Chapter Text
December 6th 2006
Malfoy dropped his hand and put some distance between them.
"Are you sure you want to come? It’s really nothing important. We could probably skip it."
Hermione considered it for a second. She’d be alone in her room while he was in his. At least if they attended the party together, she wouldn’t be left waiting.
"I thought you wanted to speak with an informant."
"I can go alone and come back quickly. You can stay at the bar with Tony—I trust him."
"No, I want to see. I’ve never been, and I bet it’ll be interesting."
"Alright but promise me you’ll stay by my side. There have already been two kidnapping attempts on you this week."
Put like that, she had to admit—it was terrifying.
"Yes, I’ll stay close."
A moment later, Malfoy glanced at his watch and said, "I’ve arranged for a helicopter. I don’t think you should Apparate."
"I’m fine. I can—wait, a helicopter?" She arched an eyebrow. "Are you trying to impress me?"
"Will it work?" he asked, smirking.
She let out a laugh and shook her head, bringing a hand to her mouth as she bit her nail. "You shouldn’t have. I would have been able to apparate just fine. This is so…"
"Muggle?"
"Yes! So, Muggle of you. Even this hotel—it’s for Muggles."
"It’s the best way to stay incognito. And the hotel has been warded, several times, by me and my family. There are old wizarding families in America—the Karoudians. They created these hotels back in 1910 to help hide Muggle-born wizards. Some say they were Muggle-born themselves once, but they’re so ancient that no one really knows anymore."
Hermione nodded, intrigued.
"You know that, right?" Malfoy asked.
"It was interesting to hear it from you," she said, smiling.
They left the hotel and walked toward the helicopter waiting for them on the rooftop.
"I think this is a bit much, Malfoy."
"Yes, maybe," he admitted, glancing at the sleek aircraft. "It’s the first time I’ve found it odd to travel by helicopter. I usually don’t mind."
"Let’s just go. It’s fine," she said, giving in. "But I think we can Apparate back to the hotel later tonight."
He nodded and took her hand, guiding her carefully under the rotor blades before helping her into her seat.
The flight was breathtaking. The Grand Canyon stretched endlessly beneath them, bathed in golden sunlight. From above, she spotted bighorn sheep navigating the rugged cliffs, their curved horns gleaming in the warm glow. There were many of them, moving gracefully across the canyon walls, perfectly at home in the vast landscape.
"It was possible to take your broom," she said as they stepped outside.
"Yes, but you didn’t seem in a healthy state for more adrenaline today. I’ve never seen you on a broom, so I assumed it wasn’t your cup of tea."
"You’re right—I hate flying."
They arrived at the party, and it was magnificent. Three immense big tops stood tall, each housing a different stage for live music. People were scattered around in campers and tents, creating a lively, festival-like atmosphere.
As they entered one of the big tops, Hermione immediately noticed the presence of a Muggle-Repelling Charm.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Draco picked up a champagne flute and turned to her. "Do you want something?"
Still feeling dizzy, she asked for a bottle of water for now. With a flick of his wand, he summoned one and handed it to her. She thanked him.
Placing his hand lightly on the small of her back, he guided her further inside.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Starving," she admitted.
"What would you like?"
"Pizza—with hot sauce."
He chuckled and led her toward the food trucks stationed inside the big top. Hermione realized just how massive the space was—it had been magically expanded. The tent’s multicolored fabric shimmered under the lights, and decorations of floating balloons and glowing lanterns created a whimsical atmosphere. It felt like a grand carnival.
People were dressed in elaborate costumes; some wore masks, feathers, and extravagant hats, while others dazzled in diamonds and elegant evening gowns. It was a spectacle of colors and movement.
Above them, the ceiling of the big top was transparent, revealing the dark sky speckled with stars.
"It's beautiful," she said, gazing upward.
"Wait until later—they usually have fireworks and flying stars."
She nodded, taking a bite of her pizza. Her eyes widened with delight.
"Oh! This is so good!"
***
Malfoy had a problem. The more time he spent with her, the more fucking cute and adorable he thought she was. And cute and adorable weren’t exactly the right words for what he was feeling.
She was a stunning young woman - kind, honest, authentic—and the way he felt around her was something entirely new, something he had never experienced before.
He knew he was in trouble. He had to let her go, and quickly.
Shacklebolt’s plan seemed to be moving faster than it was supposed to, and Malfoy had a strong suspicion that he wasn’t being told everything. He had the distinct impression that he, too, was just another moving piece in a much larger game.
The last thing he wanted was to drag Granger into it.
She took his hand, her warm palm pressing gently against his.
He looked at her.
"You seem preoccupied. Is it the meeting that’s stressing you? Can I help with anything?"
Guilt settled deep in his chest. It felt wrong—like he was using her. Like they were using her.
"No. I just... need to be alone for a moment."
He felt her warmth slip away, and he regretted it instantly, his fingers brushing against hers for as long as possible as she retreated.
"Oh. Okay, I understand," she said softly. "I’ll stay here while you go meet with—whoever it is."
He gave her a short nod before turning away.
"Stay vigilant," he told her before walking in the opposite direction.
***
Hermione wandered through the grand expanse of the big top, taking in everything there was to see. She stayed close to where Malfoy had left her, though it was frustrating dealing with him—always hot and cold. Sometimes he was almost friendly, and other times, he was exactly like he had been at Hogwarts.
She thought back to what Samainiq had told her, about the battle Malfoy was fighting within himself. Hermione had to admit—she was right. He did seem different, but at the same time, he still clung to his old beliefs.
Sighing, she made her way to the bar. A glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. It had been five or six years since her last real night out, and she felt like celebrating a little.
She sat down, observing the party around her. The music had grown heavier, the rhythm infectious, and more people had taken to the dance floor. A flicker of jealousy sparked in her chest—she wished she was out there too.
A man stepped up beside her to order a drink, then turned to her as he waited.
"Hi! How are you?" he asked with an easy smile.
She glanced at him, offering a polite nod.
"Do you like it so far?"
"Yes, it's amazing. Is it your first time?" she asked.
"No," he said with a grin. "I come every year. Do I catch a bit of a British accent here?"
She laughed and nodded.
"Guilty," she admitted. "I’m from London. You?"
"Minnesota," he replied. "You wanna dance?"
Hermione hesitated. A part of her wanted to refuse, but deep down, she wanted to dance—so badly.
"Yes," she said before she could talk herself out of it.
He grinned, took her hand, and led her to the dance floor. The music pulsed through the air, vibrant and intoxicating. As she moved to the beat, she felt free—weightless. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to simply feel good.
He was cute—tall, brown-haired, American, and clearly, she saw that he thought she was attractive and for a fleeting moment, it was fun to feel desired.
He pulled her closer, his movements fluid and confident as they danced. His hand traced a slow path from her shoulder, down her side, before settling at the small of her back. With a gentle but firm motion, he circled his arm around her, pulling her even closer.
She laughed, a mix of surprise and amusement, and playfully pushed against him. He let her create some space but kept moving with her to the rhythm of the music.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice warm over the music.
"Hermione. Yours?"
"Brady. I studied at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Did you go to Hogwarts?"
She was about to answer when she suddenly felt someone yank her away from Brady’s close embrace.
"Yes, she did…" a familiar voice said behind her.
Brady's expression shifted instantly, his eyes widening in alarm. He raised both hands in surrender.
"I'm sorry, dude, I didn’t know she was with someone."
"I am not," Hermione snapped, pushing Malfoy’s arm off her.
Brady took that as his cue and, without another word, turned and disappeared into the crowd.
She spun around to face Malfoy, fury flashing in her eyes.
"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp with anger.
"I told you to stay close," Malfoy shot back, his jaw tight.
"You were the one who needed space! You had an appointment with someone. I was alone," she fumed, her frustration bubbling over. A frustrated grunt escaped her lips as she clenched her fists.
"We are going home," Malfoy said, his tone firm.
"I am not."
"Oh yes, you are. You're following me."
"You'd have to force me."
He stepped closer, towering over her, their eyes locking in a heated standoff. Both were furious, neither willing to back down.
Then, he nodded. For a second, she thought she had won.
But before she could react, he suddenly pulled her into his arms. A startled scream escaped her lips as she felt the familiar, suffocating pull of Apparition.
"I'm sorry," was the last thing she heard before the world around them vanished.
They Apparated next to the patio, close to the pool.
Hermione was fuming.
"How dare you? Forcing me to Apparate with you? Forcing me to come with you? Who do you think you are? You can’t just do that!"
"Granger, please, calm down," Malfoy said, his voice edged with frustration.
"I will not!" she yelled, struggling against his hold, but his arms were too strong, locking her in place. "Let me go! I’m suffocating!"
She screamed in fury, and just like that—he let her go.
Abruptly.
Thrown off balance, she swung wildly, her footing slipping on the wet patio.
***
Malfoy reached out, trying to steady her, but the momentum pulled him off balance too.
He barely had time to wrap his arms around her again. For a split second, he considered Apparating them directly into the room to avoid disaster, but the thought passed too quickly.
Instead, he let it happen.
And just like that—both of them crashed into the pool with a loud splash.
***
Hermione looked at him, her clothes soaked, clinging to her skin. Her blouse had turned nearly transparent, and with a huff of frustration, she pulled it off, tossing it aside as she walked away from him.
Malfoy stepped forward, instinctively reaching out to help her, but she stopped him with a sharp glare.
"Stop, Malfoy." Her voice was firm, shaking slightly with emotion. "I tried. I really tried, but you are nothing that I can deal with."
He froze.
"I don’t like the way you treat me," she continued, her chest rising and falling with anger. "I don’t like the way you are with me. I don’t need this in my life."
Her voice cracked slightly, but she held her ground.
"I am proud to be Muggle-born. I am proud of my parents and the sacrifices they made. I love who I am. And yet, you—you make me doubt everything, just because you’re too much of a coward to let go of your old beliefs."
She took a shaky breath, her frustration bubbling over.
"I am worth attention, and I don’t care that you don’t believe it. Other wizards don’t care that I’m Muggle-born. Ron, didn’t care… Brady didn’t care."
The words hung between them, heavy and raw, before she turned away.
She was just about to reach the stairs when—crack! —Malfoy Apparated in front of her, blocking her path.
"Let me pass, Malfoy," she said through clenched teeth.
"Is that what you think this is?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.
But she could feel it—that fury simmering beneath his composure, barely restrained.
"Is it?" he asked again, his voice rising this time.
She looked at him, confusion flickering in her eyes.
"Fuck that," he growled, and before she could react, she felt his hand on the back of her neck.
He pulled her to his level and kissed her—hard. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t sweet. It was violent, a punishment.
For a moment, she was too stunned to react, her mind blank, her body frozen. But then—Merlin helps her—her body melted against his, as if it had been waiting for this.
His teeth grazed her lip before he bit down, his fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head back so he could claim her mouth with more ease. She gasped, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing, demanding.
His other hand moved from her jaw to her neck, then lower, tracing the soaked fabric clinging to her skin. His fingers brushed over her shoulder, down her back, gripping her waist, pulling her even closer—as if he needed her pressed against him, as if space between them was unbearable.
"Fuck," he muttered against her lips. And the moment his mouth left hers, she felt the loss like a physical ache, an emptiness clawing at her chest.
Like she hadn’t been breathing before that kiss.
His hands were everywhere on her, roaming with an urgency that neither of them could control. Without even noticing, he had slipped the strap of her dress off her shoulder, pulling it down to her waist.
She helped him remove his shirt, and the second it was gone, he yanked her against him, as if he needed to feel her bare skin against his. Her breasts pressed against his chest, heat radiating between them. His fingers slid up her thighs, tugging her dress higher as she kissed his neck, his jaw, biting his lips again and again.
They were pulling and pushing, caught in a feverish struggle, like they both knew—somewhere deep inside—that this was a bad idea. But neither of them could stop.
He guided her toward the stairs of the pool, where the water was shallower. The cool night air sent a shiver down her spine as he turned her around, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs grazing her sensitive peaks. His lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the back of her neck, igniting a fire low in her belly.
A soft moan escaped her as his fingers slipped beneath the soaked fabric of her slip, his touch deliberate, teasing.
His fingers found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her body tense. A desperate whimper left her lips before she grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin.
“Draco, stop—” she pleaded breathlessly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back if you keep going.”
“We don’t even need foreplay,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm against her ear. “We’re already so fucking ready.”
He exhaled a low chuckle, his lips ghosting over her damp skin.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, Granger," he growled, voice thick with desire. "Like you’ve never been fucked before. We won’t last long this time—the second one will be slower, gentler, I promise. But this one?” He nipped at her earlobe, his grip tightening on her hips. “This one will ruin you.”
Before she could respond, he pressed her forward, bending her over slightly.
She gasped as the sharp sound of his belt unbuckling cut through the air. A tremor ran through her as the delicate fabric of her slip was torn away, leaving her completely exposed to him. Then she felt it—him—pressing against her, hot and hard against her clit. It was unbearable. A small gasp escaped her lips, her body already on the edge, but before he could move any further, a sharp pang of uncertainty twisted in her gut.
She reached back, her fingers grasping at his thigh, trying to straighten herself.
“Draco—wait,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “Please… be gentle. I’ve never— It’s my first…”
The moment the words left her lips, she felt him freeze behind her.
She felt him pull away slowly, his touch lingering as he adjusted her dress. She heard him arranging himself, the quiet click of his belt buckle grounding them back into reality while she tried to lift the dress over her bare breasts. He turned her around and helped guide the fabric back over her body, his fingers grazing her skin with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity from moments ago. As he reached for one of the straps, he realized it had snapped.
He hesitated, then glanced around before picking up the rest of her torn slip and handing it to her.
“Draco…” she said softly, looking up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice laced with regret. “I lost control. I… if I had known… I would have— I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay,” she whispered, starting to step out of the pool, but before she could, he caught her wrist, pulling her back against him.
“Stay. Just for a second,” he said, his arms wrapping around her.
“Draco, we can—”
“No.” His voice was firm, but there was something raw beneath it. “Not tonight. Maybe never. I… I don’t want to do something you won’t forgive me for if things change.”
She looked up at him, confused by the weight of his words.
His thumb brushed over her lips, swollen and red from his kisses. His touch lingered, as if memorizing the moment.
“Go to bed, Granger,” he whispered.