Fic: The Seeker (Draco/Pansy, Draco/Hermione) by everythursday

[hpsscmods]

Title: The Seeker
Author: everythursday
Pairing/Character(s): Draco/Pansy, Draco/Hermione
Rating: R
Contains: Bondage, spanking
Word count: 12,246
Summary: Hermione seeks for what she wants.





Hermione tried to catch a glimpse of her reflection, but the window of the Knockturn Alley shop was coated in too much grime to see much of anything beyond the dull trinkets laid out inside. She had checked her Glamour eleven times before leaving her flat, and had stared unblinkingly at the strange reflection within the shine of the lift until the doors opened. She had two hours before it wore off, and she figured it would be done before then. Either that, or she'd lose her spine and Apparate directly into sanity the moment she remembered where she'd lost it.

Her hand tightened around the Snitch in her pocket, the center ball split evenly in two. Inside was the small note with the place and time, its creases deep from all the times she had read it. With it had been a key, small and black, with a steel loop attached to the end of it. She had little idea what that key actually led to, but she did know she was absolutely mad for wanting to find out.

Hermione turned down a side alley of Knockturn, having memorized the lines on the back of the note. She had two more turns to change her mind, because she was fairly sure that when she got there, there'd be no going back.

She blamed Ron. She knew he hadn't meant to, but there had been a sharp smack of his palm on her bum, and something just woke up inside of her. Like a tendril of smoke that uncurled, skimming and twisting around before anyone could know where the fire was. She remembered that she had moaned, and so he had done it again, lighting up her blood to push her to the edge of some strange revelation. It was then that he had laughed, rubbed the spot, and rolled her over.

He didn't know what she wanted. She hadn't known what she wanted, and maybe she still didn't. She had tried in her own way to get him to do it again. Had mimicked the same position, bent over when she knew he was looking, pushed her hips back a bit when she was standing in front of him. She had joked about it, talked about other people doing it, and nearly admitted to it all outright at least a dozen times. She never could, though – she was always too self-conscious, and he had laughed too much about it.

Hermione had tried to suppress the desire for it by learning more about it. She knew the way she worked – half of her interest in anything was based entirely on the fact that she didn't know everything about it. She had watched films and documentaries. She read articles, essays, books, everything. Shoved inside books and the back of her closet were frozen images of twisted faces, bound bodies, and lips stretched around rubber balls. She…researched the wizarding ones the most. In the back of a locked desk drawer was a moving picture of a woman with her arse in the air, pale cheeks growing red and redder under the smooth, wooden surface of a paddle. Hermione knew the pattern of each smack, every arch of the woman's back, and each muscle that clenched in the man's forearm when the paddle connected.

She had been scared of it at first. This need for it within her. The way staring at that picture would wake up her whole body like fire, when she had a perfectly good man a Floo trip away who always held her tightly and kissed her soundly. The idea of all of it had been too perverse, as if she wasn't normal for wanting something others considered strange. When her girl friends shared their dose of too much information during girl-exclusive nights, none of them happened to share the fact they fantasized about being tied up while some man smacked, whipped, caned, or paddled them. Hermione had felt like she was carrying some dark, forbidden secret with her, but after she and Ron broke up, it became her secret. Not something she was too afraid or ashamed to talk about with her best friend and lover. It just became a part of who she was, of what she wanted. Not that she ever thought she would be here.

Hermione quickly diverted her eyes from the huddle of prostitutes glaring at her, speeding up her steps as she made a left turn. There were significantly less establishments here. There was one tiny shop, and another small building that might have just been the back entrance to some other place. The thin alley was darker than any that had come before it. She could hear a few sounds from the other side of the buildings, but they were muffled to the point of a low rumbling that did more to her apprehension than giving her any false security.

She squinted down at Pansy's looping script and fingered the key with 12 burnt into the top of it, her other hand wrapped around her wand. Pansy. It had been Hermione's fault. She had grown too complacent. When people spend a long enough time alone with their own secrets, they sometimes forget about all the things they need in place to keep them hidden. Hermione had walked out of the kitchen to find Pansy and Neville examining the books on her side table that should have been put away in some locked, invisible place. Neville had smiled while Hermione's face flamed, her tongue heavy as she stumbled over an excuse of research. It hadn't been until Neville was in the loo that Pansy acknowledged it at all, and it was the exact opposite of what Hermione had been expecting.

At least she now understood how it was those two ever got involved with one another.

The Snitch had arrived over a week later, and Pansy's cryptic parting words when leaving her flat, If you seek it, catch it, had blared through Hermione's head like a Sonorus. Now here Hermione was, remembering Pansy's nonchalant offer of furthering research with a live demonstration – along with her promise that Hermione nor Neville would be involved. The date on the note was for two weeks after she received it, and she had to wonder how well Pansy might know her to guess that it would take that long for Hermione to convince herself.

Not that she had convinced herself. It was more of an ongoing project. Step 529 towards destination – turn around. Step 530 – don't be a coward. Step 531 to 568 – pace the length of this building until you've gathered enough courage to keep going, or enough wits to turn away.

The door was large, steel, and had a Snitch engraved into the top right corner. There was no neon lighting, ridiculous slogan, or tried-to-be-clever name anywhere. It almost begged to be opened in all its nondescript, mysterious glory of plain. Her hand was steady when she held her breath and touched the handle, but she was rattling inside. Like an earthquake in her blood, it felt like everything was shaking so hard that it shoved all her emotions into a ball at the pit of her stomach.

The key in her hand flared with heat the moment she turned the door handle, the door silently swinging open to a small room with red carpeting. The walls were wood paneled and as empty as the room, save for small, brass rectangles next to each hallway. She stepped inside with a heavy breath, and whatever explosion of something her tensed body was waiting for, it never came. The door shut silently behind her, and she reached back to test to handle, making sure she could leave if she needed to.

Okay. Okay. You're in, you're here. All right. She ran through all her reasonings again, memorized down to specific word choice. This was an opportunity, that was all. Just an opportunity to explore things more thoroughly. It wasn't as if she were meeting strangers for sex. She was doing some field research, undercover. Yes. And who knew when, if ever, she'd have the chance for it again. It would be a shame to waste it. She'd likely regret it, even.

Door number twelve stood in front of her in dark red, the key in her hand poised at the lock. The hallway was silent. She didn't know what she was expected – screaming, banging, yelled orders and whimpering pleads? Each step she had taken down the hall had creaked loudly, as if to announce her hesitant presence to the entire world. The rooms must have been charmed silent, but if they could hear the noise from the hall, she wondered if they could judge her a first timer by the sound of her footfalls.

Hermione closed her eyes and hung her head, breathing in deep. Confidence. She would look at this just as if it were an experiment in front of her, or an interesting development to the potion she was mixing. Scientific. Just business.

The slide of the key into the lock was like a bullet through the barrel.

Head up, expression passive, lips pressed firmly together. The lock clicked twice, and she briefly entertained the idea of knocking, before swinging the door open with all the rush of someone who knew the next second might bring a change of mind. She very nearly shut it again, her mouth dropping open.

She had expected a lot of things, but seeing was entirely different. She had also figured on some slow, awkward introduction, but Pansy always did prefer a grand entrance. Was that spandex? The black dress was tight as skin, threatening to ride up over her bum at any moment. The thigh high stockings would have done little to help if that occurred, and Hermione couldn't imagine those heels as being anything close to comfortable. She glanced only briefly at the nude form of someone, before training her sight on the bob of Pansy's hair. Her eyes likely would have been wide had they not been busy adjusting from the bright lights of the hall to the flickering gold of candles.

“Well,” Pansy started, and Hermione jumped, “close the door behind you.”

Hermione swallowed through the dryness of her throat, busying herself with stepping inside and shutting the door. Interesting potion development, interesting potion development. She heard Pansy clicking her tongue near the center of the room, and the scent of wax, sweat, and leather wrapped around Hermione.

“You just tensed right up, didn't you?” Hermione looked back at Pansy in surprise, but she wasn't speaking to her. “Since you're content with less moving room…”

Pansy's gloved fingers danced up from his bound wrists and along the rope, over the hoop hanging from the ceiling, and then down the line of a rope to another hoop in the wall. Pansy bent, her shoulders swaying as she did something at the second hoop, and Hermione's eyes drifted to the man when she could no longer see Pansy's head.

He had a hood over his head, the black a strong contrast to his light skin. It took her a moment to recognize the streaks of duller beige, gold, and yellow as candle wax. His back and bum were taut and shining with sweat, muscles clenching and relaxing as his hands released their grip on the rope above his wrists. His ankles were bound, with a short length of excess rope tied to two hoops at either side of his spread feet. There was another rope that appeared from between his legs and down to a third ring in the floor. Hermione had seen enough in pictures and films to know that the rope was likely tied around some very important bits. There was hardly any slack in that line.

Hermione's eyes flashed up to Pansy's side at the loud roosh. The rope binding the man's wrists was yanked more through the hoops, and he jerked to the tip of his toes on a groan that seemed to burst inside Hermione's chest. Christ, this was really happening. Her heart was jumping in a way that was almost as worrying as that rope hanging between his legs.

Pansy stood up straight, her eyes narrowing as she studied the man carefully. She was likely getting quite the eye full – how Neville agreed to her doing this, Hermione didn't know. Pansy had made it very clear that it was agreed to from all sides, and Hermione had to wonder if Neville-- Actually, she'd rather not wonder.

Pansy nodded, seemingly pleased, and bent down again. “You can sit.”

Hermione didn't know how exactly Pansy expected him to sit until she spotted the couch against the wall. Hermione cleared her throat, dropping her wringing hands, and walked over to it. She supposed she must have looked like a scared child warring with the constant desire to run while she was standing in front of the door. Pansy seemed nothing but calm. There wasn't so much as a knowing look or smirk since Hermione had walked into the room, and though it didn't help much to calm her nerves, at least she wasn't Apparating out. She didn't think Pansy was going to judge her when the woman was wearing a spandex dress and had a man tied up.

She could do this. She wanted to do this. The man couldn't see her, and even if he could, he didn't know who she was. If he had been that freaked out by a stranger watching, he would have been yelling his safe word by now. This was a chance to learn and experience with as much judgment as she received from her wizarding photographs – the knowledge of this somehow brought a buzz of excitement to the harder edge of her nerves, and she sat down after carefully inspecting the couch for stains.

Pansy was staring down at the man's chest, and Hermione heard a soft tinkling sound followed by a huff of air from inside the hood. His thighs and calves were tensed with his position, and from her new angle, she could see a brief glance of the bottom of his balls. Hermione blushed, shifting on the couch.

His hands were clenching the small bit of rope above his head, and she saw why when the candle rose in view over the line of a broad shoulder. It wasn't close enough to burn, but he must have been feeling intense heat as he swayed on his toes. Pansy's other arm was stretched out, holding another candle away from him, her eyes glued to his skin. When the heat of the first candle reached the line between the bottom of his neck and the bottom of the hood, she moved quickly to pour the wax of the second over his other shoulder.

There was a sound like a gasp and hiss as his body jerked, and Hermione caught only a flash of Pansy's smile before she tracked the path of the wax. It covered his shoulder blade before forming a single line down the side of his back. Pansy leaned over his shoulder, her lips pursed as she blew a steady breath on the spill. The wax hardened on his skin just as Pansy reached around him and poured out the first candle halfway down his back. That sound came from the hood again, and Hermione was slightly entranced by the way the wax curved over his bum.

Pansy placed the candles on the floor, and Hermione realized she had been holding her breath. She swallowed heavily and calmed her breathing, releasing the vice grip she had on her hands. Pansy straightened up, that soft tinkling sound following the movement, and her eyes cast downward. Hermione caught herself leaning slightly to the side in an attempt to see what was happening, and only grew more curious at the buzzing noise that started. It brought a mumble of noise from the man, and Hermione looked up in surprise, wondering if he had just ended the playing, but Pansy only laughed.

“You don't like this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, and the man suddenly jumped with a groan. Pansy's lips curled slowly, and the buzzing sound rose and fell in volume. “Don't lie, pet. It'll only get you in trouble.” Pansy looked up to Hermione, and for a very long second, she had no idea what to do with her eyes or expression. “He doesn't usually let me play, you know. Hasn't in years. But he owed me this time.”

Hermione shifted as Pansy settled a glare on the hood, her shoulder shrugging up, and the man groaned loudly again. Hermione wasn't sure where to look, remembering to be uncomfortable now that Pansy had addressed her again. Perhaps she realized that, as she stepped to the side a moment later, and all that Hermione could make out of her were her legs. The rise and fall of the buzzing sound was getting quicker, and when it held at a steady level, Hermione saw a shine of silver pressed to the bottom of his balls. It ran back and forth slowly, and there was a deep, loud groan that sounded as if it came from the bottom of his chest.

Hermione took a deep breath and crossed her legs, feeling a heavier tightness start in her gut. The man's head dropped back and his hips flexed forward. He grunted as he staggered on his toes, and she could see the white of his knuckles from how tightly he was clenching the ropes.

Jesus. She might have had an easier time looking at this from a scientific angle if the man weren't as fit. She was hoping for blemished skin, flabbiness, and some weird markings. The only blemishes or weird markings she saw were a speck of black near the bottom of his spine, and a line of black on his left forearm that might have been a tattoo or some…

Hermione squinted when his arm turned slightly, his body rocking as Pansy moved the small vibrator back up. If that was… It could… His head fell back again, his arm turning just enough for her to make out the edge of a circular shape at the top of his forearm. Hermione was on her feet before she could even pull in air, her eyes wide, and everything crashing into her at once – the scents, the sounds, the heat in her cheeks, the clench of his bum, the crazy pulse of her blood.

There was no way. There was every way, but there was no way. The height looked about right, the build, the length of his fingers. Hermione had a mad desire to tear the hood off his head as if she had just uncovered a once-hidden artifact, and to quickly make her exit and pretend this moment never existed.

Pansy moved back in view, and her eyes connected with Hermione's the moment the buzzing stopped. He collapsed forward for a moment, his whole body moving with ragged breathing, and a line of angry-sounding words muffled in the hood. He was trembling, likely stopped at the edge of release, or maybe having gone too long without one. Pansy's look was careful, as if Hermione had just revealed her Animagus to be a wild bear and so she was trying to gage how much humanity was left. That look confirmed everything before Pansy even reached up to pull the hood off.

Hermione jumped back, momentarily forgetting that she was under a Glamour and he was facing the other direction. There was a tie at the back of a yellow head, the hair darker with the sweat saturating it, but the knot was too low to be from something covering his eyes.

Shit. Shit, crap, damn it, shit, bloody hell. She shouldn't have come here. She had known something like this would happen. She had even considered this possibility, and so had given him suspicious looks for the past two weeks every time they passed one another in the corridor, shared the lift, or sat in a meeting together.

He was going to freak out if he knew it was her. He'd likely try to get her fired from being the liaison between his company and the Ministry, and she didn't doubt that it would work – he had been the one to ask for her and offer an increased salary for her agreement two years ago. Sure, their interactions had gone beyond disgust or tentative acceptance, but they certainly weren't at a watch what happens when Pansy ties me up level! What had she been thinking?

Malfoy was turning his head towards her, and Hermione leaped to the side just as Pansy's palm met his cheek. The slap seemed to crack off the inside of her skull. “I didn't tell you that you could look at our guest, Draco.” Pansy narrowed her eyes as he grunted a muffled word. “Keep it up and that gag is staying in. I know how much you enjoy it.”

There was a low growl as his hands clenched, relaxed, and clenched around the ropes. Hermione was fairly sure she wasn't breathing. She had to leave. This situation had just become very wrong.

Pansy reached up and grabbed a fist of Malfoy's hair, her knuckles turning white as she yanked his head back. He made a rough sound as Pansy's cheek skated his own, and she whispered something so lowly in his ear that Hermione couldn't hear it. All she saw was the way Malfoy had locked up, and the sudden absence of any breathing.

Oh, God, she hadn't just told him, had she? Panic was roaring up along every vein, and Hermione was caught somewhere between facing the explosion with a raised chin, and running out the door before he could know Pansy was telling the truth. A dozen different explanations and excuses were rushing through her mind, but she found her own arousal damning. All she could hear was his previous moaning riding over all logical thought. She'd never get it out of her head.

It was Pansy untying the rope from the ring in the wall that finally put Hermione's feet into action. She wasn't sure if they were done or if Pansy was about to lead him to the wooden X next to a table of instruments, but Hermione wasn't risking it. She had to get out of there before she exploded or sank through the floor. She wasn't in any state of mind to deal with this right now. She had to gogogogo.

She barely glanced at Pansy steadying Malfoy as he sank back to the heels of his feet, Hermione's face flaming again at the sight of his nude form before she turned for the door. Step two – go, step three – shouldn't have come, step four – run.


X


Hermione was a jumble of nerves, but there had only been a short time over the weekend where that had calmed to any degree. She had reasoned out that if Malfoy tried to throw this in her face, there was a lot she could throw back. They were both mature adults – he might not even say anything. He likely would say something, but she had handled worse. If she was fired, she could work with another company and only bring in a little less money. If it was too uncomfortable, she'd quit. If he angered her too much, she'd have to restrain herself from slapping him – apparently, he liked that.

Bloody hell.

She'd been carrying a world of what if and why for the past two days, mixed with regret and guilt. As desperate as she had been to actually have an experience in all these things that she had wanted for so long, to discover more about herself in an environment where it wasn't something to be ashamed of, she had clearly not been thinking. She had been trusting Neville's trust in Pansy, but honestly, Hermione should have known this was coming. It could have only been worse if it had been Ron.

The guilt had come very quickly, and while she was still in the act of what had caused the guilt in the first place. She had been blindingly turned on when she got back to her flat, and that always kicked up enough wildness in Hermione to mimic the sometimes poor decisions of drunk people. She hadn't cared, she had just needed to get off; but having the writhing form of Draco Malfoy behind her eyelids when she did wasn't exactly the path to a clear conscious. Before that, she might have been able to convince herself that it wasn't her fault for getting turned on by Malfoy since she hadn't known it was him. Much in the way she had told herself the time before that it was just because of that shirt he had been wearing, or that other time with the sweet he'd had in his mouth, or… Or other completely situational moments.

She had contemplated sending Pansy a very scathing letter, but when Pansy had beat her to an owl, Hermione found she had nothing to reply with. Pansy's note had been simple: Have you yet considered he might have liked you there? You can give the key to him on Monday.

She didn't even know what to think about that question, so she tried to ignore it entirely. It was likely Pansy trying to weakly justify her actions, or to cover herself with Neville in case Hermione went ranting. She had more pressing matters to think about. Like Monday, today, the day she would have to look at Malfoy and remember while he knew.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She had went over her plan of action no less than four dozen times. She knew what she would say in response to several possible comments from him. She had practiced nonchalant looks in the mirror. She schooled herself in carelessness. She was prepared.

Malfoy barely looked at her.

He sat behind his desk, five folders open and spread out across the polished wood. He gave her a semblance of a nod in greeting, scribbling something down on a sheet of parchment. Hermione used his distraction to survey his wrists, both clean from any hint of bruising or chaffing. He looked like he always did: pressed, put together, rigid, bored, and with a dedicated nonchalance. She contrasted the image with a gleaming back and bum, spattered and lined with wax, and primal groans inside a black hood. She felt her face catch heat, and she knew the red was spreading up to her ears and down her neck.

No matter how much she tried, or refused to look at her collection of pictures, or made busy with anything else, the image didn't go away. Every sordid, stolen second played on as clearly as a Pensieve viewing. She didn't know if there would ever be a time she didn't think of him like that now.

He glanced up at her while she was trying to inconspicuously blow air up at her face to calm the color, and his hand paused in writing. She cleared her throat, focusing her eyes on the folder in her hand as he went back to looking at his work. At least she hadn't seen his face on Friday. “You should try some more Cooling Charms. It's very hot in here.” There was that sweat-slick back again. Someone should save her – she was obviously losing her mind in the way of a pubescent boy.

“It's likely because you haven't sat down yet, Granger. I've learned that it's difficult for you to stay off your arse for longer than ten minutes.” He glanced up at her as her eyes narrowed. “Though there are ways to rectify that.”

“I make sure your business is up to code and legal standards – you can't order me to do that while standing.” Arrogant arse. And there went her mind again. Cool and collected, Hermione.

“Can't I?” he murmured, shoving the parchment into one of the folders and snapping it shut.

“No, you can't. Or you could try, and I could quit.”

Bright grey eyes squinted in amusement as his lips twitched. She hated when his eyes squinted like that, if only because she didn't hate it at all. “A new record, Granger. It's been at least seven months since you offered that reprieve from your presence. You've come a long way from mentioning it every ten seconds.”

Hermione hummed, dropping a new folder on his desk. “We could always go back.”

“And here I thought it was too late for that.”

Was it just her, or had he stared at her a little too long when he said that? It definitely looked like there had been an extra second of a pointed stare in there. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe Pansy hadn't really told him who their guest had been. Maybe--

“This is where you tell me what the folder is about, so I feel like I'm paying you to do something more than stand there and watch me.”

He definitely knew. He had to know. Panic was building in her blood with every thump of her speeding heart, and she somehow forgot everything she had been rehearsing to say over the weekend. His eyebrows rose slowly as she continued to stare at him, and she dropped her eyes to the folder, her inhale only slightly shaky.

She fought a war, for Merlin's sake. She could deal with him knowing she had seen his bum for twenty minutes. She licked her lips, and his eyes flashed to the movement before flickering over her face. It had been a long time since she had been awkward under his scrutiny.

“There have been several reports of harassment from small business owners in relation to loan repayment. These are the ones I've discovered to be justified so far. If you don't handle it soon, you'll be dealing with a few lawsuits.”

“And you didn't think Baley was the better choice for this information? I have--”

“I don't know,” Hermione snapped, annoyed with his complete ignorance and bored expression. “You've only told me about thirty times that anything involving lawsuits should come straight to you, so is Baley the better choice now? You should inform me of these things when you make the decision. So anything you want to say, you should say it now.”

All right. Perhaps it wasn't the smoothest approach – especially if he didn't happen to know she had been there – but it was better than waiting. The tension had been building up along her bones all weekend, and she felt heavy with it now. She needed for it to start dissolving away or to explode. She couldn't deal with it growing any heavier.

There was a brief glimmer of surprise on Malfoy's face before he leaned back in his chair, his gaze unnervingly glued to her. Hermione raised her chin, her grip tightening on the handle of her briefcase. His lips parted, his tongue flashing over his teeth, and she imagined what it must have looked like on Friday. If it had been a ball gag, if his lips had been bright red and stretched around it, pressing white when he moaned. How it would look with his eyes dark and hooded, his skin flushed, and that styled hair in complete, wet disarray.

They had ruined her for life.

“Remind me to give you a book on calming draughts tomorrow.”

This time her escape was marked not by her ragged breathing but the slam of a door.


X


The only thing that might save her was a memory charm, and she had already promised herself that she'd never use those again. Malfoy hadn't given more than possible hints that Pansy had told him everything, and Hermione was partially convinced that she completely imagined all of them. It was only Thursday, and though that night felt like it happened that morning, it was like she had been dealing with the aftermath for at least a month now.

On average, she saw Draco Malfoy for an hour a day. Longer if they had a meeting, less if she had no reason to have to visit his office. Once she left his company, she spent the rest of the day visiting other companies or doing work in her office at the Ministry. A week ago, this made it seem like she hardly saw him. Now, no matter how buried in work she became, she saw him everywhere and she saw everything.

That one hour was spent noting the movements of his mouth, the shape of his hands, the angles of his shoulders, the way he walked. When he had his sleeves folded up, she couldn't draw her eyes away from the movements of the muscles and tendons in his forearms. Thankfully, he only exposed them in his office, since she'd rather embarrass herself privately.

When she wasn't around him, she still couldn't escape. Dark yellow hair reminded her of his in that room. Rope, square black bags, candles, flames, the color grey, buzzing noises, women in high heels, steel circles, the scent of leather, or wax, or sweat. She worked in the law department – she couldn't count how many people she saw walking with bindings. It was like she subconsciously sought out every reminder she could just to drive herself insane.

The worst were her pictures, the films, the books. She saw him straining in candlelight everywhere. At night, in the darkness of her closed eyes, her hand would make the inevitable trek down her body, and all around her she'd hear the rumble of his groaning.

That was why she half-expected the Snitch buzzing into her dining room to be of her imagination. Its wings were a blur of yellow, but the golden ball at the center held still in front of her. She could see the small line in the middle from where it would open under her touch. She could already see the looping scrawl on a tiny note, and the little key with the steel hoop.

Her stomach flipped as she snatched it out of the air, glancing around the room despite that she had spent most her nights alone for the past year. Pansy must have sent it. Maybe she had got someone else and wanted Hermione to try it again – maybe she had a thing for being watched. Perhaps Malfoy didn't know, and Pansy wanted to… Or Malfoy did know, and Pansy's past note meant that Malfoy had a thing for being watched by her. But Pansy had said Malfoy didn't usually let her play - had that meant he wasn't really into it, or that he was usually the one doing the binding? Or--

Hermione groaned, shaking her head. This was getting ridiculous. None of it mattered – she wasn't going to go back there again. Granted, Malfoy hadn't said anything or even acknowledged it, but going back… Well, that meant something. That admitted that she liked to watch. That dug her in deep. A lot deeper than not having known it was him.

The wings of the Snitch had stopped beating, and the ball had shifted in her hand. Hermione swallowed three times before reaching to remove the top of the ball. She placed it on the table beside her forgotten dinner, then plucked the square of parchment out. Unfolding it, she tried to convince herself that it was certainly not excitement bubbling in her chest. No, it was more apprehension. Or the fish was bad.

Hermione blinked at the words on the paper, neatly and tightly scrawled in a handwriting that was not Pansy's. 10:30pm, Sunday. You already have the key.

X

Step 501 to 502, to 501, to 502, to 501 was spent panicking before she realized that she was walking like an actual chicken. Step 503 – oh, God, which was quickly followed by another at 504, and again at 505.

Hermione barely paid attention to where she was going, having learned the way well enough the first time. That tended to happen when a person paced back and forth so many times. Really, it was like she had made the trip twenty times already. She was far too busy worrying about what she was doing to think about where she was going anyway. The only thing driving her forward were very quick steps and a resolve she had only reached fifteen minutes ago. When she had taken her coat off for the eighth time, she had dragged out the picture she kept in her desk. Instead of watching it as happening to someone else, she had imagined it as herself. That was all it took to walk out the door.

Maybe she didn't want to live her life by watching moving fantasies with other people who weren't too cowardly to do them. She was Hermione Granger. Not going was a disservice to herself. She was a brave woman. She knew how to get what she wanted. And if it was right there, inviting her in, why shouldn't she accept?

Because of who was doing the inviting, of course. There was no way the writing had been Pansy's. Hermione had inspected it even with the thought of being rushed, drunk, or in any other state of altered emotion, but it wasn't hers. That left two people – Neville, who would never, and Malfoy, who would never. Yet there was one who would slightly less never than the other, though she hadn't considered it the slightest possibility until this week.

It was probably just meant to be a confrontation about what had happened, or some form of Malfoy revenge over her seeing more than he ever would have wanted her to. She walked with that thought in mind and her hand around her wand. However, she couldn't stop that more wicked part of her from coming up with its own ideas. The sort of ideas that had her stomach flipping all the way to her impending doom.

He hadn't given her enough time. Three days was not long enough to think it all through. Her mind had been a whirlwind of possibilities, and he had given nothing away the day after she received the Snitch. His arm had been brushing hers in the lift while he talked to one of his employees, and he had given her a nod in the corridor an hour later. That was it. No clue, or sinister glint, or twist of a smirk.

If this was for other purposes other than revenge or anger, she was torn. He was either the worst person for it or the best. She couldn't imagine herself being comfortable with just stripping naked in front of him, or giving him so much control as to tie her up, or for her to be the one tying him up. But if he had known about last week, he was discreet. He likely knew what he was doing. He enjoyed it all enough to not be judgmental. He hadn't held it against her. And her body had its own state of mind when it came to him, even before last Friday. She couldn't get him out of her head, so maybe this was the way to do it. Some horribly awkward encounter that turned her off for good.

Hermione was a mess of nerves as she closed the door behind her and started down the hallway. She pulled the key out of her pocket, trying to stop the trembling in her hands. Her mind was shouting at her to turn and go home even as the lock was clicking open. She raised her chin, expecting the worst, and opened the door before she couldn't.

Empty.

She released her held breath in a heavy rush, and glanced at the number on the door to be sure she had the right one. Maybe he had been the one to back out. She closed the door behind her, trying to get her thoughts in order, and pressed her hand to her chest. The room looked the same as it had last weekend, except for one piece of furniture and a note on the couch. Hermione looked at the bench, having seen ones like it before, and felt her breath catch. Did he know?

Her fingers were oddly numb when she picked up the piece of parchment, pulling out a strip of black cloth. The blindfold was soft and cool in her heated palm, and she balled it up in her fist as she unfolded the paper. Be wearing only this, in the same handwriting as the other note.

Her heart lurched, paused, and then gave three hard beats that hurt her chest. Was he being serious? It could have been a trick to embarrass her. Her entire plan was to go forward based off what he did and said, and she couldn't very well tell if he wanted this without ulterior motives now. It had been a long time since she thought the worst of Draco Malfoy, but she never underestimated the extent he'd go to for revenge. She should have checked in to see if everything with Pansy was normal.

Maybe he just wanted to dominate her. She couldn't see how he wouldn't enjoy that. As much as they got along all right now, they still fought nearly every day over anything from philosophy to the names of the night janitors. He'd never shown an interest in her. There might have been a few looks and scans of her person, some flirtatious comments, but those were all things stupid girls went home thinking about to pretend the person they liked might like them. Hermione had never paid attention. There was also that night in the broom closet at the last company party, but she had been convinced that was only meant to unnerve her.

Hermione looked over at the bench, feeling the phantom of soft leather against her skin. She imagined herself kneeling on the small, lower pad, and then leaning forward, pressing her body into the bench. She would be holding those rods at the end, her bum fully exposed. Would he make use of the hoops attached along either side? She pictured him standing behind her, his sleeves folded up, and a paddle in his hand. Her heart went crazy again, and she shifted, feeling heaviness settle in the bottom of her stomach.

She wanted it. She wanted it to be him, but her fear shook her, and she wasn't ready. She didn't know enough of why he wanted to, or if he was serious, or if she could handle it. Everything felt surreal and too much, and she couldn't do this. There was no way she could.

She dropped the note and blindfold back onto the couch, followed by the key, and turned for the door. Her head was buzzing, and she felt like she was wearing earmuffs. She had to get out of here and go home to think be--

Shit. The thought went on repeat in her head as Malfoy stopped short, a leather glove pulled halfway up his hand. His eyes were widened in surprise, and Hermione's heart had decided it was done for good now. He was tall and imposing in the smallness of the hallway, wearing simple black trousers and a dark shirt. A lock of platinum fringe flopped across his forehead, the same piece that always fell, but he didn't move to shove it back in frustration like he normally did. He seemed just as frozen as her blood.

She snapped her eyes to the end of the hall, her insides shaking, and kept walking. The buzzing grew louder, and it felt like she couldn't get her legs to move fast enough, or for her breathing to stop being so loud.

Malfoy made a sound in his throat when she passed him, the faint scent of his cologne sinking in around her. He was silent for two steps, and then she heard the rustle of his clothing. “Granger.”

She winced at him saying her name loud enough for the entire building to hear, but didn't slow down. She had far too much to think about, and that couldn't be done with him standing there looking like that, and looking at her like that. Everything was a mess inside of her, and she needed to get it sorted before she could even acknowledge him again.

“Granger.”

No, because this never even happened, Malfoy. It's not even happening now.


X


Malfoy was staring at her. It was only Monday, and he had been staring at her for the past ten minutes, as he had been throughout half the meeting. She didn't know how much longer they had to go, but she might have to crawl out of her skin before that.

Hermione had reached a solid decision to ignore anything that had happened involving Draco Malfoy over the past ten days. Before these past ten days, she lived a peaceful, calm, and expected existence. She expected to wake up in the morning, go to work, do work, eat, visit a few people, sleep. She expected these things, and when they happened, there was no surprise. There was nothing to think about so much that it ruined all other thoughts. And dreams, but she was sure a potion could fix that particular problem.

She had a strong mind, and Malfoy had an annoying mouth. It was only a matter of time before she went back to that distant desire she had felt for him ten days ago, when it was far less possibility and knowing, and more if the world had been different. She'd cancel that lunch they were supposed to take on Wednesday to discuss a case, since they both knew it would only take five minutes to settle business. She would not go out on Friday for the scheduled pub visit with him and a few of their friends. She would not be attending Neville's dinner party on Sunday. She would not look up and see him staring at her again.

“If I grant the five percent increase, two-bee and fourteen-dee will not be considered in your proposal.” She kept her sight firmly locked on the top of his head as he spoke. “The rest is subject to what we've discussed. I'll give you until Friday to present one with the necessary changes.”

Dolohav waved his wand to end the presentation, walking quickly back to his seat as another man scribbled down what Malfoy said. Everyone at the table looked dreadfully bored, save that bloke from finances who was pursing his lips at talk of more money to the research department.

“All of you should take an early lunch,” Malfoy said, and Hermione forgot to not look at him. This was new. “Be back here in an hour.”

Perfect. Her part in this meeting was over, and so she could gladly move on to--

“Granger, a word before you leave.”

Her hands froze from shoving things into her briefcase, and she had to stop herself from closing her eyes and groaning. He couldn't possibly want to talk about what happened, could he? Not here at work. No, he likely wanted to speak to her about someone he was suspicious about, as he was suspicious of someone after every meeting. Last time he had gone on about not trusting the way Gallahan smelled.

Hermione calmed herself by not thinking of anything she didn't want to think about, concentrating instead on the departing employees. Most of them left their things behind, knowing the room was secure, but Malfoy was settling narrowed eyes on the back of one woman who was cradling her briefcase to her chest.

Hermione took her time in packing the rest of her things away, figuring she would need the distraction whenever he started to speak. Her inkwell slipped out of her fingers and crashed onto the table when Malfoy casted a locking and silencing charm. That was far from good. She picked up her inkwell, staring at a smudge on the table, and breathed in until her lungs hurt.

Silence, silence, silence. That tension on her bones was making itself known, and she almost felt like screaming, that sadist.

“I don't appreciate having a meeting canceled so abruptly.”

“I believe you're the one who just put it on break,” she told him, moving her inkwell to a dozen different places in her briefcase to avoid having to look at him.

“If I hadn't been there, I likely would have only found an empty room without reason.”

Oh, God. He really was going to talk about this. She could feel the tips of her ears burning, and nerves fluttered harder in her stomach. What was so hard about ignoring it all?

“I don't recall scheduling or agreeing to a meeting with you, Malfoy.”

“Don't act stupid, Granger. You caught the Snitch – that's agreement.”

He wasn't going to let her out of it. He was set on embarrassing her. Maybe she had embarrassed him – he had been pulling on those gloves, she remembered. He had been set on going through with something until she left. She imagined it might have embarrassed her or stomped on her pride had he been the one to see her under Pansy's hands, and then him running out at the idea of Hermione doing it to him.

He wouldn't be bringing it up now if he hadn't been serious. If he hadn't put himself out there with the risk of her refusing, and then being angry she had let him fall off the limb. Right? She remembered Pansy's note, about considering that he might have wanted her there, and the confusion grew thicker.

Hermione raised her chin, but she still couldn't lift her eyes. “It's hardly fair to call it agreement when I didn't know who it was or what they planned to do.”

“You didn't know it was me?” He sounded incredulous and harshly humored – like when a person knew someone was lying, and so forced humor in their voice to highlight how ridiculous it was. Hermione was silent, and that seemed to say all he needed to know. “As for the latter part, you should know there are always things in place to prevent you from experiencing something you don't want to. I believe Pansy insisted you choose a word in case you decided to join. Quaffle, isn't it?

Hermione cleared her throat, buckling her briefcase shut. “If that's all, Malfoy, I have to--”

“It's not all,” he snapped, and her eyes darted to his without permission. “You left without a word, proceeded to ignore me, and don't seem to care about either. There are repercussions to your actions.”

That much was obvious, or they wouldn't even be having this conversation. “Mal--”

He pushed his chair back and stood, and Hermione followed suit. He was looking at her curiously, his eyes bright in the lights of the room. A muscle in his jaw was twitching as he studied her, and she didn't know what to do with her hands. “Now you're playing coy. That's the way I thought you wanted to play it, but given your actions… Perhaps you would have preferred it in front of the entire board?”

“What?” Breathless, no matter how much she tried gulping in. His eyes were roaming down the length of her body, and his left hand was busying itself with unbuttoning his right cuff.

“Is that it? You'd be more inclined if I had bent you over my lap while Jennings babbled on about rival corporations. I know you like to watch, so does it apply to being--”

“I don't like to watch,” she rushed out. Lie.

He hummed, folding his sleeve up to his elbow. What was he doing? “So that wasn't your breathing I heard behind me the weekend before last?” He raised an eyebrow, rolling up the other sleeve. “That might be part of the problem – your introduction. Pansy seemed to think it was the best plan, but maybe it give you the wrong idea about me.”

It gave her a lot of wrong ideas. It gave her a whole lot of very wrong ideas. “Best plan?” She had to form more words than that.

“I hadn't known about it until right before you left. If I had, I'm assuming the night would have gone a lot differently. Well, wrong idea or not,” he smoothed the folds of his sleeves and then dropped his arms, raising his eyes to hers, “I'll clarify.”

Her mouth went dry to the point where water should have been the very top priority, but all she could do was stare at Malfoy as he rounded the table. His walk was a bit different than the spine-stiff, shoulder-swaying swagger she was used to. It held the same confidence, but it was slower, as if every step was exactly where he had planned to have his foot land. She imagined the motions of his shoulders as matching those of tigers crouching through the grass, and her palm met the back of her chair for balance.

“What are you doing?”

“Repercussions. Push your chair back.”

“Malfoy…” Her eyes darted around the boardroom, taking in the left-behind belongings that people would return for in less than an hour. The windows overlooked nothing but sky and distant buildings, and the door was sealed and locked. She was in the middle of London, in a boardroom of a company she worked for, and Malfoy was stalking up to her with a look that made her heart pound.

“If you hadn't run on Sunday, it wouldn't have to be here,” Malfoy told her, a hint of an edge to the lowness of his tone. “I don't know what you're so afraid of.”

Him, this, everything. “You're serious?” There was a hysterical bit of laughter to her question.

His expression hardened as his hand closed around the back of her chair, his thumb brushing her finger. “Of course I'm serious.” He yanked the chair back, and her hand dropped, balling into a fist. “Take your knickers off.”

“What?” She looked up from the movements in his forearm to find his eyebrow arched.

“Your--”

“Malfoy--”

“Knickers. Off. Granger.”

She was pretty sure she was gaping at him, but she couldn't shut her mouth for anything. Her blood was rushing through her so quickly that she was lightheaded, her stomach flipping, and a roar in her ears. The heat in her ears had spread down to her cheeks, and she felt her face growing hotter as he stared at her. There was a challenge in his eyes, expression, the set of his body as he stood there, just a breath away from touching her.

“I want your knickers off and in my hand in thirty seconds.” He held his hand out, palm open and cupped, and all she managed for a response was a crackling sound in her throat. “Would you like for me to continue counting out loud, or can you be spurred into action on your own?”

She shut her mouth, opened it, shut it, and then shook her head. “I can't--”

His hand rose quickly, thumb and fingers gripping her chin, and she was pulled forward just a second before his mouth was on hers. All that tension on her bones finally exploded in a whirlwind, making her blood static and her head spin. She made a sound of surprise against his mouth, but Malfoy was set on devouring her.

She reached to grab a fistful of his shirt as she dragged in a breath through her nose. His other hand wrapped around her hip, and then she was kissing him back, a moan in her throat. He hummed, both his hands squeezing into her skin as his teeth skimmed her bottom lip. His tongue pushed into her mouth a second later, spinning around hers, before he plundered back, forth, back.

She was dying, or maybe so incredibly alive that it just felt like it, but the lack of oxygen might have been leaning towards the first. She grabbed the back of his neck, and his hand released her hip to grip her arm. He followed it to her wrist and pulled her hand away, pushing it around to hold her wrist to the small of her back.

She tried to follow his tongue back into his mouth, but he refused to let her enter, his body pressing against hers. She felt small for a moment against the size of him, but then hardness pushed against the bottom of her stomach and she felt victorious and shaken.

His fingers left her jaw to skate over her throat before he gripped it lightly, pulling back from her mouth with a hard nip to her bottom lip. She sucked in a ragged breath that burned down her dry throat, and she felt him rock back and forth, his mouth hovering near her neck, before he pulled back entirely. Her eyes snapped open at the sudden loss of him, and he was staring at her, his eyes hooded and dark. His lips were red, and she felt her own tingling and swollen. Her whole body was thrumming.

Jesus.

“Now take your knickers off.” His voice was rougher than she'd ever heard it, and it reminded her of his moans that night, dragging and deep.

She was going to do this. She was actually going to do this. “You were wrong about the…the being watched thing--” In case he decided to unlock the door at some point.

“Now.”

She had no idea what he planned on doing, and it said something about her state of mind that this knowledge only excited her. This entire thing felt completely surreal, but Malfoy was beyond serious. It was all over him. And the way he had kissed her… Jesus.

“Leave the skirt.”

She paused, looking up at him in surprise, but his expression was stoic. Her hands trembled from nerves and the way her whole body was shaking and alive, but she hoped he didn't notice. Not that she hadn't seen him trembling once before.

She swallowed hard and kept her eyes on his shoes, edging her skirt up. She thought that there was no going back if she was really about to remove her knickers, but realized there had been no going back the moment she saw him tied up in that room.

What had she put on today? It wasn't anything lacy or frilly, but she desperately hoped it hadn't been anything white, cotton, and to her bellybutton. There-- Ah, that's right. Stripes, cotton, and along her pelvic. Slightly better.

Her entire face felt like she had eaten a hot pepper as she edged her knickers down her thighs, aware of Malfoy's stare on the back of her head. She tried to run through all those things she had read and saw, but most of them were impossible in this situation. He couldn't--

She wobbled on her short heels as she pulled the fabric from around her ankles, and chills set off down her spine as Malfoy's hand pushed into her curls. She felt the slight tug of him closing his fingers around her hair, but she hoped he didn't think she felt more stable now that he would help balance her by something attached to her scalp.

She balled her knickers up in her hand as she stood, and he pulled his hand away to hold it out to her. She looked at it for a moment before clearing her throat and pushing the cotton into his palm. She yanked her skirt back down to her knees, looking up when she heard a sharp inhale. She knew for that second that someone had broke his locking charm, but found him with her knickers to his nose instead.

If she could blush more, she would have. She had mildly turned on since the moment she saw him in the boardroom, and if his demand for her to take off her pants wasn't enough, that kiss had been. Now he would know, he had to. Who--

“Get the ruler and bring it back to me.” There was that voice again. It was like he crafted it perfectly to make resistance more difficult.

“What?”

“Don't question – turn around and get the ruler by my chair, and then bring it back to me.”

Don't question? Did he have any idea who she was? He could have grabbed the ruler himself when he came over if he needed-- Needed it. There was only one reason that came to mind as to why he would need a ruler at this moment. Her heart jumped up into her throat, pounding erratically, and the arousal in her stomach coiled tighter. Oh, God.

“Don't make me tell you again. You're horrible at listening to instructions, and it only makes it worse for you.”

Hermione couldn't string a solid thought together, let alone a response. She stared at him for a moment, and then turned her head to find where the ruler was. He wanted her to go get it? Watching her the whole time, and knowing that she knew what he wanted it for? Repercussions, he'd said.

Her hands were sweaty, and she shook them as she turned. She could feel the fabric of her skirt brush against her bare bum with every step – there was something very naughty about not wearing any knickers, and it drove the situation home to her. Where she was, what she was doing, and with who. If it hadn't been for that kiss, or how she saw him in that room, she would have thought this was a very elaborate, horrible joke.

But this was what she wanted. Exactly what she had imagined just days ago, before she even got the Snitch she turned her back on. If she were honest, she had imagined before that, before the other weekend, before anyone had known this part of her at all. Before she had really known it. She blamed his forearms. She blamed the way he sometimes stared at her so intensely that she squirmed. She blamed a lot of things, or maybe thanked them, but here she was.

She couldn't look at him as she made her way back to where he was standing, unmoved since she left. She gripped the ruler tightly, feeling the slight flexibility under her fingers, and couldn't seem to catch her breath. He was going to spank her with this. He was going to ask her to take off her skirt, and then tell her to bend over his lap, or a chair, or the table. Her legs felt shaky.

Malfoy held his hand out as soon as she was in reach, and there was only the slightest hesitation before she placed the ruler in his hand. He slid his fingers down the length of it, waving it gently in the air, and then smacked the palm of his hand. Hermione jumped, her breath catching, and adrenaline shot along her shoulders. He stretched his arm out to the side, gripping the end of the ruler, and turned it in his grip. She watched, trying to remember to school her face into a calm expression, until he was satisfied with whatever he was looking for.

“Turn around, Granger. Face the table. Good. Now pull your skirt up to your waist.”

She had barely hesitated, her hands hovering around the edge of her skirt as panic flared up with the excitement and desire. It was just for a second, but it appeared to be too long for Malfoy, who clenched a fist in her hair and yanked her head back. Hermione mewled in discomfort and surprise, hitting a hand into the table as his mouth covered hers. He kissed her fiercely, her lips pressing up against her teeth, and pulled away before she could respond.

“Up around your waist. Now.”

She should be angry. She should yank his hair back. She should turn and kiss him just as hard, until his breath was gone and his hands were shaking. She grabbed the bottom of her skirt instead, pulling it up in jerking motions, and moving quickly before she could think enough to change her mind. She stopped when it was bunched up around her waist, her face flaming, and the cool air setting goosebumps across her skin.

He made a sound she'd never heard from him as he moved behind her, and she waited desperately to wake up or dissolve completely. She jolted when his fingers skimmed her bum, but he wasn't put off. She felt the rougher pad of his thumb swoop across one cheek before he cupped it in his hand. She released a hard breath, forcing herself not to rub her legs together, and white-knuckled the edge of the table.

“Lean forward, all the way.”

She paused, knowing how much it would expose to him, and gasped when his palm struck her bum. It sent a spark through her boiling blood, and she was in danger of catching fire. She slid her hands up the table, leaning forward until the front of her was pressed against the polished wood. His fingertips touched the outside of her thigh, tapping as he thought. His shoe pushed and nudged at each ankle, spreading her legs out, and she hoped he didn't notice how unsteady she was.

“Put your hands behind your back and grab your wrists. Good, Granger.”

Her neck was straining from holding her head above the table, but then his hand was at the back of her head, turning her face to the right wall. He pushed gently, until her cheek was pressed against the table, and then pulled his hand away. The only sound in the room was her quick breathing, and she shut her eyes, knowing he was staring at her. She heard his clothing rub together, and then silence again.

“You've been entirely too difficult the past few days, pet,” he told her lowly. “I'll have to go harder on you than I had initially planned.”

Hermione drew in half a breath as a dozen emotions bubbled up, and yelped at the first smack of the ruler. Her eyes shot open on the second, and her fingers dug into her skin on the third. Oh, God. It stung just as much as she thought it would, echoing out around the spot until the ruler came down again. He smacked sharply across, than alternated to her right cheek, the left, both. A moan escaped her on the seventh, and the eighth came down hard enough for her to slap her hands onto the table.

“Behind your back,” he ordered thickly, and she gasped for air, clutching her wrists behind her back again.

Heat was radiating across her bum, blossoming hotter, and she could swear that each slap of the ruler was getting harder. It fit the building tempo of her arousal, winding so tight that it hurt. She squeezed her eyes and lips shut, seeing what he must look like behind her. His sleeves folded up, his forearms working, his grip tight on the ruler, and her cheeks bright red. She moaned in her throat on the next smack, and whined with the pain of the next. Her lips burst open on a cry when the ruler hit the back of her thighs. She jerked up, panting as she turned herself away from him on instinct.

His hand pushed into the space between her shoulder blades, leading her back down. She turned her head more to glare at him, but was struck with dizziness by everything pounding through her. She let out a hard breath and put her arms behind her back. The ruler came down the moment she did, and he hummed when her hips flexed naturally, pushing her arse up towards him. She felt light and static, like a gathering storm, but heavy from her waist down with her burning bum and need.

One last slap of the ruler shot out into the room, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure along every nerve within her. Hermione held her breath, waiting for another, but nothing came. Her breath gasped out and then in, her arms going slack. Her bum was tingling, raw, and on fire, and she sunk into the feeling like she had belonged there all along. She was spinning.

Fingers skated over her sore bum, and then his palm, rubbing gently. She pulled in hot bursts of air, licking her lips, and waited as his fingers edged along her crack and down to her thighs. She wanted desperately for him to touch her where she needed him to. To hear the buckle of his belt being undone, or for him to pull her up and kiss her again. She was soaking wet, and she knew he must have been able to see it. He knew exactly what he had inspired in her.

Her entire body sagged when he left her inner thighs for the hem of her skirt. She put an arm down to lift herself up, wobbling with the zap of her strength, and the heat of embarrassment came back to her face. For a short while, she had forgotten everything.

Malfoy pulled her skirt down, the back of his knuckles skimming her legs as he did so. His chest was just barely brushing her back, and she could feel his breath on the back of her ear. Hermione tried to swallow, and find air, and see straight. She felt high, and she was waiting for the strange calm to dissipate so she could start worrying about what to say and do now. And where to find the nearest place to be alone for five minutes.

Why hadn't he--

“The meeting will resume in thirty minutes.” His voice was rough as he walked back to his chair, the ruler still in his hand. “If you're hungry, you should get something now.”

On a list of priorities at the moment, hunger was too far away to even know the name of. They had thirty minutes – why were they stopping? She could see the bulge in his trousers as he slid the ruler into his briefcase, but she was distracted by what he pulled out. The Snitch was motionless as he set it on the table, and she stared at it in surprise as the buzz slowly began to fade from her blood. He scribbled something on a piece of parchment, and she took a step back, flinching when her skirt rubbed her nude, raw bum.

She pressed her thighs together, forcing back the whine rising from her chest. Her nipples were hard and straining, and everything was throbbing. She was as turned on as she had ever been, and if she didn't do something now, she would splinter, burst, melt.

He tore a piece of the parchment off, his long fingers working to fold it. She remembered the feel of them on her, of his mouth on hers, of each smack of the ruler. She felt exhilarated, beyond gravity, embarrassed, nervous, burning up.

Malfoy pulled the top half of the Snitch down and tapped it with his wand. The wings started up, and the Snitch hovered before zipping around Malfoy. His expression was passive as he placed his wand onto the table, then pulled a folder out from his briefcase. She caught his eyes only when the Snitch grew bored of Malfoy's head and moved towards her.

She swallowed three times as it stopped to hover in front of her, bright, bright gold shining into her eyes. If you seek it, catch it, Pansy had told her. Hermione looked over at Malfoy as he watched her, that damning lock falling across his forehead, and something grew tight in her chest.

It felt like she had been seeking this for a very, terribly long time. Her fingers wrapped around the ball of the Snitch, the tiny wings fluttering rapidly against her skin to mirror her heart. She pulled it to her side, taking a step towards the door as the corner of Malfoy's lips curled. Perhaps she'd finally found it.



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