Chapter Text
Hands grip her hips, her breasts. Writhing bodies surround her. Full but…lacking. Not enough. She needs more. Something tighter. Bigger.
She’s literally taking two wizards. How much more does she need?!
They push into her. There. Together. She whines, nails scraping against Fred, her head resting against George. They f*ck her through her seemingly endless heat, the desire never once easing or wavering. It feels worse this time somehow.
Is it because they’re betas?
She should’ve known it would never work. It was careless. She hurts. Every inch of her body is hot and wet with slick or sweat. She’s in pain. Her body is wracked with sobs.
She never wants to go through this again.
Her office door clicks closed, effectively snapping her from the memory. In the enclosed room her head immediately goes foggy as a painfully delicious scent has her mouth watering. Something more tantalising than the memories from her last heat. Hermione almost instantly starts panting, desperate for fresh air as her eyes snap to her door and what’s causing the delectably torturous smell.
“Malfoy.”
“Granger.” Despite not being invited, he makes himself comfortable as he leans back against her office door. His sleeves are rolled up and she can’t stop staring at his freaking arms. Not even seeing the Dark Mark on full display is deterring her from staring.
Maybe it’s why she can’t look away. Yes, surely. Eyes glued to his arms via horror paired with the filthy memories of Fred and George explain her reaction to the wizard before her.
“Can I help you with something?” she tries to ask primly despite sweat starting to form on her hairline.
“I think I can help you with something, actually.” He smirks at her, confidence oozing off of him in a wave of mind-numbing pheromones.
Her eyes snap to his instantly. “What are you talking about?”
He co*cks his head to one side. “Don’t play coy, Granger. I’ve heard about your little… pet project.”
f*cking Theo.
“And I think I can help you out.”
She forces out a laugh that sounds a bit too high pitched for her liking. “No. I don’t think you can.”
“Why’s that?”
“There is no way that you’re my Alpha.”
He studies her. It’s unnerving. “How do you know?”
She scoffs. “Be-because! It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
His brows lift to his hairline. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re… you. A pureblood. A purist. A Death Eater.”
He rolls his eyes, bored of her. “A former Death Eater. A former purist. I’m also an Alpha ,” he growls and that damned part of Hermione’s brain perks up at his tone.
No. “Why would you even want to be mated to me?”
Malfoy inhales deeply and stalks toward her until he’s standing right in front of her desk. “Because I can smell you from here. From the moment I entered your office you started dripping into your knickers. You’re excited by me, and oh, Granger,” he purrs, “you smell so f*cking sweet.”
Her face is level with his waist and she fights the urge to drag her gaze downward, to stare ahead at what’s hiding behind his trousers inches from her mouth.
Hermione pinches her eyes shut and takes a deep breath through her nose. Which is a grave mistake. “No,” she says, shaking her head. She stands, trying to get distance from him, trying to get a clear head. “No. You’re wrong. You’re not—you couldn’t be.”
He walks his fingers along her messy desk as he rounds it to stand in front of her once more. “If you’re so sure that I’m not your mate, then prove it.”
“Excuse me?”
His nasty sneer appears, ready to lash out at her. “You’ve f*cked everyone else already. I’m all you’ve got left.”
Her hand reaches up to slap him, but his reflexes are quick as ever. His hand grabs hers mid-air, his palm gripping her wrist and pressing onto her scent glands. Her knees buckle at the touch and she lets out an unbidden whimper.
“Go ahead, Granger. Prove me wrong. What will be more… satisfying than proving I’m not your mate? I know how much you like to be right…” he taunts her. His other hand moves to her chin and he uses two fingers to tilt her head back. “Look at me.”
She hates that she listens to him. Her eyes meet his, finding them a stormy grey, darkened by want. She trembles against him, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, his other now trailing down the opening of her blouse.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks in a silky, seductive voice.
“The worst that could happen…” she starts breathily, looking up at him through wide eyes, “would be if you are my mate.” She yanks her wrist free of his grasp.
His eyes harden and he clenches his jaw, nostrils flared with anger. “So you can f*ck Theo but not me?”
“As I’m sure you know, I did not f*ck Theo but even if I did, it would be none of your business.”
“Who’s next then, hmm?” He turns, arms crossed over his chest as he looks out her office window. “Cormac? I’m sure he’s a real good lay. Not selfish at all. Who else?” he snaps his fingers. “Justin Finch-Fletchley. Have you dug your claws into him yet? He seems like… your type.”
Her hair sparks with anger. “Why? Because we’re both Mudbloods ?”
“How purist of you, Granger.” Malfoy tuts. “I’m assuming you’ve gone through your normal subjects, yes? Potter, Weaselbee.” He taps a finger on his chin. “Who could that leave? You’re running out of options.”
“I’d rather go through heat alone than with you, Malfoy.”
He rolls his eyes as if she’s being dramatic. “My Floo’s open, Granger, for when you come crawling, dripping for me.”
She barks out a laugh. “What, at the Manor? Do you expect me to writhe against your marble floors.”
“You did once before.”
The blood drains from her face. “You arsehole . You’re disgusting. Get the f*ck out of my office, Malfoy. Now.”
He walks backwards toward her door. “Say it with me, Granger. Draco. Better get used to those two syllables. You’ll be screaming them soon.”
She doesn’t know what comes over her when she reaches down and launches her high heel at his head.
She also can’t explain the way she’s panting or why the animal in the back of her mind is whimpering or why her knickers are completely soaked.
***
Days have passed yet she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her interaction with Malfoy or the way her body responded to him.
“There was this… spark . I don’t know how else to describe it. But it makes no sense. He was horrible , Luna. Absolutely horrible. Yet all I wanted to do was please him.” She shakes her head. “There was just this visceral part of me that hated upsetting him but almost had… fun… fighting with him? I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
Luna smiles sweetly as she listens to Hermione. She takes a bite of her food, chewing deliberately before answering. “Maybe you should give him a chance.”
Hermione freezes, her drink halfway to her mouth. “You can’t be serious.” She puts her drink down without even taking a sip. “Luna he’s—”
“Maybe he’s changed. Blaise did.”
Hermione swallows thickly. Blaise. Luna’s mate. “Have you spent time with him? Malfoy?”
Luna shrugs. “Some. He’s a lot funnier than I’d expected,” she says dreamily.
A shocked scoff slips from Hermione’s lips. “You think Draco Malfoy is… funny?”
“He’s actually very considerate too.”
“You do remember who he is, right? Tall, blond. Has a Dark Mark on his left forearm?” Hermione shakes her head. “I think you’re confusing him with someone else. Theo, maybe.” She blushes at the memory of Theo, her embarrassment. The way he clearly told Malfoy about her proposition. Well, maybe he’s not that considerate.
“It’s very hard for people to be vulnerable, Hermione. Draco came to you and you shut him down. I think there’s more to him than you’re giving him credit for.”
Draco. She calls him Draco.
Draco. Draco. Draco. The two syllables feel weird even in her own mind.
“That doesn’t give him a reason to lash out at me.”
“How did you react to Theo?” Luna spears a strawberry with her fork, her tone light and nonjudgmental despite already knowing the answer to her question.
“What?” Hermione freezes.
“When he turned you down?”
“I—” Hermione snaps her mouth shut. She avoided him and then when she saw him at the lifts… she lashed out. She sighs heavily and puts her fork down. “What am I supposed to do, Luna? My entire life feels upside down right now.”
Luna takes a sip of her drink as she considers. “How did it feel when you were arguing with Draco? Did your world feel the same? Or did it feel like it was righting itself?”
Hermione’s mouth opens and closes, unable to come up with a response. Before she can put into words what she’s feeling, the air around her turns charged. She gets a whiff of something sweet again. It’s addicting and her head swivels as if searching for the delicious smell.
Two figures walk up behind Luna and Hermione’s blood turns to fire. She meets the grey gaze and her pulse stutters, the hair on the back of her neck standing on edge.
Luna tilts her head back, smiling, as if she too already knew who was behind her. Hermione supposes she picked up Blaise’s scent as he approached, the two of them surely attuned with one another. “Hello, darling,” the witch says, grinning before accepting a kiss from Blaise Zabini.
Hermione pulls her eyes away from her friend and her mate, meeting hard slate once more. “Malfoy.”
“Granger,” he purrs and a shiver rolls through her body, one she tries desperately to hide, but something about his smirk tells her he noticed. Dammit.
“Luna and I were just grabbing lunch,” Hermione says dismissively.
“Yes, I can, in fact, see that.” Malfoy grins at her, amusing himself.
“Why don’t you both join us?” Luna offers.
Hermione glares daggers at her friend, but she’s not even sure Luna notices. Frustration claws its way up her throat. She certainly can’t talk about Malfoy with the wizard himself sitting right beside her.
“I can go. Let you two have some space,” she says to Luna. She doesn’t even care if she seems rude. She’s too confused to be around Draco Malfoy right now.
Or ever, preferably.
Instead of waiting for a response from her friend, Hermione gathers some money from her purse, leaving enough on the table to cover the meal.
“Think about what I said, Hermione,” Luna says with a small smile before waving her goodbyes and focusing herself back on her mate.
Even if Hermoine was rude, Luna clearly didn’t notice or care.
Is that what it’s like? All of your time, attention, and energy spent solely on your mate? Does Hermoine even want that?
Even if she doesn’t, what other choice does she have? Endure painful, uncomfortable, incompatible heats every month for the rest of her life?
She sighs and makes her way down the street to certainly not think about what Luna says when she’s, rather unfortunately, joined by the one person she was trying to get away from.
“What do you want?”
“You didn’t expect me to stay with the lovebirds and be a third wheel, did you?” Malfoy shoves his hands into his pockets as he strolls beside her.
“Well, you’re not third wheeling now,” she huffs. “Goodbye, Malfoy.”
“Goodbye? We’re only just getting started.”
“We’re not doing anything.”
“Yet.” His lascivious tone both grates on her and arouses her in equal measure, which is bloody infuriating.
She moves to stomp away but Malfoy utters the words she never thought she’d hear from him.
“Look, I’m sorry.”
She nearly trips from shock. Collecting herself, she turns to face him, quirking one of her brows. “Is there more to that sentence or am I supposed to pick and choose any one of your thousands of atrocities over the years and assume it's one of those you’re apologising for?”
“In this instance I’m apologising for the way I spoke to you the other day.”
Hermione snorts. “This instance, as if you’ve never spoken to me that way before. In fact those may have been the nicest words we’ve ever exchanged to one another,” she says pointedly.
Malfoy grits his teeth. He opens his mouth, probably to argue with her, but Hermione doesn’t want to hear it.
“Seriously, what do you want? Have you come to insult me again? Embarrass me? Pick a fight? Please let me know so I can mentally prepare.”
“I was trying to apologise,” he grits out. He takes a deep breath and co*cks his head to one side, studying her. “And for the record, I don’t think I insulted you last time.”
“You said,” she starts yelling, then drops her voice to an angry hiss, “that I was sleeping around and you would be the last person left at the rate I was going!”
He purses his lips. “It’s not an insult if it’s just a fact.”
Hermione’s jaw drops open. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel!”
“Then you don’t get to lie about it either.” He quirks that damned co*cky brow at her. “Admit it, Granger. Tell me that fighting with me is the most fun you’ve had in months.” His words are purposeful, pointed.
“That’s not—”
He tuts, cutting her off. “Your mouth may lie but your body doesn’t.” He drags his gaze over her. “You’re dripping into your knickers right now, aren’t you?” His eyes are bright, full of mischief. “This excites you. I excite you.” He pouts, reaching out to wrap one of her curls around his finger. “Must be so maddening. To both hate me… and want me as badly as you do.”
“I do not want you.”
“Tell that to your body.” He inhales deeply. “Your pheromones flood the air when I’m around. Begging for me, even if you won’t. Yet , anyway.” He smirks.
“It will be a hot day in Azkaban before I beg you to f*ck me.” She glares at him but his grin only widens. He’s right about one thing, at least. He is absolutely maddening. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” She storms down the street without waiting for another word from him.
“I love an Omega with manners,” he says, following her through the cobblestone streets.
“I am more than my status, Malfoy.” She scoffs, letting her disdain for him shine through. “Though I’ve been saying those same words to you for years now, haven’t I?” She stops and turns to face him, ire coursing through her veins, making her fingertips tingle with magic. “So what am I to you, Malfoy? A Mudblood? An Omega? An opportunity? Why aren’t you mated, hmm?” She’s vibrating with rage and yet he looks at her, unphased and almost… amused.
“I’m a Malfoy. I want the best and I always get what I want.” He licks his lips, eyeing her like she’s a meal he’s primed to devour. “And you, Hermione Granger, are the best.”
She scoffs. “Don’t try to flatter me after you’ve spent countless years insulting me and telling me I’m less than you.”
“Oh, little Omega,” he coos. “The things I could do to you.”
The creature in the back of her mind perks up. Hermione wants to shove it back down.
“My name is Hermione. Even when I’m in heat. I’m still me.”
“That’s because you haven’t found your Alpha. Someone you can trust, where you can turn your brain off and follow your baser instincts. Where you can turn yourself over to the pleasure fully.”
“And you think I could do that with you? You think I could trust you?”
His eyes harden for a flash before it’s gone. “I think for once your body already knows the truth but that big brain of yours is a step behind.”
Hermione rolls her eyes and trudges away down the street, not willing to give Malfoy any more satisfaction. She pulls open the door to Madam P’s Passion Parlour and rushes inside.
“I know it’s our first date, but I didn’t expect you to take me lingerie shopping,” the irritating voice says from behind her.
“I was actually trying to slam the door in your face,” Hermione snaps.
A saleswitch greets her but when the woman spots the nuisance behind her, the witch’s grin broadens. Hermoine rolls her eyes.
“Monsieur Malfoy, always a pleasure. Are you here picking up?”
“No, Aurelia. Just here with my mate.”
The woman’s eyes brighten. “Your mate! Oh, I didn’t know! Congratulations!”
“We are not mated,” Hermione grits out.
“Is she here?” Malfoy asks, both he and the saleswitch ignoring Hermione.
“I’ll get her.” The woman, Aurelia, runs to the back and Hermione turns to gape at the irritating blond tag-a-long.
“I am not your mate.”
Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Yet,” he enunciates.
“There are other words in the English language, you know,” Hermione grumbles as she studies Malfoy.
The blond gnat moves beside her, flipping through the racks. As soon as Hermione picks up a pretty but modest dress, he snatches it from her hand and puts it away.
“Malfoy—”
“This would look better on you.” He holds up a two-piece set of lingerie in emerald green that’s entirely see-through lace and has a matching garter belt.”
“Funnily enough I’m not shopping for you.”
“I’m the one who’s going to see it,” he argues.
Hermione huffs. “No you’re not!”
“Well you’re not wearing this in front of anyone else,” he demands.
Hermione rears back with wide eyes. “Excuse me? You cannot tell me what I can or cannot wear nor who I can or cannot wear it for.” She snatches the lingerie from him. She doesn’t even plan to buy it but wants to grate on his nerves. “Now go away,” she says between gritted teeth.
He moves to stand by the check out, leaning casually against the counter. Between how comfortable he looks resting against the clerk’s desk and the saleswitch knowing his name, Hermione can’t help but mess with him a little. “Shop here often, do you, Malfoy? I didn’t know you had such a… feminine style.”
“Perhaps it’s one of my many kinks you’ll learn along the way.” He smirks and Hermione’s grin falls. “But no, Granger, I don’t make it a habit to shop here for myself.”
“Oh,” she breathes out. “Oh.” She says as realisation dawns. He’s shopping here for… other witches. So why does that thought make nausea curdle in Hermione’s stomach?
“Draco,” a vaguely familiar voice coos.
Oh, Godric. Is this one of his witches?
Hermione moves away, toward another rack of silky date-style dresses. Keeping her head down, she peeks up from under her lashes and the sight before her has her brows crinkling.
“Pansy Parkinson?”
“Granger,” the witch says with a knowing smirk. “Welcome back to my shop.”
“Welcome back… wait… your shop?”
“Who did you think Madam P was, darling?”
Hermione blinks slowly as she processes the information. “ You’re Madam P?”
“Do try to keep up, Granger,” she says with an eye roll. There’s the former slytherin she recognises. “So, what can I get you two?”
“I’ve been here so many times, and I’ve never…”
Parkinson huffs. “Salazar’s tit*, Granger. I’m running a business here. I don’t run out of my office to greet every single customer. My apologies, didn’t realise you wanted to have a warm Hogwarts reunion. Do you want me to lay out some gold carpet for the Golden Girl? Treat you to five star service?” She snaps her fingers. “Aurelia, champagne, please! We have a celebrity in house!” she hollers.
The saleswitch comes running out with a bottle of champagne and glasses in her hand, passing one to Parkinson, Malfoy, and holding one to Hermione as well.
“Enough. I get it. I’m going to go.” She starts to put her things back on the racks but Malfoy’s warning voice stops her.
“Granger…” It’s practically a growl and Hermione feels frozen in place.
Still, even as her voice wavers, she fights back. “No, I will go somewhere else to shop for my date.”
“You know my place is the best,” Pansy says right as Malfoy starts saying, “You have a date?”
Hermione sticks her nose in the air. “Yes, I do. Is that so shocking?” She starts walking to the register because she’s ready to get out of here as fast as possible.
But Pansy is right. Her store does have the best selection of dresses and lingerie.
“Not with how you’ve been acting lately,” he grumbles. Before Hermione can argue with him, he turns to look at Pansy. “Granger won’t give me a shot,” he tells her, “but she’ll go around giving every other unmated wizard a chance.” The man is practically pouting.
“What’s wrong with Malfoy?” Parkinson asks, her tone accusatory. “He’s handsome, rich, well-endowed, great in bed—”
“Pansy!” Malfoy snaps.
“You’re welcome,” she says, continuing. “What more could you want?”
“I don’t know, maybe someone who’s not a complete and total arse?” Hermione snaps. “If he’s so great, why aren’t you two mated?”
Pansy waves her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Granger. We’re not compatible. We’d kill each other. You two, on the other hand…”
“Would kill each other even faster!” she argues. Merlin, are they in this together? Is this some kind of ploy to embarrass Hermione?
Yes. She bets it is. That makes sense.
“Whatever you two are up to, don’t bother. It’s not going to work.”
“What are you on, Granger?” Parkinson asks.
“It makes total sense now. The only reason you ,” she points to Malfoy, “are pursuing me now is to embarrass me and you,” pointing at Pansy, “are in on it. You want to say you f*cked the Golden Girl, is that it? You want to put me into a substate so you can have your wicked ways with me, right?” She shakes her head. “Just ring me up so I can get out of here. I-I have a date tonight.” She has to force the words out as if she feels guilty about them.
She’s pretty sure Malfoy actually growls beside her. “Like hell—”
“With whom?” Parkinson cuts in, her tone saccharine.
Hermione sighs. “I took your advice, actually,” she says to Malfoy and attempts to put on a sarcastic grin. She turns back to Pansy to answer her question. “He suggested I ask out Justin Finch-Fletchley so I did.”
“You what?!” Malfoy snarls.
“He told me he seemed like my type. Thought I’d find out for myself,” she snaps.
Pansy—or Madam P, she supposes—starts gathering Hermione’s things. Hermione tries not to blush as both Parkinson and Malfoy watch her purchase slinky dresses and slu*tty lingerie considering most of her stuff lately has been ruined thanks to all of her heats.
Once she pays, she turns to leave without another word, but once again, she’s stopped against her will.
“Granger—” Malfoy starts, ire lacing his tone.
She has to fight against the creature perking up in the back of her mind. “No, stop it. You want nothing to do with me until you can use me to fulfil some f*cked up fantasy of yours. I’m a person, Malfoy. I’m not some bitch in heat you can fill with your pups,” she spits out.
Malfoy’s brows furrow and he opens his mouth to surely toss out some bullsh*t retort, but Pansy holds up her hand to stop him, black-painted nails as long as claws and gleaming threateningly.
“No. You don’t get to stand there all holier than thou like you’re not doing the same thing to us that you’re accusing Draco of doing to you. We’re people, too, Granger. We’ve changed, whether you want to believe that or not. Either you can give him a chance to prove it to you or get the f*ck out.”
Hermione stares at them, open-mouthed and wide-eyed darting between the two former Slytherins. Instead of saying anything, she snags her bag off the counter and storms out of the shoppe.
