Iniquity

September 19th, 2000

My love,

It is with great regret that I am writing to you. Please know I do not wish for this, but your father is the final word in decisions like this. He's aware I am unhappy with choice, but when has your father ever heeded my words?

We can no longer support you. With the constant drinking and nights out, I'm afraid your father has decided to halt your access to the family account until you either marry or sort yourself out. I do so hope you do that, my love. You are my brightest joy, but your actions these past few months with the Malfoy money has angered your father. I am so sorry, Draco. Please write back soon.

Mother

"Absolute bitch and arsehole," Draco scoffs, crumbling his mothers parchment in his hand and holding his other hand above his head. Pansy is snoring loudly atop of him, her naked frame pressing into his side that he finds sharp and annoying.

It was nearly ten in the morning and Draco knows he's late for work, but the fire whiskey hangover is pounding behind his eyes and he has just been informed that he no longer will have a steady flow of income. His job at Flourish & Blotts has merely been something to occupy himself with, a pastime, and in no way can it keep up with his lavish lifestyle. With an exasperated sigh, he shoves Pansy off of his chest and stands up, looking around the room for his clothing.

"Draco, what the hell?!" she gasps, nearly falling off the other side of the bed from the force, glaring at him and pulling the covers around her bare chest.

"Don't be modest now," he sneers, finding his trousers and putting them on. "You were all overjoyed to bare yourself last night."

Eyes wide, Pansy stands quickly, swearing, "Fuck you."

"You already did that."

"I'm leaving."

"Good. I never asked you to stay."

He begins to brush his teeth when he hears her slam the door and he rolls his eyes, knowing she'll be calling him later tonight while saying whatever she needs to in order to stay in his good graces so he'll fuck her again.

Exiting the bathroom, he swears under his breath as he feels a sharp pain on his foot. He lifts his leg to find one of her earrings on his floor. Rearing his arm back, he throws it against the wall. He hopes she doesn't call.

-

By the time he enters the bookstore, he's almost certain he's lost the job, the third one this year. He scans the store, his eyes flitting over a group of elderly witches quickly before he lands on his bushy-haired coworker, silently rearranging a stack of books.

"Busy morning, Granger?" he asks, leaning against the bookshelf as he watches Hermione Granger push a book into its rightful place.

"No thanks to you," she huffs, giving him a glare before she walks away, her back to him. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he follows her, eyes glued to her backside.

It isn't that he fancies Granger. No, it's more that she...puzzles him. She's quite bland, not changing much since their days at Hogwarts, her hair still wild and bushy and she still carries herself in the "I'm-smarter-than-you" fashion. But she has certainly matured, filling out in all the right places that sometimes when he was alone, he pictures her lips parting in an 'o' of pleasure.

"We actually weren't terribly busy," she says, pulling him out of his daydream. "So I told Mayjoy you went on a delivery. You're lucky our boss likes me, because I'm not sure if he entirely believed it."

Draco pauses, staring at her. She had covered for him?

He folds his arms defensively, cocking his head to the side. "I don't need you covering my tracks, Granger," he hisses, contempt filling his voice. It's so like her to do that, sticking her freckled nose in other people's issues. "I'm not your pet project."

"Pardon me for being nice," she quips, not looking at him, and placing another book onto its shelf. Draco can feel his self-control coming to an end. "I didn't realize you were capable of taking care of yourself since, you know, Mummy and Daddy clean up after you."

In three steps he's behind her and he places his hand on either side of her frame as she turns to face him, her eyes suddenly wide in...what, fear? No, that isn't it.

"You'd be wise to watch your mouth when addressing me, Granger," he sneers, his face inches from hers, so close he can play connect the dots with her freckles.

"Or what? You'll do what, exactly?" she shoots back, to which he raises an eyebrow at her bravery. "I always pick up your slack around here, minding the register, and cleaning when you're late or hungover or both, so no, I won't watch my tone. I will do so when you deserve it."

Her words strike a cord in him and she dips below his arm and moves away before he can react, leaving him leaning against the bookcase in bewilderment.

"Fuck you, Granger!" he hollers, but she's already out of eye view, and he swears under his breath, brushing his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Where does she get on in talking to him that way, and why does it make him hard?