The war left wizarding Britain wrecked, the government merely a pile of debris and ash. I came out victorious after all. That I'm still hiding in the shadows doesn't take away from it. The Malfoy name has power left, despite everything.
I'm only biding my time, waiting to step out into the open to claim what I always desired. In the end it was way too easy to achieve, just because some men don't realize their biggest mistake is giving another man the opportunity to make their woman smile.
It's late when I return to the manor and I'm still so pissed, pulling off my gloves I just fling them vaguely into the direction of the shelf instead of placing them neatly in the basket atop. My coat suffers a similar fate, a heap of black fabric on the floor.
“Thomas!” I yell, already striding to my study.
My assistant appears out of thin air, or so it seems. I take a deep breath that simmers down the fury, burning hot in my chest.
“Take care of this. You're excused for the night afterwards.” I motion to the entry way with my instruction.
I send a note through the Floo to Greg the moment I enter my study. I hate this way of communication, but Gregory is thick-headed and refuses to give anything else a shot. I deal with it, because he's too valuable to me.
Less than ten minutes later Greg steps out of the fireplace. Disheveled, yawning, and wearing an expression as if he's already over me and this meeting.
“Do you have any idea what fucking time it is, Malfoy?” he asks.
A smile plays at my lips despite his strategic use of my surname. He wants to make sure I know he's displeased. I would have anyway.
This is the usual; I never consider time and place when I request Greg's service, and he keeps showing up, because I pay exceptionally well.
“I need you to find me evidence that Ronald Weasley is cheating on his wife.” I unbutton the cufflinks on my wrist. “And make sure no one is suspecting the same thing about her.”
Gregory raises a brow, and I can almost see how he bites his tongue to keep himself from asking questions. I wonder if today's a day he loses the battle against himself.
“I have a hard time imagining the Hermione Granger as the cheating type.“ Greg says slowly, as if he's still trying to hold back. “Where does your suspicion come from?”
I grin. I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance I'd get to drop this bomb on him. Gregory is one of the only people I'd let in on my plans. At least partially.
“Because there's a probability of 91% she's peacefully sleeping in my bed upstairs. I would be able to tell you with 100% certainty if the Wizengamot wasn't a pain in my arse and just gave me what is rightfully mine. But as it stands, they are being very difficult, so I never made it home in time to fuck her.” I take a deep breath, reminding myself to not get lost in my earlier anger. “On the other hand, we wouldn't be sitting here at all if the Weasleys didn't try to block me every step of the way, so maybe you'll consider directing your irritation in their direction.”
I like to gloat every once in a while, I'm aware. And convinced it isn't a flaw as long as I'm careful who's the witness.
We finalize a couple of details and just as I hoped I would, I feel less tense after Greg leaves. I roll my shoulders a couple of times and glance towards the clock above the fireplace mantle. Two A.M. has already passed, and I should definitely go to sleep, but as I told Gregory, I hope to find her in my bed, and I don't think I can act the harmless-but-overly-charming-pureblood heir yet.
It's always a challenge to show enough intellect to keep her invested but not enough to make her suspicious. It's the kind of fine line to walk that makes life worth it, if you ask me.
I open the first two buttons on my dress shirt and pull out a cigar from the box above my desk. I light it and sink into the plush upholstery of an armchair that once belonged to my great grandfather. It's hideous but at the same time the most comfortable piece of furniture I own.
My mind isn't idle for even a second while I smoke. I'm mentally keeping track of each stage of my plan. The only time I allow myself to let go is during the nights I sleep alone, which doesn't happen that often. For strategic reasons. They say to keep your friends close but your enemies closer, and that's exactly what I'm doing.
I smoke unhurriedly, taking my time to build up the character I'm going to play. If I had to, I could put it on within moments, but I'm playing for the long run, which means I'm not taking any chances.
When I finally step through the door of my bedroom, I'm Draco Malfoy, reformed pureblood heir, known to make every woman smile. The real me is hidden underneath: waiting, plotting, pulling all the right strings.
The relieved sigh I exhale when I make out her unruly curls splayed across my pillow is completely inaudible; the smile that curves my lips is sweet but tastes like victory.
She stirs when I slip out of my button-down. I like her best like this. Sleepy, complacent, vulnerable. She's the most impressive in that stage, but I'm not going to take advantage of it today.
“Draco?” she mumbles, and the husky sound of her voice grips my cock.
I'm also not going to fuck her tonight, I remind myself. Physical satisfaction is merely a pleasant side effect of the actual plan anyway. I indulge regularly but never if it potentially fucks up the main goal. Today it would. I like to pretend I'm above anyone else, but even I need sleep.
“Go back to sleep, darling. I'll be here in the morning.”
She doesn't need the encouragement. She's already dreaming again. I can see it in the way her chest slowly lifts with deep breaths and sense it in the way her magic is a drowsy whisper instead of the normal electric current.
“Mr Malfoy! Mr Malfoy! Over here. Can we get a comment on today's events?”
I ignore the Prophet reporter as I leave the ministry with long strides. I'm known for brushing off the media; that won't change today. This is my win, I'm not going to share it with anyone. Except maybe Granger but not for emotional reasons either.
I need her to get invested beyond the silly infatuation she suffers from. I would scoff at the fact more, that the supposedly brightest witch of her age fell into my trap so easily, but her foolishness plays into my cards, so I refrain.
Today is a big day, even for my standards. I won back my Wizengamot seat that had been taken from my family after the war. What the public doesn't know yet is that I don't plan to keep it for myself. I fought for it to pass it on.
“You look exquisite, darling.” I say, and even though it's meant to flatter her, I actually mean it.
Hermione blushes as I kiss her hand, and I have to hide a smile at the scowl she wears as a reaction. I think it's what I love about her most. How she's been conditioned to question her beauty to the degree a simple compliment has her melting.
What most men don't get is, if they keep their women small because they're afraid of their potential, another man is going to swoop in and build them up.
Limiting Hermione Granger was Ronald's first mistake; allowing me to make her smile his biggest. I know the power she holds, and I can't wait for her to wield it, because her incompetent husband made sure it's going to be in my favor.
“What's the occasion, Malfoy?” Hermione snaps, gesturing around the lavishly set up room. “Normally you don't go these lengths just to fuck me.”
I grin at her crudeness, though she is right. Under different circumstances I would have taken her to the most exquisite restaurant to break this news, but the illicit nature of our relationship makes it rather complicated.
I don't let myself be affected by her standoffish demeanor; instead I pull her body against my side and whisper into her ear. “I do plan to fuck you tonight, darling. Quite thoroughly might I add, but this—” I mimic her gesture encompassing the room. “Is because I have a special present for you. Let's take a seat.”
I lead her to the table in front of the window that is set for two and bask in her apparent giddy excitement. I fill both of our water glasses myself; I excused Thomas for the night. There's no way I'm risking the news being leaked to the press before the plan is ready. Doesn't matter how trustworthy my assistant is on a daily basis.
We toast to each other, and I decide I've drawn this out long enough.
“I'm sure you've heard I've got my Wizengamot seat back.” Confusion crinkles Hermione's brows; she obviously hasn't connected the dots yet. “I want you to have it.”
It's a plain statement. One that has her jaw dropping and her eyes watering, because she knows if I weren't a thousand percent serious I would never utter these words.
“Draco...” She breathes.
My first name never sounded sweeter tumbling from her lips. I'm not sure I can even imagine how it will be when I finally hand her the main price.
“I will fucking end you, Malfoy.” The threat rolls off me as if it is nothing.
Because really, that's what it is. Empty words, nothing more. I sit in my small office in the ministry, reveling in the fact that floors and floors below me Hermione is wielding the court. My cigar tastes so much better for it.
“This is all your doing, is it not?”
Ronald keeps going but I tune him out.
Neither do I grace him with a reaction. The thing is, not even when the day comes that Hermione Granger is elected Minister of Magic and inevitably choses me as her assistant, he's going to understand it was him who paved the path. Simply by giving me the opportunity to make her smile.
Because just like I always said, giving another man the opportunity to make your woman smile will be what breaks you in the end. Ronald Weasley just happened to seal the fate of wizarding Britain as well as his own by being guilty of this exact fault.