Rumour Has It
September 8th 2004, Mr Pearson's Office, 10.26 a.m.
A sigh. "Mr Malfoy, if you would please..."
An incredulous stare. "You've been sitting here for the past hour and you choose to speak now?"
A small smile. "You're mistaken, Mr Pearson."
"Oh? How so?"
The smile widens. "It will be an hour by the time I finish this sentence. And now that it is 10.30, I believe our appointment is over."
September 10th 2004, Mr Bryer's Office, 9.30 a.m
“And why do you think this is a waste of time?”
“Because it is.”
“Just because you say something doesn’t make it so.”
“In my world…it does.”
September 21nd 2004, Mr Layett's Office, 4.05 p.m.
"I hear you're quite a difficult man to work with."
"Who would say something like that?"
A pause. "Oh."
"Aren't you going to dismiss me?"
"Why ever would I do that?"
"Our appointment was for 3 o'clock. It's now nearly 4.10."
"Yes, I'm aware."
"We have been at it for over an hour."
"Yes, were you not sitting there all this time?
"I was, in silence."
"Isn't that what you do?"
"No. I listen. You gave me no opportunity to listen, Mr Malfoy."
"I thought we had a fairly riveting conversation."
"Why, yes. We spoke of England's chances at the upcoming Quidditch Match, along with the possibility of Stone playing for the finals."
"And is that not riveting, doctor?"
"Sadly, no. The conversation would have been so much more interesting had we spoken about why you were here."
"You know why I'm here."
"I do, but do you?"
"The Ministry orders, and I comply. That is all I know."
"So, you don't think you need to be here?"
"Of course not."
"And what happened was something of an accident?"
A laugh. "Merlin, no. That was no accident."
"Mr Malfoy, it is difficult to find a solution to a problem that we are not aware of. Perhaps if you tell me what prompted you to act the way you did, that might give us some leeway. Give us a stepping stone, of sorts."
"You're asking me what happened..."
"More or less."
October 7th 2004, Ms Frontini's Office, 11.35 a.m.
"I’ve been warned about you, Mr Malfoy.”
“Oh? Do tell. What sort of sordid tales are people spreading about me now?”
“People usually spread tales about you?”
A smirk. “Usually.”
“I highly doubt that. Just as I hardly doubt that you’re writing anything of importance.”
“What I may or may not write, you need not worry about. I am only interested in you at the moment.”
“You mean until the hour is up. Tell me, Ms Frontini, what is it that people say about me?”
“Charming, but only when you need something. Arrogant, self-reliant and distant.”
“You forgot unequivocally Slytherin.”
“Is that how you think the world sees you?”
“No. That’s how I know the world sees me.”
October 13th 2004, Mr Grinne's Office, 4.56 p.m.
“Well, you must be proud of yourself.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The Ministry ordered you to take five sessions, which you have successfully completed with five therapists including myself, and none of us have managed to figure out exactly why you did what you did.”
“I don’t think it matters.”
“I think you know it does.”
“I also think that you would tell me when you think I can’t question you about it.”
“There might be some hope for you as yet, Mr Grinne.”
“Tell me, Mr Malfoy, what happened a month ago that made a man like yourself, who hardly lets anything affect him, finally react?”
“Mr Grinne, I believe our appointment is nearly over.”
“Yes, it is. Now tell me, what happened when you were sent on an assignment to Gringotts Bank?”
“Weasley accompanied me…”
Grinding of teeth, a twitch of a jaw. “He said…”
“He said that I needed to get laid…So I hexed him.”
Malfoy Manor was silent but for a huff of anger that escaped the pale blond figure that paced the length of his father’s study. It couldn’t have been more obvious to anyone that Draco Malfoy was suffering a stroke; one so severe that he saw red.
“That cow! That buggering arsed fuck-witted cow!”
“It’s not that bad,” Pansy said diplomatically, only to wince when he turned on her.
“Not that bad?” he sneered, stalking over to the table in his father’s study to pick up the newsprint he had tossed in disgust. “Not that bad?”
"It is very upsetting, I have to admit-"
"It's more than just a little upsetting." With long strides, he went before the large fireplace and dropped the newspaper in its flames. Watching it incinerate before his eyes made him that much happier; which ultimately gave him a splendid idea. "Lammy!"
With a crack, his most favourite house elf - as favourite as she could possibly be, that is - appeared, bending so low that her hooked nose touched the pristine floor. "Yes, Master Malfoy," she squeaked.
"I want every single edition of the Daily Prophet taken and burnt, you hear me? Every single edition. Take all the house elves if you have to."
Lammy looked up with big, wide eyes. "Master wants Lammy to steal?" she asked nervously, her whole body shaking from the thought of the very request.
"Draco...” Pansy tsked behind him. "It's not going to work."
But Draco chose to ignore her. "Yes, nick the darn things. I don't want anyone to read one more word of that paper. Take it from anyone and everyone. I want them all in flames."
Even though the house elf clearly didn't like what she was being asked to do, she bowed low, her trembling form not registering in Draco's mind. "Yes, Master Malfoy. As you say, Master Malfoy." With a crack, the tiny thing disappeared, leaving a fuming Malfoy and an amused Parkinson.
"Honestly, Draco, do you really think you could stop everyone from knowing what was in that paper?"
He scowled. "I'll Obliviate everyone if I have to. The whole of bleeding England."
"That might take some time, considering that you didn't even know about it until I came over here."
"This is an outrage!" he snapped, resuming his favourite pastime of pacing the length of the room in agitation. "It's a black mark on my character. That Skeeter woman deserves boils on that snivelling face of hers. It's bloody defamation of my character!"
Cautiously, Pansy leant forward. "Technically, it's not defamation because she wasn't lyi-"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Pansy. Don't you dare."
Pursing her lips, she decided to stay quiet as she watched her friend pace back and forth in anger, occasionally kicking whatever was close enough to reach. Pansy never quite understood the relationship men had with their ego. Finding a small piece of lint on her robes far more fascinating than the current predicament her former schoolmate was in, she began the tedious role of taking off that said lint, while Draco passed her time and again muttering colourful obscenities under his breath.
Ron Weasley entered the office he usually frequented with a wide grin across his face. "I have something that will cheer you up."
Harry looked up with a sigh. "I highly doubt that. Do you see the work I have? Pixies are running rampant and apparently I'm the man for the job."
"Forget Pixies," Ron said dismissively as he took the seat opposite Harry's desk. "Malfoy is the buzz of the town."
Harry smirked. "Buzz of the town?"
Ron's grin fell. "Didn't I use it right? Isn't that the Muggle expression?" But before Harry could say anything more, Ron pulled out the Daily Prophet.
Harry groaned, memories of Rita Skeeter and her vague statements of his long lost love, Hermione choosing to be single instead of being with him filling his head, which didn't quite make Ron lose his excitement but only served to fuel it further.
"Rita Skeeter had written an article about the 'family most famous for switching sides'. Three guesses who, mate."
"I don't get why that should be interesting. The Malfoys have always had their pictures in the papers."
"Ah, but that's always in the society pages. In today's article written by our favourite bug-woman… and I quote..." He then proceeded to lift the newspaper so he could see the front page fairly well, cleared his throat, patted down his hair, straightened his tie and was squinting at the print when Harry said, "Out with it," in a tone that made Ron narrow his eyes at his best friend.
Clearing his throat again for good measure, Ron proceeded to read. "Even though the younger Malfoy is said to be as handsome and worldly experienced as his father was at that same age of twenty two, it has come to the attention of this reporter that his bud was never, in fact, nipped." Ron chose this time to look up. Harry's eyes had widened, his jaw had dropped and his quill had fallen from his hand. Sniggering joyfully, Ron continued to read. "According to Cici Cumberton, whose father is Lionel Cumberton of the renowned Cumberton Firewhisky Co. established in 1678, it was not for lack of trying. "We got really close once," said Ms Cumberton with a modest blush, "but his mother walked in just then. Naturally, we couldn't continue".
Scrambling off his seat, Harry reached across the table and grabbed the newspaper, his eyes wide in surprise, but his grin wider akin to the delight of a child finding the best Christmas present he could have ever hoped for under the tree.
Harry stared at the article in disbelief. “Was this why he hexed you?” He asked incredulously as he placed the paper flat on his desk, knocking off documents that he didn't care two hoots about. The article was large, covering most of the page, and his eyes immediately scanned the top for the spot where Ron had stopped.
"This was not just some one-off incident, either." Harry continued, reading out loud. "While many might consider Mr Malfoy to be of the lucky sort, having successfully changed sides from a Death Eater to a world renowned specialist in Magical Law, when interviewing a few other choice witnesses, it couldn't have been plainer if a bird had decided to sit on his head that he is, indeed, a very unlucky young man. 'I was very disappointed, really,' said Parvati Patil, a fellow writer for the Daily Prophet, whose weekly article, 'Gossip With Parvati' is one of the most popular articles for any witch of any age. 'There I was, in the most expensive lace that Darling Dame's had, and he didn't know what to do with me. I thought for certain the rumours were true; that he was every bit the moody, rich, and redeemed Death Eater with an unappeasable sexual appetite that many portray him to be. Imagine my surprise when he fumbled with things he shouldn't have been fumbling with and stared at things that he really shouldn’t have stared at. I don't need to tell you that the mood quickly fizzled out after that poor performance. It is a shame, really. He really did try."
Harry stopped reading to look up at Ron, who had a permanent grin fixed on his face. "I know. Parvati! I told you she's not my type. No one is if they shag a Malfoy. Or in this case, tried to shag a Malfoy," Ron said with an evil snicker. "There's more. Go on, keep reading."
Simply stunned, Harry turned his attention back to the newspaper to find it gone. He and Ron glanced at each other in surprise. "Where is it?"
"Dunno." Ron stood up, choosing to look around the desk as Harry toppled even more documents in search of the Daily Prophet. "It was here a minute ago. Where did it go?"
Harry lifted the lamp on the side of his desk while Ron got on his hands and knees to study the spot under the table. "How in the world did we manage to lose a paper this important?"
"Blimey, Harry," Ron huffed as he stood up, his gaze still searching the premises. "Your office is like the Birmingham Tricycle."
“The what?” Harry asked, distracted.
“The tricycle. You know, the place where things go to get lost.”
"Triangle, Ron," Harry muttered, as he continued to check the drawers and his desk. "And it's Bermuda."
"Muggle transportation device."
"Oh." Ron's brows knitted in thought. "Isn't that what I meant?"
Harry huffed in annoyance, before he gave Ron a meaningful look. "No."
Ron decided to agree with him. "Okay then. Do you think someone else might have a copy?"
"Didn't you read it? You could tell me what else that Rita Skeeter woman decided to expose." Harry said thoughtfully as he lifted his ink pot. He doubted a newspaper could be hiding under it, but it never hurts to check in the magical world.
"I was too excited to read it," Ron stated happily, walking around the office to see if he had missed anything. "I got as far as the third paragraph before I came to see you. Disturbing mental picture, Malfoy with anyone. I always thought he might be a better companion to a Grindylow."
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said seriously, looking through his documents for the fifth time. "You're forgetting about Ghouls."
Ron thought on that for a moment. "You're right. I forgot that Slytherins are slimy."
"As are all Ghouls."
"A perfect match. Hey, Harry, do you think Hermione could legalise that match over at the Magical Law Department?"
"No idea. Don't think that'll be the hard part, though"
"How'd you figure?"
Harry shook his head. "The hard part would be to find a Ghoul that would have him."
Ron's face scrunched up in disgust. "That poor, poor Ghoul." Shaking it off, he slapped his friend on the shoulder. "C'mon. We need to find that paper."
Harry's gaze fell forlornly on the pile of paperwork that littered his desk. "What about work?"
"Bugger work! Today, the Daily Prophet is the most important piece of paper there is." Ron’s fingers tightened on his shoulder meaningfully as his eyes met Harry's squarely. "Work can wait, that article can't."
Harry's conscience fought with him for barely a minute before he finally gave in. The thought of reading document after document until his eyes bled paled in comparison to figuring out what Draco Malfoy had been fumbling with. "You're right. Let's find that paper."
Ron's grin was wide, as was Harry's as they started towards the door. Suddenly, the thought struck him, causing Harry to stop mid-step and grab onto Ron's arm. "Draco Malfoy is a virgin," Harry said in an awestruck tone, the impact of what he had just found out finally settling in his mind.
Ron's grin widened. "I know, mate. I nearly passed out when I read that bit. Who would have thought that these girls had some sense in them?"
Shaking his head, Harry followed Ron out. Who, indeed, would have thought? He had done something that Draco-bloody-Malfoy had never done. Maybe it was premature of him, but Harry couldn't help the smug grin that split his face.
Hermione Granger stared at the two wizards who blocked her exit, their presence only serving to annoy her since she carried an enormous amount of files in her arms and they were heavy.
"I am not seducing, Malfoy."
Dean Thomas grinned as Seamus Finnigan gagged. "We're not saying to seduce him."
"That's what it sounds like," said Hermione as she shifted her arms so that the numbed areas would get some blood flowing.
Finally noticing her discomfort, Dean grabbed some of her files. "We just want you to make Malfoy think that you were a...possibility."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's sounds like seduction to me, Dean."
"But it's not seduction," Seamus stated excitedly, taking the other half of her files so she had her arms free. "It's..." he looked at the other wizard, urging him to speak up.
"It's...showing your interest," Dean said with a grin, earning an enthusiastic agreement from his best friend..
"I'm not interested."
Seamus grinned. "He doesn't know that."
Hermione dusted her robes, finding the quick, swatting movements extremely therapeutic so she wouldn't have the urge to pull out her wand and demand they part like the red sea. No one but Dean would probably get her reference; but Muggle sayings did tend to confuse wizards long enough for her to do what she needed to do. "I'm not going to be your little experiment,” she said haughtily as she stepped forward and gestured for the wizards to move. Sharing a glance with each other, they did.
“But it’s not an experiment, Hermione,” Dean said as he shifted the pile of files in his arms and followed her.
“Yeah,” said Seamus, a step behind. “It’s a bet.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and kept walking, even though she could hear Dean whispering to Seamus to shut it. “I don’t know what you all are up to, but I can say for sure that I want no part of it.”
Dean used his long limbs to quicken his pace, choosing to walk alongside her. “It’s not what you think.”
She raised an eyebrow at him in mock disbelief.
“Okay, maybe it is.” He gestured for Seamus to join them. “The thing is, we all have to know-“
“Is Malfoy so frustrated that he would even go out with a Muggle-born who shows an interest in him?” Seamus said in that tone he used for presentations.
“Not that you’re the only Muggle-born who’s at the Ministry,” Dean added quickly, in response to her narrowed gaze.
“Just the only Muggle-born who’s in his department.” Seamus quickened his pace to match hers. “Not to mention you’re his partner.”
“And he’s worked with you for nearly a year, now.”
“He knows you. He won’t suspect you.”
With a sigh, Hermione stopped causing the two wizards to take a step without her before realizing that she was standing still. “Have you two completely forgotten that I’m not one of ‘the guys’?”
They shared a look. “Um, no,” Seamus said, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Malfoy has never shown interest in men.” He turned to Dean. “Has he?”
Dean frowned. “Now that you mention it, I think I remember someone telling me that he said, ‘Nice arse’ when Neville walked past by him the other day.”
Almost simultaneously, their eyes met and realisation dawned.
Dean handed over her files, which Hermione nearly dropped in surprise. “Gotta go, Hermione.”
“Yeah,” said Seamus as he handed his own pile to hers. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly as he ran after Dean.
Hermione huffed, her arms starting to go numb once again. Today was not a good day.
Draco sneered, snapped and spat out insults, but none seemed to take heed. Everywhere he went, people snickered and whispered behind his back, their grins wide and their eyes holding an evil glint. He wanted to hex the lot of them.
“…the first time shouldn’t be-“
His head snapped up. “What did you say?”
Granger looked up at him, startled. “What?”
“You said first time,” he said in accusation, his eyes narrowing with warning.
She cocked her head to the side and regarded him coolly. “I did.”
He didn’t think it was possible, but he snapped. “You know, Granger. Not all of us have two best friends who would willingly look past appearance and shag someone for the sake of it.”
Granger bristled, her narrowed eyes landing on the portfolio in front of her. “The plaintiff believed that the first time shouldn’t be all that difficult to prove as the tests conducted before showed signs that the magical ailment had an adverse reaction to the treatment.” Snapping the folder shut, she stood up and tossed the file at her partner’s desk.
Draco looked down at the folder, his shoulders deflated.
“Just because your personal life has been plastered around the pages of the Daily Prophet-“
His jaw twitched. “They’re lies.”
Her gaze scrutinized him. “Are they?”
Slowly, he stood up, his gaze meeting hers coolly. “My personal life is my business. I don’t appreciate backhanded comments and jeers.”
“Says the person who has dished out what he obviously cannot take himself.”
His lips twisted in contempt. “I’ve changed.”
“Have you?” she asked him lightly, her tone calculating. “Then tell me, Malfoy, are the rumours true?” She stepped closer to him, her eyebrows rising in challenge.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Isn’t it? I’m working with you, aren’t I? Who better to agree or disagree with what is being said?”
It was small, but the spark in his eye said everything she needed to know.
“It’s true, then?” she asked, surprised. It had been years since she stopped believing anything that was printed in the Prophet. It was obvious that she found it hard to believe that they had printed something accurate for once.
His gaze was steely. “You tell anyone-“
“I won’t,” she said incredulously. “I promise.” She sent a small, encouraging smile his way.
With a curt nod, he sat back down, choosing to go back to work and studiously ignore her. Unsure of whether to leave or stay, Hermione decided to follow his example and sat back down quietly.
Although, she probably couldn’t help but notice the curious glances that Draco sent her way throughout the day.
Hermione glanced at the clock, the concept of lunch with Harry and Ron worried her. No doubt they would have heard about the Malfoy rumour mill that was going around. She didn’t think she could safely stay away from that topic.
Almost without thought, she turned to face the only other person who shared an office with her. “How do you think Rita Skeeter found out?”
Malfoy chose to ignore her, looking at the documents on his desk with utmost interest.
“It’s not like she tried to sleep with you but you said ‘no’ because you were waiting for the right witch, was it?”
She saw a slight blush creep up his neck.
Hermione eyed him incredulously. “She did, didn’t she?”
“Did you go through last week’s document on magical labour laws?” he mumbled, hardly looking up. “I think we’ll need it for this case.”
Hermione stayed silent for a moment before she shifted in her seat, choosing to ignore his attempt at changing the subject. “Was it true, what Parvati said?”
The blush crept up his cheeks fast, and for the first time, he answered her, keeping his head down. “No.”
“Oh.” She tried to go back to her work, but couldn’t. “What about Cici Cumberton?”
He coughed, a reluctant ‘Yes’ leaving his lips.
Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she should ask her next question. “What about what happened with Audrey? Her brother coming in just before you two…”
He looked up, his gaze narrowed. “Have you ever had your genitals turn purple, Granger?”
Hermione blushed. “Um..no. Not that I recall.”
“Well, I can’t say the same thing, now can I?” He went back to his document.
“Granger,” he said forcefully, causing her to almost yelp in surprise at his tone. “What is it that you want to hear? That I tried to bed six different witches and due to some bloody reason that I don’t understand, I always got close enough but never got the chance to do it? Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear how I was about to sleep with a witch only to realise that she was a twin of the person I intended to sleep with or that a house elf started screaming that I was raping her mistress because of the sounds she was making?” His gaze narrowed further. “Well, it won’t be happening again because I give up. I’ve made my peace with the magical universe which obviously has no intention of letting me get laid. So yes, I give up. I’ll keep my bleeding virginity for all it’s worth.” He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening just as hers did when he had started on the rant.
They simply stared at each other before Hermione had the courage to say her next words hesitantly. “You shouldn’t give up. When it’s the right time with the right person-“
He scoffed. “Now, where is Felder’s file?”
Hermione had to bite her tongue to stop from continuing the conversation he ended. “I think Reese has it. I’ll get it from him during lunch.”
Draco nodded before he went back to work, the blush on his neck a permanent fixture on his usually pale skin. Hermione felt her forehead which seemed unusually warm, knowing that the flush she had felt earlier hadn’t left her as yet.
Hermione shrugged. “It’s true. The Prophet was lying.”
Her best friends looked at her as if she had, with one sentence, banned Quidditch for all eternity.
“But they can’t be lying,” Ron said sounding as upset as she had ever heard him. “They can’t be.”
“They have lied before,” Harry mumbled thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s not a far stretch to think they might be lying again.”
Ron scoffed. “I don’t mind them lying about you, mate. But to give this to us only to take it away again…” He shook his head, the loss being too great to put into words.
“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione huffed. “It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, what do you care if Malfoy was still-”
“Pure as the driven snow?” Ron snickered, earning a good laugh from Harry.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the juvenile behaviour of her best friends. “What Malfoy has or has not done is his business, not yours. Besides…” She hesitated. “I believe he’s seeing someone right now, anyway.”
Their eyes bugged out comically.
“He is?” asked Harry. “That poor sod!”
Hermione looked up. “Who? Malfoy?”
“No,” Harry said seriously. “The bloke who’s dating him.”
Hermione looked at them in surprise. “What? When did that happen?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Ron asked distracted as his lunch was finally placed in front of him. Without wasting any time, he took a large bite of his sandwich. “There are three main theories as to why Malfoy hasn’t done the deed yet.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Hermione mumbled dryly before she took a delicate bite out of her own sandwich.
Having seen Hermione’s expression in relation to his best mate’s table manners, Harry continued. “He’s gay, he’s secretly a girl and his father decided to dress him up as a boy because he wanted a Malfoy heir-“
Ron swallowed. “With those delicate features, it’s not really that farfetched.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “And the last one?”
Harry grinned. “He can’t get it up.”
Ron snorted and Hermione passed him a napkin. “I told you, mate,” Ron said, dabbing the corner of his mouth, “it’s the second one.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s definitely the third. Though Dean and Seamus thinks it’s the first for some reason.” They both looked at her expectantly. “What do you think?”
Hermione looked off to the side thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wonder if you two would ever put in this much energy into the work you already have, instead of running around and looking for proof of some crazy theory.”
Ron looked scandalized. “It’s not some crazy theory.”
“Of course it is,” Hermione said with a huff. “I told you, he’s seeing someone.”
“But that doesn’t mean the Prophet was lying.”
“Of course it does.”
Ron narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “How do you know?”
Hermione felt a blush creep up her neck, but forced herself to look at her best friends in all seriousness. “Because I know the witch who he’s seeing and from what she had told me…” She cleared her throat, the flush heating her skin. “His actions are very much satisfactory in the bedroom.”
Harry and Ron looked at her in utter disgust. “I think I’m going to be sick,” mumbled Ron while Harry simply looked off into space, his eyes glazed.
“I wonder if hell feels like this.”
Rolling her eyes at their dramatic behaviour, Hermione stood up. “I better get back to work. And so should you .”
“But, Hermione,” began Ron. “Who-?”
“I’m not saying,” she cried over her shoulder as she started marching back to her department. Malfoy owed her big time for this.
Draco Malfoy was utterly confused. In fact, he was so confused that he was prepared to force everyone he had met into a room and deny them anything to drink to see if they were different people hiding under a Polyjuice Potion. He couldn’t help but wonder…What happened after lunch?
No longer were there ridiculously bad puns made about his virginity, nor was there anyone who grinned at him in a, ‘I’m better than you’ fashion. They were acting almost…normal. It was bloody confusing.
It continued to be bloody confusing until he overheard two secretaries talking it out.
“She said so. I heard it with my own ears.”
“So he’s not…?”
“No. Quite the contrary, apparently. It seems that he had turned Rita Skeeter down, she was so upset that she decided to write that article to slander him.”
“And Granger was sure that he’s seeing someone?”
“Of course. You know, Hermione. She never lies.”
“And she wouldn’t say who he’s seeing?”
There was a moment of silence before the other girl’s exaggerated whisper got that much louder. “But that witch did tell her that Draco Malfoy was the best she ever had.”
Draco stood there, stunned, before he started for the office he shared with Granger. No thought seemed to penetrate his mind. He didn’t know what he wanted to say or do, but he did know that he wanted to see her.
The moment he entered the office, she looked up. “Oh good, you’re back. Did you send the brief to-oomph.”
She never got to finish the sentence, for Draco had crossed the room quickly, grabbed her face with his hands and kissed her. Her failure to respond didn’t even deter him from continuing to kiss her. And kiss her he did, until she dropped the files she had in her hands and responded eagerly. The kiss seemed to go on and on, his grip tightening around her hips while her lips opened under his, giving him the right to explore her the way he truly wanted; with lips, teeth and tongue. With ragged breaths, she finally pulled away from him, her eyes confused.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly, completely distracted by how kissable she looked and how deliciously she tasted. “But you’re not stopping me, are you?”
He dropped his head towards her, grabbing her lips with his once again. This kiss fuelled fast passionately, causing her to lean back against her desk precariously while he stepped in between her legs. Draco was lost in all the sensations that surrounded him; her hand in his hair, the other travelling up his arm, her sweet smelling skin and the way her tongue met his boldly and without fear. The tiny sounds she made were driving him crazy, and even if it seemed completely inconceivable, he found his mind racing, looking at all the possibilities. He could take her, here, right now, without anyone knowing. On the desk, against the wall, on the floor, he didn’t care. She seemed willing enough. He had been most unlucky when it came to the final act of sex, even though he had been close to the edge and back again. Something always interrupted him or caused him to retreat, fighting a violent blush on the way. He knew how to treat a woman. He knew how to make them scream; and now, all he wanted was to make Granger scream. With that thought primarily in his mind, Draco started fumbling for the buttons on her robe, excitement and hope building within him, his thrumming heartbeat quickening in his ears when he felt her unbuttoning his own.
Draco was so distracted by her that he didn’t hear the unlocked door open behind him or the sound of a gasp.
The last thing he remembered was Granger’s voice crying, “Ron! Harry!”, in an angry, reprimanding tone.
Draco groaned as he laid there on the floor. Why must he be so unlucky?
November 30th 2004, Mr Fletcher's Office, 10.07 a.m.
Antonin Fletcher looked up. “Mr Malfoy, would you like to start?”
A sigh. “Mr Potter?”
A half-hearted cough. “I don’t think Ron and I need to be here.”
“You two bloody well need to be here, Potter. You tossers hexed me!”
Weasley glared. “You deserved it.”
“Shut it, Weasley.”
“Shut it, Malfoy,” snapped Potter.
“You shut it, Potter.”
Another sigh. “Gentleman, could we please start from the beginning?”
“What’s there to say? These two gits hexed me. I had to go to St, Mungo’s.”
Potter glared. “Only for a day. Ron had to stay at St. Mungo’s for three whole days because of you.”
“Yeah,” Weasley piped in. “The jell-o was absolutely horrible there.”
“Gentleman,” Fletcher began again. “What was the cause of this altercation between you three?”
“Well, you see,” said Weasley has he leant forward in utmost seriousness. “Years ago, there was a marriage between one evil wizard and one evil witch. After a night that should be stricken from history, nine months later, a most vile, ugly, ogre was born.”
“Go on, Weasley,” Malfoy sneered. “I’d love to hear what you would call your other siblings.”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “Mr Potter?” Out of the three, the saviour of the wizarding world seemed to have the least inclination to supply any insult for the sake of saying it in the first place.
Potter glared at Malfoy. “He did something unforgivable.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Yes, you did,” Weasley snapped. “You kissed Hermione.”
“Weasley,” Malfoy stated coolly, leaning forward so his gaze met the other wizard’s squarely. “I intend to shag Granger.”
Weasley exchanged a look with Potter before he lunged forward to grab Malfoy by the cuff of his robes. Potter grabbed Weasley in order to pull him off, which only succeeded to allow Malfoy to elbow his face in the struggle.
Sighing for the millionth time, Antonin thanked the foresight to ban their wands for this particular session of anger management. He rather not have a messy office with the after effects of spells gone awry and limbs scattered around. Warily, he watched the three grown men as they fell onto the floor in an unsuccessful effort to hurt the other and protect themselves. He made a disappointed noise as he pulled out a sheet of paper that had been prepared by one Hermione Granger for him to sign. He had rather hoped that he wouldn’t lose the wager against her and manage to reform these three young wizards. Ignoring the ‘oof’, ‘ouch’, ‘Potter, ‘you wanker’, that was being carelessly thrown about, Fletcher signed the statement that stated in no uncertain terms that the three men suffered from ‘an acute belief that they had a say in her life due to the hormonal imbalance caused by their alpha male tendencies’. He then looked up when he heard Mr Weasley shout, ‘Oi. That’s my good arm’, only to have Malfoy grunt out with, ‘Nothing of yours is good, Weaslebee,” followed by another grunt of protest for when Potter kneed him in the stomach. Fletcher’s eyes landed on the clock that hung ominously on the opposite wall. He had another thirty five minutes before the session was to be declared over.
He sighed again. Merlin, this was going to be a long wait.
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