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Draught of Living Death

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Res Publica

Pairing: Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

Universe: Post-War AU

Rating: M for language, sex

Summary: She's ahead in the polls, and he's going to lose. But what she does behind closed doors is her business.

Res Publica: public affair.

"Mr Malfoy, there are some critics of your campaign who say that electing a pureblood Minister for Magic would be little more than business as usual. What would you say to them?"

"Well, that's simple enough - to them I say that shouldn't discussing blood at all be considered business as usual? If we were really advancing with the times, then neither my blood nor my opponent's would be relevant to the conversation at all."

"Fuck," Hermione muttered, opening her eyes to the sound of his voice on the news. "Fucking good answer."

"I suppose I've never thought about it that way," the reporter responded thoughtfully.

"Yes, well, that's half the problem, isn't it? We say we've advanced past clinging to our archaic stereotypes, and yet they're obviously still relevant. Yes, I may have received undue privileges in the past due to my name and my birth" - "you think?" Hermione said aloud, rolling her eyes - "but now those same factors have lessened me considerably; and is that really what the war was about? To tear others down, rather than simply all rise?"

"Fucker," Hermione growled, and Ron shifted beside her, mumbling incoherently as he nudged himself closer to her, stealing her body heat in the midst of an unseasonably cool September morning.

She sat up in bed, reaching over Ron for her wand and summoning a cigarette, lighting it in nearly the same motion. She let the flame catch, watched it flicker and burn for a moment, and then took a long drag, leaning back against the headboard of the exceptionally luxurious hotel bed.

"What do I think of my opponent? Well, she's certainly something, isn't she? I'd be the first to praise her. But do I think she's as prepared for politics in the Ministry as I am? Respectfully," - "ha," Hermione huffed irritably, inadvertently releasing a clustered puff of smoke - "no, I don't. My political experience is what's driving my campaign. Ms Granger, by contrast, has been cloistered in academia for most of her adult life, and while I will certainly admit she's brilliant, I'm not sure she has the requisite ability to function outside of what I regret to say is her unrealistic idealism when it comes to social policies like - "

"What a cunt," Hermione scoffed, flicking her wand to silence the sound of Draco Malfoy's voice, calming herself with a long drag from her charmed cigarette.

On her right, Ron stirred. "Something wrong?" he mumbled sleepily, rolling over to press his lips to her shoulder.

She hummed thoughtfully, pursing her lips as she considered it. Yes, she thought, and no -

"You know what I want for my birthday?" she mused tangentially, letting the smoke escape from her lips with a slow hiss and dainty, exceptionally ladylike cough.

"Wha's that?" Ron muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

Hermione smiled slowly, turning to her left to lean over Harry's bare torso, putting the cigarette out on the small porcelain tray that sat on the hotel nightstand. "I want to beat Malfoy by at least a thousand points in the polls," she said slowly, and Ron mumbled something - yes, yes, we know -

"And then," Hermione added indifferently, stabbing the cigarette a final time against the ashtray and slipping down to lay between the two men, "I want to fuck him."

Harry, who was always a more effective riser than Ron, chuckled, pulling her closer.

"Election's not for months," he reminded her, slipping his hand over her hip and murmuring appreciatively into the hollow of her throat. "But the other thing - "

"Mm," she hummed in vacant agreement, but as Harry began kissing her neck and Ron, finally managing consciousness, slid a hand over her breast from behind, she found she couldn't get Malfoy out of her head - his insufferably good answers, or his complete and utter arrogance that he passed off as some kind of skill. The consummate Slytherin, she thought, wondering furiously how anyone was buying his act.

It was enough to drive her half to madness, she thought, shoving Harry's hand away from her clit and letting out an exasperated sigh.

She threw the covers off, scooting to the edge of the bed and feeling around for the dress she'd worn to the fundraising gala the night before, reaching for her wand again to smooth out the wrinkles and then transfiguring it, making it new.

"Carry on without me," she called behind her before glancing over her shoulder to the two men that remained, Ron's hand already drifting up Harry's thigh. "Just don't get too loud," she warned, pointing a finger at them.

Harry smirked. "No promises," he offered, and Hermione sighed.

"Happy Tuesday," she muttered, setting off in desperate search of coffee, shoving Malfoy's pale blond head out of her thoughts - until, she thought, smiling a little, she could have it between her thighs where it belonged.

"Hermione Granger, the wife of Harry Potter, the youngest Auror department head in history and the oft-heralded Chosen One whose victory against Lord Voldemort twelve years ago helped change the landscape of wizarding society - "

"For fuck's sake, they're not even talking about her," Draco muttered, the coffee mug slamming against the table with a loud, threatening clatter. "Fucking Potter is not part of this election - "

"Oh, hush," Astoria said, shaking her head at him and arching a dark brow. "Do you really think her interview is going to be much better?" she added, pointing as Granger's face came onto the screen.

"I have nothing but the utmost respect for Draco Malfoy, certainly - though I can't help but question his motivations. Politics for the sake of politics is a dangerous thing, after all; it's only a step away from tyranny, and even at that distance, it's hardly beneficial for progressive change."

"Oh, that's rich," Draco scoffed, staring at her on the screen. "She's calling me a tyrant!"

"She's not," Daphne said, entering behind them and kissing the top of Draco's head, her breasts brushing the back of his shoulders. "She's just making a point, and a salient one at that. And good morning, by the way," she added seeking out coffee. "How was Theo?"

"You want a full report?" Draco asked drily, leaning back in his chair to look at her. "He takes a cock like a champ and he calls me daddy when he comes."

"No I do not," Theo muttered, wandering into the kitchen behind them and kissing his wife's shoulder. "I only call you daddy," he murmured to Daphne, smirking at her, and she laughed, turning to brush a kiss against his lips before shifting to take a seat beside Draco.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," she said to Theo, giving Draco's knee an affectionate pat. "You want me tonight?" she asked him, sliding her palm up his thigh and letting her slender fingers linger on the crease of his trousers.

He shrugged, taking a listless sip of his Earl Grey. "I'm not sure," he said, his eyes straying to Granger's again on the screen; she was wearing a set of crimson robes over what appeared a dark Muggle suit, and part of him ached to rip the slit of her fitted pencil skirt. "I might want to be alone tonight."

Daphne pursed her lips, eyeing him closely; she was a better fuck when he was in a better mood, he thought, and figured she would understand. "Mm," she vacantly agreed, as Theo came up behind her again, kissing her neck.

"I find it odd that someone with Mr Malfoy's experience can shy away from programs which benefit a larger population of wizardkind. Perhaps he was lucky enough not to have his vaults stripped after the war," - "Subtle," Draco muttered, shaking his head - "but many others were penalized for their associations; his wife Astoria, for example, was nearly destitute prior to their marriage, and without the aid of the programs established for - "

"She didn't have to bring that up," Astoria remarked, making a face as she picked at a chocolate croissant. "So distasteful."

"Speaking of distasteful," Draco said, glancing at her. "You're still keeping to the rules, aren't you?"

"Yes," Astoria sighed, sulking petulantly. "It's not like 'no Gryffindors' is such a hard rule to follow, Draco - "

"And yet it is, isn't it?" he said pointedly, lifting one brow. "You do realize how much it cost me to pay off Rita over your stint with McLaggen, don't you?"

"As if you'd let me forget," she muttered, shaking her head and sighing. "It was worth it," she assured him, smirking wickedly, and he grimaced.

"It better have been," he muttered, returning his attention to Granger. "Fucking hell," he commented, watching her tightly grip Potter's arm and smile insincerely at the reporter. "She looks like she hasn't been fucked in months."

"Oh, I doubt that's true," a thin, dreamy voice said behind them, and Draco turned, catching sight of Luna Lovegood in his wife's purple satin robe. "Last I heard she was getting spectacularly fucked, actually."

"What the fuck is this?" Draco demanded, pointing to her and staring accusingly at the other three. "Whose is this?"

"Mine," Astoria said with a grin, rising to her feet and grabbing Lovegood's hand to pull her to the kitchen table. "I'm almost done," she said, offering Lovegood a bit of her pastry, "and then we can go back upstairs and - "

"Hold on," Draco interrupted sharply. "Do you fucking know who this is?"

"What?" Astoria said innocently, pouting. "She's not a Gryffindor."

Draco gritted his teeth, fuming. "She's - " he cut off, swearing. "She's fucking worse than a Gryffindor, Astoria - she's fucking friends with Potter and Granger - "

"Actually, Hermione detests me," Lovegood commented dazedly, glancing up at Granger on the screen. "I think I'm a bit too whimsical for her taste."

"You certainly are," Draco muttered, and then rose to his feet, exhausted by the circus. "I'm going out," he said, fixing his cuffs and heading for the door. "Would you all behave yourselves, please? Fucking try," he added emphatically, "not to get into any trouble? I only have so much money," he grumbled, reaching out for a coat.

"Wear the navy robes," Daphne called out to him, reaching over for her sister's pastry as Astoria settled herself in Lovegood's lap. "Black is too harsh on you, Draco. It photographs badly."

"Thanks," Draco sighed, switching robes, and Theo stood, taking a few catlike strides to join him at the door.

"Hey," Theo murmured comfortingly, lowering his hand to the jut of Draco's hip. "You okay?"

Draco let out an audible sigh, shaking his head. "Fine," he exhaled unconvincingly. "Just - "

His eyes traveled one last time to Granger on the screen as he curled a fist, feeling his expression tighten to a grimace.

"Nothing," Draco said, and Theo leaned forward, brushing a hand over his cock with the muted, fervent intention that was so appealingly Theo's.

"You want me tonight, don't you?" Theo asked knowingly, curling his thumb over the outline of Draco's tip. "Daphne will understand," he added. "She knows I handle your" - he paused, feeling Draco's cock nudge against his hand - "frustrations better."

Draco sighed again, sliding Theo's hand away and gritting his teeth as Granger's voice continued. "I really think I want to be alone," he murmured, and stepped solemnly through the front door.

Hermione was sitting in her office, poring over the day's paperwork and muttering to herself when she finally decided to take a break, leaning back in her chair. She closed her eyes, thinking of the morning's Daily Prophet headlines - UNDERDOG MALFOY SURGES IN POLLS - and slipped her hand under the band of her skirt, running her fingers over her clit.

"Fucking Malfoy," she said to nobody in particular, parting her legs wider and growling in frustration, letting her mind wander. She thought of his pale blond hair, his arrogant smirk, the utter implausibility of his political appeal, the way he artfully employed a careful regimen of manipulation and lies, and -

"Fuck," she breathed, feeling herself throb and increasing the pace of her hand. Fuck, Draco Malfoy had gotten attractive; he'd gotten powerful and subtle, clever and cunning, and god was it going to be excruciatingly sweet when he'd have to inevitably issue a fucking mournful, heartfelt press release acknowledging her win - or fuck, imagine the look on his face when he would have to give a concession speech, acknowledging her as the new Minister for Magic with his pale head bent, finally put in his fucking place -

She was moving furiously now, using her left hand to unbutton her plain white oxford and pulling at her hardened nipple, imagining Malfoy's mouth on her breast, whispering his defeat as he fucked her - she shifted in her seat, propping one heel up against her desk to get a better angle, letting her head fall back - fucking Malfoy, that conceited little prick -

"Hermione," Harry said, bursting into her office and prompting her to mewl aggressively in frustration, suddenly wishing to curse him where he stood. "Oh, sorry," he said, eyeing her hand and shrugging apologetically. "Didn't mean to - "

"I was about to come, too," she muttered shortly, sitting up and glaring at him. "You owe me one."

"I'll give you two," he assured her, winking, before settling himself across from her. "But about your birthday gift - "

"Now, Harry?" she sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm otherwise occupied, if you couldn't tell."

"I think you'll like it," he said neutrally, removing a manila envelope from under his arm and sliding it to her across the table. "Open it," he suggested, and she frowned, picking it up.

"What is this?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Just do it," he said, "and never say I don't come through."

"I wouldn't," she agreed, sliding a set of three photos from the envelope. "What is th- oh," she said, recognizing the naked woman in the photographs to be Astoria Malfoy. "Oh my - "

"It seems," Harry noted gleefully, "that the Malfoy marriage isn't quite what it appears to be."

"Certainly isn't," Hermione agreed, eyeing the photos. "Is this Cormac McLaggen?" she asked, tilting her head to squint at the image. "My goodness, he is - "

"Well endowed," Harry agreed, glancing at the photo and nodding. "I indulged in a fairly close look myself."

"Spare me the details," Hermione remarked drily, giving him a wary once-over, and he laughed.

"Anyway, Malfoy apparently paid Rita Skeeter an enormous sum to have these buried," he said. "But given the way it happened, she's pretty convinced this is a regular occurrence. She said he didn't seem surprised in the slightest."

"He's a very good Occlumens," Hermione permitted thoughtfully, eyeing the position in which Astoria had straddled Cormac and marveling at the other woman's flexibility, "but I assume you're right."

"I've also done you the favor of arranging a meet and greet at the same charming little inn in which he is having a fundraiser tomorrow evening," Harry added, grinning mischievously at her. "And nobody will fault me, of course, as the Three Broomsticks is the only place to stay in Hogsmeade," he added. "Shame you'll both have to stay the night."

Hermione felt a helpless smile pull at her lips, mirth stretching broadly across her face. "You'll get him alone for me?" she asked, and Harry nodded, rising from his seat to wander behind the desk and turn her chair, settling to his knees in front of her.

"It's your birthday, my lovely conniving wife," he said, spreading her legs apart. "I want nothing more than for you to get the fucking you've always dreamed of."

"Mm, you spoil me," she sighed, sinking in the chair as Harry pushed her skirt up her legs, brushing his lips against the slickness that had already pooled between her thighs. "And to think I only married you for your name - "

"Foolish of you," he said against her clit, and she threw her leg over his shoulder, sitting back and smiling in anticipation for the tomorrow's impending victory.

"What do you mean Granger's camp is staying here?" Draco demanded furiously, growling at Theo. "But that means I'll have to - "

"Behave yourself? I know," Theo said tartly, shrugging. "But it's only one night."

"Says you," Draco retorted, tugging furiously at his tie. "You're not the one who's had to beg for money all evening from these godforsaken cunt-witted fools - "

"No," Theo agreed. "But I'm sure you'll manage," he said, grinning. "Or I could send your wife in, if you really need to - "

"Fuck no," Draco said, making a face. "Too many people have been there, Theo, it's hardly even safe for consumption."

"Fair enough," Theo ruled, pausing as they reached Draco's room. "Regroup in the morning, then?"

"Yeah," Draco muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Have Daphne owl my schedule, would you? And tell her I need Pansy to get on the - "

"She's got it," Theo assured him, clapping him on the back. "Have a good night," he said, careful not to linger before heading down the hallway, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned the corner out of sight.

Draco opened the door of his room and threw his tie to the side with a growl, rolling the kink out of his shoulder and contemplating summoning a bottle of Firewhisky when a soft cough from his left drew his attention, prompting him to nearly drop his wand.

"For fuck's sake," he said, bringing a hand to his chest and panting from alarm. "Granger, what the fu- " he cut himself off, remembering who she was as she slowly rose to her feet from the edge of his bed, smiling at him.

"Are you lost, Ms Granger?" he asked, trying not to stare as he watched the material of her skirt cling snugly to the appealing shape of her hips.

"Malfoy," she said neutrally, flicking her wand to lock the door. "I wondered if we might have a conversation. Candidate to candidate," she added, raising a glass of something - whiskey, he guessed - to her lips as she stepped in, closing the distance between them. "If you're open to it."

He swallowed, fighting not to stare at the ever so slightly intriguing gaping of her shirt and the line of her neck, left visible by the loose chignon of her hair. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"Well, I've learned something very interesting," she said carefully, teasing her lip against the edge of her glass in a way that nearly drove him to madness. "You may be paying off Rita Skeeter," she added knowingly, and his heart pounded in his chest - fucking Astoria, he thought furiously - "but I've always had a certain way with influencing her," Granger finished, stepping away to set her glass down on the dresser and then slipping her blazer from her shoulders, leaving her in a crisp white oxford.

"What is this?" Draco asked, watching her distrustfully. "Are you - " he glanced around, expecting someone to pop out unexpectedly. "Is this - "

"This, Malfoy, is me offering you the chance to fuck me," she said, perching daintily on the edge of his bed. "Without consequences or strings."

"What?" he choked out in disbelief, coughing as an inexpert swallow lodged itself in his throat. "You - you're - "

"Listen, I won't tell anyone about the pictures that I have," she said, carefully laying out the situation, "and that Harry has extra copies of, by the way - and you," she continued, tilting her head to look at him, "won't tell anyone about this." She leaned back, letting her breasts push up against the parting of her shirt. "Are we clear?"

"That" - he passed his tongue over his dry lips, imagining the thought of her on her knees - please, Malfoy, please coming from that swotty little mouth - and fighting the need to immediately indulge it - "is an interesting proposition, Granger." He paused, leaning against the dresser. "This," he added, gesturing to her, "this is what you wear to a seduction?"

"This is what I wear to a negotiation," she corrected him, unfazed. "And yes, as it's clearly working," she added, gesturing to the outline of his hardened cock that had begun to press against his trousers. "In general, I'd say I know what I'm doing."

"You certainly do," he said, grimacing in displeasure at her having the upper hand. "After all, you're the one who's brought the word 'tyrant' into the discussion - "

"Only after you undercut the very thing I have going for me," she snapped, glaring at him. "As if you're not privileged enough as it is without having the audacity to claim that your privilege shouldn't be a factor."

He paused, licking his lips; the sparring was more enjoyable than even he could have anticipated.

"You know, I have to say," he commented carefully, "I'd thought your marriage to the almighty do-gooder Potter would prevent you from pursuing such" - he paused, quirking a brow - "dastardly pursuits."

"You'd think," Granger agreed, appearing to feign a disinterested yawn. "But you'd be wrong."

"Your son is a very effective tool in your campaign," Draco added, eyeing her. "I'd have done something similar, I think, only Astoria's not quite so willing to serve me up an heir. James Ignotus Potter, hm?" he added. "Clever of you to use an old wizarding name in addition to a renowned war hero - "

"I'm a renowned war hero, in case that escaped your attention," she sniffed. "And anyway," she added wickedly, sitting upright. "There's no need to be so inelegantly jealous, Malfoy," she murmured, "as that's not my son."

Draco stared at her, gawking in disbelief. "What?" he asked vacantly.

"James isn't my son," Granger said, shrugging. "But as you said," she added carefully, "he does make a nice addition to a cover spread, doesn't he? And the wizarding world is so horribly backwards," she added, making a face. "They'd prefer to see a woman with a baby, don't you think?"

"He's not your - " Draco trailed off, rendered speechless by the information. "Whose fucking kid is he, then?"

Granger shrugged a second time, her lips curling up in a charming, tempting smile. "You'll have to take that up with Harry and Ron," she suggested ambiguously, and Draco shook his head, stunned.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "What kind of operation are you running here, Granger?"

"You tell me," she countered bluntly, unyielding. "I assume you and Astoria have some kind of understanding?"

He hesitated, but as she carefully uncrossed her legs, making a show of unlinking right over left to then shift left over right, he found himself watching a little too closely, understanding that her terms required tit for tat.

"Astoria does what she wants," Draco said simply, picking up Granger's glass and tossing back the remainder of the whiskey. "And I," he added pointedly, toasting her with his glass, "do what I want."

"Which is?" she prompted, her ankle bouncing delicately as she watched him.

"Daphne sometimes," he said, shrugging. "Theo at others."

"Interesting," Granger murmured. "You're all so good at sharing." She smirked a little, biting coquettishly at her lip. "It's so evolved," she teased.

"So is the Golden Trio, apparently," Draco remarked wryly, shaking his head. "I knew the marriage to Potter must have been strategic, but I would never have guessed your campaign was quite so deviant," he commented.

"Nor would I," she agreed. "If, that is," she amended, "I didn't know you better."

He felt his eyes narrow.

She thinks she has me, he realized, laughing internally. She thinks she'll win -

"You don't know me at all, Granger," he murmured, resolving to prove his point.

She waited for him to cross the room; she figured she could imagine him stalking slowly towards her, prowling in his gilded way, just as easily as she could see him forcefully shoving her back, and she felt a thrill flutter up her spine in anticipation, wondering how he would do it, how he would take her -

"Take your shirt off," he said, still leaning against the dresser. He had his palms resting back against the wood, his hips leaned nonchalantly against it, and his grey eyes bore a sharp, distinct glimmer of controlled anticipation.

She opened her mouth to argue but at his arched brow she bit her tongue, instead reaching down to undo the buttons of her blouse, sliding it over her shoulders and waiting as his gaze skated hungrily over her breasts, raking over the front of her torso and then holding on hers as he reached down, unbuttoning his trousers and slipping his hand down over his cock, starting to stroke it as he watched her.

She inhaled sharply, caught off guard; she realized he was testing her limits, toying with her sensibilities, and then she felt herself smile, rising to her feet to slip out of her pencil skirt before laying back on the bed, parting her legs and slipping one hand under the lace of her underwear.

"Come on, Malfoy," she said playfully, beginning to slide her fingers along her clit. "Scared?"

"Scared?" he echoed, shaking his head and groaning a little as she licked her left thumb, sliding it under the lip of her bra and teasing her nipple, fighting a breathy laugh as she watched his breath catch. "Hardly."

"Then let me see it," she added, letting her heels dig into the duvet as she arched her hips up, sliding two of her fingers into her cunt and letting him watch, her heart thudding in her chest as his lips parted, accommodating a choked out moan before he reached up, tearing his shirt from his shoulders and then slipping out of his trousers and trunks before returning to his cock, running a hand over it and sliding his thumb across the liquid already pooling at his tip.

"This, Granger?" he asked, gripping it firmly as he smirked. "You can taste it, if you like."

For a moment she desperately wanted to, was insatiably curious about it; she wondered if he would pound against her mouth or if he'd want it slow, deep, wholly devoured - he seemed, she thought, like the kind of man who'd have a preference, an established liking, and she wanted to both shatter his illusions and also learn what made him weak, what made him groan, what made him fucking -


A moan fought its way from her lips as she pictured his handsome face contorting in a twist of ecstatic anguish - of this, Granger? becoming yes, Granger - and brought her hips up again, grinding against her hand, the lace of her panties soaked by the intensity of her imagination alone. "I could," she agreed, feeling her breath quicken, "but I don't know if you can do any better than I can, Malfoy - "

At that, his eyes widened, a choked indication of his disagreement escaping from his throat as he stepped forward, taking the bait and kneeling on the bed, settling himself between her legs and jerking her hips forward, settling her legs atop his shoulders. She pulled her hand away, breathless, but he grabbed her fingers, returning them to where they had been.

"Keep going," he rasped hoarsely, his pale blond hair that was always so neat and so fucking obnoxiously styled during all his twatting press conferences suddenly falling onto his forehead, dusting the pale skin of his face, making him a little less perfect -

But also a little more beautiful, she thought, swallowing the observation and returning her attention to her own aching need.

He watched her as she writhed beneath her own hand, not even bothering with himself; he slid his hands along the inside of her thighs, kneading the curves of them as he gritted his teeth, waiting, and she came close, closer, closer, waiting if he would do anything but he only stared, the curve of his throat bobbing tellingly as he swallowed and she grew more intent with her strokes, shutting her eyes and throwing her head back as she came.

His eyes were wild when she opened them again, panting, and he was staring at her with an undisguised greed, an unfiltered need -

"Good," he growled. "Now - "

He suddenly yanked her up, wrapping her legs around him as he carried her off the bed and slammed her against the wall, his hips bruising her thigh as he ran his lips along the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

"Now I can show you," he murmured in her ear, " that I can do it better than anyone can - "

"You'd better fuck me, Malfoy," she hissed, feeling the tip of his cock tease against the wetness at her slit, "and stop dicking around."

"You," he snarled, pinning her wrists above her head and rutting against her clit, "need to learn some manners, Granger."

"Do I?" she taunted, tightening her legs around his hips. "Maybe you'd better teach me a lesson, then, Malfoy - "

"Don't," he said, biting down on her earlobe and giving her a shove for emphasis. "You think this is a game?" he asked, his voice strangely intimate in her ear. "You don't even know what fucking game you're playing - "

They both held their breath as he shifted her in his arms, sliding his cock inside her; it was more filling, infinitely more satisfying than her fingers had been, and she felt herself clench tightly around him, swallowed up in agony almost immediately as he took his time, each thrust slow, purposeful, controlled.

"Come on," she growled furiously, slamming her head against the wall as he lowered his head to her breasts, his tongue slipping over the thin lace, "fucking - fuck me, Malfoy - "

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her sternum before giving her a hard, mean thrust. "I thought I told you," he whispered. "You need to learn some manners, Granger," he said softly, taking hold of her hair and pulling it as she let out a gasp, leaving him to scrape his teeth against her throat.

Fuck, she was good - hot and tight and wet -

And utterly infuriating.

He shifted her in his arms, gripping the curve of her arse and hitting what he knew was her g-spot, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to go slow, to draw it out, to make her whine in frustration and grind against him, begging for more.

You think you're going to win, he thought, laughing internally, you have no idea -

"Manners," he murmured as she started to dig her nails into his back, rough and furious. "You'll have to be polite, Granger - "

"Fuck," she choked out, leaning against him to bite down on the curve of his neck where it met the slope of his shoulder, biting into the tension that held her. "Please," she spat bitterly, coiling her fingers in his hair and yanking his head back, forcing him to look at the darkened amber of her eyes. "Please, Malfoy - "

"Oh, Granger," he tsked, laughing breathlessly as she tugged his hair back again in displeasure, glaring at him. "You think I want to be called my father's name in the bedroom?"

There was a momentary struggle in her gaze as she stared at him, hesitating, but as he gifted her another unapologetic thrust he saw the opposition melt from her expression, her lips parting as she said his name, first a quiet whisper, and then, as she must have seen the reaction on his face, louder, more insistent -

"Draco," she said, and he heard the hint of pleading that he'd wanted, the thing he knew would echo in his mind for the rest of time when he watched her on the news, it's only a step away from tyranny -

I'll show you who's a tyrant, he thought, pulling away from the wall and dropping to the floor, setting her against the carpet that was warmed by the blazing fire, searing against them, reducing them to sweat and pressure and fucking gritted teeth.

She rolled him over, forcing him onto his back, and he brought his lips to her breasts, licking over them and then biting at her nipple, letting his teeth scrape against the ivory of her skin.

"I'm going to win this election," she panted euphorically, writhing above him on the floor; he was conscious of the burning at his back but couldn't think of anything except fucking her, owning her completely, making her swallow her taunts as they devolved to the sound of his name -

"You're not," he muttered, thrusting his hips up beneath her and digging his fingers into her hips. "You're fucking not, Granger - "

"I'm going to win," she said, emitting a hoarse, breathy laugh, "and I'm going to fuck you again when I do - "

"I'm fucking you, Granger," he corrected her, flipping her into her back and driving into her with an unrelenting force. "And when I win, you're going to apologize" - he sucked in a breath as she reached down, grabbing his arse - "and you're going to tell it to my cock while you're down on your knees - "

"When I win," she interjected furiously, and he could see how close she was, could see her eyes glazing over, "you're going to fuck me with your fucking smartass mouth, you're going to make me come over and over before I even begin to touch you, Malfoy - "

"Draco," he corrected her sharply, "and when I win you're going to be gagged, Granger - "

"Hermione," she hissed, "and when I win, I'm fucking tying you to the bed, you little shit - "

"Fuck you," he snarled, pulling her lips to his, and her response - fuck you too, he assumed - was lost as he slid his tongue in her mouth, kissing her with a bruising, graceless force, devouring her and savoring the taste of her, burning and bitter and sweet.

She came, gasping breathlessly into his mouth, and he followed, forcing his eyes open to watch the beauty of her face as her exquisite expression of torment eased into beatific pleasure, her hair a wild halo around her head as his forehead collapsed against hers, a ragged breath escaping from his mouth to float against her lips.

"This was a mistake," he whispered, and she nodded.

He gave it ten minutes before they did it again.