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The whole, sordid thing began on one unfortunate Monday morning in the Ministry breakroom when Granger spilled hot tea down her white blouse.
Draco was hungover, half-awake, and waiting patiently for her to move out of his fucking way so he could grab a mug out of the cabinet and pour himself what he hoped to be a very strong, very hot cup of coffee.
He heard her pained hiss, and droplets of hot tea hit the arm of his crisp, white Oxford shirt as she stumbled backwards, slamming against him.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he caught her entire body weight, staggering backwards and bracing a hand on the table behind him to keep them both upright. “Fuck, Granger, this is a brand new shirt.”
“Ow, ow, ow,” she was saying as he glared at the tiny brown droplets dotting his forearm and marring his otherwise pristine image. He could hear her fiddling with the fabric of her blouse as she pushed up off his chest, not bothering to thank him. She maneuvered back towards the counter, groping for her wand as she spit out a stream of cut off curses under her breath.
Then there was a clatter, followed by a whimper, and her wand rolled across the floor, stopping right at the toe of his shoe–what a delight. Feeling vindictive, he lifted his foot and trapped it underneath the sole before smirking up at her.
Mistake.
She was glaring at him, he noticed that, but that was the only thing he noticed about her face. Because immediately and inappropriately, his gaze was pulled down.
She was wearing one of those silky white blouses with the tie at the top that women thought were work-appropriate for some reason, even though they looked like they were meant to be torn off with teeth. She was pinching the fabric above her chest between two fingers, trying to pull it away from her skin, but it wasn’t working well because it was tight.
And the front of her was drenched.
He could see right through the flimsy material, could watch the reddened, irritated skin along the tops of her breasts heave with each angry breath, could make out the edges of black lace that cut dark lines right above where her nipples would be, could see the shape of her sinful looking bra that hid the rest of her, rudely, from his view.
This was the part where he was supposed to offer her some wiseass quip about how there were plenty of less painful ways to get his attention, but his brain was not forming words, and his mouth was filling with drool.
Balconette bra. His brain supplied, unhelpfully. That’s what those are called.
“Well?” Granger huffed at him, continuing to pinch at the fabric of her shirt. “Go ahead and spit out whatever half-cooked, uninspired insult you have for me this morning, Malfoy, let's get on with it.”
She began moving her fingers back and forth in an attempt to air-dry her blouse out, and while it did not appear to do anything helpful in that regard, it did cause the tops of her breasts to jiggle like two enormous scoops of panna cotta, and Draco choked on his own spit.
Prying his eyes away from them, he moved his foot off her wand, coughing as he felt his face redden. Unable to meet her eyes, he kicked it gracelessly in her direction and spun around, managing a very weak-sounding “Nice one, Granger,” before darting out of the breakroom.
He made an immediate beeline back to his office, slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, panting. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes tightly, trying to will away the eight a.m. hard-on that he now had, courtesy of one Hermione Granger.
“What the fuck.” He said aloud, to the empty room. “What. The fuck.”
He hadn’t even gotten his coffee.
Unfortunately, now that he and Hermione Granger’s perfect tits had made their acquaintance, they kept showing up at the most inopportune times. Not that there was an opportune time to be noticing a colleague’s breasts, but Granger’s seemed to be hell-bent on picking the absolute worst.
Such as at the departmental happy hour they were throwing for him. What a joke that was, anyway. Draco Malfoy: former Death Eater, now Employee of the Month. It was ridiculous. Evans, the Head of the Auror Department, had prodded him relentlessly to give a toast. When the bar finally quieted down and Draco cleared his throat, Granger attacked.
Shedding her blazer and draping it along the back of her barstool, she watched him expectantly with the rest of their colleagues. But now Draco could see an entire red bra strap digging into her exposed shoulder. He could see curves and shadows through the thin cotton fabric of her tanktop, could make out exactly where her bra began.
T-shirt bra, his brain catalogued.
“Any day now, mate,” someone called out from the back of the bar, and Granger popped an eyebrow up at him as he snapped his jaw shut and the bar tittered with polite laughter.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I guess. Appreciate the opportunity,” he fumbled out nonsensically, stepping down from the bar as the laughter grew.
“Wow,” Evans chuckled, taking his place. “Draco Malfoy, at a loss for words. He must be truly touched. Thanks for coming out, all.”
Draco chugged his beer as his coworkers came up to pat him on his back and congratulate him on a job well-done, trying to think about anything other than dragging that thin red strap down her freckled shoulder.
Then, of course, there was the time that one of the idiots in facilities screwed up the temperature-regulation charms in the office, and they all spent the whole morning freezing their tits off. He had a debrief to present that day, and Evans collected them all in a conference room regardless, shivering and stamping their feet to regain feeling in their toes, telling them all to suck it up.
“Malfoy,” Evans snapped at him, temper unusually short as he rubbed his palms together. “Case brief. Now.”
Draco huffed out a breath, rather appalled when it was briefly visible in a cloud in front of him (surely this was unethical?) and began to launch into the briefing he had memorized. He got about halfway through before he caught sight of her and his throat constricted, garbling his next word.
Her shirt was made of a stretchy, muggle-looking fabric that pulled taught against her chest but looked like it had give. He could see the outline of brastraps under again, but this time they looked like little more than strings. And her nipples were rock hard.
That’s the perfect place for nipples to be. His dick told him, suddenly ready for action despite the frigid air and captivated audience.
Bralette, his brain chimed in, reminding him of what kind of useless scrap of fabric was probably responsible for the graphic nature of the vision in front of him.
“Malfoy? Is that all?” He heard Evans ask as the set of nails that belonged to the nipples began to drum on the table in annoyance.
“Erm, yeah.” His eyes flicked back up to his boss, who was looking at him with mild disappointment.
“Alright. Good enough for now, but I expect tighter work from you going forward.”
He grunted in response, thankful that the redness on his face could be explained away by the cold, if anyone cared to question him on it.
Perhaps most inconveniently, her breasts seemed to make an appearance any time she was particularly hacked off with him. Which was most of the time, really.
“This was shoddy fucking work, Malfoy,” She was mouthing off at him one afternoon, pacing in his office while waving stacks of paper in the air like the walking nightmare that she so frequently was. “I mean really, an Alohamora on their safe house doors? As if they wouldn’t be warded to fucking Hades and back? What are you, an intern?”
He rolled his eyes at her, and she caught it, slamming the papers down on his desk and leaning over across it, glaring at him. “Are you even paying attention to me?”
And he was! He was.
But now her blouse was draping open, giving him an eyeful of clavicle, of sternum, of breast. They hung down right in his sightline, beckoning him tantalizingly.
Front clasp, he inventoried. Interesting choice.
It looked to be a size too small as well, which was quite all right with him because it meant that they were sort of spilling out of the cups bountifully, like fresh rolls of risen bread waiting for him to sink his teeth into. He could see the little clip of plastic that held the bra together, knew that he could reach out with three fingers and snap it open and free them. His fingers twitched, and for a moment he couldn’t remember why that would be a bad idea.
“Hello?” The seethe in her voice snapped his eyes back up to hers, and he found her glaring daggers at him. “I said, are you listening to me?”
“Huh?”
“Christ, you are such a child sometimes,” she scoffed irritably, spinning on her heels and stalking out of his office, apparently under the impression that he had been doing some sort of irritating bit.
Small miracles.
He let his forehead thump down onto his desk as the door slammed closed, releasing a low groan into the wood as his head and cock throbbed in unison with one another.
He was so bloody screwed.
He tried avoiding her for a while, but she was inevitable. The siren-call of her flawless tits kept finding him; kept dulling his senses and scrambling his mind during morning briefings, at happy hours, in the Ministry cafeteria while he was eating lunch.
He had become slightly better at developing methods to resist her, at least, though most of them involved mild self-harm. It was a small price to pay for his sanity, his dignity.
He knew when she walked up to him in the cafeteria on Friday morning with a scowl on her face that today would be a particularly challenging one.
The dress she was wearing was, frankly, obscene. The cotton fabric was wrapped across her front and held together with a tie, the neckline creating a deep v-shape that left little to the imagination.
It was an HR violation, almost certainly. Had anyone reported her yet?
Draco began to practice his rituals, lifting his eyes up to the ceiling and biting down on his tongue.
“The surveillance report from the kelpie case was due two days ago. Evans is up my ass about it like it’s somehow my fault it’s not done.” She ranted at him in lieu of a greeting, already spitting fire before half of their colleagues had even blearily stumbled into work.
“Good morning to you too, Granger.” Draco said to the ceiling, blowing out a puff of air and listening for her responding huff.
“What, exactly, have you been doing the past week and a half that you’ve had the report on your desk? Spaffing off?”
He had done that a fair few times, yeah.
“Believe it or not, I do have other responsibilities beyond whatever administrative nonsense you’ve decided to try and push up to the top of my queue,” he replied, clamping down on the inside of his cheek with his molars as he tried not to think about the spaffing off he had been doing not even forty minutes earlier, when he was laying in his bed and picturing the color of her nipples.
Her hand reached up and snapped, right in front of his face. It was just annoying enough to pull his attention back down.
“Something interesting up there, Malfoy?” She asked, crossing her arms across her chest and—oh, fuck—pressing her tits up so they were basically under her chin.
Push-up bra, his brain chanted. Push-up, push-up, push-up.
His nails dug into his palm as he clenched his fists together tightly, and he raised one to his mouth, dragging his knuckles against his lips, his brain breaking as he tried to hold eye contact.
“Sorry, dear. I know how much you love getting lost in my eyes.” His voice was miraculously steady.
She rolled her eyes at him. Draco thought her breasts may have rolled in sync with them, who the fuck knows? Anything was possible. Granger’s breasts were amazing. He opened his mouth ever-so-slightly and bit down on his fist, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“Just have the report back to me by the end of the day,” she demanded, patience worn thin.
“Yes ma’am.” He gave her a small, mocking salute as she stalked off, her curls flourishing behind her.
“I mean it, Malfoy!” She called over her shoulder. “If I see you getting tossed at the fundraising event tonight and that report isn’t already on my desk, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”
He sighed as she walked away from him, taking her breasts with her. He was already in a lot of trouble.
Needless to say, Draco did not finish the report before the fundraising event that evening.
He was very busy, alright?
In the interest of self-preservation, he decided to spend his evening at the fundraising gala ducking and weaving behind corners at any sighting of wily brown frizz headed his way.
And also, yes, he did get a teensy bit tossed–sue him.
It was just that he kept catching glimpses of Granger out of the corner of his eye all night, and despite almost immediately darting away from her every time, he had seen enough to be concerned: silky blue fabric, bouncy brown curls, and a distressing amount of exposed skin.
The first two glasses of champagne he downed were to take the edge off. The third and fourth were because the first two had made him a little bit reckless.
She cornered him in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time, of course. Catching his breath on one of the balconies and looking up at the stars, angled away from the windows so he was out of sight, and feeling overall a bit lightheaded and floaty from the champagne.
“Do you act like this on purpose to infuriate me?”
He sighed deeply and closed his eyes at the sound of her voice, resisting the urge to look over at her.
“Granger, I really don’t have it in me to have another go with you about the report right now. I promise to work on it over the weekend, okay?” There. That was diplomatic of him, was it not?
“I just don’t understand,” Her voice sounded uncharacteristically small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, not laced with any of her usual ire. “You’re one of the best Aurors we have; everyone is constantly raving about your work. But you can’t stand to even look at me half the time and you seem to go out of your way to make it impossible to work together. Am I really that objectionable to you?”
His head snapped over to her, stunned by her earnestness, his eyes widening. “No, Granger, listen. It’s–it’s not like that, really–”
His next words, his next breath, were stolen out of his throat as he finally registered her appearance, up close and in the flesh. It was so much worse than he had thought.
Her hair was twisted half up in a clip, and there were glossy curls hanging down all over her shoulders and neck. Her dress was a dark blue satin, with straps that covered only the tiniest bit of her shoulders, maybe about two fingers width. And the neckline–the neckline plunged lower than Draco had thought was even possible, all the way down to the bottom of her ribs.
He could see the bare skin between her breasts, could count the freckles that he should not know were there, and he wondered what the hell kind of bra she was possibly wearing to allow for this to all be happening in front of him.
No bra. His brain answered, short-circuiting shortly thereafter.
“Malfoy? What’s it like, then?” Granger asked, sounding breathy.
He knew he had just been asked a question. He knew he was ogling her quite openly, perhaps more openly than he ever had before. He knew he had milliseconds, maybe, to pull himself together and drag his gaze back up to her face to answer her.
He knew all of this, but it still didn’t help.
Not when he now knew that she had three freckles on her sternum, a small mole on her left breast, and a tiny white scar on her right. Not when he could see how tight her nipples were, covered by nothing but the lustrous, silky fabric that was clinging to her body like liquid.
Draco wanted to bury his face into them and die there.
“Malfoy?” The woman connected to the breasts repeated, in a strange tone that he hadn’t heard from her before.
“Hm?” He hummed back at her, distracted.
“Are you staring at my breasts?” Asked conversationally.
“Yes.” Answered honestly.
A scandalized, horrified gasp finally tore his attention away, back up at the incredibly competent, undeniably dangerous, and currently very angry witch standing in front of him.
“Nng,” Draco gurgled, trying to form words. “Shit. Fuck. I mean–no, what–”
A hand reached up and slapped him across the face, and he was almost grateful for it because it rattled his brain around in his skull just enough to remind him how to speak.
“Okay,” He breathed out, reaching up a cold palm to hold it against his burning cheek. “Okay, yeah. I deserved that.”
“What the fuck, Draco?” She demanded, and he knew he was definitely in trouble if he was getting first-named.
“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” He beseeched, still rubbing at his smarting cheek. “But honestly, what is the point of this ensemble, if not…?” He trailed off, waving a hand at her, determined not to look down.
“The point is not for you to drool over my tits, asshole!”
“Sure, Granger. If you say so.”
“Ugh!” She released a high-pitched noise, one of frustration and disgust, stamping her foot down on the ground, causing her bra-less breasts to jiggle and–
Damn it. He looked again.
Another crack of her hand, to the other cheek this time (backhanded, impressive), and he doubled over a bit, with two red, stinging cheeks and a rapidly decaying sense of pride. “Merlin, witch–I get it!” He gasped, straightening back up.
“Just stop looking at them!” She said, almost at a whine, crossing her arms across her chest. Someone should really tell her how temptingly they pressed out across her body when she did that, how unhelpful it was for her cause.
“I’ve tried!” Draco groaned helplessly, running a hand through his hair. “Trust me, Granger. I have tried. I’ve avoided you, I’ve shot my foot with stinging jinxes during meetings to distract myself, and I’ve wanked off until my dick was raw, but I can’t help it. You have perfect tits, and I can’t stop looking at them, and I’m very sorry that you’re attached to them and that you so obviously loathe me, but that appears to be the situation we’re in.”
He finished his tirade, then promptly ground his teeth down and squeezed his eyes shut to brace for another slap, but it did not come. He cracked one eye open to find her staring at him, mouth opening and closing and opening again.
“They’re—they’re not that perfect.” She said, brows pulling in.
He swallowed and opened his other eye, very carefully maintaining eye contact. “Yes. They really are.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “No, that’s not true. One is a bit bigger than the other. The r–”
“Right one. I know.” Draco cut her off, voice hoarse.
She was getting a little red in the face, and he had to inhale very deeply so as not to check if the flush was making it any further down.
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, and Draco finally managed to break away from her gaze to stare at a blank point in the sky above her shoulder. He wished he remembered more of his Occlumency training from childhood. Surely, moments like this was what the magical discipline was meant for.
“Listen,” he began slowly. “I’ve said and done a bunch of horribly inappropriate things to you tonight. And before that, as well. If you want to report me on Monday, I won’t try to stop you. I’ll confirm whatever claims you make to HR. I respect you deeply, Granger. As an Auror and as a person. I’m sorry if my actions made it seem differently, I just… couldn’t help myself.”
He still wasn’t looking at her so he couldn’t gauge her reaction to his speech to see if he scored any sympathy points that might help him keep his job. He simply shoved his hands in his pockets and waited.
“Do you want to…” Granger sounded a little breathless again, a little nervous. “Do you want to touch them?”
He choked, blinking back down at her face to find her biting her lip at him and blushing very prettily.
“What.” It was meant to be a question, but it came out very flat as he tried to make sense of what she just said.
She shrugged. “I mean you don’t have to. But if you want–”
“I want.” She pressed her lips together like she was holding in a smile.
Gods, he sounded like a bloody caveman. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Yes. I’d like to… to touch them. If you’re offering. Please.” He tacked the please on the end there to be polite, hoping it didn’t make him sound too desperate.
She uncrossed her arms, dropping them back down at her sides, and gave him a small nod. “Go ahead, then.”
He gaped at her, glancing behind her at the door to the balcony and the wide set of windows that currently held a significant number of their friends and colleagues beyond them. “What, here? Now?”
“Did you have a different setting in mind?”
Yes, Draco thought. His bed. And then his couch, and then his clawfoot tub, then maybe his dining room table, then at some point probably her bed, and then if they were feeling very brave, on his desk at the Ministry.
“Fine,” he conceded, instead of admitting all that to her. “We’ll do this your way.”
He grabbed onto her by the shoulders, steering her backwards until they were further from the doors and windows, tucked more discretely into a shadowy corner, with her back to the wall and his body blocking her from view.
“Is this okay?” He asked.
“Y-yes,” she said on a trembling sort of laugh that had him frowning at her.
“You’re sure about this?” He confirmed again, fingers dragging over her bare shoulders, running lightly down the skin of her arms.
“I’m sure,” she confirmed, still in that loose, high-pitched tone that worried him.
“You’re shaking, though, Granger. If this is creeping you out, we can forget you ever—”
“Oh my god, would you just—?”
And then she grabs his hands and places them over her breasts and he flatlines, he thinks. Like there’s certainly a couple empty seconds where heartbeats would normally go, but it’s all fine, it’s all okay, because Draco’s hands are on Hermione Granger’s tits and nothing in the world could kill him right now.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, flexing his hands and watching the way the flesh pressed in under his fingertips, watching the shape of them yield to him like an absolute dream.
“Good?” She asked, sounding insecure.
His eyes flicked back up to find her watching him, worrying her lip again, pupils a bit blown. He released his grip on one of her breasts to run his fingers gently over the silk fabric of her dress, brushing a small circle around the hardened nub of her nipple and watching the way her mouth popped open at the sensation. “Yes, baby. Good.”
This earned him an actual moan, small and quiet, but there nonetheless.
Draco tried to remember if he had done any really good deeds lately, made any really large philanthropic donations, or anything else that could explain the enormous karmic payout that he was currently enjoying.
“Should we, like… kiss?” She asked.
“Probably, yeah.” He rasped back at her, letting his eyes fall down to her lips.
She dragged him down by the shirt collar before he could try to make it romantic—at least, as romantic as it could be with one hand still squeezing her tit. It was all fine to him though, because the kiss she gave him was much better than the one he had been planning, anyway.
She was slightly feral about it, honestly, gasping into his open mouth in a way that had him thinking maybe it hadn't just been him—maybe she’d also been going a little mad.
Fast and frenzied, she pressed their lips together urgently. He felt their tongues slide together, he felt her hands reach up around his neck and her fingers curl into his hair, he felt her arch up into him so that her breasts crushed tighter against his palms and chest.
Draco matched her enthusiasm, pushing her up against the wall and nipping at her lip, groaning into her mouth a little louder than was probably advisable. She responded with a sort of whimpering noise that had him pressing his hips forward, seeking her heat and friction.
A small, annoying part of his brain reminded him that they were still in public, technically, and he tore himself away just the tiniest amount.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
He sounded a bit dazed, but he thought that was fair of him. He was speaking to the founder and sole proprietor of the world’s most perfect breasts, and she was letting him snog her against the wall outside a party. Who wouldn’t be a little starstruck?
“Huh?” She asked, eyes glazed as she came back into herself.
“Let’s floo to mine, Granger.” It was more forward than he normally was, but he felt too drunk off champagne and tits to execute any of his usual charm.
Some of the haze seemed to clear from her eyes at this suggestion, and she dropped her hands from behind his head, letting loose a shaky exhale. Draco stepped back, peeling his hands off her breasts (unfortunate) to allow her the space to straighten out her dress and wipe away any of her errant lip color.
“What will we do at yours, Malfoy?” She asked, raising a brow at him as her palms smoothed out wrinkles down her sides.
He wet his lips, wishing he could put his mouth back on her. Somewhere. Anywhere. “More of this, I’d hope.”
She hummed at him, and her gaze seemed to grow a bit more conniving as she stepped forward to reach behind his head and pet down the hair where she had grabbed at it. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, wondering once again what he could have done to deserve this.
“How about this?” She whispered, suddenly very close to his ear. “How about you floo back to your house,”
Yes. Draco’s brain agreed, lulled to an easy agreement by her fingers carding through his hair.
“You change into something more comfortable,”
Fuck yes.
“You pour yourself something to drink,”
Please.
“And you finish writing that bloody report.” She purred, giving his hair a teasing yank before she released him.
His eyes flew open, hands reaching out for her, but she had already slipped away, letting loose a twinkling, mischievous giggle as she crossed the balcony, headed back to the party.
“Owl me when it’s done!” She called out. “If it’s not too late, maybe I’ll pop over for some line edits.”
She threw a wink over her shoulder at him as she walked back through the door, leaving him alone and panting and uncomfortably aroused.
“What the fuck,” he said out into the empty night, covering his eyes with his palm, his brain whirring as it tried to get back online.
“Malfoy!” The door to the balcony swung open again but it was only Evans, leaning out halfway through the door and giving him a questioning look. “You hiding out here, mate? Come in and join the party, you deserve a break.”
Draco released a weak laugh, scooping up his discarded suit jacket off the railing. “I’m about to head out, actually.”
His boss gave him a coy, knowing smile. “This early? Got a hot date tonight?”
“Nah, not tonight.” Draco smirked, clapping the man on the shoulder as he snuck past him through the doors, headed straight for the floo. “Got a report to finish writing.”