“Draco! Astoria! What a surprise!” her father shouts from the entryway.
She freezes. Were they joining them for dinner?
She sets the bread basket in the center of the table and rushes to the entryway to greet the guests.
Draco Malfoy. Her father’s best friend.
And his wife.
Lovely.
Astoria leans forward to kiss her father on the cheek. “Oh, Rufus! Sorry for dropping by unannounced, we’ve just gotten back from France and missed you and the family dearly. Where’s Anne— oh, Hermione.”
Astoria and Draco are both looking at her now, and at the mention of her name her father whips his head around.
“Hermione, dear. Draco and Astoria have just gotten back from France!”
“I— I heard. Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, it’s good to see you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, love? Just Draco and Astoria are fine.” He smiles at her warmly, and she doesn’t miss the look Astoria gives him.
“So, Draco. Where are the kids?
“They’re—”
“They’re at the manor. We’ve been away for a month and they just wanted to be home.” Astoria interrupts him, the threatening look she had vanishes from her face.
“Draco! Astoria!” Her mother bursts into the room like a ball of energy.
She envelopes the both of them in one big hug. “Oh, how I’ve missed you! How was France? Where are the children? Tell me everything over dinner! Come on now, to the dining room.” She releases them from her hold and rushes into the kitchen.
Her father, mother, and Astoria whisk by her and into the kitchen, chatting about what they’ll be having for dinner. But Draco stays behind.
“After you,” he says, holding his arm out towards the door.
She blushes and hurries by him, catching a whiff of his delectable cologne on her way through the doorway.
Her parents and Astoria are already sitting at the kitchen table when they enter the room. Bowls of bread, and salad, and plates of roast, and glasses of wine are scattered across the table.
She goes to sit at the table at the chair that’s between her fathers and another empty seat, but then Astoria speaks up.
“Hermione, I feel like we haven’t talked in so long. Why don’t you come sit next to me.” She flashes her perfect white teeth at Hermione, displaying the phony smile she always wears.
“Uh— alright.” Hermione takes the seat between Astoria and the other empty chair— and to Hermione’s luck, Draco takes the seat between her and her father.
Fabulous.
Her parents and the Malfoy’s make idle conversation as they pass food around the table, filling their plates to the brim. They talk of their trip to France and how their kids are doing and in return her parents tell them what they have been up to.
“Hermione has just finished her book report for her Muggle Studies class, haven’t you dear?” Her mother asks while spearing a piece of roast.
“Yeah. I have.” She feels awkward with four different adults eyes on her while she tries to eat.
“What book?” Mr. Mal— Draco asks innocently.
She stares down at her plate and shifts her dinner around with her fork. “To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“Were you given options or was everyone assigned to read the same book?”
“We were told to choose between Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, Lord of Flies, and To Kill a Mockingbird. I obviously chose the latter.” She shoves a piece of bread into her mouth.
“All of those are great pieces of literature. To Kill a Mockingbird, though, was a good choice.”
She finally looks at him as he cuts his roast into smaller pieces. Her parents look like they’re doing the same while listening in on the conversation. And Astoria—
Hasn’t touched her plate of food at all. She sits there, as stiff as a board, with her elbows on the table and her fingers intertwined under her chin.
Didn’t she know that was improper etiquette?
Hermione turns her attention back to Draco. “So, you’ve read all of those novels?”
He smirks and looks down at her through his glasses, taking a bite of roast. “Several times.”
She doesn’t try to hide her surprise. “You’re interested in Muggle literature, then?”
He shakes his head as if she is a naive little girl that doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. “I’m not ashamed to say that it is one of my many obsessions.”
“Tell her, Draco. Tell her what you want to apply for at Hogwarts.” Her father chimes in excitedly.
He shakes his head as if he were embarrassed, and a slight blush blooms across his cheeks. “I—” he clears his throat, “I actually applied to become the Muggle Studies Professor.”
A grin spreads across her face. “You’re into the Muggle nature?”
He makes direct eye contact with her. “I am fascinated by it,” and she swears the smile he flashes at her twinkles.
“Hermione,” her mother interrupts their bonding moment, “why don’t you show him the library after dinner?”
“Oh, I— um,” she looks to Draco for approval, and she does not even want to begin to think about why she does that, “sure.”
Astoria clears her throat and takes a bite of the food she had been neglecting to eat before.
The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, with subtle tension from Astoria’s side of the table. Astoria and her mother talked and Draco and her father talked while Hermione listened intently about the conversation — eyes flitting back and forth between the two groups.
Once Draco and Astoria depart for the living room, and her mother goes to the washroom to freshen up, Hermione stays behind to help her father with the dishes.
“Did Astoria seem… a little more quiet than usual tonight?” She asks her father as she dries a plate that he has handed to her.
“Not really,” he hands her another plate, “she’s always a bit quiet and prissy, don’t you think?”
She puts the plate beside the other one once she has dried it. “I suppose,”
He is right about Astoria being prissy. Whenever she comes over to their little cottage, she always sticks her nose in the air as if she is better than them. And she never fails to make Hermione feel insecure.
“Why don’t you go show Draco around the library while I finish up here?” Her father suggests.
“Alright…” she nervously places the plate she is drying on the drying rack and exits the kitchen.
Before she enters the living room, she hears the hushed voices of Draco and Astoria in said room.
The myth her mother once told her about curiosity killing the cat enters her mind as she pauses just outside of the entryway to the living room, out of sight to the married couple that is currently arguing.
“— right in front of me, Draco. I mean —”
“— what could you possibly be seeing that I’m not —”
“— she is a minor, Draco — “
“ — yes, Astoria. I see how that would be a problem if I were pursuing her. If I even looked at her like that for that matter —”
“ — you’re not pursuing her? You don’t even like Muggle literature —”
“ — maybe you would know how much I love it if you ever bothered to listen to anyone other than yourself —”
“ — I don’t like readi —”
“ — all Astoria, all the time —”
Hermione clears her throat and enters the room. “Um, Mr.— Draco. My father would like me to show you to the library now. If you’re um— if you’re not busy.”
“He actually—”
“I would love to see the library, Hermione.” He smiles at Astoria as if this is the best news he has heard.
Hermione fakes a smile. “This way.” She gestures her head towards the door and walks out of the room first, not wanting to be there with the arguing couple any longer than she needed to be.
She hears Draco’s soft footsteps following her towards the library, but not once does she turn around to meet his gaze that is drilling a whole in the back of her head.
Once she crosses the threshold of the library, she finally turns to find Draco entering after her.
“So,” she opens her arms wide and immediately closes them in embarrassment, “this is it.”
He smiles and looks around the room in boyish wonder.
“I know it’s nothing compared to the manor’s library, but it’s cosy and comfortable, don’t you think?”
He takes a step towards her. “If I’m being honest, I prefer this library over my own. This one is more… homey.”
She tries to hold back her smile as a warmth blooms inside of her. She decorated and organized this library. And it means the world to her that he appreciates it just as much as she does.
“What’s your favorite Muggle book?” She questions, eager to break the silence.
He puts his hands in his trouser pockets and approaches one of the bookshelves. “I’ll give you three guesses.”
“Is it a classic?” She watches him as he runs his fingers across the spines of the books.
“You’re getting warm,”
Of course, the first book that comes to mind is the one she has just written a book report on. “... To Kill a Mockingbird?”
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she can see his lip lift up slightly at the corner. “You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?”
She blushes. “So I’ve been told,”
He opens his mouth to reply, but stops when Astoria comes storming through the library door.
“It’s time to go, Draco.” She crosses her arms across her chest and doesn’t acknowledge Hermione’s presence.
Draco’s smile is thin, but his eyes look apologetic. “Apologies, Hermione— but we have to get back to our children.”
Children. He’s married. He has a wife. And he has children with her.
Hermione isn’t stupid. She knows he has a whole life he has made for himself, a whole family. But she cannot deny the subtle attraction she feels towards her father’s best friend. When this attraction started developing, she does not know. But she would never act on it for multiple reasons.
One, she is not of age. Although that would change very soon.
Two, she cannot imagine doing that to her father. Breaking his heart all the while losing his best friend.
Three, she is not and will never be a homewrecker.
And four— four, he does not look at her like that. He is a grown man with a beautiful woman that he has children with, and she is merely a child with no experience whatsoever.
Throughout her childhood, Hermione could count the number of times she had seen him on one hand. All of those times, he had just greeted her and went to have a drink with her father. From what she heard from her parents, he and his family were always traveling. She remembers her father’s words of missing his best friend and how Astoria whisked him away for vacation countless times.
This was the most she had ever talked to him before. She had this false narrative of a completely different person in her head, completely different from who Draco actually was.
And she still barely knows him.
Once Draco and Astoria had left her home, she stays awake all night thinking of him. Most of the thoughts being about who Draco Malfoy really was.
But she knew that she could never really find out.
Why?
Why, why, why, why, why is this happening to her?
She is a good person. Aren’t good things supposed to happen to good people?
She is on the verge of an anxiety attack as she paces her bedroom, waiting for him to arrive.
Hermione cannot believe her luck. Her terrible, rotten luck.
She also cannot believe how incredibly stupid he is. Why has he agreed to this? Has he forgotten what happened between them?
A new horror makes her anxiety heighten.
Does he not care about what happened between them?
She recalls their last encounter before she ran away, crying like a little girl.
He didn’t care then, why would he care now?
No. She would not let herself be a trembling mess once he arrived. She is not going to let herself be weak in front of him.
She hears a knock on the door downstairs and sucks in a breath. She can hear him and her father talking downstairs. Hermione stops pacing and takes a deep breath.
She can do this. It’s only one dinner, after all.
She exits her room quietly and walks softly down the stairs. Her parents and his voice are coming from the living room, but they are out of view to her at the moment.
With one more deep breath she descends from the stairs, walking into the living area with her back straight and her head held high.
“Ah, Hermione! Glad you finally…”
Her father’s words fade out into the distance and all she can hear is white noise. His head snaps up when he hears her name, and his face hardens into what one would think was a scowl. Her confidence threatens to waver, but her ego keeps it in check.
“Hello, Draco. Thank you for joining us for dinner.” She says with a smile. His scowl morphs into surprise, and her smile widens even more.
“Let’s eat while it’s still hot.” Her mother clasps her hands together.
He clears his throat and gives her mother a tight smile. “Hermione or I could easily heat up supper, Anne.”
“Oh, dear me. You think after raising a witch for nineteen years I would grow used to all of your special little powers!” She laughs over her shoulder and follows her father into the kitchen.
Hermione loves her parents dearly.
But they’re a couple of knob ends for leaving her alone in a room with him.
“Why are you here?” She can’t hold the question back that she’s been wanting to ask him since she heard of his acception of the invite to dinner.
“Because your parents invited me over for dinner.”
“Don’t be a smart arse.”
“Don’t beat around the bush and say what’s actually on your mind.”
It stuns her. How well he knows her, but truly knows nothing about her. Nothing at all.
“You don’t care that I’m here. You care that I’m here after the way we left things,” he approaches her slowly, backing her into a wall.
“If you want something from me, Hermione. All you have to do is ask.” He whispers.
“I’m not going to ask for something if I don’t know what you want as well,” her argument is a weak attempt at getting him to voice what he wants.
“I want my mouth on your cunt. Is that enough for you?”
“Hermione, Draco, time to eat,” her mother calls from the kitchen.
She scrambles away from him and into the kitchen, trying not to look as flustered as she feels.
“What were the two of you talking about in there?”
She gulps and takes a seat at the table. “Oh nothing really… just about how well I’m doing in his class.”
“Oh, yes. We were just discussing that a few weeks ago. He said you’re doing phenomenally well.”
Oh, if only you knew…
“Smells delicious, Anne.” Draco strides into the room looking thoroughly unphased and takes a seat across the table from her.
“You’re too kind, Draco.” Her mother scoops pasta onto everyone’s plates. First Draco’s, then her father’s, who happens to be sitting in between her and Draco, and then her.
Her mother takes the only available seat across from her father and serves herself, and once her plate is filled, everyone starts to eat.
She does her best not to join in on conversation. She only speaks when her parents ask her a question. Draco doesn’t even look her way.
Once everyone’s plates have cleared and her parents have started in on the dishes, Hermione feels a sense of relief leave her body. He’s almost gone, and she won’t have to worry about her parents picking up on any little hints that they have more than just a teacher and student relationship.
From the living room, she hears him bid her parents farewell and a promise of another dinner in the future, and she feels her anxiety ease at the thought of him leaving their home.
Her anxiety comes back in full force when he enters the living room and walks towards where she is sitting on the sofa.
Her back flattens against the couch as he leans over her, his hands holding onto the back of the couch on either side of her head. She closes her eyes, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze.
“Meet me in the library in two minutes,” is all he whispers. She waits until she has felt him leave the room before she even dares to open her eyes.
She knows she shouldn’t go. She knows she should stand him up, say goodnight to her parents, and go attempt to take care of herself with the fingers that could never get her off.
But it’s his words from before, the wanting of his mouth on her cunt, that makes her wait two minutes before she heads to the library and locks the door shut behind her.
“I’m surprised you came,” she hears him say. The room would’ve been dark if he hadn’t lit a singular candle that sat on the desk in the center of the room.
She leans back against the wall next to the door and crosses her arms over her chest, “If you didn’t think I was going to come, why did you ask me here?”
She can barely make the outline of him as he walks towards her.
“I was holding on to the slim chance that you would show up, even though I don’t even deserve to be talking to you right now.”
Their feet are touching, and she longs for his hands that she has never felt before to be on her wanting body. “Well here I am,” she breathes.
“Here. You. Are.” He whispers, and she gasps as he shoves his knee between her thighs.
He tucks a curl behind her ear and lowers his head down to nibble on her ear lobe.
“Tell me what you want,” he’s licking across her ear and down her jaw all the while raising his knee until it hits her clit.
“Draco,” she can’t help but moan lowly.
“Shhh, baby. There aren’t any wards up,”
She whines in the back of her throat and instinctively grinds down onto his knee. He purposely lowers his leg until she’s grinding against his thigh.
She prefers his thigh to his knee. Although his knee is hard, and hits her clit perfectly— his thigh is soft and strong and feels like it belongs between her legs.
“Can you be quiet for me like the perfect, good girl you are?”
“Yes— yes, I— your mouth please, sir,”
“My mouth where, sweetheart?”
“My— cunt,” he’s raising his thigh up and down in perfect rhythm with her bouncing hips.
“Ah, but you see, Miss Granger, I just can’t bring myself to do that with your father in the other room,”
She moans in protest, and he silences her by pressing his finger against her lips.
“You’ll just have to settle for my thigh, yeah?” She doesn’t care if he doesn’t give her his mouth, all she needs is him.
She lets out another breathy little moan as she bounces away against his thigh. He picks up the pace, bouncing his leg against her so hard her head starts hitting the wall.
He quickly puts one of his hands behind her head. “Sorry, baby,” he breathes as he trails his lips down her sensitive neck.
She’s on the brink of an orgasm, just a couple more bounces and—
“You’re doing so well, gorgeous. Keep bouncing on me like that and you’ll have me coming in my trousers like a school boy.”
He covers her mouth with his hand as she lets out a moan that sounds nearly painful, but oh the pleasure that comes from it.
He bounces her once, twice, three more times— letting her ride her pleasure out. He then straightens up, and with his thigh being her only support, she almost slides down the wall before his hands are on his hips.
She’s completely out of it while he whispers sweet nothings to her in her ear while she tries to stay conscious.
“—you’re such a good girl—”
“—I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you my mouth—”
“—maybe next time—”
“—I’ve got to go, honey—”
She feels her body being lifted and the next thing she knows she’s sitting in one of the chairs at the desk.
“I’ll see you when we return to school.”
Even with her blurred vision, she sees him slip out of the library door and close the door behind him.
And she has half the mind to blow out the candle in front of her before she completely passes out.