would be resolved, right?
Draco’s hand dragged down the collar of the dress she had been wearing, exposing her bra and Hermione arched her back. They should definitely not be doing this here and now when they had guests, but Draco had given her a look so smoldering that she had gone weak at the knees. When she escaped the ballroom to try and settle herself, he’d followed her. Now they were in his study with her back pressed to the door and Draco pressed to her.
“Draco,” Hermione muttered as he twirled his tongue around her lace-clad nipple. Her hands were buried in his hair.
“Take off the dress, Hermione,” Draco commanded in his deep voice. It made a shiver go down Hermione’s back. She reached behind her, finding the zipper and yanking it down, allowing the dress to pool at her feet.
Draco had the zipper to his trousers open and both of Hermione’s legs around his waist faster than Hermione thought possible. He tugged her knickers to one side and she gasped as she felt his hot, hard steel at her entrance.
“Yes, please, Draco!” Hermione begged at his silent question. He breathed heavily and she watched in fascination as his eyes fluttered as he slowly, so slowly slid inside her. It was overwhelming, to say the least, he seemed to be all around her and she clung to him as he began a steady rhythm. He pressed her hips into the door and pressed his lips against hers to stifle her moans.
She bit his bottom lip and smirked when Draco groaned and increased his pace. Hermione slid her nails down his back, trying to get him closer to her, even as he pounded into her body.
“Fucking hell,” Draco muttered and dropped his head into her shoulder. “Feel so fucking good. Knew you would.”
Hermione laughed lightly and squeezed her inner walls around him. He hissed and his hands at her hips tightened their grip as he sped up.
“Touch yourself, princess,” Draco muttered. “I need to watch you come.”
Hermione nodded and slipped a hand between them. She was so close already, it only took a few presses of her middle finger before she was arching her back. Her head thudded against the door behind her as she cried out through her orgasm.
“Fucking Christ,” Draco grunted and sped up to an impossibly fast pace, he stuttered for a moment before groaning and coming inside her. They were both panting by the time they were finished.
“Think everyone heard that,” Draco whispered.
“They had to,” Hermione snickered. “Oh, God, how am I going to face everyone?”
“With a smirk and a wink,” Draco suggested as he slowly let her down. He kept his hands on her waist steadying her. Hermione was grateful for the support as her legs felt wobbly.
“At least we managed not to rip your dress,” Draco said as he picked it up and helped her back into it.
“I have your come dripping down my leg,” Hermione groaned. “I need to clean it up.”
“Don’t,” Draco said, stopping her before she could leave for the bathroom. “Your dress is long, it’ll cover it.”
Hermione gave him a look.
“The idea of you walking out there with my come still on you makes me want to fuck you against this door again,” Draco admitted. Hermione smirked at that and nodded her head in acquiescence.
She patted her hair, hoping that it was mostly contained in her chignon, while Draco tucked himself away. He led the way out of his study and back to the ballroom with her hand clasped firmly in his. She couldn’t have predicted that this was how her life was going to turn out just a year ago, but now that she was here, with Draco, nothing else mattered.
~Fin~