HP fic: Three Is a Magic Number [Draco/Harry/Hermione, adult]
Title: Three Is a Magic Number Author: celandineb Fandom: HP Pairing: Hermione/OCs, Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Draco/Harry Rating: adult Length: 23,543 words (posted in three parts) (7349 this part) Warnings: BDSM, polyamory, EWE Summary: Hermione never expected to become a domme, and she certainly never expected it to lead her down this path in life. Note: Written for the hermionebigbang in 2009. This was inspired by several drabbles and ficlets that I wrote for inell. Many, many thanks to snegurochka_lee for beta-ing; her suggestions have (I hope) much improved the story, and any remaining errors and infelicities are entirely my own responsibility.
Hermione pulled the boot's zip up the last few inches and stood. She loved the way that the soft black leather hugged her legs from ankle to thigh, and she turned in front of the mirror to admire the look. The tops of the boots would be hidden by her skirt, but above that the tightly laced corset accentuated her cleavage. She smoothed on her gloves, buttoning each tiny button with care, then picked up the valise that held her equipment and prepared to Apparate to the club.
Later that night, she sat on a padded stool in the bar at Brands, her legs parted, with Damien kneeling between them, his tongue flickering over her clit. Around them other couples engaged in their own embraces. Hermione used her left hand to lift her wineglass and take a sip. Her right arm was tired; she had spent the better part of an hour with Damien tied to a pillar in front of her, using a series of paddles and floggers on him. Now the high heel of one of her boots pressed against his cock, and he trembled as he ate her. She had promised that if he did it well enough, she would let him come.
He was doing an excellent job so far, she thought, setting down her glass and tipping his head slightly to shift his tongue a fraction downward. Every few seconds she felt another spasm, and as soon as he put his first two fingers inside her cunt and began to pump them, she knew that she would have a major orgasm. For now, though, she held off signalling him to do so, enjoying the slow rising tension that his tongue provoked instead.
Glancing around the room, she saw several people that she recognised. Some she had played with before, others she had merely seen repeatedly in passing over the past couple of years. Hermione had no fear that any of them would attempt to presume on this knowledge elsewhere, however. Brands catered to a wizarding clientele who wanted to ensure discretion in their encounters. Anyone who betrayed another person's presence at the club would find himself or herself not only banned from going there in the future, but would also suffer more direct consequences, not dissimilar to the hex Hermione herself had once set up and which had caught Marietta Edgecombe.
A blond man in the far corner caught her eye. There was something familiar about the angle of his head, an almost arrogant tilt despite his kneeling position, but he was too far away for Hermione to identify him. Perhaps it was someone she had played with early on, before she had established herself with the three semi-regular partners she maintained now, whose preferences were varied enough to keep her interested.
She stroked Damien's hair, then at last tapped his shoulder. He immediately began to finger-fuck her, just the way she liked, his mouth still clamped tightly over her clit. Hermione groaned and grabbed his hair hard, holding him still as she shook. When she had finished, she made him sit back and rubbed her booted foot over his denim-encased cock.
"Now," she commanded, and he clutched at himself and at her as he came, rubbing frantically against the hard leather.
"In a fortnight you'll be here?" he asked pleadingly when she rose to leave.
Hermione shrugged. "Perhaps." Not allowing him to feel secure was part of her way of establishing sexual authority. She could feel his eyes on her as she left.
A healthy bout of domination over the weekend generally put Hermione in a good mood to start off the week. She had plans to meet Harry at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch on Monday, and she looked forward to that.
"Do anything interesting this weekend?" Harry asked cheerfully when Hermione found him at the bar.
"Oh, the usual sort of thing." Hermione knew that Harry would assume she'd cleaned her flat, or done something equally dull. She waved down Tom the barman and ordered a ploughman's lunch and a pint of cider, which she preferred to beer; the Leaky's wine selection was less than stellar. "How about you?"
"Not much," said Harry, now looking a little less animated. "I kind of miss Ginny, you know? Not so much her, though, as having someone... if that makes sense. Do you feel the same about Ron?"
"Sometimes, I suppose," Hermione said, "but we didn't have that much in common, in the end. I'd rather not be with someone just to be with anyone at all. I'm happier alone."
"Ah." Harry's expression turned wistful. "You always have been independent, haven't you?"
"Not so independent that I don't care about my friends," Hermione said, taking his hand and squeezing it.
That seemed to brighten Harry's mood, and the rest of the hour passed in pleasant conversation, mostly Harry waxing enthusiastic about the new Beater that the Cannons had brought in for the season, but he also listened as she talked about the negotiations she was involved in to try to reach some international agreements on prosecuting those who traded restricted potions ingredients. When Hermione left, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and thought to herself that really, she and Harry had a closer friendship than she and Ron had had. And now they were both unattached... but she had been telling the truth when she'd said that she was content with things as they were, and Harry had never made a move, after all. Better perhaps not to do anything that might disturb their friendship.
On Tuesday Hermione found that she needed to go to the British Library to do some research. It was not often that anyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to look up Muggle references, but when there was some need, Hermione was generally the one who went, since she rather enjoyed interacting with Muggles and could do so without arousing any suspicions by her manner or her way of dressing.
She worked most of the morning, stopped for a quick sandwich and a cup of tea around noon, and had just settled in again happily to work through the afternoon when someone sat down next to her.
Reflexively she looked up, not expecting to recognise the person, but to her astonishment she did.
"Draco Malfoy?" she whispered incredulously. Of all the places in the world she might imagine him, this was not one that would ever have suggested itself to her.
He leaned close – she could smell a hint of cologne, something woody and spicy – and murmured in her ear, "Do you remember the day that you hit me?"
Of course she remembered it. Hermione fumbled for her wand, suddenly sure that Draco was going to break all wizarding law and try to take some kind of revenge on her right here.
But he continued, "Would you like to do it again?"
Hermione felt dizzy. Draco Malfoy in the British Library was shock enough; Draco Malfoy in the British Library asking if she would like to beat him was so far beyond all probability that she had trouble taking it in. She was not going to discuss the matter here, however.
"Not now," she said. "There's a café. I'll meet you at five-thirty." And she gave him the name and street number.
Draco nodded. Hermione could see the way that his eyes flickered over her, hungrily, lingering on her hands. "Five-thirty."
In a welter of confusion, she managed to finish the research she had come for by half past four, and after packing up her bag, she sat and thought about what she might say to Draco.
She didn't despise him or hate him any longer. Understanding a little bit why he had acted as he had done, the family pressures that had been brought to bear, had made it possible for her to forgive, though not forget. The fact that he had sought her out here in the Muggle world spoke to his sincerity. Yes, she decided, she might be willing to take Draco up on his offer, although she would need to hear more explicitly from him just what it was he wanted.
He was already waiting when she arrived, a litter of crumbs on the table suggesting that he had probably been there all afternoon. Hermione let him buy her a cup of tea, and as she was stirring in milk and one sugar she asked in a quiet voice, "Why did you come to me?"
Draco gnawed at his lip. "I've seen you at Brands a few times. Including last weekend."
"You have?" Hermione regarded him carefully. "I've never seen... no, wait. I did see you, in the bar, I think."
"Yes. I haven't ever been on display the way that some are, like the bloke you were with last Saturday," admitted Draco. "I know that there are various precautions, but at first I didn't want to be recognised, and since then – well, I'm still learning all this, you see. But I've been watching you. You have a very good reputation. One of the best, for the things you do. I want to work with the best."
"My ancestry is less important than the strength of my arm?" jibed Hermione.
Draco had the grace to flush. "I suppose. Look, if what happened in the past is too bad for you to be willing to try this, I'll understand. But I'm not asking to be friends. I'm asking if you would take me on as one of your subs."
He scowled down at the table. She could tell that he didn't really enjoy asking for favours from her... it might be rather rewarding to teach him to submit, actually, to acknowledge his weaknesses, his needs.
"This isn't the place for detailed discussion," said Hermione, "but as there's no one sitting too close, let me just ask you a question or two."
"All right."
Hermione watched Draco as she spoke, gauging his reaction not just by what he said, but by his body language. "Do you prefer simply to have someone else in control, or do you genuinely enjoy pain?"
"I haven't gone very far with pain, to be honest. So more domination, but I'd like to find out more about both." Draco had laced his fingers together, resting his hands on the table. He stroked his left wrist with his right thumb. "Er. I should maybe tell you that the people I've –" his eyes darted around the room, and his voice grew softer, "– I've worked with, so to speak, have been both men and women."
"I see." Hermione tapped her fingers on the table. "You've had no preferences there?"
"No. Either one could be satisfactory for me." Blood stained his cheeks as he spoke. Odd that he would be more embarrassed by admitting that he liked men as well as women than by offering himself as a submissive and asking her to beat him.
There was no reason why she should turn him down. Certainly if he were anyone but Draco Malfoy she would not hesitate, and she found him surprisingly attractive physically. His face was a little fuller than it had been ten years ago, more relaxed, and it suited him. Under the Muggle clothes that he had chosen to wear, she guessed from the way that he moved and held himself that he was quite fit, and she found herself curious to see that body.
"All right," said Hermione finally, sipping the last of her tea. "I'm willing to try this. Nothing exclusive, you understand; there are several other men with whom I have regular interactions."
"I know. I've seen them all, I think."
Draco must have been attending Brands quite regularly if that was the case, Hermione realised. "Very well, then. At the club. This Saturday. Nine o'clock. I'll expect you to be prompt."
"Thank you." Draco's voice held a trace of the old hauteur, now that he had secured her agreement.
"Remember, this is just a trial, we may not suit each other, and if not, then no hard feelings."
On that note, she rose to go. Draco stood politely and walked out to the street with her, but made no move to try to escort her home, which Hermione appreciated. Perhaps this would work out, but she had never yet taken home any of her men from Brands, and she had no intention of doing so with Draco.
When she reached her flat, she lay down on the bed and masturbated, imagining how she might begin with Draco by inflicting only minor and subtle forms of pain: tormenting his nipples, perhaps, or arousing him and then refusing him leave to come until he was desperate and begging for it.
For the rest of the week Hermione used her spare moments to think about whether she had made the right decision in telling Draco that she would take him on. One thing she had learned was that it could be dangerous to have certain sorts of emotional connections with one's submissive partner. If the dominant was genuinely angry, for instance, he or she might not be able to maintain the appropriate control during a scene. When she and Ron had been together, there had been one occasion on which that had very nearly been a problem for Hermione, and she didn't want to risk it happening again.
The trouble was that there was really no one she could talk to about the situation. Ron and now Draco were the only people who knew of her inclinations, and for very different reasons, neither of them was suitable.
On Thursday, however, Hermione was meeting Harry for lunch again, and she decided to bring up Draco as a general topic, just mention that she'd run into him without explaining where, and see how Harry reacted. The two of them had never gotten on at school either, but if Harry didn't seem to have a strong dislike for Draco anymore, then perhaps Hermione could trust her own emotions.
"Draco?" Harry took a large bite of his egg and cress sandwich and spoke through his mouthful, to Hermione's internal sigh. "I've seen him oh, maybe a handful of times in the last year or two. In Diagon Alley in passing, mostly, and once or maybe twice at Quidditch matches. Although he could have been there more often; I don't see that much from up in the air, you know."
"He seemed changed to me," said Hermione. "Not that I talked to him for all that long."
Harry shoved his specs up his nose. "I should think he must have, after everything. It's pretty astounding that he's working at St Mungo's these days, and from what I hear doing a more than competent job. So yes, he's not the same Draco we used to know."
Hermione noticed that the tips of Harry's ears had gone pink, but somehow she didn't quite like to ask exactly why. "If I were meeting him for the first time, I might almost think I could like him," she said thoughtfully, stabbing her fork into a piece of tomato.
"Planning to ask our Mr. Malfoy out, then?" Harry asked in a teasing voice, although Hermione thought that his flush hadn't diminished. "I will say that the last time I saw him in Quality Quidditch Supplies he was quite attractive, or so I imagine witches would think."
Hermione filed that statement mentally for future contemplation. Since Harry and Ginny had broken up the previous year, Harry hadn't dated anyone at all that Hermione knew of, and perhaps there was a good explanation why. She changed the subject then and got Harry to talk about the prospects of the various British teams for the next Quidditch World Cup. She cared no more for the game than she ever had, but she did care about Harry and he liked to talk about the league, so she let him.
Again when they were saying their goodbyes, on impulse Hermione rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thinking as she did so that she almost wished it had been Harry, not Draco, who had come to her with such an incredible proposal.
The choice of nine o'clock as the hour to meet Draco had been deliberately on the early side. Hermione intended to make it clear that she was spending that evening with Draco before any of her other three regulars – especially Damien, who tended to be pushy – turned up at Brands. She arrived promptly, but Draco was already there, looking eager.
"I've claimed one of the private rooms," he told her. "I wasn't sure what you might want."
Hermione tapped her lips with her forefinger thoughtfully. If Draco really did not have much experience, perhaps a private room would be better this time. Any poor behaviour by a submissive reflected upon the dominant, after all, and Hermione had a reputation to maintain.
"That will be fine," she answered. "I'm going to have a drink first, however."
As she had expected, Draco immediately said that he would fetch it for her. He returned promptly with a glass of red wine – the same as she had been drinking the previous week when he had seen her but she had not recognised him – and without prompting, knelt beside her to await her next directions.
She stroked his head, enjoying the way that his fine, fair hair felt beneath her fingertips, as she sipped at her wine. When she had finished, she had him lead her to the room he had reserved, carrying her valise.
"Undress," she told him.
Slim fingers went to his throat and made short work of unbuttoning the finely tailored white cotton shirt he wore. He hung it from one of the many hooks that jutted from the walls before removing his shoes and socks, and then his trousers, which he also hung up.
"Pants too," said Hermione, and Draco slipped them off to reveal his erect cock. Hermione stroked it, just once, with her fingernails, and he quivered.
"We had better agree on a safe word before anything else," she murmured. "Would you like to choose it?"
"Badger," said Draco promptly. Either he'd used that word before, or he'd thought about this in advance. Either way it spoke to his seriousness of purpose, and Hermione approved.
"Badger it is." She opened her valise and pulled out a paddle. "Tell me, Draco, is there some reason why I should use this on you? Have you been naughty?"
Draco's eyes went round as he watched her take a couple of swings to loosen up her arm. "Yes. I have."
"Yes, ma'am," Hermione corrected him.
"Yes, ma'am," Draco repeated.
It always felt awkward to Hermione, this kind of talk, but especially with someone new, it was necessary to find out what turned them on. She decided to simply begin and see what happened.
"Turn around and stand there, facing the wall." She pointed at the spot in question. "Raise your arms and put your hands flat against the wall."
Draco obeyed, his upper body now angled, feet braced a little way apart as Hermione stepped up behind him and raised the paddle.
"Count," she told him, and as the first blow struck his buttocks, he said, "One," in a tone that sounded like a prayer.
Hermione took the paddling up to a count of thirty. Most of the blows landed on Draco's buttocks, although she marked his thighs a few times as well.
"Had you ever been struck before you came to Brands?" she asked when she had completed the set.
Draco shook his head. "It was a threat, no more."
His arse was nicely reddened. Hermione stroked it, hearing the hiss of Draco's breath. She didn't think she wanted to use a whip or a flogger on him tonight; she would rather work up to that, with someone inexperienced. Besides, although she was able and willing to administer pain in this sort of context, she didn't find it in and of itself especially arousing for her. It was more the reaction that her partner had that she enjoyed, and she wondered if Draco might not react equally strongly to other forms of dominance.
"Have you ever been restrained?"
"Do you mean with handcuffs or ropes or something like that?" Draco asked warily.
"Those, possibly, or a cock ring, or nipple clamps." Hermione pulled a pair of clamps from her valise. "You may stand up straight and turn around," she told Draco.
She didn't need to give more than a glance at his crotch to learn that he had enjoyed the paddling very much. The pinch of the clamps might suit him very well. They were, coincidentally, most appropriate for Draco, being fashioned in the form of tiny silver dragons with green eyes. Hermione brushed a fingertip over the head of one, and it yawned. Quickly she brought it to Draco's chest and let the metal jaws close over his left nipple. Then she fastened on the second clamp and stepped back to admire the way they looked. Draco glanced down and swallowed.
"Now." Hermione smiled. "I'm going to undress, and then you're going to fuck me, but you're not to come until I give you permission, you understand?"
He nodded. "Do you want me to undress you?"
"Not this time. Just watch." She began peeling off her garments one by one, until she was down to boots and panties, the latter already soaked through. She sat on the edge of the mattress to unzip the boots and ease them off. "Come here."
Draco crossed the room. She took his arm and pulled him down to the bed, straddling him and rubbing her silk-clad cunt against his cock.
"You may take these off," she murmured.
Rather to her surprise he didn't remove the panties by hand, but instead used a non-verbal wandless spell, so that between one moment and the next they vanished. His cock slipped smoothly into her as she moved, and he gave a little grunt that she interpreted as satisfaction.
"All right then." Hermione held still with Draco's cock fully seated, put her hands on his shoulders and rolled them over so that he was above her. "Fuck me, nice and slow," she instructed.
He began to move immediately, slowly as she had told him, his gray eyes intent on her face. Hermione raised her knees a bit higher and tilted her hips so that with each stroke he gave, he pressed against her clit. Orgasm hit her almost instantly, rolling through her in wave after wave. The pleasure was not as intensely focussed as when she masturbated, but she could sustain an orgasm for minutes this way.
Draco's face was flushed. Doubtless he felt the rippling clench off her inner muscles as she spasmed around his cock. He kept control, however, and continued his leisurely thrusting.
When Hermione had decided that she had obtained sufficient pleasure, she told Draco to stop. He bit his lip, but did as he was told, grasping the base of his cock firmly as he pulled away.
He kept his eyes fixed on her, waiting to be told what to do next. Hermione stroked the pale springy hair of his chest, trailing her fingers down to the soft skin around his navel. She tapped his hand.
"Masturbate," she ordered. "Don't come until I tell you."
Obediently Draco stroked himself, massaging her lingering juices into the skin of his reddened prick. His other hand caressed his bollocks, tight in their lightly-furred pouch. His eyes never left Hermione's face as he waited for her command.
She let the minutes pass by, one by one, gauging the level of Draco's desperation by the raggedness of his breathing and the drops of sweat that broke out on his skin. When she judged that he was reaching the point where he felt nearly as much pain as pleasure, she put her hand over his and whispered, "Now."
Draco's mouth opened in a wordless groan, his eyes squeezing shut as he wetted her fingers, a few drops splashing up to his chest. Hermione took delight in his long-delayed satisfaction, so evidently intense, just as she had hoped. Pain was not the only way to dominate him, she concluded.
After they had cleaned up, Hermione led Draco back to the bar where he bought her another drink. She sipped it as he knelt at her feet.
"Remain still," she told him, but whether it was lingering excitement from the scene or merely lack of training, Draco kept shifting his weight, turning his head from side to side as he tried to observe the room – or perhaps sought to see who noticed that he was with Hermione, tonight.
She tapped his cheek. "Still, I said."
"Sorry," said Draco, although he didn't sound especially sorry, and continued to move restlessly, if less obviously so.
Enough was enough. Hermione set down her nearly-empty wineglass, picked up her valise, and walked toward the door.
"Wait!" It took Draco a moment to struggle to his feet and hurry after her. "I wanted to know if you'd be willing to do this again."
Hermione looked him up and down coolly. "You need to learn obedience outside the bedroom if you want to find satisfaction within it."
"I do!" Draco's expression was suddenly stricken as he realised her anger. "I won't disappoint you."
She considered. It had been quite satisfactory for an initial encounter, after all. She didn't want to neglect her other men, but she had no real hesitation about adding Draco to the roster. If he was willing to submit to a proper discipline.
"See that you don't," she said at last, and swept out, leaving Draco gaping after her – she hoped with sufficient incentive to behave better in the future.
He did. Over the next ten months, in fact, Draco gradually became her preferred partner. He couldn't have helped but be aware of that, but he never presumed upon it either. That honesty made Hermione even more pleased with him, so much so that when he asked if she would like to meet him for dinner at an ordinary restaurant, not at Brands, she accepted the invitation.
The dinner began awkwardly. Draco had chosen a Muggle restaurant and was clearly somewhat ill at ease, although doubtless to any observer it appeared that his nervousness was from the fact of the date rather than unfamiliarity of culture. At least general manners amongst both wizards and Muggles were similar; the only real hitch came when Draco was presented with the cheque and Hermione had to ensure that he paid the correct amount in Muggle notes.
The food, however, was excellent, and so was the wine. By the time they left Hermione was having to be careful not to giggle too much. She had always hated that particular overly-feminine reaction to male conversation. The cooler air outside helped sober her up a little, to her relief. Draco took her elbow to guide her along the pavement.
"Would you like to come to my flat?"
Hermione nodded. She had never gone to the home of any other man with whom she indulged her sexual proclivities at Brands before, although one or two had asked. But for reasons she could not pin down, she felt comfortable doing so with Draco.
"I'm so glad," Draco said. "I... well. What I want to say isn't really something for a public conversation."
He would say nothing more, and so Hermione had to contain her curiosity until they had reached Draco's flat, which was sumptuously furnished, yet somehow sterile. Draco noticed her expression as she gazed around the rooms.
"My mother decorated it," he said with a shrug. "She insisted, and it was easier to let her, since I didn't really care that much." He crossed the room and disappeared through a doorway, calling out, "A glass of wine?"
"Lovely, thank you," Hermione responded. She took off her coat and tucked her gloves into the pocket, laying it over the arm of the sofa before sitting down. It was upholstered in a buttery-soft ivory leather; highly impractical, Hermione thought, but extremely comfortable.
Draco returned with two glasses of wine. "Cheers."
Sipping, Hermione found that this vintage was even better than what they had drunk at the restaurant. She savoured it for a moment before turning slightly to look at Draco.
"What were you going to say earlier, then?"
"I don't know if there's a proper etiquette for this," said Draco slowly. "It's hardly the sort of thing learned at one's mother's knee. I have very much enjoyed our arrangement at Brands, but –" he took a mouthful of wine, swallowed, and continued, "– I find that I want to know you better, and not just in sexual ways. I'm not sure how well I'll be able to reconcile knowing you as a person and having you as a mistress at the club, though. That is, if you're even interested in the same thing. If you aren't, I'll understand, and I hope it won't make a difference to how you treat me at Brands."
"It's been a long time since I've been emotionally involved with anyone," admitted Hermione. "It would be a real change for me to try that again. I've been quite satisfied with having strictly sexual relationships at Brands and friendship elsewhere, but not mingling the two."
She chewed at her lower lip for a moment, realised she was doing it, and stopped. "I wouldn't want a romance to always have the same dynamics that we maintain at the club," she said. "I like dominance in a sexual context, but I couldn't maintain it all the time in a relationship, if that's what you were hoping for."
"No." Glints of light caught in Draco's hair as he shook his head. "That's not what I want. I know how much it takes out of me – I enjoy it very much, obviously, but it can be draining, and I'm sure the same is true from your side. Besides, I don't want to share that part of myself with everyone anyway."
"Fair enough." Hermione thought about it. "I suppose, then, that I'm willing to see what happens if we try dating for a while, outside the club, getting to know each other better in other ways. I think maybe we shouldn't get physical here for a while, though. It would be too confusing, trying to figure out how to behave."
Draco agreed to that condition. He talked with Hermione about her work, what she did in her spare time when she wasn't at Brands, what sort of music and films and books she liked. Hermione had never really had such a conversation before. She and Ron had known each other too well to need to ask such questions, and the men she'd been involved with at Brands had never delved into personal preferences except those that related directly to the business at hand. The way that Draco asked, though, didn't seem intrusive. He wasn't merely running down some mental checklist of questions, but rather seemed to move from one to the next out of genuine curiosity and sympathetic interest.
"How did you find out you enjoyed domination?" Draco inquired. "I mean, you were always intellectually aggressive, but that's hardly the same thing."
"Ron suggested trying it, when we were dating. I guess he'd heard about it from someone – maybe his brother Charlie? – and thought it might be fun." Hermione shrugged and sipped her wine. "It turned out that he just didn't care much for acting as either a dom or a sub, after we'd tried it both ways a few times."
"But you did."
Hermione nodded. "Yes. More than I would ever have imagined. So after we broke up – which was for other reasons – I made some discreet inquiries to find a place where it would be safe to explore that part of my sexuality. I've learned that it's not inflicting pain itself that I enjoy, more the control that engenders, so although I have a fair bit of experience with various types of whips and paddles and so forth, I'm equally happy if my partner wants to obey without the need for force. Does that make sense?"
"It does," said Draco thoughtfully. "That's why I've enjoyed having you as a domme. It's not just about physical domination, but mental too."
He didn't elaborate further that night, and it wasn't until their third "regular" date that Hermione had much chance to ask Draco about his personal history in the same way that he had been inquiring into hers.
Draco told her what it was like growing up in his family. As an only child with wealthy and ambitious parents, and moreover with intact bloodlines, he had been indulged, even spoiled, and he freely admitted that. The pressures upon him, however, were great as well. From the cradle he had known that it was his duty to continue the family line and preserve its purity at virtually any cost.
"I never questioned that assumption," he said over a glass of a very fine brandy. "You wouldn't have, either, I don't think. When everything in your entire world fits together and makes sense, you don't ask if any bits of it are perhaps not what they should be by someone else's standards."
Hermione had to agree to that, having over the years learned quite a lot about Muggle history which demonstrated exactly that attitude over and over again. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her on the sofa, moving a little closer to Draco.
"When did you start to question what your parents taught you, then?" she asked. "Because obviously you began to eventually."
"A little bit in my sixth year at Hogwarts, when I was trying to come up with a way to kill Professor Dumbledore." He had the grace to turn red when he mentioned the late Headmaster. "I tried to pretend to myself that being given that order proved that V-Voldemort trusted me, but inside I knew it was really a strategy to ensure that I would be eliminated with no trouble to himself or blame from any of his supporters. Aunt Bella, for instance, would have only seen it as my chance of glory, not the almost certainty of my failure."
His stumble over Voldemort's name touched Hermione, and she took his hand. "Go on."
"Realising that I was dispensable, regardless of my family, and that even my own kin couldn't or wouldn't, or at any rate, didn't try to protect me – well, I learned later that my mother had asked Professor Snape to look out for me, but I didn't know that then – realising that put the first seed of doubt into my mind. And for all that I'd been trying to figure out ways to get rid of Dumbledore, when he actually died it was awful."
"Why?" Hermione kept her voice gentle. What was past was past, after all.
"Well, he was a pureblood himself. I'm not proud that I thought like that, nor that it took his death to really make me ask whether what I was doing, what I had always assumed was right, really was the right thing to do."
Draco sighed and was quiet for a while, sipping his brandy moodily. Hermione watched his chest rise and fall, wondering if he'd go on, but eventually he did.
"Seventh year – I did what was expected of me, but inside I was frightened. I tried not too think about my doubts, though. I'm not that skilled at Occlumency and it wasn't safe to show anything but complete loyalty in front of Voldemort." This time he didn't stumble over the name.
"I've always wondered something," said Hermione. "Harry told us that you refused to positively identify him when we were captured and brought to your parents' house. Why didn't you?"
"It was the most I dared to do," Draco replied. "The jinxes that had hit him had made him very difficult to recognise, so I was fairly certain I could get away with it, and by then I was just so tired of it all. I didn't want to be involved any more. I'm not brave, Hermione. I didn't have the courage to say no when I knew that was likely to mean my own death and probably my parents' also. The best I could manage was evasion in small ways."
"I see." It was more or less what she had expected to hear. She had always thought that the younger Draco was a coward, but she found herself admiring his ability and willingness now to recognise and admit to that weakness.
"What sealed my change of heart was Greg's death. I couldn't believe he would use Fiendfyre. But that was so typical of the Death Eater approach; use whatever it takes, no matter how horrible, no matter how easily it could injure those on your own side. Greg was a fool, but he'd been my friend, or as near to one as I'd had. His death brought home just how stupid the whole thing was. I'd like to think that even if our side had won the Battle of Hogwarts after all, if it had been Harry who'd lost in the end, I would still have finally turned to the other side and begun to think for myself about what was right and what kind of person I wanted to be."
Draco's voice broke on the last words and he took a large swallow of brandy.
"Do you really think you would have dared?" Hermione asked.
"Let's just say that I hope I would have done. There's no way to know for sure. But if you're looking at my actions since then..." Draco shrugged. "I stood trial and had my use of magic restricted for two years, and then I went into training to become a healer at St Mungo's. It seemed like the best way to make some sort of reparation. My parents didn't understand; they think that I broke under pressure and will never amount to anything, but I've decided that I can't be guided by their judgment any longer."
Hermione had to ask the question. "Is all of this connected with the reason why you enjoy submission?"
"Probably. At least in part." Draco settled himself more comfortably into the cushions of the sofa. "Although I don't know that it's entirely so. I had bondage fantasies from quite a young age, actually. Like thirteen or fourteen, long before I was involved in anything directly, political or sexual."
"Interesting. I never had any sort of kinky fantasies at all until after the war," Hermione said. "I did things before I fantasised about them, in fact."
"You didn't read about them first?"
Draco was trying to joke with her, Hermione realised, and so she smiled. "I was too busy reading Hogwarts, a History to have time to read dirty novels," she said.
Other, later conversations would add greater detail to Hermione's understanding of how Draco had changed from the supercilious, bullying boy he had been to the more self-reflective and thoughtful man he was now, but Draco didn't often want to talk about it.
"That's all in the past, Hermione," he would say. "The whole point is that I want to leave the past behind. It has imprisoned my parents in ways of thought that no longer make any sense, don't you see?"
And she did see, and she no longer pressed him about it, instead taking the morsels of information that he dropped and fitting them together as best she could to create a more-or-less complete picture of a Draco Malfoy who was very different from the one she'd known in her teens.
Just as she had grown surprisingly fond of Draco in their sexual encounters at Brands, so she found herself becoming closer to him outside the club as well over the course of several months. She had meant what she said about not wanting to confuse the two aspects of their relationship, however, and so she decided that she would wait for Draco to make the first move toward bringing a physical component into their growing emotional involvement.
In the meantime, she continued to see not only Draco but Damien, Thomas, and Lloyd at the club. She earned a promotion at the Ministry, and she socialized with old friends from school and newer friends from work. Harry was the first one to guess that she was seeing someone, but she wouldn't tell him who it was.
It wasn't that she was ashamed of dating Draco Malfoy, she told herself, nor had Draco ever asked her to keep their relationship quiet, but rather that she knew that people like Harry or Ron or Ginny would make a big deal out of it, and she didn't want that unless there was something serious enough going on to be worth the hassle. So when Harry tried to tease her boyfriend's name out of her, she smilingly resisted until he gave up.
"I'll find out eventually, though," he said, with a wry expression.
"If it's important, yes, you will," said Hermione.
Some sixteen months after Draco had first come to Hermione in the British Library, he kissed her for the first time outside the context of their dominant-submissive roles. And for all that she loved the experiences she had had as a dominant, Hermione recognised that with Draco, she could also find great pleasure in less fixed roles. She let him take her to bed and take charge there in a way that she hadn't permitted anyone in years, and afterward, she told him for the first time that she loved him.
"I love you, too. You know that, right?" Draco asked with a hint of anxiety, and she laughed and kissed and said that yes, of course she did.
"Good. Because I want to take you to meet my parents soon."
"Are you sure about that?"
"They won't be wildly happy, I know," Draco admitted, "but I'd say things are pretty serious between us, and they really ought to be aware of that. Before we start to live together or anything."
"Live together?" Hermione's voice spiralled upward, and she fought to control it. "Isn't that rushing things a little, given that this was the first time we've slept together that wasn't part of a strictly sexual arrangement?"
"We've known each other for quite a long while now," Draco pointed out in the tone he used when he thought he was being entirely reasonable. "Why waste any more time?"
"And had you thought about who was going to move in with whom?"
Draco shrugged. "My flat is larger than yours, so I supposed you'd move into mine, but I don't really care."
"That's something, at least," Hermione muttered. "I don't think I'm ready for this yet, Draco. Meeting your parents, yes, I can handle that even if I'm not exactly overjoyed about it, but I like having my own flat, my own space. I'm not sure I'm ready to give it up yet. And what about Brands? Were you going to ask me to give that up, too?"
"Not exactly."
"So you just hoped I would only see you there now, is that it?" Hermione allowed a little sarcasm into her voice.
"Well, yes, that doesn't seem totally unreasonable to me, if we're going to make things serious between us. But if it's important to you to keep your freedom, then you should have it."
Perversely, that nearly made Hermione willing to offer to give up her other men, although still not to say that she would move in with Draco, but she held her tongue until the impulse passed, just sighing and leaning her head against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for us to quarrel over that," Draco said after a few moments of silence. "But will you come meet my parents a week from Sunday?"