Malfoy's New Life 2 (Patreon)

“Fine,” Draco said almost an hour later. “I surrender. Cats The Musical is not terrible.”

Granger smirked smugly. “Exactly. You shouldn’t have wasted an hour of your time trying to win an impossible argument.”

He shrugged. “I had forgotten how intense you can be. Apparently, you don’t have to punch me to defeat me.”

Granger blushed. “You deserved that,” she still added.

That surprised him. It wasn’t the first sign of Granger relaxing in his presence, but it was the strongest one, tempting him to push for more. He nodded. “I certainly did.”

She gaped, shocked. “You accepted it.”

“Of course. I was a bratty teenager, still believing everything people around my father were saying. I love my father, but what he was thinking by letting Macnair tutor me about the magical animals, I can’t tell. That man had been a monster.”

She gasped. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Among my tutors, Snape was a literal sunshine.”

“Hard to imagine,” Granger said. Then, her eyes widened. “I should check with my friends. They will be worrying.”

Draco smirked. “Are you sure?” he said as he pointed, showing that the rest of her group, including the bride, was already on the dance floor, dancing sexily. The bride’s situation was the worst, or best, squeezed between two happily dancing.

“Eleanor,” Granger gasped, making a move to stand up.

He touched her arm, though he didn’t grab. He knew Granger would react badly to that. “Bride-to-be seems to be happy about her situation. Do you really want to ruin her night by stopping her dancing?”

That made her pause, then she sighed. “They won’t listen to me, will they?”

Draco smirked. “It seems that way. By the way, who is the bride, because this is not a group I expect around you. This is not your scene.”

“She’s my cousin, so I became a part of the party by default,” she said, then paused. “And, what do you mean this is not a scene I can handle?” she said, her eyes flashing.

“Well, you know…” he said deliberately vaguely, then shrugged, acting as if it was an innocent comment rather than a deliberate needling. Back in school, Granger hated whenever someone claimed she couldn’t do something, sometimes pushing it to absurd degrees. Her reaction showed that was not a habit that changed.

Good. He was curious how far he could push that.

“Just because I don’t throw myself in the middle of the dance floor doesn’t mean I can’t dance,” she said, sensitive about the implication.

“Careful, that sounds like a challenge,” he said, casually dismissive, knowing it would push Granger more.

Her eyes flashed with a sudden hint of excitement. “What if I am? Would it scare poor little pureblood. It’s not like you’re a better dancer than I am.”

He matched her energy as he stood up and grabbed her wrist, though he made sure to do it slowly, showing his move. He didn’t want to trigger her reflexes. “How about now, Miss Gyrffindor?” he challenged. “Do you dare?”

She scoffed. “Of course,” she said.

They moved onto the dance floor, though they stayed around the edge, their dancing was nowhere as impressive as some of the others that had been in the middle of the crowd. Granger even pulled her wand from her thigh holster subtly to cast a spell to allow them to speak relatively easily.

“How about it?” she said smugly.

“I have to admit, Granger, you’re full of surprises,” he said instead of pushing, earning a surprised, shy smile. For her to react to an easy compliment, coming from him of all people, suggested that she had been neglected.

They continued dancing, but they were at more ease. “How’s the work in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

“Fine,” she said, but her voice suddenly lost a lot of its excitement. “How’s the Department of International Magical Co-operation?”

He was surprised by the deflection. Granger always loved to talk about anything book-related, and he suspected that hadn’t changed after the war. Meaning, it must have been going really badly.

He had no idea, because he made a point of staying away from the Ministry intrigues as part of cleansing his family reputation, focusing strictly on his own work.

However, he didn’t dig, letting her successfully change the topic. Instead, he started telling her about the latest initiatives of his department, which could only be explained as a chain of incompetence. Unfortunately, he lacked the power to change things.

His only function was to work as a diplomat whenever they needed to contact darker families of Europe, and the traditional names like Lowle and Rosier were currently untouchable.

He found out that he knew exactly how to maintain Granger’s attention, mostly by squeezing some jokes between talking about long, dry treatises they were trying to put together, still ongoing after Fudge’s long rule had demolished all.

Admittedly, most of that blame could be laid at the feet of his father, but in his defense, his father was actually trying to destroy those relationships to allow the Dark Lord take over without international involvement. Fudge had been just a moron.

She was entertained enough that she was getting looser on the dance floor, his hand resting on her waist while they followed the thumping of the bass. And, with his hand resting on her waist, he couldn’t help but feel hopeful about the rest of the night.

Granger was engaged to Weasley, but that was not a problem but a bonus.

However, letting her take the lead didn’t mean he didn’t pull any tricks. Not magical. He angled them so that a careless couple had knocked her toward him. She was unfamiliar with the heels, losing her balance. He immediately hugged her, her body pressing against his.

The closeness was enough to make her blush even worse. She blushed, not pulling closer, and just like that, the gap behind her was closed. The crowd surged around them, leaving her no chance to retreat.

Hermione's breath caught, audible even above the music.

"Malfoy—"

"Crowded floor," he said, low, directly into her ear, his arms tighter than necessary. The intensity of her reaction surprised him. “Come on, Granger. This is how Muggle clubs work. Don’t tell me I have to school you about how the Muggle world works.”

“Well, I can school you about how magic works, so maybe that’s fair,” she responded.

A genuine laugh escaped him. It was a good burn. He could find many faults with Granger, but her mastery of magical theory was never in doubt. Back when he was a student, he hated it because he took that as a personal failing. Another childish habit he had left behind.

He pulled back slightly, but one hand still rested on her waist, lower than before. She went still for a moment, but soon she shifted her weight to match his rhythm rather than fighting it.

They continued chatting, her head tipping back, unguarded as she laughed. Draco watched her laugh, feeling more intensely than he had expected. Her hand came up, unthinking, to rest against his chest to keep her balance as the crowd shifted again.

It was fun, but before he could make a decision, they found themselves side by side with the bride-to-be. “Come on, honey,” the bride declared happily. “Loosen up a little. You’re wasting such a magnificent piece,” she said, leering at him.

“Thank you, cousin, but I know how to dance.”

“This is not dancing,” the bride-to-be declared. “If you don’t know how to handle him, I can take him off your hands.”

“A good point,” one of the bridesmaids declared. “Either dance properly, or leave the stage, sweetie.”

Draco could see that Hermione wasn’t well liked in the group, but then, it was not a surprise. They were not her friends, and she was there out of obligation. However, she still looked hesitant, and he decided to make a move. “Feel free to push for more if you want to silence them,” he whispered, the spell still allowing them to speak, whispering like the promise of a demon.

He didn’t push, knowing that Granger was never one to just take challenges lying down, even ill-advised ones. She didn’t do often, but when she did, she had no limits. He had heard about the contract debacle in their fifth year. That poor Ravenclaw was never the same.

She growled. “I don’t need your help, Clara,” she said, grabbed his hips, and pulled him closer, her hips grinding. Clara looked annoyed, but when the bride-to-be cheered happily, she played along. However, instead of retreating, they started dancing around them.

Never one to miss an opportunity, he put both hands on her hips, leading her grinding. Her eyes widened. “Just helping,” he whispered.

She looked surprised, but not enough to stop dancing. Instead, she followed the low, insistent pulse of the bass that vibrated up through the floorboards and into her body. He was happy, since her hips carried it to him while she rolled them in a slow, deliberate grind against him.

He did his best to hide his surprise. He didn’t expect her to get in the mood that quickly. He had assumed she was neglected, but not to this degree.

Her fingers stayed locked on his hips, nails digging in through the fine wool of his trousers as she used them for balance, still uncomfortable on heels. His hands stayed exactly where they were, spanning the curve of her waist and sliding lower, thumbs pressing into the soft give of her hips while his palms settled over the full swell of her ass.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The sound was almost lost under the music, but the silencing charm she’d cast earlier still held, turning every soft noise between them private.

“Malfoy—”

“Still just helping,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, voice low and rough. “Unless you’d rather I let your cousin take over.”

Her eyes flashed. The challenge landed predictably, and she scoffed in anger. Her jaw tightened, and then she rolled her hips harder, deliberately, the soft heat of her body pressing against his growing bulge. The friction was filthy and perfect. He let out a quiet, involuntary sound and tightened his grip, pulling her flush against him so she could feel every inch of what she was doing to him.

He could feel that Granger was fully in her escalation mood. Around them the crowd surged and receded like a living thing, the occasional teasing from the other bridesmaids, often in even sluttier poses, helping her to push even more.

While her body moved faster, her face blushed, a fine sheen of sweat at her temples, dampening the fine hairs that had escaped her updo. Her lips were parted, and every time the bass dropped, she exhaled in a soft, shaky rush that ghosted across his collarbone.

He could see that she was still trying to maintain some semblance of control, but every second destroyed her determination more. Her thighs shifted, parting just enough that the next grind allowed his groin to rub directly against her heat, the layers of cloth insulating poorly.

She was reacting far more intensely than he had expected, even under the circumstances. It was as if she didn’t know how to contain her arousal, unfamiliar with desire, which was surprising considering her age, and the fact that she was engaged.

Weasley must have been neglecting her. A mistake he was happy to correct.

He slipped one of his hands under her skirt.

“Don’t…” Granger whispered, scaring him that he had pushed her too much. But, instead of pushing him, her hands slid up from his hips to his waist, then higher, fisting his shirt. “Don’t stop.” She added.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand cupped her ass under her skirt, mauling her naked flesh, her panties not covering much, a surprisingly sexy choice. Also, a good choice, because under his touch, her ass was even more spectacular than he had hoped, a perfect combination of soft and tight.

Granger’s body jerked. A tiny, broken sound escaped her throat. She buried her face against his shoulder for a moment, breathing hard, and he could feel her resolve slowly shattering. She rubbed her core against his bulge, desperately searching for a release.

In response, he let his free hand climb up, cupping her breast over her shirt, her breasts filling his hands with some extra.

She gasped, half protest and half plea, and then her hand slid down between their bodies. For a second, he was afraid that he had pushed too much and she was going to push him away. Instead, her palm pressed flat against the hard line of his cock, mapping the shape of him through his pants with a boldness that made his vision narrow.

He caught her gaze, and she flinched. “Shut up,” she whispered, but her voice was shaking. “Just keep dancing.”

He didn’t like being ordered around, but Granger’s current order was a nice exception. They continued dancing, her body smashed against his, while he let his hand move, tracing the seam of her panties until his fingertips brushed the soft, damp fabric barely covering her core.

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t stop. They moved together, following the loud bass of the club. Every roll of her hips drove her crazier, and he responded with thrusts of his own. His fingers continued to tease from underneath, her wetness growing every second, drenching his fingertips.

His hand stayed between her legs from behind, two fingers now pressing against the soaked panties, rubbing slow circles over her clit through the silk. She was so wet the fabric clung to her folds. He could feel the exact shape of her, including her tight entrance that fluttered every time his fingers pressed a little harder. Her breathing had become ragged. Her forehead rested against his jaw, and every few seconds a soft, helpless sound slipped out of her.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction.

She raised her head, somehow blushing worse at the words. She opened her mouth to answer, but he didn’t give her the chance. He kissed her, hard, his tongue invading her mouth. She froze, shocked, but she didn’t pull back.

Instead, her hand tightened on the back of his neck. The other stayed between them, stroking him through his trousers with increasing desperation.

He didn’t blame her. The friction was maddening. He wanted her bare hand on his skin. He wanted her on her knees. He wanted to shove her dress up and fuck her right here on the edge of the dance floor while the bride and her friends watched. None of them were things he expected to feel toward Granger before he decided on a late drink.

Too bad they were too much for the club floor. Not due to club rules, but he could feel that Granger was already at the edge. If he pushed any more, she would pull back. The same went for apparating away with her. It would break the charm.

He focused on what he could do. One hand continued to squeeze her amazing tits, while his two fingers pressed more firmly against her clit and rubbed in tight, deliberate circles.

His reward arrived immediately. Her knees buckled as the climax hit, drenching his fingers, her knees losing strength. He caught her with arms around her waist, still kissing her. As she shivered, his bulge was still rubbing against her.

Then, a surprising thing happened.

[Magic Theory +1]

He had no idea what was going on, so while she shivered in his arms, he closed his eyes, focusing on his Occlumency. He was good enough that, once he had noticed an absence of negative impact, he let it slide.

He could explore it another time.

When he finally pulled, she was panting, her lips parted sexily. Every breath carried a soft, broken sound. Her hips still moved in short, desperate rolls, chasing pleasure.

“This is wrong,” she whispered, her eyes wide, but considering her hips didn’t stop, her lack of conviction was obvious.

“It’s a bachelorette party,” he whispered. “What happens here, stays here. Look at your cousin,” he said, pointing at the bride-to-be, who was pressed against a wall, her panties around her ankles, obviously not dancing anymore. “Compared to them, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s nonsense,” she whispered.

“Is it?” he responded, pulling her to press harder against him, and this time, he tugged her skirt up so that her panties were the only barrier. She didn’t answer. He kissed her again.

He could feel the gush of wetness against his bulge, the way her nails dug into his chest hard enough to leave marks. He kept rubbing against her through it, fast and relentless, until she was shaking and oversensitive and making soft, wrecked sounds against his lips. Soon, one hand disappeared under her skirt, this time also slipping under her panties before starting to tease her clit.

She allowed.

The impact was spectacular. It didn’t take long for Granger to climax again, the aftershocks rippling through her.

[Magic Theory +1]

Her breathing was ragged. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes dark and dazed, lips parted. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just riding the aftershocks. The music crashed around them.

Too bad he could also see that rationality returning to her eyes, which was not a problem. The guilt that accompanied, on the other hand, was a big problem. “Malfoy—“ she started.

He interrupted her with a short kiss. “Call me by my name,” he whispered. “I think I earned that much.”

She gulped. “Only if you do as well.”

“Hermione,” he whispered, his tone deliberately throaty, using her name as a declaration.

“Draco,” she whispered back, her voice loaded with too many emotions.

“Better, right?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But this was a mistake.”

“I will not tell anyone, I promise,” he said. “I can even sign a magical contract if you want,” he offered. He wouldn’t have, but that was why he offered. By showing willingness, he was making sure that Granger — Hermione, he corrected in his mind — would never ask for it.

“That’s … that’s too extreme. Your promise is enough,” she said, surprised by his ‘willingness’. She tried to pull back, and he loosened his arms.

“Wouldn’t it be a waste to stop now,” he said just when he took a step back. “You’ll spend your time waiting for your friends. Let’s dance while waiting them, Hermione,” he said, deliberately adding her name with a breathy tone, realizing that it impacted her more than he expected.

Her eyes widened, and she took a step forward. “Let’s do that, Draco,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”

The bass dropped again. The crowd surged. And Draco, smiling like he had just won the lottery, kissed Hermione again, their bodies pressed together…

[Magic Theory +1]